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diff --git a/old/60900-0.txt b/old/60900-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 81e16db..0000000 --- a/old/60900-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4944 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Merry Tales, by Mark Twain - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll -have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using -this ebook. - - - -Title: Merry Tales - -Author: Mark Twain - -Release Date: December 10, 2019 [EBook #60900] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MERRY TALES *** - - - - -Produced by Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - Fiction, Fact, and Fancy Series - - EDITED BY ARTHUR STEDMAN - - - MERRY TALES - - - - - Fiction, Fact, and Fancy Series. - - - MERRY TALES. - - BY MARK TWAIN. - - THE GERMAN EMPEROR AND HIS EASTERN NEIGHBORS. - - BY POULTNEY BIGELOW. - - SELECTED POEMS. - - BY WALT WHITMAN. - - DON FINIMONDONE: CALABRIAN SKETCHES. - - BY ELISABETH CAVAZZA. - - _Other Volumes to be Announced._ - - - Bound in Illuminated Cloth, each, 75 Cents. - - ⁂ _For Sale by all Booksellers, or sent postpaid, on receipt - of price, by the Publishers_, - - CHAS. L. WEBSTER & CO., NEW YORK. - - - - - MERRY TALES - - BY - - MARK TWAIN - - - New York - CHARLES L. WEBSTER & CO. - 1892 - - - - - Copyright, 1892, - CHARLES L. WEBSTER & CO. - (_All rights reserved._) - - - PRESS OF - JENKINS & MCCOWAN, - NEW YORK. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - EDITOR’S NOTE. - - -The projector of this Series has had in mind the evident desire of our -people, largely occupied with material affairs, for reading in a shape -adapted to the amount of time at their disposal. Until recently this -desire has been satisfied chiefly from foreign sources. Many reprints -and translations of the little classics of other literatures than our -own have been made, and much good has been done in this way. On the -other hand, a great deal of rubbish has been distributed in the same -fashion, to the undoubted injury of our popular taste. - -Now that a reasonable copyright law allows the publication of the better -class of native literature at moderate prices, it has seemed fitting -that these volumes should consist mainly of works by American writers. -As its title indicates, the “Fiction, Fact, and Fancy Series” will -include not only fiction and poetry, but such essays, monographs, and -biographical sketches as may appear, from time to time, to be called -for. - -To no writer can the term “American” more justly be applied than to the -humorist whose “Merry Tales” are here presented. It was in an effort to -devise some novel method of bringing these stories, new and old, before -the public, that this Series had its origin. But, aside from this, those -among us who can gather figs of thistles are so few in number as to make -their presence eminently desirable. - - NEW YORK, March, 1892. - - -_Acknowledgment should be made to the Century Company, and to Messrs. -Harper & Brothers, for kind permission to reprint several of these -stories from the “Century” and “Harper’s Magazine.”_ - - - - - CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - THE PRIVATE HISTORY OF A CAMPAIGN THAT FAILED, 9 - - THE INVALID’S STORY, 51 - - LUCK, 66 - - THE CAPTAIN’S STORY, 76 - - A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE, 85 - - MRS. MCWILLIAMS AND THE LIGHTNING, 144 - - MEISTERSCHAFT, 161 - - - - - MERRY TALES. - - - - - THE PRIVATE HISTORY OF A CAMPAIGN THAT FAILED. - - -You have heard from a great many people who did something in the war; is -it not fair and right that you listen a little moment to one who started -out to do something in it, but didn’t? Thousands entered the war, got -just a taste of it, and then stepped out again, permanently. These, by -their very numbers, are respectable, and are therefore entitled to a -sort of voice,—not a loud one, but a modest one; not a boastful one, but -an apologetic one. They ought not to be allowed much space among better -people—people who did something—I grant that; but they ought at least to -be allowed to state why they didn’t do anything, and also to explain the -process by which they didn’t do anything. Surely this kind of light must -have a sort of value. - -Out West there was a good deal of confusion in men’s minds during the -first months of the great trouble—a good deal of unsettledness, of -leaning first this way, then that, then the other way. It was hard for -us to get our bearings. I call to mind an instance of this. I was -piloting on the Mississippi when the news came that South Carolina had -gone out of the Union on the 20th of December, 1860. My pilot-mate was a -New Yorker. He was strong for the Union; so was I. But he would not -listen to me with any patience; my loyalty was smirched, to his eye, -because my father had owned slaves. I said, in palliation of this dark -fact, that I had heard my father say, some years before he died, that -slavery was a great wrong, and that he would free the solitary negro he -then owned if he could think it right to give away the property of the -family when he was so straitened in means. My mate retorted that a mere -impulse was nothing—anybody could pretend to a good impulse; and went on -decrying my Unionism and libeling my ancestry. A month later the -secession atmosphere had considerably thickened on the Lower -Mississippi, and I became a rebel; so did he. We were together in New -Orleans, the 26th of January, when Louisiana went out of the Union. He -did his full share of the rebel shouting, but was bitterly opposed to -letting me do mine. He said that I came of bad stock—of a father who had -been willing to set slaves free. In the following summer he was piloting -a Federal gun-boat and shouting for the Union again, and I was in the -Confederate army. I held his note for some borrowed money. He was one of -the most upright men I ever knew; but he repudiated that note without -hesitation, because I was a rebel, and the son of a man who owned -slaves. - -In that summer—of 1861—the first wash of the wave of war broke upon the -shores of Missouri. Our State was invaded by the Union forces. They took -possession of St. Louis, Jefferson Barracks, and some other points. The -Governor, Claib Jackson, issued his proclamation calling out fifty -thousand militia to repel the invader. - -I was visiting in the small town where my boyhood had been -spent—Hannibal, Marion County. Several of us got together in a secret -place by night and formed ourselves into a military company. One Tom -Lyman, a young fellow of a good deal of spirit but of no military -experience, was made captain; I was made second lieutenant. We had no -first lieutenant; I do not know why; it was long ago. There were fifteen -of us. By the advice of an innocent connected with the organization, we -called ourselves the Marion Rangers. I do not remember that any one -found fault with the name. I did not; I thought it sounded quite well. -The young fellow who proposed this title was perhaps a fair sample of -the kind of stuff we were made of. He was young, ignorant, good-natured, -well-meaning, trivial, full of romance, and given to reading chivalric -novels and singing forlorn love-ditties. He had some pathetic little -nickel-plated aristocratic instincts, and detested his name, which was -Dunlap; detested it, partly because it was nearly as common in that -region as Smith, but mainly because it had a plebeian sound to his ear. -So he tried to ennoble it by writing it in this way: _d’Unlap_. That -contented his eye, but left his ear unsatisfied, for people gave the new -name the same old pronunciation—emphasis on the front end of it. He then -did the bravest thing that can be imagined,—a thing to make one shiver -when one remembers how the world is given to resenting shams and -affectations; he began to write his name so: _d’Un Lap_. And he waited -patiently through the long storm of mud that was flung at this work of -art, and he had his reward at last; for he lived to see that name -accepted, and the emphasis put where he wanted it, by people who had -known him all his life, and to whom the tribe of Dunlaps had been as -familiar as the rain and the sunshine for forty years. So sure of -victory at last is the courage that can wait. He said he had found, by -consulting some ancient French chronicles, that the name was rightly and -originally written d’Un Lap; and said that if it were translated into -English it would mean Peterson: _Lap_, Latin or Greek, he said, for -stone or rock, same as the French _pierre_, that is to say, Peter; _d’_, -of or from; _un_, a or one; hence, d’Un Lap, of or from a stone or a -Peter; that is to say, one who is the son of a stone, the son of a -Peter—Peterson. Our militia company were not learned, and the -explanation confused them; so they called him Peterson Dunlap. He proved -useful to us in his way; he named our camps for us, and he generally -struck a name that was “no slouch,” as the boys said. - -That is one sample of us. Another was Ed Stevens, son of the town -jeweler,—trim-built, handsome, graceful, neat as a cat; bright, -educated, but given over entirely to fun. There was nothing serious in -life to him. As far as he was concerned, this military expedition of -ours was simply a holiday. I should say that about half of us looked -upon it in the same way; not consciously, perhaps, but unconsciously. We -did not think; we were not capable of it. As for myself, I was full of -unreasoning joy to be done with turning out of bed at midnight and four -in the morning, for a while; grateful to have a change, new scenes, new -occupations, a new interest. In my thoughts that was as far as I went; I -did not go into the details; as a rule one doesn’t at twenty-four. - -Another sample was Smith, the blacksmith’s apprentice. This vast donkey -had some pluck, of a slow and sluggish nature, but a soft heart; at one -time he would knock a horse down for some impropriety, and at another he -would get homesick and cry. However, he had one ultimate credit to his -account which some of us hadn’t: he stuck to the war, and was killed in -battle at last. - -Jo Bowers, another sample, was a huge, good-natured, flax-headed lubber; -lazy, sentimental, full of harmless brag, a grumbler by nature; an -experienced, industrious, ambitious, and often quite picturesque liar, -and yet not a successful one, for he had had no intelligent training, -but was allowed to come up just any way. This life was serious enough to -him, and seldom satisfactory. But he was a good fellow anyway, and the -boys all liked him. He was made orderly sergeant; Stevens was made -corporal. - -These samples will answer—and they are quite fair ones. Well, this herd -of cattle started for the war. What could you expect of them? They did -as well as they knew how, but really what was justly to be expected of -them? Nothing, I should say. That is what they did. - -We waited for a dark night, for caution and secrecy were necessary; -then, toward midnight, we stole in couples and from various directions -to the Griffith place, beyond the town; from that point we set out -together on foot. Hannibal lies at the extreme southeastern corner of -Marion County, on the Mississippi River; our objective point was the -hamlet of New London, ten miles away, in Ralls County. - -The first hour was all fun, all idle nonsense and laughter. But that -could not be kept up. The steady trudging came to be like work; the play -had somehow oozed out of it; the stillness of the woods and the -somberness of the night began to throw a depressing influence over the -spirits of the boys, and presently the talking died out and each person -shut himself up in his own thoughts. During the last half of the second -hour nobody said a word. - -Now we approached a log farm-house where, according to report, there was -a guard of five Union soldiers. Lyman called a halt; and there, in the -deep gloom of the overhanging branches, he began to whisper a plan of -assault upon that house, which made the gloom more depressing than it -was before. It was a crucial moment; we realized, with a cold -suddenness, that here was no jest—we were standing face to face with -actual war. We were equal to the occasion. In our response there was no -hesitation, no indecision: we said that if Lyman wanted to meddle with -those soldiers, he could go ahead and do it; but if he waited for us to -follow him, he would wait a long time. - -Lyman urged, pleaded, tried to shame us, but it had no effect. Our -course was plain, our minds were made up: we would flank the -farm-house—go out around. And that is what we did. - -We struck into the woods and entered upon a rough time, stumbling over -roots, getting tangled in vines, and torn by briers. At last we reached -an open place in a safe region, and sat down, blown and hot, to cool off -and nurse our scratches and bruises. Lyman was annoyed, but the rest of -us were cheerful; we had flanked the farm-house, we had made our first -military movement, and it was a success; we had nothing to fret about, -we were feeling just the other way. Horse-play and laughing began again; -the expedition was become a holiday frolic once more. - -Then we had two more hours of dull trudging and ultimate silence and -depression; then, about dawn, we straggled into New London, soiled, -heel-blistered, fagged with our little march, and all of us except -Stevens in a sour and raspy humor and privately down on the war. We -stacked our shabby old shot-guns in Colonel Ralls’s barn, and then went -in a body and breakfasted with that veteran of the Mexican War. -Afterwards he took us to a distant meadow, and there in the shade of a -tree we listened to an old-fashioned speech from him, full of gunpowder -and glory, full of that adjective-piling, mixed metaphor, and windy -declamation which was regarded as eloquence in that ancient time and -that remote region; and then he swore us on the Bible to be faithful to -the State of Missouri and drive all invaders from her soil, no matter -whence they might come or under what flag they might march. This mixed -us considerably, and we could not make out just what service we were -embarked in; but Colonel Ralls, the practiced politician and -phrase-juggler, was not similarly in doubt; he knew quite clearly that -he had invested us in the cause of the Southern Confederacy. He closed -the solemnities by belting around me the sword which his neighbor, -Colonel Brown, had worn at Buena Vista and Molino del Rey; and he -accompanied this act with another impressive blast. - -Then we formed in line of battle and marched four miles to a shady and -pleasant piece of woods on the border of the far-reaching expanses of a -flowery prairie. It was an enchanting region for war—our kind of war. - -We pierced the forest about half a mile, and took up a strong position, -with some low, rocky, and wooded hills behind us, and a purling, limpid -creek in front. Straightway half the command were in swimming, and the -other half fishing. The ass with the French name gave this position a -romantic title, but it was too long, so the boys shortened and -simplified it to Camp Ralls. - -We occupied an old maple-sugar camp, whose half-rotted troughs were -still propped against the trees. A long corn-crib served for sleeping -quarters for the battalion. On our left, half a mile away, was Mason’s -farm and house; and he was a friend to the cause. Shortly after noon the -farmers began to arrive from several directions, with mules and horses -for our use, and these they lent us for as long as the war might last, -which they judged would be about three months. The animals were of all -sizes, all colors, and all breeds. They were mainly young and frisky, -and nobody in the command could stay on them long at a time; for we were -town boys, and ignorant of horsemanship. The creature that fell to my -share was a very small mule, and yet so quick and active that it could -throw me without difficulty; and it did this whenever I got on it. Then -it would bray—stretching its neck out, laying its ears back, and -spreading its jaws till you could see down to its works. It was a -disagreeable animal, in every way. If I took it by the bridle and tried -to lead it off the grounds, it would sit down and brace back, and no one -could budge it. However, I was not entirely destitute of military -resources, and I did presently manage to spoil this game; for I had seen -many a steamboat aground in my time, and knew a trick or two which even -a grounded mule would be obliged to respect. There was a well by the -corn-crib; so I substituted thirty fathom of rope for the bridle, and -fetched him home with the windlass. - -I will anticipate here sufficiently to say that we did learn to ride, -after some days’ practice, but never well. We could not learn to like -our animals; they were not choice ones, and most of them had annoying -peculiarities of one kind or another. Stevens’s horse would carry him, -when he was not noticing, under the huge excrescences which form on the -trunks of oak-trees, and wipe him out of the saddle; in this way Stevens -got several bad hurts. Sergeant Bowers’s horse was very large and tall, -with slim, long legs, and looked like a railroad bridge. His size -enabled him to reach all about, and as far as he wanted to, with his -head; so he was always biting Bowers’s legs. On the march, in the sun, -Bowers slept a good deal; and as soon as the horse recognized that he -was asleep he would reach around and bite him on the leg. His legs were -black and blue with bites. This was the only thing that could ever make -him swear, but this always did; whenever the horse bit him he always -swore, and of course Stevens, who laughed at everything, laughed at -this, and would even get into such convulsions over it as to lose his -balance and fall off his horse; and then Bowers, already irritated by -the pain of the horse-bite, would resent the laughter with hard -language, and there would be a quarrel; so that horse made no end of -trouble and bad blood in the command. - -However, I will get back to where I was—our first afternoon in the sugar -camp. The sugar-troughs came very handy as horse-troughs, and we had -plenty of corn to fill them with. I ordered Sergeant Bowers to feed my -mule; but he said that if I reckoned he went to war to be dry-nurse to a -mule, it wouldn’t take me very long to find out my mistake. I believed -that this was insubordination, but I was full of uncertainties about -everything military, and so I let the thing pass, and went and ordered -Smith, the blacksmith’s apprentice, to feed the mule; but he merely gave -me a large, cold, sarcastic grin, such as an ostensibly seven-year-old -horse gives you when you lift his lip and find he is fourteen, and -turned his back on me. I then went to the captain, and asked if it was -not right and proper and military for me to have an orderly. He said it -was, but as there was only one orderly in the corps, it was but right -that he himself should have Bowers on his staff. Bowers said he wouldn’t -serve on anybody’s staff; and if anybody thought he could make him, let -him try it. So, of course, the thing had to be dropped; there was no -other way. - -Next, nobody would cook; it was considered a degradation; so we had no -dinner. We lazied the rest of the pleasant afternoon away, some dozing -under the trees, some smoking cob-pipes and talking sweethearts and war, -some playing games. By late supper-time all hands were famished; and to -meet the difficulty all hands turned to, on an equal footing, and -gathered wood, built fires, and cooked the meal. Afterward everything -was smooth for a while; then trouble broke out between the corporal and -the sergeant, each claiming to rank the other. Nobody knew which was the -higher office; so Lyman had to settle the matter by making the rank of -both officers equal. The commander of an ignorant crew like that has -many troubles and vexations which probably do not occur in the regular -army at all. However, with the song-singing and yarn-spinning around the -camp-fire, everything presently became serene again; and by and by we -raked the corn down level in one end of the crib, and all went to bed on -it, tying a horse to the door, so that he would neigh if any one tried -to get in.[1] - -Footnote 1: - - It was always my impression that that was what the horse was there - for, and I know that it was also the impression of at least one other - of the command, for we talked about it at the time, and admired the - military ingenuity of the device; but when I was out West three years - ago I was told by Mr. A. G. Fuqua, a member of our company, that the - horse was his, that the leaving him tied at the door was a matter of - mere forgetfulness, and that to attribute it to intelligent invention - was to give him quite too much credit. In support of his position, he - called my attention to the suggestive fact that the artifice was not - employed again. I had not thought of that before. - -We had some horsemanship drill every forenoon; then, afternoons, we rode -off here and there in squads a few miles, and visited the farmers’ -girls, and had a youthful good time, and got an honest good dinner or -supper, and then home again to camp, happy and content. - -For a time, life was idly delicious, it was perfect; there was nothing -to mar it. Then came some farmers with an alarm one day. They said it -was rumored that the enemy were advancing in our direction, from over -Hyde’s prairie. The result was a sharp stir among us, and general -consternation. It was a rude awakening from our pleasant trance. The -rumor was but a rumor—nothing definite about it; so, in the confusion, -we did not know which way to retreat. Lyman was for not retreating at -all, in these uncertain circumstances; but he found that if he tried to -maintain that attitude he would fare badly, for the command were in no -humor to put up with insubordination. So he yielded the point and called -a council of war—to consist of himself and the three other officers; but -the privates made such a fuss about being left out, that we had to allow -them to remain, for they were already present, and doing the most of the -talking too. The question was, which way to retreat; but all were so -flurried that nobody seemed to have even a guess to offer. Except Lyman. -He explained in a few calm words, that inasmuch as the enemy were -approaching from over Hyde’s prairie, our course was simple: all we had -to do was not to retreat _toward_ him; any other direction would answer -our needs perfectly. Everybody saw in a moment how true this was, and -how wise; so Lyman got a great many compliments. It was now decided that -we should fall back on Mason’s farm. - -It was after dark by this time, and as we could not know how soon the -enemy might arrive, it did not seem best to try to take the horses and -things with us; so we only took the guns and ammunition, and started at -once. The route was very rough and hilly and rocky, and presently the -night grew very black and rain began to fall; so we had a troublesome -time of it, struggling and stumbling along in the dark; and soon some -person slipped and fell, and then the next person behind stumbled over -him and fell, and so did the rest, one after the other; and then Bowers -came with the keg of powder in his arms, whilst the command were all -mixed together, arms and legs, on the muddy slope; and so he fell, of -course, with the keg, and this started the whole detachment down the -hill in a body, and they landed in the brook at the bottom in a pile, -and each that was undermost pulling the hair and scratching and biting -those that were on top of him; and those that were being scratched and -bitten, scratching and biting the rest in their turn, and all saying -they would die before they would ever go to war again if they ever got -out of this brook this time, and the invader might rot for all they -cared, and the country along with him—and all such talk as that, which -was dismal to hear and take part in, in such smothered, low voices, and -such a grisly dark place and so wet, and the enemy may be coming any -moment. - -The keg of powder was lost, and the guns too; so the growling and -complaining continued straight along whilst the brigade pawed around the -pasty hillside and slopped around in the brook hunting for these things; -consequently we lost considerable time at this; and then we heard a -sound, and held our breath and listened, and it seemed to be the enemy -coming, though it could have been a cow, for it had a cough like a cow; -but we did not wait, but left a couple of guns behind and struck out for -Mason’s again as briskly as we could scramble along in the dark. But we -got lost presently among the rugged little ravines, and wasted a deal of -time finding the way again, so it was after nine when we reached Mason’s -stile at last; and then before we could open our mouths to give the -countersign, several dogs came bounding over the fence, with great riot -and noise, and each of them took a soldier by the slack of his trousers -and began to back away with him. We could not shoot the dogs without -endangering the persons they were attached to; so we had to look on, -helpless, at what was perhaps the most mortifying spectacle of the civil -war. There was light enough, and to spare, for the Masons had now run -out on the porch with candles in their hands. The old man and his son -came and undid the dogs without difficulty, all but Bowers’s; but they -couldn’t undo his dog, they didn’t know his combination; he was of the -bull kind, and seemed to be set with a Yale time-lock; but they got him -loose at last with some scalding water, of which Bowers got his share -and returned thanks. Peterson Dunlap afterwards made up a fine name for -this engagement, and also for the night march which preceded it, but -both have long ago faded out of my memory. - -We now went into the house, and they began to ask us a world of -questions, whereby it presently came out that we did not know anything -concerning who or what we were running from; so the old gentleman made -himself very frank, and said we were a curious breed of soldiers, and -guessed we could be depended on to end up the war in time, because no -government could stand the expense of the shoe-leather we should cost it -trying to follow us around. “Marion _Rangers_! good name, b’gosh!” said -he. And wanted to know why we hadn’t had a picket-guard at the place -where the road entered the prairie, and why we hadn’t sent out a -scouting party to spy out the enemy and bring us an account of his -strength, and so on, before jumping up and stampeding out of a strong -position upon a mere vague rumor—and so on, and so forth, till he made -us all feel shabbier than the dogs had done, not half so -enthusiastically welcome. So we went to bed shamed and low-spirited; -except Stevens. Soon Stevens began to devise a garment for Bowers which -could be made to automatically display his battle-scars to the grateful, -or conceal them from the envious, according to his occasions; but Bowers -was in no humor for this, so there was a fight, and when it was over -Stevens had some battle-scars of his own to think about. - -Then we got a little sleep. But after all we had gone through, our -activities were not over for the night; for about two o’clock in the -morning we heard a shout of warning from down the lane, accompanied by a -chorus from all the dogs, and in a moment everybody was up and flying -around to find out what the alarm was about. The alarmist was a horseman -who gave notice that a detachment of Union soldiers was on its way from -Hannibal with orders to capture and hang any bands like ours which it -could find, and said we had no time to lose. Farmer Mason was in a -flurry this time, himself. He hurried us out of the house with all -haste, and sent one of his negroes with us to show us where to hide -ourselves and our tell-tale guns among the ravines half a mile away. It -was raining heavily. - -We struck down the lane, then across some rocky pasture-land which -offered good advantages for stumbling; consequently we were down in the -mud most of the time, and every time a man went down he blackguarded the -war, and the people that started it, and everybody connected with it, -and gave himself the master dose of all for being so foolish as to go -into it. At last we reached the wooded mouth of a ravine, and there we -huddled ourselves under the streaming trees, and sent the negro back -home. It was a dismal and heart-breaking time. We were like to be -drowned with the rain, deafened with the howling wind and the booming -thunder, and blinded by the lightning. It was indeed a wild night. The -drenching we were getting was misery enough, but a deeper misery still -was the reflection that the halter might end us before we were a day -older. A death of this shameful sort had not occurred to us as being -among the possibilities of war. It took the romance all out of the -campaign, and turned our dreams of glory into a repulsive nightmare. As -for doubting that so barbarous an order had been given, not one of us -did that. - -The long night wore itself out at last, and then the negro came to us -with the news that the alarm had manifestly been a false one, and that -breakfast would soon be ready. Straightway we were light-hearted again, -and the world was bright, and life as full of hope and promise as -ever—for we were young then. How long ago that was! Twenty-four years. - -The mongrel child of philology named the night’s refuge Camp -Devastation, and no soul objected. The Masons gave us a Missouri country -breakfast, in Missourian abundance, and we needed it: hot biscuits; hot -“wheat bread” prettily criss-crossed in a lattice pattern on top; hot -corn pone; fried chicken; bacon, coffee, eggs, milk, buttermilk, -etc.;—and the world may be confidently challenged to furnish the equal -to such a breakfast, as it is cooked in the South. - -We staid several days at Mason’s; and after all these years the memory -of the dulness, the stillness and lifelessness of that slumberous -farm-house still oppresses my spirit as with a sense of the presence of -death and mourning. There was nothing to do, nothing to think about; -there was no interest in life. The male part of the household were away -in the fields all day, the women were busy and out of our sight; there -was no sound but the plaintive wailing of a spinning-wheel, forever -moaning out from some distant room,—the most lonesome sound in nature, a -sound steeped and sodden with homesickness and the emptiness of life. -The family went to bed about dark every night, and as we were not -invited to intrude any new customs, we naturally followed theirs. Those -nights were a hundred years long to youths accustomed to being up till -twelve. We lay awake and miserable till that hour every time, and grew -old and decrepit waiting through the still eternities for the -clock-strikes. This was no place for town boys. So at last it was with -something very like joy that we received news that the enemy were on our -track again. With a new birth of the old warrior spirit, we sprang to -our places in line of battle and fell back on Camp Ralls. - -Captain Lyman had taken a hint from Mason’s talk, and he now gave orders -that our camp should be guarded against surprise by the posting of -pickets. I was ordered to place a picket at the forks of the road in -Hyde’s prairie. Night shut down black and threatening. I told Sergeant -Bowers to go out to that place and stay till midnight; and, just as I -was expecting, he said he wouldn’t do it. I tried to get others to go, -but all refused. Some excused themselves on account of the weather; but -the rest were frank enough to say they wouldn’t go in any kind of -weather. This kind of thing sounds odd now, and impossible, but there -was no surprise in it at the time. On the contrary, it seemed a -perfectly natural thing to do. There were scores of little camps -scattered over Missouri where the same thing was happening. These camps -were composed of young men who had been born and reared to a sturdy -independence, and who did not know what it meant to be ordered around by -Tom, Dick, and Harry, whom they had known familiarly all their lives, in -the village or on the farm. It is quite within the probabilities that -this same thing was happening all over the South. James Redpath -recognized the justice of this assumption, and furnished the following -instance in support of it. During a short stay in East Tennessee he was -in a citizen colonel’s tent one day, talking, when a big private -appeared at the door, and without salute or other circumlocution said to -the colonel,— - -“Say, Jim, I’m a-goin’ home for a few days.” - -“What for?” - -“Well, I hain’t b’en there for a right smart while, and I’d like to see -how things is comin’ on.” - -“How long are you going to be gone?” - -“’Bout two weeks.” - -“Well, don’t be gone longer than that; and get back sooner if you can.” - -That was all, and the citizen officer resumed his conversation where the -private had broken it off. This was in the first months of the war, of -course. The camps in our part of Missouri were under Brigadier-General -Thomas H. Harris. He was a townsman of ours, a first-rate fellow, and -well liked; but we had all familiarly known him as the sole and -modest-salaried operator in our telegraph office, where he had to send -about one despatch a week in ordinary times, and two when there was a -rush of business; consequently, when he appeared in our midst one day, -on the wing, and delivered a military command of some sort, in a large -military fashion, nobody was surprised at the response which he got from -the assembled soldiery,— - -“Oh, now, what’ll you take to _don’t_, Tom Harris!” - -It was quite the natural thing. One might justly imagine that we were -hopeless material for war. And so we seemed, in our ignorant state; but -there were those among us who afterward learned the grim trade; learned -to obey like machines; became valuable soldiers; fought all through the -war, and came out at the end with excellent records. One of the very -boys who refused to go out on picket duty that night, and called me an -ass for thinking he would expose himself to danger in such a foolhardy -way, had become distinguished for intrepidity before he was a year -older. - -I did secure my picket that night—not by authority, but by diplomacy. I -got Bowers to go, by agreeing to exchange ranks with him for the time -being, and go along and stand the watch with him as his subordinate. We -staid out there a couple of dreary hours in the pitchy darkness and the -rain, with nothing to modify the dreariness but Bowers’s monotonous -growlings at the war and the weather; then we began to nod, and -presently found it next to impossible to stay in the saddle; so we gave -up the tedious job, and went back to the camp without waiting for the -relief guard. We rode into camp without interruption or objection from -anybody, and the enemy could have done the same, for there were no -sentries. Everybody was asleep; at midnight there was nobody to send out -another picket, so none was sent. We never tried to establish a watch at -night again, as far as I remember, but we generally kept a picket out in -the daytime. - -In that camp the whole command slept on the corn in the big corn-crib; -and there was usually a general row before morning, for the place was -full of rats, and they would scramble over the boys’ bodies and faces, -annoying and irritating everybody; and now and then they would bite some -one’s toe, and the person who owned the toe would start up and magnify -his English and begin to throw corn in the dark. The ears were half as -heavy as bricks, and when they struck they hurt. The persons struck -would respond, and inside of five minutes every man would be locked in a -death-grip with his neighbor. There was a grievous deal of blood shed in -the corn-crib, but this was all that was spilt while I was in the war. -No, that is not quite true. But for one circumstance it would have been -all. I will come to that now. - -Our scares were frequent. Every few days rumors would come that the -enemy were approaching. In these cases we always fell back on some other -camp of ours; we never staid where we were. But the rumors always turned -out to be false; so at last even we began to grow indifferent to them. -One night a negro was sent to our corn-crib with the same old warning: -the enemy was hovering in our neighborhood. We all said let him hover. -We resolved to stay still and be comfortable. It was a fine warlike -resolution, and no doubt we all felt the stir of it in our veins—for a -moment. We had been having a very jolly time, that was full of -horse-play and school-boy hilarity; but that cooled down now, and -presently the fast-waning fire of forced jokes and forced laughs died -out altogether, and the company became silent. Silent and nervous. And -soon uneasy—worried—apprehensive. We had said we would stay, and we were -committed. We could have been persuaded to go, but there was nobody -brave enough to suggest it. An almost noiseless movement presently began -in the dark, by a general but unvoiced impulse. When the movement was -completed, each man knew that he was not the only person who had crept -to the front wall and had his eye at a crack between the logs. No, we -were all there; all there with our hearts in our throats, and staring -out toward the sugar-troughs where the forest foot-path came through. It -was late, and was a deep woodsy stillness everywhere. There was a veiled -moonlight, which was only just strong enough to enable us to mark the -general shape of objects. Presently a muffled sound caught our ears, and -we recognized it as the hoof-beats of a horse or horses. And right away -a figure appeared in the forest path; it could have been made of smoke, -its mass had so little sharpness of outline. It was a man on horseback; -and it seemed to me that there were others behind him. I got hold of a -gun in the dark, and pushed it through a crack between the logs, hardly -knowing what I was doing, I was so dazed with fright. Somebody said -“Fire!” I pulled the trigger. I seemed to see a hundred flashes and hear -a hundred reports, then I saw the man fall down out of the saddle. My -first feeling was of surprised gratification; my first impulse was an -apprentice-sportsman’s impulse to run and pick up his game. Somebody -said, hardly audibly, “Good—we’ve got him!—wait for the rest.” But the -rest did not come. We waited—listened—still no more came. There was not -a sound, not the whisper of a leaf; just perfect stillness; an uncanny -kind of stillness, which was all the more uncanny on account of the -damp, earthy, late-night smells now rising and pervading it. Then, -wondering, we crept stealthily out, and approached the man. When we got -to him the moon revealed him distinctly. He was lying on his back, with -his arms abroad; his mouth was open and his chest heaving with long -gasps, and his white shirt-front was all splashed with blood. The -thought shot through me that I was a murderer; that I had killed a man—a -man who had never done me any harm. That was the coldest sensation that -ever went through my marrow. I was down by him in a moment, helplessly -stroking his forehead; and I would have given anything then—my own life -freely—to make him again what he had been five minutes before. And all -the boys seemed to be feeling in the same way; they hung over him, full -of pitying interest, and tried all they could to help him, and said all -sorts of regretful things. They had forgotten all about the enemy; they -thought only of this one forlorn unit of the foe. Once my imagination -persuaded me that the dying man gave me a reproachful look out of his -shadowy eyes, and it seemed to me that I could rather he had stabbed me -than done that. He muttered and mumbled like a dreamer in his sleep, -about his wife and his child; and I thought with a new despair, “This -thing that I have done does not end with him; it falls upon _them_ too, -and they never did me any harm, any more than he.” - -In a little while the man was dead. He was killed in war; killed in fair -and legitimate war; killed in battle, as you may say; and yet he was as -sincerely mourned by the opposing force as if he had been their brother. -The boys stood there a half hour sorrowing over him, and recalling the -details of the tragedy, and wondering who he might be, and if he were a -spy, and saying that if it were to do over again they would not hurt him -unless he attacked them first. It soon came out that mine was not the -only shot fired; there were five others,—a division of the guilt which -was a grateful relief to me, since it in some degree lightened and -diminished the burden I was carrying. There were six shots fired at -once; but I was not in my right mind at the time, and my heated -imagination had magnified my one shot into a volley. - -The man was not in uniform, and was not armed. He was a stranger in the -country; that was all we ever found out about him. The thought of him -got to preying upon me every night; I could not get rid of it. I could -not drive it away, the taking of that unoffending life seemed such a -wanton thing. And it seemed an epitome of war; that all war must be just -that—the killing of strangers against whom you feel no personal -animosity; strangers whom, in other circumstances, you would help if you -found them in trouble, and who would help you if you needed it. My -campaign was spoiled. It seemed to me that I was not rightly equipped -for this awful business; that war was intended for men, and I for a -child’s nurse. I resolved to retire from this avocation of sham -soldiership while I could save some remnant of my self-respect. These -morbid thoughts clung to me against reason; for at bottom I did not -believe I had touched that man. The law of probabilities decreed me -guiltless of his blood; for in all my small experience with guns I had -never hit anything I had tried to hit, and I knew I had done my best to -hit him. Yet there was no solace in the thought. Against a diseased -imagination, demonstration goes for nothing. - -The rest of my war experience was of a piece with what I have already -told of it. We kept monotonously falling back upon one camp or another, -and eating up the country. I marvel now at the patience of the farmers -and their families. They ought to have shot us; on the contrary, they -were as hospitably kind and courteous to us as if we had deserved it. In -one of these camps we found Ab Grimes, an Upper Mississippi pilot, who -afterwards became famous as a dare-devil rebel spy, whose career -bristled with desperate adventures. The look and style of his comrades -suggested that they had not come into the war to play, and their deeds -made good the conjecture later. They were fine horsemen and good -revolver-shots; but their favorite arm was the lasso. Each had one at -his pommel, and could snatch a man out of the saddle with it every time, -on a full gallop, at any reasonable distance. - -In another camp the chief was a fierce and profane old blacksmith of -sixty, and he had furnished his twenty recruits with gigantic home-made -bowie-knives, to be swung with the two hands, like the _machetes_ of the -Isthmus. It was a grisly spectacle to see that earnest band practicing -their murderous cuts and slashes under the eye of that remorseless old -fanatic. - -The last camp which we fell back upon was in a hollow near the village -of Florida, where I was born—in Monroe County. Here we were warned, one -day, that a Union colonel was sweeping down on us with a whole regiment -at his heels. This looked decidedly serious. Our boys went apart and -consulted; then we went back and told the other companies present that -the war was a disappointment to us and we were going to disband. They -were getting ready, themselves, to fall back on some place or other, and -were only waiting for General Tom Harris, who was expected to arrive at -any moment; so they tried to persuade us to wait a little while, but the -majority of us said no, we were accustomed to falling back, and didn’t -need any of Tom Harris’s help; we could get along perfectly well without -him—and save time too. So about half of our fifteen, including myself, -mounted and left on the instant; the others yielded to persuasion and -staid—staid through the war. - -An hour later we met General Harris on the road, with two or three -people in his company—his staff, probably, but we could not tell; none -of them were in uniform; uniforms had not come into vogue among us yet. -Harris ordered us back; but we told him there was a Union colonel coming -with a whole regiment in his wake, and it looked as if there was going -to be a disturbance; so we had concluded to go home. He raged a little, -but it was of no use; our minds were made up. We had done our share; had -killed one man, exterminated one army, such as it was; let him go and -kill the rest, and that would end the war. I did not see that brisk -young general again until last year; then he was wearing white hair and -whiskers. - -In time I came to know that Union colonel whose coming frightened me out -of the war and crippled the Southern cause to that extent—General Grant. -I came within a few hours of seeing him when he was as unknown as I was -myself; at a time when anybody could have said, “Grant?—Ulysses S. -Grant? I do not remember hearing the name before.” It seems difficult to -realize that there was once a time when such a remark could be -rationally made; but there _was_, and I was within a few miles of the -place and the occasion too, though proceeding in the other direction. - -The thoughtful will not throw this war-paper of mine lightly aside as -being valueless. It has this value: it is a not unfair picture of what -went on in many and many a militia camp in the first months of the -rebellion, when the green recruits were without discipline, without the -steadying and heartening influence of trained leaders; when all their -circumstances were new and strange, and charged with exaggerated -terrors, and before the invaluable experience of actual collision in the -field had turned them from rabbits into soldiers. If this side of the -picture of that early day has not before been put into history, then -history has been to that degree incomplete, for it had and has its -rightful place there. There was more Bull Run material scattered through -the early camps of this country than exhibited itself at Bull Run. And -yet it learned its trade presently, and helped to fight the great -battles later. I could have become a soldier myself, if I had waited. I -had got part of it learned; I knew more about retreating than the man -that invented retreating. - - - - - THE INVALID’S STORY. - - -I seem sixty and married, but these effects are due to my condition and -sufferings, for I am a bachelor, and only forty-one. It will be hard for -you to believe that I, who am now but a shadow, was a hale, hearty man -two short years ago,—a man of iron, a very athlete!—yet such is the -simple truth. But stranger still than this fact is the way in which I -lost my health. I lost it through helping to take care of a box of guns -on a two-hundred-mile railway journey one winter’s night. It is the -actual truth, and I will tell you about it. - -I belong in Cleveland, Ohio. One winter’s night, two years ago, I -reached home just after dark, in a driving snow-storm, and the first -thing I heard when I entered the house was that my dearest boyhood -friend and schoolmate, John B. Hackett, had died the day before, and -that his last utterance had been a desire that I would take his remains -home to his poor old father and mother in Wisconsin. I was greatly -shocked and grieved, but there was no time to waste in emotions; I must -start at once. I took the card, marked “Deacon Levi Hackett, Bethlehem, -Wisconsin,” and hurried off through the whistling storm to the railway -station. Arrived there I found the long white-pine box which had been -described to me; I fastened the card to it with some tacks, saw it put -safely aboard the express car, and then ran into the eating-room to -provide myself with a sandwich and some cigars. When I returned, -presently, there was my coffin-box _back again_, apparently, and a young -fellow examining around it, with a card in his hand, and some tacks and -a hammer! I was astonished and puzzled. He began to nail on his card, -and I rushed out to the express car, in a good deal of a state of mind, -to ask for an explanation. But no—there was my box, all right, in the -express car; it hadn’t been disturbed. [The fact is that without my -suspecting it a prodigious mistake had been made. I was carrying off a -box of _guns_ which that young fellow had come to the station to ship to -a rifle company in Peoria, Illinois, and _he_ had got my corpse!] Just -then the conductor sung out “All aboard,” and I jumped into the express -car and got a comfortable seat on a bale of buckets. The expressman was -there, hard at work,—a plain man of fifty, with a simple, honest, -good-natured face, and a breezy, practical heartiness in his general -style. As the train moved off a stranger skipped into the car and set a -package of peculiarly mature and capable Limburger cheese on one end of -my coffin-box—I mean my box of guns. That is to say, I know _now_ that -it was Limburger cheese, but at that time I never had heard of the -article in my life, and of course was wholly ignorant of its character. -Well, we sped through the wild night, the bitter storm raged on, a -cheerless misery stole over me, my heart went down, down, down! The old -expressman made a brisk remark or two about the tempest and the arctic -weather, slammed his sliding doors to, and bolted them, closed his -window down tight, and then went bustling around, here and there and -yonder, setting things to rights, and all the time contentedly humming -“Sweet By and By,” in a low tone, and flatting a good deal. Presently I -began to detect a most evil and searching odor stealing about on the -frozen air. This depressed my spirits still more, because of course I -attributed it to my poor departed friend. There was something infinitely -saddening about his calling himself to my remembrance in this dumb -pathetic way, so it was hard to keep the tears back. Moreover, it -distressed me on account of the old expressman, who, I was afraid, might -notice it. However, he went humming tranquilly on, and gave no sign; and -for this I was grateful. Grateful, yes, but still uneasy; and soon I -began to feel more and more uneasy every minute, for every minute that -went by that odor thickened up the more, and got to be more and more -gamy and hard to stand. Presently, having got things arranged to his -satisfaction, the expressman got some wood and made up a tremendous fire -in his stove. This distressed me more than I can tell, for I could not -but feel that it was a mistake. I was sure that the effect would be -deleterious upon my poor departed friend. Thompson—the expressman’s name -was Thompson, as I found out in the course of the night—now went poking -around his car, stopping up whatever stray cracks he could find, -remarking that it didn’t make any difference what kind of a night it was -outside, he calculated to make _us_ comfortable, anyway. I said nothing, -but I believed he was not choosing the right way. Meantime he was -humming to himself just as before; and meantime, too, the stove was -getting hotter and hotter, and the place closer and closer. I felt -myself growing pale and qualmish, but grieved in silence and said -nothing. Soon I noticed that the “Sweet By and By” was gradually fading -out; next it ceased altogether, and there was an ominous stillness. -After a few moments Thompson said,— - -“Pfew! I reckon it ain’t no cinnamon ’t I’ve loaded up thish-yer stove -with!” - -He gasped once or twice, then moved toward the cof—gun-box, stood over -that Limburger cheese part of a moment, then came back and sat down near -me, looking a good deal impressed. After a contemplative pause, he said, -indicating the box with a gesture,— - -“Friend of yourn?” - -“Yes,” I said with a sigh. - -“He’s pretty ripe, _ain’t_ he!” - -Nothing further was said for perhaps a couple of minutes, each being -busy with his own thoughts; then Thompson said, in a low, awed voice,— - -“Sometimes it’s uncertain whether they’re really gone or not,—_seem_ -gone, you know—body warm, joints limber—and so, although you _think_ -they’re gone, you don’t really know. I’ve had cases in my car. It’s -perfectly awful, becuz _you_ don’t know what minute they’ll rise up and -look at you!” Then, after a pause, and slightly lifting his elbow toward -the box,— “But _he_ ain’t in no trance! No, sir, I go bail for _him_!” - -We sat some time, in meditative silence, listening to the wind and the -roar of the train; then Thompson said, with a good deal of feeling,— - -“Well-a-well, we’ve all got to go, they ain’t no getting around it. Man -that is born of woman is of few days and far between, as Scriptur’ says. -Yes, you look at it any way you want to, it’s awful solemn and cur’us: -they ain’t _nobody_ can get around it; _all’s_ got to go—just -_everybody_, as you may say. One day you’re hearty and strong”—here he -scrambled to his feet and broke a pane and stretched his nose out at it -a moment or two, then sat down again while I struggled up and thrust my -nose out at the same place, and this we kept on doing every now and -then—“and next day he’s cut down like the grass, and the places which -knowed him then knows him no more forever, as Scriptur’ says. -Yes’ndeedy, it’s awful solemn and cur’us; but we’ve all got to go, one -time or another; they ain’t no getting around it.” - -There was another long pause; then,— - -“What did he die of?” - -I said I didn’t know. - -“How long has he ben dead?” - -It seemed judicious to enlarge the facts to fit the probabilities; so I -said,— - -“Two or three days.” - -But it did no good; for Thompson received it with an injured look which -plainly said, “Two or three _years_, you mean.” Then he went right -along, placidly ignoring my statement, and gave his views at -considerable length upon the unwisdom of putting off burials too long. -Then he lounged off toward the box, stood a moment, then came back on a -sharp trot and visited the broken pane, observing,— - -“’Twould ’a’ ben a dum sight better, all around, if they’d started him -along last summer.” - -Thompson sat down and buried his face in his red silk handkerchief, and -began to slowly sway and rock his body like one who is doing his best to -endure the almost unendurable. By this time the fragrance—if you may -call it fragrance—was just about suffocating, as near as you can come at -it. Thompson’s face was turning gray; I knew mine hadn’t any color left -in it. By and by Thompson rested his forehead in his left hand, with his -elbow on his knee, and sort of waved his red handkerchief towards the -box with his other hand, and said,— - -“I’ve carried a many a one of ’em,—some of ’em considerable overdue, -too,—but, lordy, he just lays over ’em all!—and does it _easy_. Cap., -they was heliotrope to _him_!” - -This recognition of my poor friend gratified me, in spite of the sad -circumstances, because it had so much the sound of a compliment. - -Pretty soon it was plain that something had got to be done. I suggested -cigars. Thompson thought it was a good idea. He said,— - -“Likely it’ll modify him some.” - -We puffed gingerly along for a while, and tried hard to imagine that -things were improved. But it wasn’t any use. Before very long, and -without any consultation, both cigars were quietly dropped from our -nerveless fingers at the same moment. Thompson said, with a sigh,— - -“No, Cap., it don’t modify him worth a cent. Fact is, it makes him -worse, becuz it appears to stir up his ambition. What do you reckon we -better do, now?” - -I was not able to suggest anything; indeed, I had to be swallowing and -swallowing, all the time, and did not like to trust myself to speak. -Thompson fell to maundering, in a desultory and low-spirited way, about -the miserable experiences of this night; and he got to referring to my -poor friend by various titles,—sometimes military ones, sometimes civil -ones; and I noticed that as fast as my poor friend’s effectiveness grew, -Thompson promoted him accordingly,—gave him a bigger title. Finally he -said,— - -“I’ve got an idea. Suppos’n we buckle down to it and give the Colonel a -bit of a shove towards t’other end of the car?—about ten foot, say. He -wouldn’t have so much influence, then, don’t you reckon?” - -I said it was a good scheme. So we took in a good fresh breath at the -broken pane, calculating to hold it till we got through; then we went -there and bent over that deadly cheese and took a grip on the box. -Thompson nodded “All ready,” and then we threw ourselves forward with -all our might; but Thompson slipped, and slumped down with his nose on -the cheese, and his breath got loose. He gagged and gasped, and -floundered up and made a break for the door, pawing the air and saying, -hoarsely, “Don’t hender me!—gimme the road! I’m a-dying; gimme the -road!” Out on the cold platform I sat down and held his head a while, -and he revived. Presently he said,— - -“Do you reckon we started the Gen’rul any?” - -I said no; we hadn’t budged him. - -“Well, then, _that_ idea’s up the flume. We got to think up something -else. He’s suited wher’ he is, I reckon; and if that’s the way he feels -about it, and has made up his mind that he don’t wish to be disturbed, -you bet he’s a-going to have his own way in the business. Yes, better -leave him right wher’ he is, long as he wants it so; becuz he holds all -the trumps, don’t you know, and so it stands to reason that the man that -lays out to alter his plans for him is going to get left.” - -But we couldn’t stay out there in that mad storm; we should have frozen -to death. So we went in again and shut the door, and began to suffer -once more and take turns at the break in the window. By and by, as we -were starting away from a station where we had stopped a moment Thompson -pranced in cheerily, and exclaimed,— - -“We’re all right, now! I reckon we’ve got the Commodore this time. I -judge I’ve got the stuff here that’ll take the tuck out of him.” - -It was carbolic acid. He had a carboy of it. He sprinkled it all around -everywhere; in fact he drenched everything with it, rifle-box, cheese -and all. Then we sat down, feeling pretty hopeful. But it wasn’t for -long. You see the two perfumes began to mix, and then—well, pretty soon -we made a break for the door; and out there Thompson swabbed his face -with his bandanna and said in a kind of disheartened way,— - -“It ain’t no use. We can’t buck agin _him_. He just utilizes everything -we put up to modify him with, and gives it his own flavor and plays it -back on us. Why, Cap., don’t you know, it’s as much as a hundred times -worse in there now than it was when he first got a-going. I never _did_ -see one of ’em warm up to his work so, and take such a dumnation -interest in it. No, sir, I never did, as long as I’ve ben on the road; -and I’ve carried a many a one of ’em, as I was telling you.” - -We went in again, after we were frozen pretty stiff; but my, we couldn’t -_stay_ in, now. So we just waltzed back and forth, freezing, and -thawing, and stifling, by turns. In about an hour we stopped at another -station; and as we left it Thompson came in with a bag, and said,— - -“Cap., I’m a-going to chance him once more,—just this once; and if we -don’t fetch him this time, the thing for us to do, is to just throw up -the sponge and withdraw from the canvass. That’s the way _I_ put it up.” - -He had brought a lot of chicken feathers, and dried apples, and leaf -tobacco, and rags, and old shoes, and sulphur, and assafœtida, and one -thing or another; and he piled them on a breadth of sheet iron in the -middle of the floor, and set fire to them. When they got well started, I -couldn’t see, myself, how even the corpse could stand it. All that went -before was just simply poetry to that smell,—but mind you, the original -smell stood up out of it just as sublime as ever,—fact is, these other -smells just seemed to give it a better hold; and my, how rich it was! I -didn’t make these reflections there—there wasn’t time—made them on the -platform. And breaking for the platform, Thompson got suffocated and -fell; and before I got him dragged out, which I did by the collar, I was -mighty near gone myself. When we revived, Thompson said dejectedly,— - -“We got to stay out here, Cap. We got to do it. They ain’t no other way. -The Governor wants to travel alone, and he’s fixed so he can outvote -us.” - -And presently he added,— - -“And don’t you know, we’re _pisoned_. It’s _our_ last trip, you can make -up your mind to it. Typhoid fever is what’s going to come of this. I -feel it a-coming right now. Yes, sir, we’re elected, just as sure as -you’re born.” - -We were taken from the platform an hour later, frozen and insensible, at -the next station, and I went straight off into a virulent fever, and -never knew anything again for three weeks. I found out, then, that I had -spent that awful night with a harmless box of rifles and a lot of -innocent cheese; but the news was too late to save _me_; imagination had -done its work, and my health was permanently shattered; neither Bermuda -nor any other land can ever bring it back to me. This is my last trip; I -am on my way home to die. - - - - - LUCK.[2] - - -It was at a banquet in London in honor of one of the two or three -conspicuously illustrious English military names of this generation. For -reasons which will presently appear, I will withhold his real name and -titles, and call him Lieutenant-General Lord Arthur Scoresby, Y.C., -K.C.B., etc., etc., etc. What a fascination there is in a renowned name! -There sat the man, in actual flesh, whom I had heard of so many -thousands of times since that day, thirty years before, when his name -shot suddenly to the zenith from a Crimean battle-field, to remain -forever celebrated. It was food and drink to me to look, and look, and -look at that demigod; scanning, searching, noting: the quietness, the -reserve, the noble gravity of his countenance; the simple honesty that -expressed itself all over him; the sweet unconsciousness of his -greatness—unconsciousness of the hundreds of admiring eyes fastened upon -him, unconsciousness of the deep, loving, sincere worship welling out of -the breasts of those people and flowing toward him. - -Footnote 2: - - [NOTE.—This is not a fancy sketch. I got it from a clergyman who was - an instructor at Woolwich forty years ago, and who vouched for its - truth.—M. T.] - -The clergyman at my left was an old acquaintance of mine—clergyman now, -but had spent the first half of his life in the camp and field, and as -an instructor in the military school at Woolwich. Just at the moment I -have been talking about, a veiled and singular light glimmered in his -eyes, and he leaned down and muttered confidentially to me—indicating -the hero of the banquet with a gesture,— - -“Privately—he’s an absolute fool.” - -This verdict was a great surprise to me. If its subject had been -Napoleon, or Socrates, or Solomon, my astonishment could not have been -greater. Two things I was well aware of: that the Reverend was a man of -strict veracity, and that his judgment of men was good. Therefore I -knew, beyond doubt or question, that the world was mistaken about this -hero: he _was_ a fool. So I meant to find out, at a convenient moment, -how the Reverend, all solitary and alone, had discovered the secret. - - -Some days later the opportunity came, and this is what the Reverend told -me: - -About forty years ago I was an instructor in the military academy at -Woolwich. I was present in one of the sections when young Scoresby -underwent his preliminary examination. I was touched to the quick with -pity; for the rest of the class answered up brightly and handsomely, -while he—why, dear me, he didn’t know _anything_, so to speak. He was -evidently good, and sweet, and lovable, and guileless; and so it was -exceedingly painful to see him stand there, as serene as a graven image, -and deliver himself of answers which were veritably miraculous for -stupidity and ignorance. All the compassion in me was aroused in his -behalf. I said to myself, when he comes to be examined again, he will be -flung over, of course; so it will be simply a harmless act of charity to -ease his fall as much as I can. I took him aside, and found that he knew -a little of Cæsar’s history; and as he didn’t know anything else, I went -to work and drilled him like a galley-slave on a certain line of stock -questions concerning Cæsar which I knew would be used. If you’ll believe -me, he went through with flying colors on examination day! He went -through on that purely superficial “cram,” and got compliments too, -while others, who knew a thousand times more than he, got plucked. By -some strangely lucky accident—an accident not likely to happen twice in -a century—he was asked no question outside of the narrow limits of his -drill. - -It was stupefying. Well, all through his course I stood by him, with -something of the sentiment which a mother feels for a crippled child; -and he always saved himself—just by miracle, apparently. - -Now of course the thing that would expose him and kill him at last was -mathematics. I resolved to make his death as easy as I could; so I -drilled him and crammed him, and crammed him and drilled him, just on -the line of questions which the examiners would be most likely to use, -and then launched him on his fate. Well, sir, try to conceive of the -result: to my consternation, he took the first prize! And with it he got -a perfect ovation in the way of compliments. - -Sleep? There was no more sleep for me for a week. My conscience tortured -me day and night. What I had done I had done purely through charity, and -only to ease the poor youth’s fall—I never had dreamed of any such -preposterous result as the thing that had happened. I felt as guilty and -miserable as the creator of Frankenstein. Here was a woodenhead whom I -had put in the way of glittering promotions and prodigious -responsibilities, and but one thing could happen: he and his -responsibilities would all go to ruin together at the first opportunity. - -The Crimean war had just broken out. Of course there had to be a war, I -said to myself: we couldn’t have peace and give this donkey a chance to -die before he is found out. I waited for the earthquake. It came. And it -made me reel when it did come. He was actually gazetted to a captaincy -in a marching regiment! Better men grow old and gray in the service -before they climb to a sublimity like that. And who could ever have -foreseen that they would go and put such a load of responsibility on -such green and inadequate shoulders? I could just barely have stood it -if they had made him a cornet; but a captain—think of it! I thought my -hair would turn white. - -Consider what I did—I who so loved repose and inaction. I said to -myself, I am responsible to the country for this, and I must go along -with him and protect the country against him as far as I can. So I took -my poor little capital that I had saved up through years of work and -grinding economy, and went with a sigh and bought a cornetcy in his -regiment, and away we went to the field. - -And there—oh dear, it was awful. Blunders?—why, he never did anything -_but_ blunder. But, you see, nobody was in the fellow’s secret—everybody -had him focussed wrong, and necessarily misinterpreted his performance -every time—consequently they took his idiotic blunders for inspirations -of genius; they did, honestly! His mildest blunders were enough to make -a man in his right mind cry; and they did make me cry—and rage and rave -too, privately. And the thing that kept me always in a sweat of -apprehension was the fact that every fresh blunder he made increased the -lustre of his reputation! I kept saying to myself, he’ll get so high, -that when discovery does finally come, it will be like the sun falling -out of the sky. - -He went right along up, from grade to grade, over the dead bodies of his -superiors, until at last, in the hottest moment of the battle of **** -down went our colonel, and my heart jumped into my mouth, for Scoresby -was next in rank! Now for it, said I; we’ll all land in Sheol in ten -minutes, sure. - -The battle was awfully hot; the allies were steadily giving way all over -the field. Our regiment occupied a position that was vital; a blunder -now must be destruction. At this crucial moment, what does this immortal -fool do but detach the regiment from its place and order a charge over a -neighboring hill where there wasn’t a suggestion of an enemy! “There you -go!” I said to myself; “this _is_ the end at last.” - -And away we did go, and were over the shoulder of the hill before the -insane movement could be discovered and stopped. And what did we find? -An entire and unsuspected Russian army in reserve! And what happened? We -were eaten up? That is necessarily what would have happened in -ninety-nine cases out of a hundred. But no; those Russians argued that -no single regiment would come browsing around there at such a time. It -must be the entire English army, and that the sly Russian game was -detected and blocked; so they turned tail, and away they went, -pell-mell, over the hill and down into the field, in wild confusion, and -we after them; they themselves broke the solid Russian centre in the -field, and tore through, and in no time there was the most tremendous -rout you ever saw, and the defeat of the allies was turned into a -sweeping and splendid victory! Marshal Canrobert looked on, dizzy with -astonishment, admiration, and delight; and sent right off for Scoresby, -and hugged him, and decorated him on the field, in presence of all the -armies! - -And what was Scoresby’s blunder that time? Merely the mistaking his -right hand for his left—that was all. An order had come to him to fall -back and support our right; and instead, he fell _forward_ and went over -the hill to the left. But the name he won that day as a marvellous -military genius filled the world with his glory, and that glory will -never fade while history books last. - -He is just as good and sweet and lovable and unpretending as a man can -be, but he doesn’t know enough to come in when it rains. Now that is -absolutely true. He is the supremest ass in the universe; and until half -an hour ago nobody knew it but himself and me. He has been pursued, day -by day and year by year, by a most phenomenal and astonishing luckiness. -He has been a shining soldier in all our wars for a generation; he has -littered his whole military life with blunders, and yet has never -committed one that didn’t make him a knight or a baronet or a lord or -something. Look at his breast; why, he is just clothed in domestic and -foreign decorations. Well, sir, every one of them is the record of some -shouting stupidity or other; and taken together, they are proof that the -very best thing in all this world that can befall a man is to be born -lucky. I say again, as I said at the banquet, Scoresby’s an absolute -fool. - - - - - THE CAPTAIN’S STORY. - - -There was a good deal of pleasant gossip about old Captain “Hurricane” -Jones, of the Pacific Ocean,—peace to his ashes! Two or three of us -present had known him; I, particularly well, for I had made four -sea-voyages with him. He was a very remarkable man. He was born on a -ship; he picked up what little education he had among his shipmates; he -began life in the forecastle, and climbed grade by grade to the -captaincy. More than fifty years of his sixty-five were spent at sea. He -had sailed all oceans, seen all lands, and borrowed a tint from all -climates. When a man has been fifty years at sea, he necessarily knows -nothing of men, nothing of the world but its surface, nothing of the -world’s thought, nothing of the world’s learning but its A B C, and that -blurred and distorted by the unfocussed lenses of an untrained mind. -Such a man is only a gray and bearded child. That is what old Hurricane -Jones was,—simply an innocent, lovable old infant. When his spirit was -in repose he was as sweet and gentle as a girl; when his wrath was up he -was a hurricane that made his nickname seem tamely descriptive. He was -formidable in a fight, for he was of powerful build and dauntless -courage. He was frescoed from head to heel with pictures and mottoes -tattooed in red and blue India ink. I was with him one voyage when he -got his last vacant space tattooed; this vacant space was around his -left ankle. During three days he stumped about the ship with his ankle -bare and swollen, and this legend gleaming red and angry out from a -clouding of India ink: “Virtue is its own R’d.” (There was a lack of -room.) He was deeply and sincerely pious, and swore like a fish-woman. -He considered swearing blameless, because sailors would not understand -an order unillumined by it. He was a profound Biblical scholar,—that is, -he thought he was. He believed everything in the Bible, but he had his -own methods of arriving at his beliefs. He was of the “advanced” school -of thinkers, and applied natural laws to the interpretation of all -miracles, somewhat on the plan of the people who make the six days of -creation six geological epochs, and so forth. Without being aware of it, -he was a rather severe satire on modern scientific religionists. Such a -man as I have been describing is rabidly fond of disquisition and -argument; one knows that without being told it. - -One trip the captain had a clergyman on board, but did not know he was a -clergyman, since the passenger list did not betray the fact. He took a -great liking to this Rev. Mr. Peters, and talked with him a great deal: -told him yarns, gave him toothsome scraps of personal history, and wove -a glittering streak of profanity through his garrulous fabric that was -refreshing to a spirit weary of the dull neutralities of undecorated -speech. One day the captain said, “Peters, do you ever read the Bible?” - -“Well—yes.” - -“I judge it ain’t often, by the way you say it. Now, you tackle it in -dead earnest once, and you’ll find it’ll pay. Don’t you get discouraged, -but hang right on. First, you won’t understand it; but by and by things -will begin to clear up, and then you wouldn’t lay it down to eat.” - -“Yes, I have heard that said.” - -“And it’s so, too. There ain’t a book that begins with it. It lays over -’em all, Peters. There’s some pretty tough things in it,—there ain’t any -getting around that,—but you stick to them and think them out, and when -once you get on the inside everything’s plain as day.” - -“The miracles, too, captain?” - -“Yes, sir! the miracles, too. Every one of them. Now, there’s that -business with the prophets of Baal; like enough that stumped you?” - -“Well, I don’t know but—” - -“Own up, now; it stumped you. Well, I don’t wonder. You hadn’t had any -experience in ravelling such things out, and naturally it was too many -for you. Would you like to have me explain that thing to you, and show -you how to get at the meat of these matters?” - -“Indeed, I would, captain, if you don’t mind.” - -Then the captain proceeded as follows: “I’ll do it with pleasure. First, -you see, I read and read, and thought and thought, till I got to -understand what sort of people they were in the old Bible times, and -then after that it was clear and easy. Now, this was the way I put it -up, concerning Isaac[3] and the prophets of Baal. There was some mighty -sharp men amongst the public characters of that old ancient day, and -Isaac was one of them. Isaac had his failings,—plenty of them, too; it -ain’t for me to apologize for Isaac; he played on the prophets of Baal, -and like enough he was justifiable, considering the odds that was -against him. No, all I say is, ’t wa’n’t any miracle, and that I’ll show -you so’s’t you can see it yourself. - -Footnote 3: - - This is the captain’s own mistake. - -“Well, times had been getting rougher and rougher for prophets,—that is, -prophets of Isaac’s denomination. There were four hundred and fifty -prophets of Baal in the community, and only one Presbyterian; that is, -if Isaac _was_ a Presbyterian, which I reckon he was, but it don’t say. -Naturally, the prophets of Baal took all the trade. Isaac was pretty -low-spirited, I reckon, but he was a good deal of a man, and no doubt he -went a-prophesying around, letting on to be doing a land-office -business, but ’t wa’n’t any use; he couldn’t run any opposition to -amount to anything. By and by things got desperate with him; he sets his -head to work and thinks it all out, and then what does he do? Why, he -begins to throw out hints that the other parties are this and that and -t’other,—nothing very definite, may be, but just kind of undermining -their reputation in a quiet way. This made talk, of course, and finally -got to the king. The king asked Isaac what he meant by his talk. Says -Isaac, ‘Oh, nothing particular; only, can they pray down fire from -heaven on an altar? It ain’t much, maybe, your majesty, only can they -_do_ it? That’s the idea.’ So the king was a good deal disturbed, and he -went to the prophets of Baal, and they said, pretty airy, that if he had -an altar ready, _they_ were ready; and they intimated he better get it -insured, too. - -“So next morning all the children of Israel and their parents and the -other people gathered themselves together. Well, here was that great -crowd of prophets of Baal packed together on one side, and Isaac walking -up and down all alone on the other, putting up his job. When time was -called, Isaac let on to be comfortable and indifferent; told the other -team to take the first innings. So they went at it, the whole four -hundred and fifty, praying around the altar, very hopeful, and doing -their level best. They prayed an hour,—two hours,—three hours,—and so -on, plumb till noon. It wa’n’t any use; they had n’t took a trick. Of -course they felt kind of ashamed before all those people, and well they -might. Now, what would a magnanimous man do? Keep still, wouldn’t he? Of -course. What did Isaac do? He gravelled the prophets of Baal every way -he could think of. Says he, ‘You don’t speak up loud enough; your god’s -asleep, like enough, or may be he’s taking a walk; you want to holler, -you know,’—or words to that effect; I don’t recollect the exact -language. Mind, I don’t apologize for Isaac; he had his faults. - -“Well, the prophets of Baal prayed along the best they knew how all the -afternoon, and never raised a spark. At last, about sundown, they were -all tuckered out, and they owned up and quit. - -“What does Isaac do, now? He steps up and says to some friends of his, -there, ‘Pour four barrels of water on the altar!’ Everybody was -astonished; for the other side had prayed at it dry, you know, and got -whitewashed. They poured it on. Says he, ‘Heave on four more barrels.’ -Then he says, ‘Heave on four more.’ Twelve barrels, you see, altogether. -The water ran all over the altar, and all down the sides, and filled up -a trench around it that would hold a couple of hogsheads,—‘measures,’ it -says; I reckon it means about a hogshead. Some of the people were going -to put on their things and go, for they allowed he was crazy. They -didn’t know Isaac. Isaac knelt down and began to pray: he strung along, -and strung along, about the heathen in distant lands, and about the -sister churches, and about the state and the country at large, and about -those that’s in authority in the government, and all the usual -programme, you know, till everybody had got tired and gone to thinking -about something else, and then, all of a sudden, when nobody was -noticing, he outs with a match and rakes it on the under side of his -leg, and pff! up the whole thing blazes like a house afire! Twelve -barrels of _water_? _Petroleum_, sir, PETROLEUM! that’s what it was!” - -“Petroleum, captain?” - -“Yes, sir; the country was full of it. Isaac knew all about that. You -read the Bible. Don’t you worry about the tough places. They ain’t tough -when you come to think them out and throw light on them. There ain’t a -thing in the Bible but what is true; all you want is to go prayerfully -to work and cipher out how ’t was done.” - - - - - A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE. - - -This is the story which the Major told me, as nearly as I can recall -it:— - -In the winter of 1862–3, I was commandant of Fort Trumbull, at New -London, Conn. Maybe our life there was not so brisk as life at “the -front”; still it was brisk enough, in its way—one’s brains didn’t cake -together there for lack of something to keep them stirring. For one -thing, all the Northern atmosphere at that time was thick with -mysterious rumors—rumors to the effect that rebel spies were flitting -everywhere, and getting ready to blow up our Northern forts, burn our -hotels, send infected clothing into our towns, and all that sort of -thing. You remember it. All this had a tendency to keep us awake, and -knock the traditional dulness out of garrison life. Besides, ours was a -recruiting station—which is the same as saying we hadn’t any time to -waste in dozing, or dreaming, or fooling around. Why, with all our -watchfulness, fifty per cent. of a day’s recruits would leak out of our -hands and give us the slip the same night. The bounties were so -prodigious that a recruit could pay a sentinel three or four hundred -dollars to let him escape, and still have enough of his bounty-money -left to constitute a fortune for a poor man. Yes, as I said before, our -life was not drowsy. - -Well, one day I was in my quarters alone, doing some writing, when a -pale and ragged lad of fourteen or fifteen entered, made a neat bow, and -said,— - -“I believe recruits are received here?” - -“Yes.” - -“Will you please enlist me, sir?” - -“Dear me, no! You are too young, my boy, and too small.” - -A disappointed look came into his face, and quickly deepened into an -expression of despondency. He turned slowly away, as if to go; -hesitated, then faced me again, and said, in a tone which went to my -heart,— - -“I have no home, and not a friend in the world. If you _could_ only -enlist me!” - -But of course the thing was out of the question, and I said so as gently -as I could. Then I told him to sit down by the stove and warm himself, -and added,— - -“You shall have something to eat, presently. You are hungry?” - -He did not answer; he did not need to; the gratitude in his big soft -eyes was more eloquent than any words could have been. He sat down by -the stove, and I went on writing. Occasionally I took a furtive glance -at him. I noticed that his clothes and shoes, although soiled and -damaged, were of good style and material. This fact was suggestive. To -it I added the facts that his voice was low and musical; his eyes deep -and melancholy; his carriage and address gentlemanly; evidently the poor -chap was in trouble. As a result, I was interested. - -However, I became absorbed in my work, by and by, and forgot all about -the boy. I don’t know how long this lasted; but, at length, I happened -to look up. The boy’s back was toward me, but his face was turned in -such a way that I could see one of his cheeks—and down that cheek a rill -of noiseless tears was flowing. - -“God bless my soul!” I said to myself; “I forgot the poor rat was -starving.” Then I made amends for my brutality by saying to him, “Come -along, my lad; you shall dine with _me_; I am alone to-day.” - -He gave me another of those grateful looks, and a happy light broke in -his face. At the table he stood with his hand on his chair-back until I -was seated, then seated himself. I took up my knife and fork and—well, I -simply held them, and kept still; for the boy had inclined his head and -was saying a silent grace. A thousand hallowed memories of home and my -childhood poured in upon me, and I sighed to think how far I had drifted -from religion and its balm for hurt minds, its comfort and solace and -support. - -As our meal progressed, I observed that young Wicklow—Robert Wicklow was -his full name—knew what to do with his napkin; and—well, in a word, I -observed that he was a boy of good breeding; never mind the details. He -had a simple frankness, too, which won upon me. We talked mainly about -himself, and I had no difficulty in getting his history out of him. When -he spoke of his having been born and reared in Louisiana, I warmed to -him decidedly, for I had spent some time down there. I knew all the -“coast” region of the Mississippi, and loved it, and had not been long -enough away from it for my interest in it to begin to pale. The very -names that fell from his lips sounded good to me,—so good that I steered -the talk in directions that would bring them out. Baton Rouge, -Plaquemine, Donaldsonville, Sixty-mile Point, Bonnet-Carre, the -Stock-Landing, Carrollton, the Steamship Landing, the Steamboat Landing, -New Orleans, Tchoupitoulas Street, the Esplanade, the Rue des Bons -Enfants, the St. Charles Hotel, the Tivoli Circle, the Shell Road, Lake -Pontchartrain; and it was particularly delightful to me to hear once -more of the “R. E. Lee,” the “Natchez,” the “Eclipse,” the “General -Quitman,” the “Duncan F. Kenner,” and other old familiar steamboats. It -was almost as good as being back there, these names so vividly -reproduced in my mind the look of the things they stood for. Briefly, -this was little Wicklow’s history:— - -When the war broke out, he and his invalid aunt and his father were -living near Baton Rouge, on a great and rich plantation which had been -in the family for fifty years. The father was a Union man. He was -persecuted in all sorts of ways, but clung to his principles. At last, -one night, masked men burned his mansion down, and the family had to fly -for their lives. They were hunted from place to place, and learned all -there was to know about poverty, hunger, and distress. The invalid aunt -found relief at last: misery and exposure killed her; she died in an -open field, like a tramp, the rain beating upon her and the thunder -booming overhead. Not long afterward, the father was captured by an -armed band; and while the son begged and pleaded, the victim was strung -up before his face. [At this point a baleful light shone in the youth’s -eyes, and he said, with the manner of one who talks to himself: “If I -cannot be enlisted, no matter—I shall find a way—I shall find a way.”] -As soon as the father was pronounced dead, the son was told that if he -was not out of that region within twenty-four hours, it would go hard -with him. That night he crept to the riverside and hid himself near a -plantation landing. By and by the “Duncan F. Kenner” stopped there, and -he swam out and concealed himself in the yawl that was dragging at her -stern. Before daylight the boat reached the Stock-Landing, and he -slipped ashore. He walked the three miles which lay between that point -and the house of an uncle of his in Good-Children Street, in New -Orleans, and then his troubles were over for the time being. But this -uncle was a Union man, too, and before very long he concluded that he -had better leave the South. So he and young Wicklow slipped out of the -country on board a sailing vessel, and in due time reached New York. -They put up at the Astor House. Young Wicklow had a good time of it for -a while, strolling up and down Broadway, and observing the strange -Northern sights; but in the end a change came,—and not for the better. -The uncle had been cheerful at first, but now he began to look troubled -and despondent; moreover, he became moody and irritable; talked of money -giving out, and no way to get more,—“not enough left for one, let alone -two.” Then, one morning, he was missing—did not come to breakfast. The -boy inquired at the office, and was told that the uncle had paid his -bill the night before and gone away—to Boston, the clerk believed, but -was not certain. - -The lad was alone and friendless. He did not know what to do, but -concluded he had better try to follow and find his uncle. He went down -to the steamboat landing; learned that the trifle of money in his pocket -would not carry him to Boston; however, it would carry him to New -London; so he took passage for that port, resolving to trust to -Providence to furnish him means to travel the rest of the way. He had -now been wandering about the streets of New London three days and -nights, getting a bite and a nap here and there for charity’s sake. But -he had given up at last; courage and hope were both gone. If he could -enlist, nobody could be more thankful; if he could not get in as a -soldier, couldn’t he be a drummer-boy? Ah, he would work _so_ hard to -please, and would be so grateful! - -Well, there’s the history of young Wicklow, just as he told it to me, -barring details. I said,— - -“My boy, you are among friends, now,—don’t you be troubled any more.” -How his eyes glistened! I called in Sergeant John Rayburn,—he was from -Hartford; lives in Hartford yet; maybe you know him,—and said, “Rayburn, -quarter this boy with the musicians. I am going to enroll him as a -drummer-boy, and I want you to look after him and see that he is well -treated.” - -Well, of course, intercourse between the commandant of the post and the -drummer-boy came to an end, now; but the poor little friendless chap lay -heavy on my heart, just the same. I kept on the lookout, hoping to see -him brighten up and begin to be cheery and gay; but no, the days went -by, and there was no change. He associated with nobody; he was always -absent-minded, always thinking; his face was always sad. One morning -Rayburn asked leave to speak to me privately. Said he,— - -“I hope I don’t offend, sir; but the truth is, the musicians are in such -a sweat it seems as if somebody’s _got_ to speak.” - -“Why, what is the trouble?” - -“It’s the Wicklow boy, sir. The musicians are down on him to an extent -you can’t imagine.” - -“Well, go on, go on. What has he been doing?” - -“Prayin’, sir.” - -“Praying!” - -“Yes, sir; the musicians haven’t any peace of their life for that boy’s -prayin’. First thing in the morning he’s at it; noons he’s at it; and -nights—well, _nights_ he just lays into ’em like all possessed! Sleep? -Bless you, they _can’t_ sleep: he’s got the floor, as the sayin’ is, and -then when he once gets his supplication-mill a-goin’, there just simply -ain’t any let-up _to_ him. He starts in with the band-master, and he -prays for him; next he takes the head bugler, and he prays for him; next -the bass drum, and he scoops _him_ in; and so on, right straight through -the band, givin’ them all a show, and takin’ that amount of interest in -it which would make you think he thought he warn’t but a little while -for this world, and believed he couldn’t be happy in heaven without he -had a brass band along, and wanted to pick ’em out for himself, so he -could depend on ’em to do up the national tunes in a style suitin’ to -the place. Well, sir, heavin’ boots at him don’t have no effect; it’s -dark in there; and, besides, he don’t pray fair, anyway, but kneels down -behind the big drum; so it don’t make no difference if they _rain_ boots -at him, _he_ don’t give a dern—warbles right along, same as if it was -applause. They sing out, ‘Oh, dry up!’ ‘Give us a rest!’ ‘Shoot him!’ -‘Oh, take a walk!’ and all sorts of such things. But what of it? It -don’t phaze him. _He_ don’t mind it.” After a pause: “Kind of a good -little fool, too; gits up in the mornin’ and carts all that stock of -boots back, and sorts ’em out and sets each man’s pair where they -belong. And they’ve been throwed at him so much now, that he knows every -boot in the band,—can sort ’em out with his eyes shut.” - -After another pause, which I forebore to interrupt,— - -“But the roughest thing about it is, that when he’s done prayin’,—when -he ever _does_ get done,—he pipes up and begins to _sing_. Well, you -know what a honey kind of a voice he’s got when he talks; you know how -it would persuade a cast-iron dog to come down off of a doorstep and -lick his hand. Now if you’ll take my word for it, sir, it ain’t a -circumstance to his singin’! Flute music is harsh to that boy’s singin’. -Oh, he just gurgles it out so soft and sweet and low, there in the dark, -that it makes you think you are in heaven.” - -“What is there ‘rough’ about that?” - -“Ah, that’s just it, sir. You hear him sing - - “‘Just as I am—poor, wretched, blind,’ - -—just you hear him sing that, once, and see if you don’t melt all up and -the water come into your eyes! I don’t care _what_ he sings, it goes -plum straight home to you—it goes deep down to where you _live_—and it -fetches you every time! Just you hear him sing:— - - “‘Child of sin and sorrow, filled with dismay, - Wait not till to-morrow, yield thee to-day; - Grieve not that love - Which, from above’— - -and so on. It makes a body feel like the wickedest, ungratefulest brute -that walks. And when he sings them songs of his about home, and mother, -and childhood, and old friends dead and gone, it fetches everything -before your face that you’ve ever loved and lost in all your life—and -it’s just beautiful, it’s just divine to listen to, sir—but, Lord, Lord, -the heart-break of it! The band—well, they all cry—every rascal of them -blubbers, and don’t try to hide it, either; and first you know, that -very gang that’s been slammin’ boots at that boy will skip out of their -bunks all of a sudden, and rush over in the dark and hug him! Yes, they -do—and slobber all over him, and call him pet names, and beg him to -forgive them. And just at that time, if a regiment was to offer to hurt -a hair of that cub’s head, they’d go for that regiment, if it was a -whole army corps!” - -Another pause. - -“Is that all?” said I. - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Well, dear me, what is the complaint? What do they want done?” - -“Done? Why, bless you, sir, they want you to stop him from _singin’_.” - -“What an idea! You said his music was divine.” - -“That’s just it. It’s _too_ divine. Mortal man can’t stand it. It stirs -a body up so; it turns a body inside out; it racks his feelin’s all to -rags; it makes him feel bad and wicked, and not fit for any place but -perdition. It keeps a body in such an everlastin’ state of repentin’, -that nothin’ don’t taste good and there ain’t no comfort in life. And -then the _cryin’_, you see—every mornin’ they are ashamed to look one -another in the face.” - -“Well, this is an odd case, and a singular complaint. So they really -want the singing stopped?” - -“Yes, sir, that is the idea. They don’t wish to ask too much; they would -like powerful well to have the prayin’ shut down on, or leastways -trimmed off around the edges; but the main thing’s the singin’. If they -can only get the singin’ choked off, they think they can stand the -prayin’, rough as it is to be bullyragged so much that way.” - -I told the sergeant I would take the matter under consideration. That -night I crept into the musicians’ quarters and listened. The sergeant -had not overstated the case. I heard the praying voice pleading in the -dark; I heard the execrations of the harassed men; I heard the rain of -boots whiz through the air, and bang and thump around the big drum. The -thing touched me, but it amused me, too. By and by, after an impressive -silence, came the singing. Lord, the pathos of it, the enchantment of -it! Nothing in the world was ever so sweet, so gracious, so tender, so -holy, so moving. I made my stay very brief; I was beginning to -experience emotions of a sort not proper to the commandant of a -fortress. - -Next day I issued orders which stopped the praying and singing. Then -followed three or four days which were so full of bounty-jumping -excitements and irritations that I never once thought of my drummer-boy. -But now comes Sergeant Rayburn, one morning, and says,— - -“That new boy acts mighty strange, sir.” - -“How?” - -“Well, sir, he’s all the time writing.” - -“Writing? What does he write—letters?” - -“I don’t know, sir; but whenever he’s off duty, he is always poking and -nosing around the fort, all by himself,—blest if I think there’s a hole -or corner in it he hasn’t been into,—and every little while he outs with -pencil and paper and scribbles something down.” - -This gave me a most unpleasant sensation. I wanted to scoff at it, but -it was not a time to scoff at _anything_ that had the least suspicious -tinge about it. Things were happening all around us, in the North, then, -that warned us to be always on the alert, and always suspecting. I -recalled to mind the suggestive fact that this boy was from the -South,—the extreme South, Louisiana,—and the thought was not of a -reassuring nature, under the circumstances. Nevertheless, it cost me a -pang to give the orders which I now gave to Rayburn. I felt like a -father who plots to expose his own child to shame and injury. I told -Rayburn to keep quiet, bide his time, and get me some of those writings -whenever he could manage it without the boy’s finding it out. And I -charged him not to do anything which might let the boy discover that he -was being watched. I also ordered that he allow the lad his usual -liberties, but that he be followed at a distance when he went out into -the town. - -During the next two days, Rayburn reported to me several times. No -success. The boy was still writing, but he always pocketed his paper -with a careless air whenever Rayburn appeared in his vicinity. He had -gone twice to an old deserted stable in the town, remained a minute or -two, and come out again. One could not pooh-pooh these things—they had -an evil look. I was obliged to confess to myself that I was getting -uneasy. I went into my private quarters and sent for my second in -command—an officer of intelligence and judgment, son of General James -Watson Webb. He was surprised and troubled. We had a long talk over the -matter, and came to the conclusion that it would be worth while to -institute a secret search. I determined to take charge of that myself. -So I had myself called at two in the morning; and, pretty soon after, I -was in the musicians’ quarters, crawling along the floor on my stomach -among the snorers. I reached my slumbering waif’s bunk at last, without -disturbing anybody, captured his clothes and kit, and crawled stealthily -back again. When I got to my own quarters, I found Webb there, waiting -and eager to know the result. We made search immediately. The clothes -were a disappointment. In the pockets we found blank paper and a pencil; -nothing else, except a jackknife and such queer odds and ends and -useless trifles as boys hoard and value. We turned to the kit hopefully. -Nothing there but a rebuke for us!—a little Bible with this written on -the fly-leaf: “Stranger, be kind to my boy, for his mother’s sake.” - -I looked at Webb—he dropped his eyes; he looked at me—I dropped mine. -Neither spoke. I put the book reverently back in its place. Presently -Webb got up and went away, without remark. After a little I nerved -myself up to my unpalatable job, and took the plunder back to where it -belonged, crawling on my stomach as before. It seemed the peculiarly -appropriate attitude for the business I was in. - -I was most honestly glad when it was over and done with. - -About noon next day Rayburn came, as usual, to report. I cut him short. -I said,— - -“Let this nonsense be dropped. We are making a bugaboo out of a poor -little cub who has got no more harm in him than a hymn-book.” - -The sergeant looked surprised, and said,— - -“Well, you know it was your orders, sir, and I’ve got some of the -writing.” - -“And what does it amount to? How did you get it?” - -“I peeped through the key-hole, and see him writing. So when I judged he -was about done, I made a sort of a little cough, and I see him crumple -it up and throw it in the fire, and look all around to see if anybody -was coming. Then he settled back as comfortable and careless as -anything. Then I comes in, and passes the time of day pleasantly, and -sends him of an errand. He never looked uneasy, but went right along. It -was a coal-fire and new-built; the writing had gone over behind a chunk, -out of sight; but I got it out; there it is; it ain’t hardly scorched, -you see.” - -I glanced at the paper and took in a sentence or two. Then I dismissed -the sergeant and told him to send Webb to me. Here is the paper in -full:— - - “FORT TRUMBULL, the 8th. - - “COLONEL,—I was mistaken as to the calibre of the three guns I ended - my list with. They are 18–pounders; all the rest of the armament is - as I stated. The garrison remains as before reported, except that - the two light infantry companies that were to be detached for - service at the front are to stay here for the present—can’t find out - for how long, just now, but will soon. We are satisfied that, all - things considered, matters had better be postponed un—” - -There it broke off—there is where Rayburn coughed and interrupted the -writer. All my affection for the boy, all my respect for him and charity -for his forlorn condition, withered in a moment under the blight of this -revelation of cold-blooded baseness. - -But never mind about that. Here was business,—business that required -profound and immediate attention, too. Webb and I turned the subject -over and over, and examined it all around. Webb said,— - -“What a pity he was interrupted! Something is going to be postponed -until—when? And what _is_ the something? Possibly he would have -mentioned it, the pious little reptile!” - -“Yes,” I said, “we have missed a trick. And who is ‘_we_,’ in the -letter? Is it conspirators inside the fort or outside?” - -That “we” was uncomfortably suggestive. However, it was not worth while -to be guessing around that, so we proceeded to matters more practical. -In the first place, we decided to double the sentries and keep the -strictest possible watch. Next, we thought of calling Wicklow in and -making him divulge everything; but that did not seem wisest until other -methods should fail. We must have some more of the writings; so we began -to plan to that end. And now we had an idea: Wicklow never went to the -post-office,—perhaps the deserted stable was his post-office. We sent -for my confidential clerk—a young German named Sterne, who was a sort of -natural detective—and told him all about the case and ordered him to go -to work on it. Within the hour we got word that Wicklow was writing -again. Shortly afterward, word came that he had asked leave to go out -into the town. He was detained awhile, and meantime Sterne hurried off -and concealed himself in the stable. By and by he saw Wicklow saunter -in, look about him, then hide something under some rubbish in a corner, -and take leisurely leave again. Sterne pounced upon the hidden article—a -letter—and brought it to us. It had no superscription and no signature. -It repeated what we had already read, and then went on to say:— - - “We think it best to postpone till the two companies are gone. I - mean the four inside think so; have not communicated with the - others—afraid of attracting attention. I say four because we have - lost two; they had hardly enlisted and got inside when they were - shipped off to the front. It will be absolutely necessary to have - two in their places. The two that went were the brothers from - Thirty-mile Point. I have something of the greatest importance to - reveal, but must not trust it to this method of communication; will - try the other.” - -“The little scoundrel!” said Webb; “who _could_ have supposed he was a -spy? However, never mind about that; let us add up our particulars, such -as they are, and see how the case stands to date. First, we’ve got a -rebel spy in our midst, whom we know; secondly, we’ve got three more in -our midst whom we don’t know; thirdly, these spies have been introduced -among us through the simple and easy process of enlisting as soldiers in -the Union army—and evidently two of them have got sold at it, and been -shipped off to the front; fourthly, there are assistant spies -‘outside’—number indefinite; fifthly, Wicklow has very important matter -which he is afraid to communicate by the ‘present method’—will ‘try the -other.’ That is the case, as it now stands. Shall we collar Wicklow and -make him confess? Or shall we catch the person who removes the letters -from the stable and make _him_ tell? Or shall we keep still and find out -more?” - -We decided upon the last course. We judged that we did not need to -proceed to summary measures now, since it was evident that the -conspirators were likely to wait till those two light infantry companies -were out of the way. We fortified Sterne with pretty ample powers, and -told him to use his best endeavors to find out Wicklow’s “other method” -of communication. We meant to play a bold game; and to this end we -proposed to keep the spies in an unsuspecting state as long as possible. -So we ordered Sterne to return to the stable immediately, and, if he -found the coast clear, to conceal Wicklow’s letter where it was before, -and leave it there for the conspirators to get. - -The night closed down without further event. It was cold and dark and -sleety, with a raw wind blowing; still I turned out of my warm bed -several times during the night, and went the rounds in person, to see -that all was right and that every sentry was on the alert. I always -found them wide awake and watchful; evidently whispers of mysterious -dangers had been floating about, and the doubling of the guards had been -a kind of indorsement of those rumors. Once, toward morning, I -encountered Webb, breasting his way against the bitter wind, and learned -then that he, also, had been the rounds several times to see that all -was going right. - -Next day’s events hurried things up somewhat. Wicklow wrote another -letter; Sterne preceded him to the stable and saw him deposit it; -captured it as soon as Wicklow was out of the way, then slipped out and -followed the little spy at a distance, with a detective in plain clothes -at his own heels, for we thought it judicious to have the law’s -assistance handy in case of need. Wicklow went to the railway station, -and waited around till the train from New York came in, then stood -scanning the faces of the crowd as they poured out of the cars. -Presently an aged gentleman, with green goggles and a cane, came limping -along, stopped in Wicklow’s neighborhood, and began to look about him -expectantly. In an instant Wicklow darted forward, thrust an envelope -into his hand, then glided away and disappeared in the throng. The next -instant Sterne had snatched the letter; and as he hurried past the -detective, he said: “Follow the old gentleman—don’t lose sight of him.” -Then Sterne skurried out with the crowd, and came straight to the fort. - -We sat with closed doors, and instructed the guard outside to allow no -interruption. - -First we opened the letter captured at the stable. It read as follows:— - - “HOLY ALLIANCE,—Found, in the usual gun, commands from the Master, - left there last night, which set aside the instructions heretofore - received from the subordinate quarter. Have left in the gun the - usual indication that the commands reached the proper hand—” - -Webb, interrupting: “Isn’t the boy under constant surveillance now?” - -I said yes; he had been under strict surveillance ever since the -capturing of his former letter. - -“Then how could he put anything into a gun, or take anything out of it, -and not get caught?” - -“Well,” I said, “I don’t like the look of that very well.” - -“I don’t, either,” said Webb. “It simply means that there are -conspirators among the very sentinels. Without their connivance in some -way or other, the thing couldn’t have been done.” - -I sent for Rayburn, and ordered him to examine the batteries and see -what he could find. The reading of the letter was then resumed:— - - “The new commands are peremptory, and require that the MMMM shall be - FFFFF at 3 o’clock to-morrow morning. Two hundred will arrive, in - small parties, by train and otherwise, from various directions, and - will be at appointed place at right time. I will distribute the sign - to-day. Success is apparently sure, though something must have got - out, for the sentries have been doubled, and the chiefs went the - rounds last night several times. W. W. comes from southerly to-day - and will receive secret orders—by the other method. All six of you - must be in 166 at sharp 2 A. M. You will find B. B. there, who will - give you detailed instructions. Password same as last time, only - reversed—put first syllable last and last syllable first. REMEMBER - XXXX. Do not forget. Be of good heart; before the next sun rises you - will be heroes; your fame will be permanent; you will have added a - deathless page to history. Amen.” - -“Thunder and Mars,” said Webb, “but we are getting into mighty hot -quarters, as I look at it!” - -I said there was no question but that things were beginning to wear a -most serious aspect. Said I,— - -“A desperate enterprise is on foot, that is plain enough. To-night is -the time set for it,—that, also, is plain. The exact nature of the -enterprise—I mean the manner of it—is hidden away under those blind -bunches of M’s and F’s, but the end and aim, I judge, is the surprise -and capture of the post. We must move quick and sharp now. I think -nothing can be gained by continuing our clandestine policy as regards -Wicklow. We _must_ know, and as soon as possible, too, where ‘166’ is -located, so that we can make a descent upon the gang there at 2 A. M.; -and doubtless the quickest way to get that information will be to force -it out of that boy. But first of all, and before we make any important -move, I must lay the facts before the War Department, and ask for -plenary powers.” - -The despatch was prepared in cipher to go over the wires; I read it, -approved it, and sent it along. - -We presently finished discussing the letter which was under -consideration, and then opened the one which had been snatched from the -lame gentleman. It contained nothing but a couple of perfectly blank -sheets of note-paper! It was a chilly check to our hot eagerness and -expectancy. We felt as blank as the paper, for a moment, and twice as -foolish. But it was for a moment only; for, of course, we immediately -afterward thought of “sympathetic ink.” We held the paper close to the -fire and watched for the characters to come out, under the influence of -the heat; but nothing appeared but some faint tracings, which we could -make nothing of. We then called in the surgeon, and sent him off with -orders to apply every test he was acquainted with till he got the right -one, and report the contents of the letter to me the instant he brought -them to the surface. This check was a confounded annoyance, and we -naturally chafed under the delay; for we had fully expected to get out -of that letter some of the most important secrets of the plot. - -Now appeared Sergeant Rayburn, and drew from his pocket a piece of twine -string about a foot long, with three knots tied in it, and held it up. - -“I got it out of a gun on the water-front,” said he. “I took the -tompions out of all the guns and examined close; this string was the -only thing that was in any gun.” - -So this bit of string was Wicklow’s “sign” to signify that the -“Master’s” commands had not miscarried. I ordered that every sentinel -who had served near that gun during the past twenty-four hours be put in -confinement at once and separately, and not allowed to communicate with -any one without my privity and consent. - -A telegram now came from the Secretary of War. It read as follows:— - - “Suspend _habeas corpus_. Put town under martial law. Make necessary - arrests. Act with vigor and promptness. Keep the Department - informed.” - -We were now in shape to go to work. I sent out and had the lame -gentleman quietly arrested and as quietly brought into the fort; I -placed him under guard, and forbade speech to him or from him. He was -inclined to bluster at first, but he soon dropped that. - -Next came word that Wicklow had been seen to give something to a couple -of our new recruits; and that, as soon as his back was turned, these had -been seized and confined. Upon each was found a small bit of paper, -bearing these words and signs in pencil:— - - +-------------------------+ - | EAGLE’S THIRD FLIGHT. | - | REMEMBER XXXX. | - | 166. | - +-------------------------+ - -In accordance with instructions, I telegraphed to the Department, in -cipher, the progress made, and also described the above ticket. We -seemed to be in a strong enough position now to venture to throw off the -mask as regarded Wicklow; so I sent for him. I also sent for and -received back the letter written in sympathetic ink, the surgeon -accompanying it with the information that thus far it had resisted his -tests, but that there were others he could apply when I should be ready -for him to do so. - -Presently Wicklow entered. He had a somewhat worn and anxious look, but -he was composed and easy, and if he suspected anything it did not appear -in his face or manner. I allowed him to stand there a moment or two, -then I said pleasantly,— - -“My boy, why do you go to that old stable so much?” - -He answered, with simple demeanor and without embarrassment,— - -“Well, I hardly know, sir; there isn’t any particular reason, except -that I like to be alone, and I amuse myself there.” - -“You amuse yourself there, do you?” - -“Yes, sir,” he replied, as innocently and simply as before. - -“Is that all you do there?” - -“Yes, sir,” he said, looking up with childlike wonderment in his big -soft eyes. - -“You are _sure_?” - -“Yes, sir, sure.” - -After a pause, I said,— - -“Wicklow, why do you write so much?” - -“I? I do not write much, sir.” - -“You don’t?” - -“No, sir. Oh, if you mean scribbling, I _do_ scribble some, for -amusement.” - -“What do you do with your scribblings?” - -“Nothing, sir—throw them away.” - -“Never send them to anybody?” - -“No, sir.” - -I suddenly thrust before him the letter to the “Colonel.” He started -slightly, but immediately composed himself. A slight tinge spread itself -over his cheek. - -“How came you to send _this_ piece of scribbling, then?” - -“I nev—never meant any harm, sir.” - -“Never meant any harm! You betray the armament and condition of the -post, and mean no harm by it?” - -He hung his head and was silent. - -“Come, speak up, and stop lying. Whom was this letter intended for?” - -He showed signs of distress, now; but quickly collected himself, and -replied, in a tone of deep earnestness,— - -“I will tell you the truth, sir—the whole truth. The letter was never -intended for anybody at all. I wrote it only to amuse myself. I see the -error and foolishness of it, now,—but it is the only offence, sir, upon -my honor.” - -“Ah, I am glad of that. It is dangerous to be writing such letters. I -hope you are sure this is the only one you wrote?” - -“Yes, sir, perfectly sure.” - -His hardihood was stupefying. He told that lie with as sincere a -countenance as any creature ever wore. I waited a moment to soothe down -my rising temper, and then said,— - -“Wicklow, jog your memory now, and see if you can help me with two or -three little matters which I wish to inquire about.” - -“I will do my very best, sir.” - -“Then, to begin with—who is ‘the Master’?” - -It betrayed him into darting a startled glance at our faces, but that -was all. He was serene again in a moment, and tranquilly answered,— - -“I do not know, sir.” - -“You do not know?” - -“I do not know.” - -“You are _sure_ you do not know?” - -He tried hard to keep his eyes on mine, but the strain was too great; -his chin sunk slowly toward his breast and he was silent; he stood there -nervously fumbling with a button, an object to command one’s pity, in -spite of his base acts. Presently I broke the stillness with the -question,— - -“Who are the ‘Holy Alliance’?” - -His body shook visibly, and he made a slight random gesture with his -hands, which to me was like the appeal of a despairing creature for -compassion. But he made no sound. He continued to stand with his face -bent toward the ground. As we sat gazing at him, waiting for him to -speak, we saw the big tears begin to roll down his cheeks. But he -remained silent. After a little, I said,— - -“You must answer me, my boy, and you must tell me the truth. Who are the -Holy Alliance?” - -He wept on in silence. Presently I said, somewhat sharply,— - -“Answer the question!” - -He struggled to get command of his voice; and then, looking up -appealingly, forced the words out between his sobs,— - -“Oh, have pity on me, sir! I cannot answer it, for I do not know.” - -“What!” - -“Indeed, sir, I am telling the truth. I never have heard of the Holy -Alliance till this moment. On my honor, sir, this is so.” - -“Good heavens! Look at this second letter of yours; there, do you see -those words, ‘_Holy Alliance_?’ What do you say now?” - -He gazed up into my face with the hurt look of one upon whom a great -wrong had been wrought, then said, feelingly,— - -“This is some cruel joke, sir; and how could they play it upon me, who -have tried all I could to do right, and have never done harm to anybody? -Some one has counterfeited my hand; I never wrote a line of this; I have -never seen this letter before!” - -“Oh, you unspeakable liar! Here, what do you say to _this_?”—and I -snatched the sympathetic ink letter from my pocket and thrust it before -his eyes. - -His face turned white!—as white as a dead person’s. He wavered slightly -in his tracks, and put his hand against the wall to steady himself. -After a moment he asked, in so faint a voice that it was hardly -audible,— - -“Have you-read it?” - -Our faces must have answered the truth before my lips could get out a -false “yes,” for I distinctly saw the courage come back into that boy’s -eyes. I waited for him to say something, but he kept silent. So at last -I said,— - -“Well, what have you to say as to the revelations in this letter?” - -He answered, with perfect composure,— - -“Nothing, except that they are entirely harmless and innocent; they can -hurt nobody.” - -I was in something of a corner now, as I couldn’t disprove his -assertion. I did not know exactly how to proceed. However, an idea came -to my relief, and I said,— - -“You are sure you know nothing about the Master and the Holy Alliance, -and did not write the letter which you say is a forgery?” - -“Yes, sir—sure.” - -I slowly drew out the knotted twine string and held it up without -speaking. He gazed at it indifferently, then looked at me inquiringly. -My patience was sorely taxed. However, I kept my temper down, and said -in my usual voice,— - -“Wicklow, do you see this?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“What is it?” - -“It seems to be a piece of string.” - -“_Seems?_ It _is_ a piece of string. Do you recognize it?” - -“No, sir,” he replied, as calmly as the words could be uttered. - -His coolness was perfectly wonderful! I paused now for several seconds, -in order that the silence might add impressiveness to what I was about -to say; then I rose and laid my hand on his shoulder, and said gravely,— - -“It will do you no good, poor boy, none in the world. This sign to the -‘Master,’ this knotted string, found in one of the guns on the -water-front—” - -“Found _in_ the gun! Oh, no, no, no! do not say _in_ the gun, but in a -crack in the tompion!—it _must_ have been in the crack!” and down he -went on his knees and clasped his hands and lifted up a face that was -pitiful to see, so ashy it was, and wild with terror. - -“No, it was _in_ the gun.” - -“Oh, something has gone wrong! My God, I am lost!” and he sprang up and -darted this way and that, dodging the hands that were put out to catch -him, and doing his best to escape from the place. But of course escape -was impossible. Then he flung himself on his knees again, crying with -all his might, and clasped me around the legs; and so he clung to me and -begged and pleaded, saying, “Oh, have pity on me! Oh, be merciful to me! -Do not betray me; they would not spare my life a moment! Protect me, -save me. I will confess everything!” - -It took us some time to quiet him down and modify his fright, and get -him into something like a rational frame of mind. Then I began to -question him, he answering humbly, with downcast eyes, and from time to -time swabbing away his constantly flowing tears. - -“So you are at heart a rebel?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“And a spy?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“And have been acting under distinct orders from outside?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Willingly?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“_Gladly_, perhaps?” - -“Yes, sir; it would do no good to deny it. The South is my country; my -heart is Southern, and it is all in her cause.” - -“Then the tale you told me of your wrongs and the persecution of your -family was made up for the occasion?” - -“They—they told me to say it, sir.” - -“And you would betray and destroy those who pitied and sheltered you. Do -you comprehend how base you are, you poor misguided thing?” - -He replied with sobs only. - -“Well, let that pass. To business. Who is the ‘Colonel,’ and where is -he?” - -He began to cry hard, and tried to beg off from answering. He said he -would be killed if he told. I threatened to put him in the dark cell and -lock him up if he did not come out with the information. At the same -time I promised to protect him from all harm if he made a clean breast. -For all answer, he closed his mouth firmly and put on a stubborn air -which I could not bring him out of. At last I started with him; but a -single glance into the dark cell converted him. He broke into a passion -of weeping and supplicating, and declared he would tell everything. - -So I brought him back, and he named the “Colonel,” and described him -particularly. Said he would be found at the principal hotel in the town, -in citizen’s dress. I had to threaten him again, before he would -describe and name the “Master.” Said the Master would be found at No. 15 -Bond Street, New York, passing under the name of R. F. Gaylord. I -telegraphed name and description to the chief of police of the -metropolis, and asked that Gaylord be arrested and held till I could -send for him. - -“Now,” said I, “it seems that there are several of the conspirators -‘outside,’ presumably in New London. Name and describe them.” - -He named and described three men and two women,—all stopping at the -principal hotel. I sent out quietly, and had them and the “Colonel” -arrested and confined in the fort. - -“Next, I want to know all about your three fellow-conspirators who are -here in the fort.” - -He was about to dodge me with a falsehood, I thought; but I produced the -mysterious bits of paper which had been found upon two of them, and this -had a salutary effect upon him. I said we had possession of two of the -men, and he must point out the third. This frightened him badly, and he -cried out,— - -“Oh, please don’t make me; he would kill me on the spot!” - -I said that that was all nonsense; I would have somebody near by to -protect him, and, besides, the men should be assembled without arms. I -ordered all the raw recruits to be mustered, and then the poor trembling -little wretch went out and stepped along down the line, trying to look -as indifferent as possible. Finally he spoke a single word to one of the -men, and before he had gone five steps the man was under arrest. - -As soon as Wicklow was with us again, I had those three men brought in. -I made one of them stand forward, and said,— - -“Now, Wicklow, mind, not a shade’s divergence from the exact truth. Who -is this man, and what do you know about him?” - -Being “in for it,” he cast consequences aside, fastened his eyes on the -man’s face, and spoke straight along without hesitation,—to the -following effect. - -“His real name is George Bristow. He is from New Orleans; was second -mate of the coast-packet ‘Capitol,’ two years ago; is a desperate -character, and has served two terms for manslaughter,—one for killing a -deck-hand named Hyde with a capstan-bar, and one for killing a -roustabout for refusing to heave the lead, which is no part of a -roustabout’s business. He is a spy, and was sent here by the Colonel, to -act in that capacity. He was third mate of the ‘St. Nicholas,’ when she -blew up in the neighborhood of Memphis, in ’58, and came near being -lynched for robbing the dead and wounded while they were being taken -ashore in an empty wood-boat.” - -And so forth and so on—he gave the man’s biography in full. When he had -finished, I said to the man,— - -“What have you to say to this?” - -“Barring your presence, sir, it is the infernalest lie that ever was -spoke!” - -I sent him back into confinement, and called the others forward in turn. -Same result. The boy gave a detailed history of each, without ever -hesitating for a word or a fact; but all I could get out of either -rascal was the indignant assertion that it was all a lie. They would -confess nothing. I returned them to captivity, and brought out the rest -of my prisoners, one by one. Wicklow told all about them—what towns in -the South they were from, and every detail of their connection with the -conspiracy. - -But they all denied his facts, and not one of them confessed a thing. -The men raged, the women cried. According to their stories, they were -all innocent people from out West, and loved the Union above all things -in this world. I locked the gang up, in disgust, and fell to catechising -Wicklow once more. - -“Where is No. 166, and who is B. B.?” - -But _there_ he was determined to draw the line. Neither coaxing nor -threats had any effect upon him. Time was flying—it was necessary to -institute sharp measures. So I tied him up a-tiptoe by the thumbs. As -the pain increased, it wrung screams from him which were almost more -than I could bear. But I held my ground, and pretty soon he shrieked -out,— - -“Oh, _please_ let me down, and I will tell!” - -“No—you’ll tell _before_ I let you down.” - -Every instant was agony to him, now, so out it came,— - -“No. 166, Eagle Hotel!”—naming a wretched tavern down by the water, a -resort of common laborers, ’longshoremen, and less reputable folk. - -So I released him, and then demanded to know the object of the -conspiracy. - -“To take the fort to-night,” said he, doggedly and sobbing. - -“Have I got all the chiefs of the conspiracy?” - -“No. You’ve got all except those that are to meet at 166.” - -“What does ‘Remember XXXX’ mean?” - -No reply. - -“What is the password to No. 166?” - -No reply. - -“What do those bunches of letters mean,—‘FFFFF’ and ‘MMMM’? Answer! or -you will catch it again.” - -“I never _will_ answer! I will die first. Now do what you please.” - -“Think what you are saying, Wicklow. Is it final?” - -He answered steadily, and without a quiver in his voice,— - -“It is final. As sure as I love my wronged country and hate everything -this Northern sun shines on, I will die before I will reveal those -things.” - -I triced him up by the thumbs again. When the agony was full upon him, -it was heart-breaking to hear the poor thing’s shrieks, but we got -nothing else out of him. To every question he screamed the same reply: -“I can die, and I _will_ die; but I will never tell.” - -Well, we had to give it up. We were convinced that he certainly would -die rather than confess. So we took him down and imprisoned him, under -strict guard. - -Then for some hours we busied ourselves with sending telegrams to the -War Department, and with making preparations for a descent upon No. 166. - -It was stirring times, that black and bitter night. Things had leaked -out, and the whole garrison was on the alert. The sentinels were -trebled, and nobody could move, outside or in, without being brought to -a stand with a musket levelled at his head. However, Webb and I were -less concerned now than we had previously been, because of the fact that -the conspiracy must necessarily be in a pretty crippled condition, since -so many of its principals were in our clutches. - -I determined to be at No. 166 in good season, capture and gag B. B., and -be on hand for the rest when they arrived. At about a quarter past one -in the morning I crept out of the fortress with half a dozen stalwart -and gamy U.S. regulars at my heels—and the boy Wicklow, with his hands -tied behind him. I told him we were going to No. 166, and that if I -found he had lied again and was misleading us, he would have to show us -the right place or suffer the consequences. - -We approached the tavern stealthily and reconnoitred. A light was -burning in the small bar-room, the rest of the house was dark. I tried -the front door; it yielded, and we softly entered, closing the door -behind us. Then we removed our shoes, and I led the way to the bar-room. -The German landlord sat there, asleep in his chair. I woke him gently, -and told him to take off his boots and precede us; warning him at the -same time to utter no sound. He obeyed without a murmur, but evidently -he was badly frightened. I ordered him to lead the way to 166. We -ascended two or three flights of stairs as softly as a file of cats; and -then, having arrived near the farther end of a long hall, we came to a -door through the glazed transom of which we could discern the glow of a -dim light from within. The landlord felt for me in the dark and -whispered me that that was 166. I tried the door—it was locked on the -inside. I whispered an order to one of my biggest soldiers; we set our -ample shoulders to the door and with one heave we burst it from its -hinges. I caught a half-glimpse of a figure in a bed—saw its head dart -toward the candle; out went the light, and we were in pitch darkness. -With one big bound I lit on that bed and pinned its occupant down with -my knees. My prisoner struggled fiercely, but I got a grip on his throat -with my left hand, and that was a good assistance to my knees in holding -him down. Then straightway I snatched out my revolver, cocked it, and -laid the cold barrel warningly against his cheek. - -“Now somebody strike a light!” said I. “I’ve got him safe.” - -It was done. The flame of the match burst up. I looked at my captive, -and, by George, it was a young woman! - -I let go and got off the bed, feeling pretty sheepish. Everybody stared -stupidly at his neighbor. Nobody had any wit or sense left, so sudden -and overwhelming had been the surprise. The young woman began to cry, -and covered her face with the sheet. The landlord said, meekly,— - -“My daughter, she has been doing something that is not right, _nicht -wahr_?” - -“Your daughter? Is she your daughter?” - -“Oh, yes, she is my daughter. She is just to-night come home from -Cincinnati a little bit sick.” - -“Confound it, that boy has lied again. This is not the right 166; this -is not B. B. Now, Wicklow, you will find the correct 166 for us, -or—hello! where is that boy?” - -Gone, as sure as guns! And, what is more, we failed to find a trace of -him. Here was an awkward predicament. I cursed my stupidity in not tying -him to one of the men; but it was of no use to bother about that now. -What should I do in the present circumstances?—that was the question. -That girl _might_ be B. B., after all. I did not believe it, but still -it would not answer to take unbelief for proof. So I finally put my men -in a vacant room across the hall from 166, and told them to capture -anybody and everybody that approached the girl’s room, and to keep the -landlord with them, and under strict watch, until further orders. Then I -hurried back to the fort to see if all was right there yet. - -Yes, all was right. And all remained right. I stayed up all night to -make sure of that. Nothing happened. I was unspeakably glad to see the -dawn come again, and be able to telegraph the Department that the Stars -and Stripes still floated over Fort Trumbull. - -An immense pressure was lifted from my breast. Still I did not relax -vigilance, of course, nor effort either; the case was too grave for -that. I had up my prisoners, one by one, and harried them by the hour, -trying to get them to confess, but it was a failure. They only gnashed -their teeth and tore their hair, and revealed nothing. - -About noon came tidings of my missing boy. He had been seen on the road, -tramping westward, some eight miles out, at six in the morning. I -started a cavalry lieutenant and a private on his track at once. They -came in sight of him twenty miles out. He had climbed a fence and was -wearily dragging himself across a slushy field toward a large -old-fashioned mansion in the edge of a village. They rode through a bit -of woods, made a detour, and closed up on the house from the opposite -side; then dismounted and skurried into the kitchen. Nobody there. They -slipped into the next room, which was also unoccupied; the door from -that room into the front or sitting-room was open. They were about to -step through it when they heard a low voice; it was somebody praying. So -they halted reverently, and the lieutenant put his head in and saw an -old man and an old woman kneeling in a corner of that sitting-room. It -was the old man that was praying, and just as he was finishing his -prayer, the Wicklow boy opened the front door and stepped in. Both of -those old people sprang at him and smothered him with embraces, -shouting,— - -“Our boy! our darling! God be praised. The lost is found! He that was -dead is alive again!” - -Well, sir, what do you think! That young imp was born and reared on that -homestead, and had never been five miles away from it in all his life, -till the fortnight before he loafed into my quarters and gulled me with -that maudlin yarn of his! It’s as true as gospel. That old man was his -father—a learned old retired clergyman; and that old lady was his -mother. - -Let me throw in a word or two of explanation concerning that boy and his -performances. It turned out that he was a ravenous devourer of dime -novels and sensation-story papers—therefore, dark mysteries and gaudy -heroisms were just in his line. Then he had read newspaper reports of -the stealthy goings and comings of rebel spies in our midst, and of -their lurid purposes and their two or three startling achievements, till -his imagination was all aflame on that subject. His constant comrade for -some months had been a Yankee youth of much tongue and lively fancy, who -had served for a couple of years as “mud clerk” (that is, subordinate -purser) on certain of the packet-boats plying between New Orleans and -points two or three hundred miles up the Mississippi—hence his easy -facility in handling the names and other details pertaining to that -region. Now I had spent two or three months in that part of the country -before the war; and I knew just enough about it to be easily taken in by -that boy, whereas a born Louisianian would probably have caught him -tripping before he had talked fifteen minutes. Do you know the reason he -said he would rather die than explain certain of his treasonable -enigmas? Simply because he _couldn’t_ explain them!—they had no meaning; -he had fired them out of his imagination without forethought or -afterthought; and so, upon sudden call, he wasn’t able to invent an -explanation of them. For instance, he couldn’t reveal what was hidden in -the “sympathetic ink” letter, for the ample reason that there wasn’t -anything hidden in it; it was blank paper only. He hadn’t put anything -into a gun, and had never intended to—for his letters were all written -to imaginary persons, and when he hid one in the stable he always -removed the one he had put there the day before; so he was not -acquainted with that knotted string, since he was seeing it for the -first time when I showed it to him; but as soon as I had let him find -out where it came from, he straightway adopted it, in his romantic -fashion, and got some fine effects out of it. He invented Mr. “Gaylord;” -there wasn’t any 15 Bond Street, just then—it had been pulled down three -months before. He invented the “Colonel;” he invented the glib histories -of those unfortunates whom I captured and confronted with him; he -invented “B. B.;” he even invented No. 166, one may say, for he didn’t -know there _was_ such a number in the Eagle Hotel until we went there. -He stood ready to invent anybody or anything whenever it was wanted. If -I called for “outside” spies, he promptly described strangers whom he -had seen at the hotel, and whose names he had happened to hear. Ah, he -lived in a gorgeous, mysterious, romantic world during those few -stirring days, and I think it was _real_ to him, and that he enjoyed it -clear down to the bottom of his heart. - -But he made trouble enough for us, and just no end of humiliation. You -see, on account of him we had fifteen or twenty people under arrest and -confinement in the fort, with sentinels before their doors. A lot of the -captives were soldiers and such, and to them I didn’t have to apologize; -but the rest were first-class citizens, from all over the country, and -no amount of apologies was sufficient to satisfy them. They just fumed -and raged and made no end of trouble! And those two ladies,—one was an -Ohio Congressman’s wife, the other a Western bishop’s sister,—well, the -scorn and ridicule and angry tears they poured out on me made up a -keepsake that was likely to make me remember them for a considerable -time,—and I shall. That old lame gentleman with the goggles was a -college president from Philadelphia, who had come up to attend his -nephew’s funeral. He had never seen young Wicklow before, of course. -Well, he not only missed the funeral, and got jailed as a rebel spy, but -Wicklow had stood up there in my quarters and coldly described him as a -counterfeiter, nigger-trader, horse-thief, and fire-bug from the most -notorious rascal-nest in Galveston; and this was a thing which that poor -old gentleman couldn’t seem to get over at all. - -And the War Department! But, O my soul, let’s draw the curtain over that -part! - - Note.—I showed my manuscript to the Major, and he said: “Your - unfamiliarity with military matters has betrayed you into some - little mistakes. Still, they are picturesque ones—let them go; - military men will smile at them, the rest won’t detect them. You - have got the main facts of the history right, and have set them down - just about as they occurred.”—M. T. - - - - - MRS. McWILLIAMS AND THE LIGHTNING. - - -Well, sir,—continued Mr. McWilliams, for this was not the beginning of -his talk;—the fear of lightning is one of the most distressing -infirmities a human being can be afflicted with. It is mostly confined -to women; but now and then you find it in a little dog, and sometimes in -a man. It is a particularly distressing infirmity, for the reason that -it takes the sand out of a person to an extent which no other fear can, -and it can’t be _reasoned_ with, and neither can it be shamed out of a -person. A woman who could face the very devil himself—or a mouse—loses -her grip and goes all to pieces in front of a flash of lightning. Her -fright is something pitiful to see. - -Well, as I was telling you, I woke up, with that smothered and -unlocatable cry of “Mortimer! Mortimer!” wailing in my ears; and as soon -as I could scrape my faculties together I reached over in the dark and -then said,— - -“Evangeline, is that you calling? What is the matter? Where are you?” - -“Shut up in the boot-closet. You ought to be ashamed to lie there and -sleep so, and such an awful storm going on.” - -“Why, how _can_ one be ashamed when he is asleep? It is unreasonable; a -man _can’t_ be ashamed when he is asleep, Evangeline.” - -“You never try, Mortimer,—you know very well you never try.” - -I caught the sound of muffled sobs. - -That sound smote dead the sharp speech that was on my lips, and I -changed it to— - -“I’m sorry, dear,—I’m truly sorry. I never meant to act so. Come back -and—” - -“MORTIMER!” - -“Heavens! what is the matter, my love?” - -“Do you mean to say you are in that bed yet?” - -“Why, of course.” - -“Come out of it instantly. I should think you would take some _little_ -care of your life, for _my_ sake and the children’s, if you will not for -your own.” - -“But my love—” - -“Don’t talk to me, Mortimer. You _know_ there is no place so dangerous -as a bed, in such a thunder-storm as this,—all the books say that; yet -there you would lie, and deliberately throw away your life,—for goodness -knows what, unless for the sake of arguing and arguing, and—” - -“But, confound it, Evangeline, I’m _not_ in the bed, _now_. I’m—” - -[Sentence interrupted by a sudden glare of lightning, followed by a -terrified little scream from Mrs. McWilliams and a tremendous blast of -thunder.] - -“There! You see the result. Oh, Mortimer, how _can_ you be so profligate -as to swear at such a time as this?” - -“I _didn’t_ swear. And that _wasn’t_ a result of it, any way. It would -have come, just the same, if I hadn’t said a word; and you know very -well, Evangeline,—at least you ought to know,—that when the atmosphere -is charged with electricity—” - -“Oh, yes, now argue it, and argue it, and argue it!—I don’t see how you -can act so, when you _know_ there is not a lightning-rod on the place, -and your poor wife and children are absolutely at the mercy of -Providence. What _are_ you doing?—lighting a match at such a time as -this! Are you stark mad?” - -“Hang it, woman, where’s the harm? The place is as dark as the inside of -an infidel, and—” - -“Put it out! put it out instantly! Are you determined to sacrifice us -all? You _know_ there is nothing attracts lightning like a light. -[_Fzt!—crash! boom—boloom-boom-boom!_] Oh, just hear it! Now you see -what you’ve done!” - -“No, I _don’t_ see what I’ve done. A match may attract lightning, for -all I know, but it don’t _cause_ lightning,—I’ll go odds on that. And it -didn’t attract it worth a cent this time; for if that shot was levelled -at my match, it was blessed poor marksmanship,—about an average of none -out of a possible million, I should say. Why, at Dollymount, such -marksmanship as that—” - -“For shame, Mortimer! Here we are standing right in the very presence of -death, and yet in so solemn a moment you are capable of using such -language as that. If you have no desire to—Mortimer!” - -“Well?” - -“Did you say your prayers to-night?” - -“I—I—meant to, but I got to trying to cipher out how much twelve times -thirteen is, and—” - -[_Fzt!—boom-berroom-boom! bumble-umble bang_-SMASH!] - -“Oh, we are lost, beyond all help! How _could_ you neglect such a thing -at such a time as this?” - -“But it _wasn’t_ ‘such a time as this.’ There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. -How could _I_ know there was going to be all this rumpus and powwow -about a little slip like that? And I don’t think it’s just fair for you -to make so much out of it, any way, seeing it happens so seldom; I -haven’t missed before since I brought on that earthquake, four years -ago.” - -“MORTIMER! How you talk! Have you forgotten the yellow fever?” - -“My dear, you are always throwing up the yellow fever to me, and I think -it is perfectly unreasonable. You can’t even send a telegraphic message -as far as Memphis without relays, so how is a little devotional slip of -mine going to carry so far? I’ll _stand_ the earthquake, because it was -in the neighborhood; but I’ll be hanged if I’m going to be responsible -for every blamed—” - -[_Fzt!_—BOOM _beroom_-boom! boom!—BANG!] - -“Oh, dear, dear, dear! I _know_ it struck something, Mortimer. We never -shall see the light of another day; and if it will do you any good to -remember, when we are gone, that your dreadful language—_Mortimer_!” - -“WELL! What now?” - -“Your voice sounds as if— Mortimer, are you actually standing in front -of that open fireplace?” - -“That is the very crime I am committing.” - -“Get away from it, this moment. You do seem determined to bring -destruction on us all. Don’t you _know_ that there is no better -conductor for lightning than an open chimney? _Now_ where have you got -to?” - -“I’m here by the window.” - -“Oh, for pity’s sake, have you lost your mind? Clear out from there, -this moment. The very children in arms know it is fatal to stand near a -window in a thunder-storm. Dear, dear, I know I shall never see the -light of another day. Mortimer?” - -“Yes?” - -“What is that rustling?” - -“It’s me.” - -“What are you doing?” - -“Trying to find the upper end of my pantaloons.” - -“Quick! throw those things away! I do believe you would deliberately put -on those clothes at such a time as this; yet you know perfectly well -that _all_ authorities agree that woolen stuffs attract lightning. Oh, -dear, dear, it isn’t sufficient that one’s life must be in peril from -natural causes, but you must do everything you can possibly think of to -augment the danger. Oh, _don’t_ sing! What _can_ you be thinking of?” - -“Now where’s the harm in it?” - -“Mortimer, if I have told you once, I have told you a hundred times, -that singing causes vibrations in the atmosphere which interrupt the -flow of the electric fluid, and—What on _earth_ are you opening that -door for?” - -“Goodness gracious, woman, is there is any harm in _that_?” - -“_Harm?_ There’s _death_ in it. Anybody that has given this subject any -attention knows that to create a draught is to invite the lightning. You -haven’t half shut it; shut it _tight_,—and do hurry, or we are all -destroyed. Oh, it is an awful thing to be shut up with a lunatic at such -a time as this. Mortimer, what _are_ you doing?” - -“Nothing. Just turning on the water. This room is smothering hot and -close. I want to bathe my face and hands.” - -“You have certainly parted with the remnant of your mind! Where -lightning strikes any other substance once, it strikes water fifty -times. Do turn it off. Oh, dear, I am sure that nothing in this world -can save us. It does seem to me that—Mortimer, what was that?” - -“It was a da—it was a picture. Knocked it down.” - -“Then you are close to the wall! I never heard of such imprudence! Don’t -you _know_ that there’s no better conductor for lightning than a wall? -Come away from there! And you came as near as anything to swearing, too. -Oh, how can you be so desperately wicked, and your family in such peril? -Mortimer, did you order a feather bed, as I asked you to do?” - -“No. Forgot it.” - -“Forgot it! It may cost you your life. If you had a feather bed, now, -and could spread it in the middle of the room and lie on it, you would -be perfectly safe. Come in here,—come quick, before you have a chance to -commit any more frantic indiscretions.” - -I tried, but the little closet would not hold us both with the door -shut, unless we could be content to smother. I gasped awhile, then -forced my way out. My wife called out,— - -“Mortimer, something _must_ be done for your preservation. Give me that -German book that is on the end of the mantel-piece, and a candle; but -don’t light it; give me a match; I will light it in here. That book has -some directions in it.” - -I got the book,—at cost of a vase and some other brittle things; and the -madam shut herself up with her candle. I had a moment’s peace; then she -called out,— - -“Mortimer, what was that?” - -“Nothing but the cat.” - -“The cat! Oh, destruction! Catch her, and shut her up in the wash-stand. -Do be quick, love; cats are _full_ of electricity. I just know my hair -will turn white with this night’s awful perils.” - -I heard the muffled sobbings again. But for that, I should not have -moved hand or foot in such a wild enterprise in the dark. - -However, I went at my task,—over chairs, and against all sorts of -obstructions, all of them hard ones, too, and most of them with sharp -edges,—and at last I got kitty cooped up in the commode, at an expense -of over four hundred dollars in broken furniture and shins. Then these -muffled words came from the closet:— - -“It says the safest thing is to stand on a chair in the middle of the -room, Mortimer; and the legs of the chair must be insulated, with -non-conductors. That is, you must set the legs of the chair in glass -tumblers. [_Fzt!—boom—bang!—smash!_] Oh, hear that! Do hurry, Mortimer, -before you are struck.” - -I managed to find and secure the tumblers. I got the last four,—broke -all the rest. I insulated the chair legs, and called for further -instructions. - -“Mortimer, it says, ‘Während eines Gewitters entferne man Metalle, wie -z. B., Ringe, Uhren, Schlüssel, etc., von sich und halte sich auch nicht -an solchen Stellen auf, wo viele Metalle bei einander liegen, oder mit -andern Körpern verbunden sind, wie an Herden, Oefen, Eisengittern u. -dgl.’ What does that mean, Mortimer? Does it mean that you must keep -metals _about_ you, or keep them _away_ from you?” - -“Well, I hardly know. It appears to be a little mixed. All German advice -is more or less mixed. However, I think that that sentence is mostly in -the dative case, with a little genitive and accusative sifted in, here -and there, for luck; so I reckon it means that you must keep some metals -_about_ you.” - -“Yes, that must be it. It stands to reason that it is. They are in the -nature of lightning-rods, you know. Put on your fireman’s helmet, -Mortimer; that is mostly metal.” - -I got it and put it on,—a very heavy and clumsy and uncomfortable thing -on a hot night in a close room. Even my night-dress seemed to be more -clothing than I strictly needed. - -“Mortimer, I think your middle ought to be protected. Won’t you buckle -on your militia sabre, please?” - -I complied. - -“Now, Mortimer, you ought to have some way to protect your feet. Do -please put on your spurs.” - -I did it,—in silence,—and kept my temper as well as I could. - -“Mortimer, it says, ‘Das Gewitter läuten ist sehr gefährlich, weil die -Glocke selbst, sowie der durch das Läuten veranlasste Luftzug und die -Höhe des Thurmes den Blitz anziehen könnten.’ Mortimer, does that mean -that it is dangerous not to ring the church bells during a -thunder-storm?” - -“Yes, it seems to mean that,—if that is the past participle of the -nominative case singular, and I reckon it is. Yes, I think it means that -on account of the height of the church tower and the absence of -_Luftzug_ it would be very dangerous (_sehr gefährlich_) not to ring the -bells in time of a storm; and moreover, don’t you see, the very -wording—” - -“Never mind that, Mortimer; don’t waste the precious time in talk. Get -the large dinner-bell; it is right there in the hall. Quick, Mortimer -dear; we are almost safe. Oh, dear, I do believe we are going to be -saved, at last!” - -Our little summer establishment stands on top of a high range of hills, -overlooking a valley. Several farm-houses are in our neighborhood,—the -nearest some three or four hundred yards away. - -When I, mounted on the chair, had been clanging that dreadful bell a -matter of seven or eight minutes, our shutters were suddenly torn open -from without, and a brilliant bull’s-eye lantern was thrust in at the -window, followed by a hoarse inquiry:— - -“What in the nation is the matter here?” - -The window was full of men’s heads, and the heads were full of eyes that -stared wildly at my night-dress and my warlike accoutrements. - -I dropped the bell, skipped down from the chair in confusion, and said,— - -“There is nothing the matter, friends,—only a little discomfort on -account of the thunder-storm. I was trying to keep off the lightning.” - -“Thunder-storm? Lightning? Why, Mr. McWilliams, have you lost your mind? -It is a beautiful starlight night; there has been no storm.” - -I looked out, and I was so astonished I could hardly speak for a while. -Then I said,— - -“I do not understand this. We distinctly saw the glow of the flashes -through the curtains and shutters, and heard the thunder.” - -One after another of those people lay down on the ground to laugh,—and -two of them died. One of the survivors remarked,— - -“Pity you didn’t think to open your blinds and look over to the top of -the high hill yonder. What you heard was cannon; what you saw was the -flash. You see, the telegraph brought some news, just at midnight: -Garfield’s nominated,—and that’s what’s the matter!” - -Yes, Mr. Twain, as I was saying in the beginning (said Mr. McWilliams), -the rules for preserving people against lightning are so excellent and -so innumerable that the most incomprehensible thing in the world to me -is how anybody ever manages to get struck. - -So saying, he gathered up his satchel and umbrella, and departed; for -the train had reached his town. - - - - -[EXPLANATORY. I regard the idea of this play as a valuable invention. I -call it the Patent Universally-Applicable Automatically-Adjustable -Language Drama. This indicates that it is adjustable to any tongue, and -performable in any tongue. The English portions of the play are to -remain just as they are, permanently; but you change the foreign -portions to any language you please, at will. Do you see? You at once -have the same old play in a new tongue. And you can keep on changing it -from language to language, until your private theatrical pupils have -become glib and at home in the speech of all nations. _Zum Beispiel_, -suppose we wish to adjust the play to the French tongue. First, we give -Mrs. Blumenthal and Gretchen French names. Next, we knock the German -Meisterschaft sentences out of the first scene, and replace them with -sentences from the French Meisterschaft-like this, for instance; “Je -voudrais faire des emplettes ce matin; voulez-vous avoir l’obligeance de -venir avec moi chez le tailleur français?” And so on. Wherever you find -German, replace it with French, leaving the English parts undisturbed. -When you come to the long conversation in the second act, turn to any -pamphlet of your French Meisterschaft, and shovel in as much French talk -on _any_ subject as will fill up the gaps left by the expunged German. -Example—page 423 French Meisterschaft: - - On dirait qu’il va faire chaud. - J’ai chaud. - J’ai extrêmement chaud. - Ah! qu’il fait chaud! - Il fait une chaleur étouffante! - L’air est brûlant. - Je meurs de chaleur. - Il est presque impossible de supporter la chaleur. - Cela vous fait transpirer. - Mettons nous à l’ombre. - Il fait du vent. - Il fait un vent froid. - Il fait un temps très-agréable pour se promener aujourd’hui. - -And so on, all the way through. It is very easy to adjust the play to -any desired language. Anybody can do it.] - - - - - MEISTERSCHAFT: IN THREE ACTS. - - - DRAMATIS PERSONÆ: - - MR. STEPHENSON. - MARGARET STEPHENSON. - GEORGE FRANKLIN. - ANNIE STEPHENSON. - WILLIAM JACKSON. - MRS. BLUMENTHAL, the Wirthin. - GRETCHEN, - Kellnerin. - - - - - ACT I. - - - SCENE I. - - Scene of the play, the parlor of a small private dwelling in a - village. - -MARGARET. (_Discovered crocheting—has a pamphlet._) - -MARGARET. (_Solus._) Dear, dear! it’s dreary enough, to have to study -this impossible German tongue: to be exiled from home and all human -society except a body’s sister in order to do it, is just simply -abscheulich. Here’s only three weeks of the three months gone, and it -seems like three years. I don’t believe I can live through it, and I’m -sure Annie can’t. - -(_Refers to her book, and rattles through, several times, like one -memorizing_:) Entschuldigen Sie, mein Herr, können Sie mir vielleicht -sagen, um wie viel Uhr der erste Zug nach Dresden abgeht? (_Makes -mistakes and corrects them._) I just hate Meisterschaft! We may see -people; we can have society: yes, on condition that the conversation -shall be in German, and in German only—every single word of it! Very -kind—oh, very! when neither Annie nor I can put two words together, -except as they are put together for us in Meisterschaft or that idiotic -Ollendorff! (_Refers to book, and memorizes: Mein Bruder hat Ihren Herrn -Vater nicht gesehen, als er gestern in dem Laden des deutschen -Kaufmannes war._) Yes, we can have society, provided we talk German. -What would such a conversation be like! If you should stick to -Meisterschaft, it would change the subject every two minutes; and if you -stuck to Ollendorff, it would be all about your sister’s mother’s good -stocking of thread, or your grandfather’s aunt’s good hammer of the -carpenter, and who’s got it, and there an end. You couldn’t keep up your -interest in such topics. (_Memorizing: Wenn irgend möglich,—möchte ich -noch heute Vormittag dort ankommen, da es mir sehr daran gelegen ist, -einen meiner Geschäftsfreunde zu treffen._) My mind is made up to one -thing: I will be an exile, in spirit and in truth: I will see no one -during these three months. Father is very ingenious—oh, very! thinks he -is, anyway. Thinks he has invented a way to _force_ us to learn to speak -German. He is a dear good soul, and all that; but invention isn’t his -fash’. He will see. (_With eloquent energy._) Why, nothing in the world -shall—Bitte, können Sie mir vielleicht sagen, ob Herr Schmidt mit diesem -Zuge angekommen ist? Oh, dear, dear George—three weeks! It seems a whole -century since I saw him. I wonder if he suspects that I—that I—care for -him——j—just a wee, wee bit? I believe he does. And I believe Will -suspects that Annie cares for _him_ a little, that I do. And I know -perfectly well that they care for _us_. They agree with all our -opinions, no matter what they are; and if they have a prejudice, they -change it, as soon as they see how foolish it is. Dear George! at first -he just couldn’t abide cats; but now, why now he’s just all for cats; he -fairly welters in cats. I never saw such a reform. And it’s just so with -_all_ his principles: he hasn’t got one that he had before. Ah, if all -men were like him, this world would——(_Memorizing: Im Gegentheil, mein -Herr, dieser Stoff is sehr billig. Bitte, sehen Sie sich nur die -Qualität an._) Yes, and what did _they_ go to studying German for, if it -wasn’t an inspiration of the highest and purest sympathy? Any other -explanation is nonsense——why, they’d as soon have thought of studying -American history. (_Turns her back, buries herself in her pamphlet, -first memorizing aloud, until Annie enters, then to herself, rocking to -and fro, and rapidly moving her lips, without uttering a sound._) - - Enter Annie, absorbed in her pamphlet—does not at first see - Margaret. - -ANNIE. (_Memorizing: Er liess mich gestern früh rufen, und sagte mir -dass er einen sehr unangenehmen Brief von Ihrem Lehrer erhalten hatte. -Repeats twice aloud, then to herself, briskly moving her lips._) - -M. (_Still not seeing her sister._) Wie geht es Ihrem Herrn -Schwiegervater? Es freut mich sehr, dass Ihre Frau Mutter wieder wohl -ist. (_Repeats. Then mouths in silence._) - -(_Annie repeats her sentence a couple of times aloud; then looks up, -working her lips, and discovers Margaret._) Oh, you here! (_Running to -her._) O lovey-dovey, dovey-lovey, I’ve got the gr-reatest news! Guess, -guess, guess! You’ll never guess in a hundred thousand million years—and -more! - -M. Oh, tell me, tell me, dearie; don’t keep me in agony. - -A. Well, I will. What—do—you—think? _They’re_ here! - -M. Wh-a-t! Who? When? Which? Speak! - -A. Will and George! - -M. Annie Alexandra Victoria Stephenson, what _do_ you mean! - -A. As sure as guns! - -M. (_Spasmodically unarming and kissing her._) ’Sh! don’t use such -language. O darling, say it again! - -A. As sure as guns! - -M. I don’t mean that! Tell me again, that— - -A. (_Springing up and waltzing about the room._) They’re here—in this -very village—to learn German—for three months! Es sollte mich sehr -freuen wenn Sie— - -M. (_Joining in the dance._) Oh, it’s just too lovely for anything! -(_Unconsciously memorizing_:) Es wäre mir lieb wenn Sie morgen mit mir -in die Kirche gehen könnten, aber ich kann selbst nicht gehen, weil ich -Sonntags gewöhnlich krank bin. Juckhe! - -A. (_Finishing some unconscious memorizing._)—morgen Mittag bei mir -speisen könnten. Juckhe! Sit down and I’ll tell you all I’ve heard. -(_They sit._) They’re here, and under that same odious law that fetters -us—our tongues, I mean; the metaphor’s faulty, but no matter. They can -go out, and see people, only on condition that they hear and speak -German, and German only. - -M. Isn’t—that—too lovely! - -A. And they’re coming to see us! - -M. Darling! (_Kissing her._) But are you sure? - -A. Sure as guns—Gatling guns! - -M. ’Sh! don’t child, it’s schrecklich! Darling—you aren’t mistaken? - -A. As sure as g—batteries! - - They jump up and dance a moment—then— - -M. (_With distress._) But, Annie dear!—_we_ can’t talk German—and -neither can they! - -A. (_Sorrowfully._) I didn’t think of that. - -M. How cruel it is! What can we do? - -A. (_After a reflective pause, resolutely._) Margaret—we’ve _got_ to. - -M. Got to what? - -A. Speak German. - -M. Why, how, child? - -A. (_Contemplating her pamphlet with earnestness._) I can tell you one -thing. Just give me the blessed privilege: just hinsetzen Will Jackson -here in front of me and I’ll talk German to him as long as this -Meisterschaft holds out to burn. - -M. (_Joyously._) Oh, what an elegant idea! You certainly have got a mind -that’s a mine of resources, if ever anybody had one. - -A. I’ll skin this Meisterschaft to the last sentence in it! - -M. (_With a happy idea._) Why, Annie, it’s the greatest thing in the -world. I’ve been all this time struggling and despairing over these few -little Meisterschaft primers: but as sure as you live, I’ll have the -whole fifteen by heart before this time day after to-morrow. See if I -don’t. - -A. And so will I; and I’ll trowel-in a layer of Ollendorff mush between -every couple of courses of Meisterschaft bricks. Juckhe! - -M. Hoch! hoch! hoch! - -A. Stoss an! - -M. Juckhe! Wir werden gleich gute deutsche Schülerinnen werden! Juck—— - -A. —he! - -M. Annie, when are they coming to see us? To-night? - -A. No. - -M. No? Why not? When are they coming? What are they waiting for? The -idea! I never heard of such a thing! What do you—— - -A. (_Breaking in._) Wait, wait, wait! give a body a chance. They have -their reasons. - -M. Reasons?—what reasons? - -A. Well, now, when you stop and think, they’re royal good ones. They’ve -got to talk German when they come, haven’t they? Of course. Well, they -don’t _know_ any German but Wie befinden Sie sich, and Haben Sie gut -geschlafen, and Vater unser, and Ich trinke lieber Bier als Wasser, and -a few little parlor things like that; but when it comes to _talking_, -why, they don’t know a hundred and fifty German words, put them all -together. - -M. Oh, I see! - -A. So they’re going neither to eat, sleep, smoke, nor speak the truth -till they’ve crammed home the whole fifteen Meisterschafts auswendig! - -M. Noble hearts! - -A. They’ve given themselves till day after to-morrow, half-past 7 P. M., -and then they’ll arrive here, loaded. - -M. Oh, how lovely, how gorgeous, how beautiful! Some think this world is -made of mud; I think it’s made of rainbows. (_Memorizing._) Wenn irgend -möglich, so möchte ich noch heute Vormittag dort ankommen, da es mir -sehr daran gelegen ist,—Annie, I can learn it just like nothing! - -A. So can I. Meisterschaft’s mere fun—I don’t see how it ever could have -seemed difficult. Come! We can be disturbed here: let’s give orders that -we don’t want anything to eat for two days; and are absent to friends, -dead to strangers, and not at home even to nougat-peddlers—— - -M. Schön! and we’ll lock ourselves into our rooms, and at the end of two -days, whosoever may ask us a Meisterschaft question shall get a -Meisterschaft answer—and hot from the bat! - -BOTH. (_Reciting in unison._) Ich habe einen Hut für meinen Sohn, ein -Paar Handschuhe für meinen Bruder, und einen Kamm für mich selbst -gekauft. - - (Exeunt.) - - Enter MRS. BLUMENTHAL, the Wirthin. - -WIRTHIN. (_Solus._) Ach, die armen Mädchen, sie hassen die deutsche -Sprache, drum ist es ganz und gar unmöglich dass sie sie je lernen -können. Es bricht mir ja mein Herz ihre Kummer über die Studien -anzusehen.... Warum haben sie den Entschluss gefasst in ihren Zimmern -ein Paar Tage zu bleiben?... Ja—gewiss—dass versteht sich: sie sind -entmuthigt—arme Kinder! - -(_A knock at the door._) Herein! - - Enter Gretchen with card. - -G. Er ist schon wieder da, und sagt dass er nur _Sie_ sehen will. -(_Hands the card._) Auch— - -WIRTHIN. Gott im Himmel—der Vater der Mädchen! (_Puts the card in her -pocket._) Er wünscht die _Töchter_ nicht zu treffen? Ganz recht; also, -Du schweigst. - -G. Zu Befehl. - -WIRTHIN. Lass ihn hereinkommen. - -G. Ja, Frau Wirthin! - - Exit Gretchen. - -WIRTHIN. (_Solus._) Ah—jetzt muss ich ihm die Wahrheit offenbaren. - - Enter Mr. Stephenson. - -STEPHENSON. Good morning, Mrs. Blumenthal—keep your seat, keep your -seat, please. I’m only here for a moment—merely to get your report, you -know. (_Seating himself._) Don’t want to see the girls—poor things, -they’d want to go home with me. I’m afraid I couldn’t have the heart to -say no. How’s the German getting along? - -WIRTHIN. N-not very well; I was afraid you would ask me that. You see, -they hate it, they don’t take the least interest in it, and there isn’t -anything to incite them to an interest, you see. And so they can’t talk -at all. - -S. M-m. That’s bad. I had an idea that they’d get lonesome, and have to -seek society; and then, of course, my plan would work, considering the -cast-iron conditions of it. - -WIRTHIN. But it hasn’t so far. I’ve thrown nice company in their -way—I’ve done my very best, in every way I could think of—but it’s no -use; they won’t go out, and they won’t receive anybody. And a body can’t -blame them; they’d be tongue-tied—couldn’t do anything with a German -conversation. Now when I started to learn German—such poor German as I -know—the case was very different: my intended was a German. I was to -live among Germans the rest of my life; and so I _had_ to learn. Why, -bless my heart! I nearly _lost_ the man the first time he asked me—I -thought he was talking about the measles. They were very prevalent at -the time. Told him I didn’t want any in mine. But I found out the -mistake, and I was fixed for him next time... Oh, yes, Mr. Stephenson, a -sweetheart’s a prime incentive! - -S. (_Aside._) Good soul! she doesn’t suspect that my plan is a double -scheme—includes a speaking knowledge of German, which I am bound they -shall have, and the keeping them away from those two young -fellows—though if I had known that those boys were going off for a -year’s foreign travel, I—however, the girls would never learn that -language at home; they’re here, and I won’t relent—they’ve got to stick -the three months out. (_Aloud._) So they are making poor progress? Now -tell me—will they learn it—after a sort of fashion, I mean—in the three -months? - -WIRTHIN. Well, now, I’ll tell you the only chance I see. Do what I will, -they won’t answer my German with anything but English; if that goes on, -they’ll stand stock still. Now I’m willing to do this: I’ll straighten -everything up, get matters in smooth running order, and day after -to-morrow I’ll go to bed sick, and stay sick three weeks. - -S. Good! You are an angel! I see your idea. The servant girl— - -WIRTHIN. That’s it; that’s my project. She doesn’t know a word of -English. And Gretchen’s a real good soul, and can talk the slates off a -roof. Her tongue’s just a flutter-mill. I’ll keep my room,—just ailing a -little,—and they’ll never see my face except when they pay their little -duty-visits to me, and then I’ll say English disorders my mind. They’ll -be shut up with Gretchen’s wind-mill, and she’ll just grind them to -powder. Oh, _they’ll_ get a start in the language—sort of a one, sure’s -you live. You come back in three weeks. - -S. Bless you, my Retterin! I’ll be here to the day! Get ye to your -sick-room—you shall have treble pay. (_Looking at watch._) Good! I can -just catch my train. Leben Sie wohl! (_Exit._) - -WIRTHIN. Leben Sie wohl! mein Herr! - - - - - ACT II. - - - SCENE I. - - Time, a couple of days later. (The girls discovered with their work - and primers.) - -ANNIE. Was fehlt der Wirthin? - -MARGARET. Dass weiss ich nicht. Sie ist schon vor zwei Tagen ins Bett -gegangen— - -A. My! how fliessend you speak! - -M. Danke schön—und sagte dass sie nicht wohl sei. - -A. Good! Oh, no, I don’t mean that! no—only lucky for _us_—glücklich, -you know I mean because it’ll be so much nicer to have them all to -ourselves. - -M. Oh, natürlich! Ja! Dass ziehe ich durchaus vor. Do you believe your -Meisterschaft will stay with you, Annie? - -A. Well, I know it _is_ with me—every last sentence of it; and a couple -of hods of Ollendorff, too, for emergencies. May be they’ll refuse to -deliver,—right off—at first, you know—der Verlegenheit wegen—aber ich -will sie später herausholen—when I get my hand in—und vergisst Du dass -nicht! - -M. Sei nicht grob, Liebste. What shall we talk about first—when they -come? - -A. Well—let me see. There’s shopping—and—all that about the trains, you -know,—and going to church—and—buying tickets to London, and Berlin, and -all around—and all that subjunctive stuff about the battle in -Afghanistan, and where the American was said to be born, and so -on—and—and ah—oh, there’s so _many_ things—I don’t think a body can -choose beforehand, because you know the circumstances and the atmosphere -always have so much to do in directing a conversation, especially a -German conversation, which is only a kind of an insurrection, any way. I -believe it’s best to just depend on Prov—(_Glancing at watch, and -gasping_)—half-past—seven! - -M. Oh, dear, I’m all of a tremble! Let’s get something ready, Annie! - -(_Both fall nervously to reciting_): Entschuldigen Sie, mein Herr, -können Sie mir vielleicht sagen wie ich nach dem norddeutschen Bahnhof -gehe? (_They repeat it several times, losing their grip and mixing it -all up._) - - (A knock.) - -BOTH. Herein! Oh, dear! O der heilige— - - Enter Gretchen. - -GRETCHEN (_Ruffled and indignant._) Entschuldigen Sie, meine gnädigsten -Fräulein, es sind zwei junge rasende Herren draussen, die herein wollen, -aber ich habe ihnen geschworen dass—(_Handing the cards._) - -M. Du liebe Zeit, they’re here! And of course down goes my back hair! -Stay and receive them, dear, while I—(_Leaving._) - -A. I—alone? I won’t! I’ll go with you! (_To_ G.) Lassen Sie die Herren -näher treten; und sagen Sie ihnen dass wir gleich zurückkommen werden. -(_Exit._) - -GR. (_Solus._) Was! Sie freuen sich darüber? Und ich sollte wirklich -diese Blödsinnigen, dies grobe Rindvieh hereinlassen? In den hülflosen -Umständen meiner gnädigen jungen Damen?—Unsinn! (_Pause—thinking._) -Wohlan! Ich werde sie mal beschützen! Sollte man nicht glauben, dass sie -einen Sparren zu viel hätten? (_Tapping her skull significantly._) Was -sie mir doch Alles gesagt haben! Der Eine: Guten Morgen! wie geht es -Ihrem Herrn Schwiegervater? Du liebe Zeit! Wie sollte ich einen -Schwiegervater haben können! Und der Andere: “Es thut mir sehr leid dass -Ihr Herr Vater meinen Bruder nicht gesehen hat, als er doch gestern in -dem Laden des deutschen Kaufmannes war!” Potztausendhimmelsdonnerwetter! -Oh, ich war ganz rasend! Wie ich aber rief: “Meine Herren, ich kenne Sie -nicht, und Sie kennen meinen Vater nicht, wissen Sie, denn er ist schon -lange durchgebrannt, und geht nicht beim Tage in einen Laden hinein, -wissen Sie,—und ich habe keinen Schwiegervater, Gott sei Dank, werde -auch nie einen kriegen, werde ueberhaupt, wissen Sie, ein solches Ding -nie haben, nie dulden, nie ausstehen: warum greifen Sie ein Mädchen an, -das nur Unschuld kennt, das Ihnen nie Etwas zu Leide gethan hat?” Dann -haben sie sich beide die Finger in die Ohren gesteckt und gebetet: -“Allmächtiger Gott! Erbarme Dich unser!” (_Pauses._) Nun, ich werde -schon diesen Schurken Einlass gönnen, aber ich werde ein Auge mit ihnen -haben, damit sie sich nicht wie reine Teufel geberden sollen. - -(_Exit, grumbling and shaking her head._) - - Enter William and George. - -W. My land, what a girl! and what an incredible gift of gabble!—kind of -patent climate-proof compensation-balance self-acting automatic -Meisterschaft—touch her button, and br-r-r! away she goes! - -GEO. Never heard anything like it; tongue journaled on ball-bearings! I -wonder what she said; seemed to be swearing, mainly. - -W. (_After mumbling Meisterschaft awhile._) Look here, George, this is -awful—come to think—this project: _we_ can’t talk this frantic language. - -GEO. I know it, Will, and it _is_ awful; but I can’t live without seeing -Margaret—I’ve endured it as long as I can. I should die if I tried to -hold out longer—and even German is preferable to death. - -W. (_Hesitatingly._) Well, I don’t know; it’s a matter of opinion. - -GEO. (_Irritably._) It isn’t a matter of opinion either. German _is_ -preferable to death. - -W. (_Reflectively._) Well, I don’t know—the problem is so sudden—but I -think you may be right: some kinds of death. It is more than likely that -a slow, lingering—well, now, there in Canada in the early times a couple -of centuries ago, the Indians would take a missionary and skin him, and -get some hot ashes and boiling water and one thing and another, and by -and by, that missionary—well, yes, I can see that, by and by, talking -German could be a pleasant change for him. - -GEO. Why, of course. Das versteht sich; but _you_ have to always think a -thing out, or you’re not satisfied. But let’s not go to bothering about -thinking out this present business; we’re here, we’re in for it; you are -as moribund to see Annie as I am to see Margaret; you know the terms: -we’ve got to speak German. Now stop your mooning and get at your -Meisterschaft; we’ve got nothing else in the world. - -W. Do you think that’ll see us through? - -GEO. Why it’s _got_ to. Suppose we wandered out of it and took a chance -at the language on our own responsibility, where the nation would we be? -Up a stump, that’s where. Our only safety is in sticking like wax to the -text. - -W. But what can we talk about? - -GEO. Why, anything that Meisterschaft talks about. It ain’t our affair. - -W. I know; but Meisterschaft talks about everything. - -GEO. And yet don’t talk about anything long enough for it to get -embarrassing. Meisterschaft is just splendid for general conversation. - -W. Yes, that’s so; but it’s so _blamed_ general! Won’t it sound foolish? - -GEO. Foolish? Why, of course; all German sounds foolish. - -W. Well, that is true; I didn’t think of that. - -GEO. Now, don’t fool around any more. Load up; load up; get ready. Fix -up some sentences; you’ll need them in two minutes now. - -(_They walk up and down, moving their lips in dumb-show memorizing._) - -W. Look here—when we’ve said all that’s in the book on a topic, and want -to change the subject, how can we say so?—how would a German say it? - -GEO. Well, I don’t know. But you know when they mean “Change cars,” they -say _Umsteigen_. Don’t you reckon that will answer? - -W. Tip-top! It’s short and goes right to the point; and it’s got a -business whang to it that’s almost American. Umsteigen!—change -subject!—why, it’s the very thing. - -GEO. All right, then, _you_ umsteigen—for I hear them coming. - - Enter the girls. - -A. TO W. (_With solemnity._) Guten morgen, mein Herr, es freut mich -sehr, Sie zu sehen. - -W. Guten morgen, mein Fräulein, es freut mich sehr Sie zu sehen. - -(_Margaret and George repeat the same sentences. Then, after an -embarrassing silence, Margaret refers to her book and says_:) - -M. Bitte, meine Herren, setzen Sie sich. - -THE GENTLEMEN. Danke schön. (_The four seat themselves in couples, the -width of the stage apart, and the two conversations begin. The talk is -not flowing—at any rate at first; there are painful silences all along. -Each couple worry out a remark and a reply: there is a pause of silent -thinking, and then the other couple deliver themselves._) - -W. Haben Sie meinen Vater in dem Laden meines Bruders nicht gesehen? - -A. Nein, mein Herr, ich habe Ihren Herrn Vater in dem Laden Ihres Herrn -Bruders nicht gesehen. - -GEO. Waren Sie gestern Abend im Koncert, oder im Theater? - -M. Nein, ich war gestern Abend nicht im Koncert, noch im Theater, ich -war gestern Abend zu Hause. - - General break-down—long pause. - -W. Ich störe doch nicht etwa? - -A. Sie stören mich durchaus nicht. - -GEO. Bitte, lassen Sie sich nicht von mir stören. - -M. Aber ich bitte Sie, Sie stören mich durchaus nicht. - -W. (_To both girls._) Wen wir Sie stören so gehen wir gleich wieder. - -A. O, nein! Gewiss, nein! - -M. Im Gegentheil, es freut uns sehr, Sie zu sehen—alle Beide. - -W. Schön! - -GEO. Gott sei dank! - -M. (_Aside._) It’s just lovely! - -A. (_Aside._) It’s like a poem. - - Pause. - -W. Umsteigen! - -M. Um—welches? - -W. Umsteigen. - -GEO. Auf English, change cars—oder subject. - -BOTH GIRLS. Wie schön! - -W. Wir haben uns die Freiheit genommen, bei Ihnen vorzusprechen. - -A. Sie sind sehr gütig. - -GEO. Wir wollten uns erkundigen, wie Sie sich befänden. - -M. Ich bin Ihnen sehr verbunden—meine Schwester auch. - -W. Meine Frau lasst sich Ihnen bestens empfehlen. - -A. Ihre _Frau_? - -W. (_Examining his book._) Vielleicht habe ich mich geirrt. (_Shows the -place._) Nein, gerade so sagt das Buch. - -A. (_Satisfied._) Ganz recht. Aber— - -W. Bitte empfehlen Sie mich Ihrem Herrn Bruder. - -A. Ah, dass ist viel besser—viel besser. (_Aside._) Wenigstens es wäre -viel besser wenn ich einen Bruder hätte. - -GEO. Wie ist es Ihnen gegangen, seitdem ich das Vergnügen hatte, Sie -anderswo zu sehen? - -M. Danke bestens, ich befinde mich gewöhnlich ziemlich wohl. - - Gretchen slips in with a gun, and listens. - -GEO. (_Still to Margaret._) Befindet sich Ihre Frau Gemahlin wohl? - -GR. (_Raising hands and eyes._) _Frau Gemahlin_—heiliger Gott! (_Is like -to betray herself with her smothered laughter and glides out._) - -M. Danke sehr, meine Frau ist ganz wohl. - - Pause. - -W. Dürfen wir vielleicht—umsteigen? - -THE OTHERS. Gut! - -GEO. (_Aside._) I feel better, now. I’m beginning to catch on. -(_Aloud._) Ich möchte gern morgen früh einige Einkäufe machen und würde -Ihnen sehr verbunden sein, wenn Sie mir den Gefallen thäten, mir die -Namen der besten hiesigen Firmen aufzuschreiben. - -M. (_Aside._) How sweet! - -W. (_Aside._) Hang it, _I_ was going to say that! That’s one of the -noblest things in the book. - -A. Ich möchte Sie gern begleiten, aber es ist mir wirklich heute Morgen -ganz unmöglich auszugehen. (_Aside._) It’s getting as easy as 9 times 7 -is 46. - -M. Sagen Sie dem Briefträger, wenn’s gefällig ist, er möchte Ihnen den -eingeschriebenen Brief geben lassen. - -W. Ich würde Ihnen sehr verbunden sein, wenn Sie diese Schachtel für -mich nach der Post tragen würden, da mir sehr daran liegt einen meiner -Geschäftsfreunde in dem Laden des deutschen Kaufmanns heute Abend -treffen zu können. (_Aside._) All down but nine; set ’m up on the other -alley! - -A. Aber Herr Jackson! Sie haben die Sätze gemischt. Es ist unbegreiflich -wie Sie das haben thun können. Zwischen Ihrem ersten Theil und Ihrem -letzten Theil haben Sie ganze fünfzig Seiten übergeschlagen! Jetzt bin -ich ganz verloren. Wie kann man reden, wenn man seinen Platz durchaus -nicht wieder finden kann? - -W. Oh, bitte, verzeihen Sie; ich habe dass wirklich nich beabsichtigt. - -A. (_Mollified._) Sehr wohl, lassen Sie gut sein. Aber thun Sie es nicht -wieder. Sie müssen ja doch einräumen, dass solche Dinge unerträgliche -Verwirrung mit sich führen. - -(_Gretchen slips in again with her gun._) - -W. Unzweifelhaft haben Sie Recht, meine holdselige Landsmännin..... -Umsteigen! - - (As George gets fairly into the following, Gretchen draws a bead on - him, and lets drive at the close, but the gun snaps.) - -GEO. Glauben Sie, dass ich ein hübsches Wohnzimmer für mich selbst und -ein kleines Schlafzimmer für meinen Sohn in diesem Hotel für fünfzehn -Mark die Woche bekommen kann, oder würden Sie mir rathen, in einer -Privatwohnung Logis zu nehmen? (_Aside._) That’s a daisy! - -GR. (_Aside._) Schade! (_She draws her charge and reloads._) - -M. Glauben Sie nicht Sie werden besser thun bei diesem Wetter zu Hause -zu bleiben? - -A. Freilich glaube ich, Herr Franklin, Sie werden sich erkälten, wenn -Sie bei diesem unbeständigen Wetter ohne Ueberrock ausgehen. - -GR. (_Relieved—aside._) So? Man redet von Ausgehen. Das klingt schon -besser. (_Sits._) - -W. (_To A._) Wie theuer haben Sie das gekauft? (_Indicating a part of -her dress._) - -A. Das hat achtzehn Mark gekostet. - -W. Das ist sehr theuer. - -GEO. Ja, obgleich dieser Stoff wunderschön ist und das Muster sehr -geschmackvoll und auch das Vorzüglichste dass es in dieser Art gibt, so -ist es doch furchtbar theuer für einen solchen Artikel. - -M. (_Aside._) How sweet is this communion of soul with soul! - -A. Im Gegentheil, mein Herr, das ist sehr billig. Sehen Sie sich nur die -Qualität an. - -(_They all examine it._) - -GEO. Möglicherweise ist es das allerneuste dass man in diesem Stoff hat; -aber das Muster gefällt mir nicht. - - (Pause.) - -W. Umsteigen! - -A. Welchen Hund haben Sie? Haben Sie den hübschen Hund des Kaufmanns, -oder den hässlichen Hund der Urgrossmutter des Lehrlings des -bogenbeinigen Zimmermanns? - -W. (_Aside._) Oh, come, she’s ringing in a cold deck on us: that’s -Ollendorff. - -GEO. Ich habe nicht den Hund des—des—(_Aside._) Stuck! That’s no -Meisterschaft; they don’t play fair. (_Aloud._) Ich habe nicht den Hund -des—des—In unserem Buche leider, gibt es keinen Hund; daher, ob ich auch -gern von solchen Thieren sprechen möchte, ist es mir doch unmöglich, -weil ich nicht vorbereitet bin. Entschuldigen Sie, meine Damen. - -GR. (_Aside._) Beim Teufel, sie sind _alle_ blödsinnig geworden. In -meinem Leben habe ich nie ein so närrisches, verfluchtes, verdammtes -Gespräch gehört. - -W. Bitte, umsteigen. - - (Run the following rapidly through.) - -M. (_Aside._) Oh, I’ve flushed an easy batch! (_Aloud._) Würden Sie mir -erlauben meine Reisetasche hier hinzustellen? - -Gr. (_Aside._) Wo ist seine Reisetasche? Ich sehe keine. - -W. Bitte sehr. - -GEO. Ist meine Reisetasche Ihnen im Wege? - -GR. (_Aside._) Und wo ist _seine_ Reisetasche? - -A. Erlauben Sie mir Sie von meiner Reisetasche zu befreien. - -Gr. (_Aside._) Du Esel! - -W. Ganz und gar nicht. (_To Geo._) Es ist sehr schwül in diesem Coupé. - -GR. (_Aside._) Coupé. - -GEO. Sie haben Recht. Erlauben Sie mir, gefälligst, das Fenster zu -öffnen. Ein wenig Luft würde uns gut thun. - -M. Wir fahren sehr rasch. - -A. Haben Sie den Namen jener Station gehört? - -W. Wie lange halten wir auf dieser Station an? - -GEO. Ich reise nach Dresden, Schaffner. Wo muss ich umsteigen? - -A. Sie steigen nicht um, Sie bleiben sitzen. - -GR. (_Aside._) Sie sind ja alle ganz und gar verrückt! Man denke sich -sie glauben dass sie auf der Eisenbahn reisen. - -GEO. (_Aside, to William_) Now brace up; pull all your confidence -together, my boy, and we’ll try that lovely good-bye business a flutter. -I think it’s about the gaudiest thing in the book, if you boom it right -along and don’t get left on a base. It’ll impress the girls. (_Aloud._) -Lassen Sie uns gehen: es ist schon sehr spät, und ich muss morgen ganz -früh aufstehen. - -GR. (_Aside-grateful._) Gott sei Dank dass sie endlich gehen. (_Sets her -gun aside._) - -W. (_To Geo._) Ich danke Ihnen höflichst für die Ehre die sie mir -erweisen, aber ich kann nicht länger bleiben. - -GEO. (_To W._) Entschuldigen Sie mich gütigst, aber ich kann wirklich -nicht länger bleiben. - - Gretchen looks on stupefied. - -W. (_To Geo._) Ich habe schon eine Einladung angenommen; ich kann -wirklich nicht länger bleiben. - - Gretchen fingers her gun again. - -GEO. (_To W._) Ich muss gehen. - -W. (_To Geo._) Wie! Sie wollen schon wieder gehen? Sie sind ja eben erst -gekommen. - -M. (_Aside_). It’s just music! - -A. (_Aside._) Oh, how lovely they do it! - -GEO. (_To W._) Also denken sie doch noch nicht an’s Gehen. - -W. (_To Geo._) Es thut mir unendlich leid, aber ich muss nach Hause. -Meine Frau wird sich wundern, was aus mir geworden ist. - -GEO. (_To W._) Meine Frau hat keine Ahnung wo ich bin: ich muss wirklich -jetzt fort. - -W. (_To Geo._) Dann will ich Sie nicht länger aufhalten; ich bedaure -sehr dass Sie uns einen so kurzen Besuch gemacht haben. - -GEO. (_To W._) Adieu—auf recht baldiges Wiedersehen. - -W. UMSTEIGEN! - - Great hand-clapping from the girls. - -M. (_Aside._) Oh, how perfect! how elegant! - -A. (_Aside._) Per-fectly enchanting! - -JOYOUS CHORUS. (_All._) Ich habe gehabt, du hast gehabt, er hat gehabt, -wir haben gehabt, ihr habt gehabt, sie haben gehabt. - - Gretchen faints, and tumbles from her chair, and the gun goes off - with a crash. Each girl, frightened, seizes the protecting hand of - her sweetheart. Gretchen scrambles up. Tableau. - -W. (_Takes out some money—beckons Gretchen to him. George adds money to -the pile._) Hübsches Mädchen (_giving her some of the coins_), hast Du -etwas gesehen? - -GR. (_Courtesy—aside._) Der Engel! (_Aloud—impressively._) Ich habe -nichts gesehen. - -W. (_More money._) Hast Du etwas gehört? - -GR. Ich habe nichts gehört. - -W. (_More money._) Und Morgen? - -GR. Morgen—wäre es nöthig—bin ich taub und blind. - -W. Unvergleichbares Mädchen! Und (_giving the rest of the money_) -darnach? - -GR. (_Deep courtesy—aside._) Erzengel! (_Aloud._) Darnach, mein -Gnädigster, betrachten Sie mich also _taub—blind—todt_! - -ALL. (_In chorus.—with reverent joy._) Ich habe gehabt, du hast gehabt, -er hat gehabt, wir haben gehabt, ihr habt gehabt, sie haben gehabt! - - - - - ACT III. - - - Three weeks later. - - - SCENE I. - - Enter Gretchen, and puts her shawl on a chair. - - Brushing around with the traditional feather-duster of the drama. - Smartly dressed, for she is prosperous. - -GR. Wie hätte man sich das vorstellen können! In nur drei Wochen bin ich -schon reich geworden! (_Gets out of her pocket handful after handful of -silver, which she piles on the table, and proceeds to re-pile and count, -occasionally ringing or biting a piece to try its quality._) Oh, dass -(_with a sigh_) die Frau Wirthin nur _ewig_ krank bliebe!.... Diese -edlen jungen Männer—sie sind ja so liebenswürdig! Und so fleissig!—und -so treu! Jeden Morgen kommen sie gerade um drei Viertel auf neun; und -plaudern und schwatzen, und plappern, und schnattern, die jungen Damen -auch; um Schlage zwölf nehmen sie Abschied; um Schlage eins kommen sie -schon wieder, und plaudern und schwatzen und plappern und schnattern; -gerade um sechs Uhr nehmen sie wiederum Abschied; um halb acht kehren -sie noch’emal zurück, und plaudern und schwatzen und plappern und -schnattern bis zehn Uhr, oder vielleicht ein Viertel nach, falls ihre -Uhren nach gehen (und stets gehen sie nach am Ende des Besuchs, aber -stets vor Beginn desselben), und zuweilen unterhalten sich die jungen -Leute beim Spazierengehen; und jeden Sonntag gehen sie dreimal in die -Kirche; und immer plaudern sie, und schwatzen und plappern und -schnattern bis ihnen die Zähnen aus dem Munde fallen. Und _ich_? Durch -Mangel an Uebung, ist mir die Zunge mit Moos belegt worden! Freilich -ist’s mir eine dumme Zeit gewesen. Aber—um Gottes willen, was geht das -mir an? Was soll ich daraus machen? Täglich sagt die Frau Wirthin -“Gretchen” (_dumb-show of paying a piece of money into her hand_), “du -bist eine der besten Sprach-Lehrerinnen der Welt!” Ach, Gott! Und -täglich sagen die edlen jungen Männer, “Gretchen, liebes Kind” -(_money-paying again in dumb-show—three coins_), “bleib’ -taub—blind—todt!” und so bleibe ich.... Jetzt wird es ungefähr neun Uhr -sein; bald kommen sie vom Spaziergehen zurück. Also, es wäre gut dass -ich meinem eigenen Schatz einen Besuch abstatte und spazieren gehe. -(_Dons her shawl._) - - Exit. L. - - Enter Wirthin. R. - -WIRTHIN. That was Mr. Stephenson’s train that just came in. Evidently -the girls are out walking with Gretchen;—can’t find _them_, and _she_ -doesn’t seem to be around. (_A ring at the door._) That’s him. I’ll go -see. - - Exit. R. - - Enter Stephenson and Wirthin. R. - -S. Well, how does sickness seem to agree with you? - -WIRTHIN. So well that I’ve never been out of my room since, till I heard -your train come in. - -S. Thou miracle of fidelity! Now I argue from that, that the new plan is -working. - -WIRTHIN. Working? Mr. Stephenson, you never saw anything like it in the -whole course of your life! It’s absolutely wonderful the way it works. - -S. Succeeds? No—you don’t mean it. - -WIRTHIN. Indeed I do mean it. I tell you, Mr. Stephenson, that plan was -just an inspiration—that’s what it was. You could teach a cat German by -it. - -S. Dear me, this is noble news! Tell me about it. - -WIRTHIN. Well, it’s all Gretchen—every bit of it. I told you she was a -jewel. And then the sagacity of that child—why, I never dreamed it was -in her. Sh-she, “Never you ask the young ladies a question—never let -on—just keep mum—leave the whole thing to me,” sh-she. - -S. Good! And she justified, did she? - -WIRTHIN. Well, sir, the amount of German gabble that that child crammed -into those two girls inside the next forty-eight hours—well, _I_ was -satisfied! So I’ve never asked a question—never _wanted_ to ask any. -I’ve just lain curled up there, happy. The little dears! they’ve flitted -in to see me a moment, every morning and noon and supper-time; and as -sure as I’m sitting here, inside of six days they were clattering German -to me like a house afire! - -S. Sp-lendid, splendid! - -WIRTHIN. Of course it ain’t grammatical—the inventor of the language -can’t talk grammatical; if the Dative didn’t fetch him the Accusative -would; but it’s German all the same, and don’t you forget it! - -S. Go on—go on—this is delicious news— - -WIRTHIN. Gretchen, she says to me at the start, “Never you mind about -company for ’em,” sh-she—“I’m company enough.” And I says, “All -right—fix it your own way, child and that she _was_ right is shown by -the fact that to this day they don’t care a straw for any company but -hers.” - -S. Dear me; why, it’s admirable! - -WIRTHIN. Well, I should think so! They just dote on that hussy—can’t -seem to get enough of her. Gretchen tells me so herself. And the care -she takes of them! She tells me that every time there’s a moonlight -night she coaxes them out for a walk; and if a body can believe her, she -actually bullies them off to church three times every Sunday! - -S. Why, the little dev—missionary! Really, she’s a genius! - -WIRTHIN. She’s a bud, _I_ tell you! Dear me, how she’s brought those -girls’ health up! Cheeks?—just roses. Gait?—they walk on watch-springs! -And happy?—by the bliss in their eyes, you’d think they’re in Paradise! -Ah, that Gretchen! Just you imagine _our_ trying to achieve these -marvels! - -S. You’re right—every time. Those girls—why, all they’d have wanted to -know was what we wanted done—and then they wouldn’t have _done_ it—the -mischievous young rascals! - -WIRTHIN. Don’t tell _me_? Bless you, I found that out early—when _I_ was -bossing. - -S. Well, I’m im-mensely pleased. _Now_ fetch them down. I’m not afraid -now. They won’t want to go home. - -WIRTHIN. Home! I don’t believe you could drag them away from Gretchen -with nine span of horses. But if you want to see them, put on your hat -and come along; they’re out somewhere trapsing along with Gretchen. -(GOING.) - -S. I’m with you—lead on. - -WIRTHIN. We’ll go out the side door. It’s toward the Anlage. - - Exit both. L. - - Enter George and Margaret. R. - - Her head lies upon his shoulder, his arm is about her waist; they - are steeped in sentiment. - -M. (_Turning a fond face up at him._) Du Engel! - -G. Liebste! (_Kiss._) - -M. Oh, das Liedchen dass Du mir gewidmet hast—es ist so schön, so -wunderschön. Wie hätte ich je geahnt dass Du ein Poet wärest! - -G. Mein Schätzchen!—es ist mir lieb wenn Dir die Kleinigkeit gefällt. - -M. Ah, es ist mit der zärtlichsten Musik gefüllt—klingt ja so süss und -selig—wie das Flüstern des Sommerwindes die Abenddämmerung hindurch. -Wieder,—Theuerste!—sag’ es wieder. - - G. Du bist wie eine Blume!— - So schön und hold und rein— - Ich schau Dich an, und Wehmuth - Schleicht mir ins Herz hinein. - Mir ist als ob ich die Hände - Aufs Haupt Dir legen sollt, - Betend dass Gott Dich erhalte, - So rein und schön und hold. - - M. A-ch! (_Dumb-show sentimentalisms._) Georgie— - -G. Kindchen! - -M. Warum kommen sie nicht? - -G. Dass weiss ich gar nicht. Sie waren— - -M. Es wird spät. Wir müssen sie antreiben. Komm! - -G. Ich glaube sie werden recht bald ankommen, aber— - - Exit both. L. - - Enter Gretchen, R., in a state of mind. Slumps into a chair limp - with despair. - -GR. Ach! was wird jetzt aus mir werden! Zufällig habe ich in der Ferne -den verdammten Papa gesehen!—und die Frau Wirthin auch! Oh, diese -Erscheinung,—die hat mir beinahe das Leben genommen. Sie suchen die -jungen Damen—das weiss ich wenn sie diese und die jungen Herren zusammen -fänden—du heiliger Gott! Wenn das geschieht, wären wir Alle ganz und gar -verloren! Ich muss sie gleich finden, und ihr eine Warnung geben! - - Exit. L. - - Enter Annie and Will. R. - - Posed like the former couple and sentimental. - -A. Ich liebe Dich schon so sehr—Deiner edlen Natur wegen. Dass du dazu -auch ein Dichter bist!—ach, mein Leben ist uebermässig reich geworden! -Wer hätte sich doch einbilden können dass ich einen Mann zu einem so -wunderschönen Gedicht hätte begeistern können! - -W. Liebste! Es ist nur eine Kleinigkeit. - -A. Nein, nein, es ist ein echtes Wunder! Sage es noch einmal—ich flehe -Dich an. - - W. Du bist wie eine Blume!— - So schön und hold und rein— - Ich schau Dich an, und Wehmuth - Schleicht mir ins Herz hinein. - Mir ist als ob ich die Hände - Aufs Haupt Dir legen sollt, - Betend dass Gott Dich erhalte, - So rein und schön und hold. - - A. Ach, es ist himmlisch—einfach himmlisch. (_Kiss._) Schreibt auch -George Gedichte? - -W. Oh, ja—zuweilen. - -A. Wie schön! - -W. (_Aside._) Smouches ’em, same as I do! It was a noble good idea to -play that little thing on her. George wouldn’t ever think of -that—somehow he never had any invention. - -A. (_Arranging chairs._) Jetzt will ich bei Dir sitzen bleiben, und Du— - -W. (_They sit._) Ja,—und ich— - -A. Du wirst mir die alte Geschichte die immer neu bleibt, noch wieder -erzählen. - -W. Zum Beispiel, dass ich Dich liebe! - -A. Wieder! - -W. Ich—sie kommen! - - Enter George and Margaret. - -A. Das macht nichts. Fortan! - -(_George unties M.’s bonnet. She re-ties his cravat—interspersings of -love-pats, etc., and dumb-show of love-quarrelings._) - -W. Ich liebe Dich. - -A. Ach! Noch einmal! - -W. Ich habe Dich von Herzen lieb. - -A. Ach! Abermals! - -W. Bist Du denn noch nicht satt? - -A. Nein! (_The other couple sit down, and Margaret begins a re-tying of -the cravat. Enter the Wirthin and Stephenson, he imposing silence with a -sign._) Mich hungert sehr, ich _ver_hungre! - -W. Oh, Du armes Kind! (_Lays her head on his shoulder. Dumb-show between -Stephenson and Wirthin._) Und hungert es nicht mich? Du hast mir nicht -einmal gesagt— - -A. Dass ich Dich liebe? Mein Eigener! (_Frau Wirthin threatens to -faint—is supported by Stephenson._) Höre mich nur an: Ich liebe Dich, -ich liebe Dich— - - Enter Gretchen. - -GR. (_Tears her hair._) Oh, dass ich in der Hölle wäre! - -M. Ich liebe Dich, ich liebe Dich! Ah, ich bin so glücklich dass ich -nicht schlafen kann, nicht lesen kann, nicht reden kann, nicht— - -A. Und ich! Ich bin auch so glücklich dass ich nicht speisen kann, nicht -studieren, arbeiten, denken, schreiben— - -STEPHENSON. (_To Wirthin—aside._) Oh, there isn’t any mistake about -it—Gretchen’s just a rattling teacher! - -WIRTHIN. (_To Stephenson—aside._) I’ll skin her alive when I get my -hands on her! - -M. Kommt, alle Verliebte! (_They jump up, join hands, and sing in -chorus_)— - - Du, Du, wie ich Dich liebe, - Du, Du, liebst auch mich! - Die, die zärtlichsten Triebe— - -S. (_Stepping forward._) Well! - - The girls throw themselves upon his neck with enthusiasm. - -THE GIRLS. Why, father! - -S. My darlings! - - The young men hesitate a moment, then they add their embrace, - flinging themselves on Stephenson’s neck, along with the girls. - -THE YOUNG MEN. Why, father! - -S. (_Struggling._) Oh come, this is too thin!—too quick, I mean. Let go, -you rascals! - -GEO. We’ll never let go till you put us on the family list. - -M. Right! hold to him! - -A. Cling to him, Will! - - Gretchen rushes in and joins the general embrace, but is snatched - away by the Wirthin, crushed up against the wall and threatened with - destruction. - -S. (_Suffocating._) All right, all right—have it your own way, you -quartette of swindlers! - -W. He’s a darling! Three cheers for papa! - -EVERYBODY. (_Except Stephenson who bows with hand on heart._) -Hip—hip—hip: hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! - -GR. Der Tiger—ah-h-h! - -WIRTHIN. Sei ruhig, you hussy! - -S. Well, I’ve lost a couple of precious daughters, but I’ve gained a -couple of precious scamps to fill up the gap with; so it’s all right. -I’m satisfied, and everybody’s forgiven—(_With mock threats at -Gretchen._) - -W. Oh, wir werden für Dich sorgen—du herrliches Gretchen! - -GR. Danke schön! - -M. (_To Wirthin._) Und für Sie auch; denn wenn Sie nicht so freundlich -gewesen wären, krank zu werden, wie wären wir je so glücklich geworden -wie jetzt? - -WIRTHIN. Well, dear, I _was_ kind, but I didn’t mean it. But I ain’t -sorry—not one bit—that I ain’t. - - Tableau. - -S. Come now, the situation is full of hope, and grace, and tender -sentiment. If I had in the least the poetic gift, I know I could -improvise under such an inspiration (_each girl nudges her sweetheart_) -something worthy to—to—is there no poet among us? - - Each youth turns solemnly his back upon the other and raises his - hands in benediction over his sweetheart’s bowed head. - - Both youths at once. - - Mir ist als ob ich die Hände - Aufs Haupt Dir legen sollt— - - They turn and look reproachfully at each other—the girls contemplate - them with injured surprise. - -S. (_Reflectively._) I think I’ve heard that before somewhere. - -WIRTHIN. _(Aside._) Why the very cats in Germany know it! - - - Curtain. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - -_Price-List of Publications issued by_ - - _CHARLES L. 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Fine cloth, gilt stamp, $2.00. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES - - - 1. P. 171, changed “Entchluss” to “Entschluss”. - 2. P. 175, changed “fleissend” to “fliessend”. - 3. P. 177, changed “norddeutchen” to “norddeutschen”. - 4. P. 178, changed “Ihrer” to “Ihr”. - 5. P. 185, changed “hätte” to “hatte”. - 6. P. 187, changed “Ihnen” to “Sie”. - 7. P. 187, changed “Brieftäger, wenn’s gefällig ist, er möchte Ihnen - den ein geschriebenen” to “Briefträger, wenn’s gefällig ist, er - möchte Ihnen den eingeschriebenen”. - 8. P. 187, changed “deutchen” to “deutschen”. - 9. P. 191, changed “Coupè” to “Coupé”. -10. P. 191, changed “got” to “gut”. -11. P. 194 and 195, changed “habet” to “habt”. -12. P. 194, changed “mien gnädgister” to “mein Gnädigster”. -13. P. 201, changed “Poët” to “Poet”. -14. P. 203, changed “sich schon so sehr—Deiner edlen Natur wegen. Dass - du dazu auch ein Dichter bist!—ach, mein Leben ist uebermässig - reich geworden! Wir” to “Dich schon so sehr—Deiner edlen Natur - wegen. Dass du dazu auch ein Dichter bist!—ach, mein Leben ist - uebermässig reich geworden! Wer”. -15. P. 206, changed “Komm” to “Kommt”. -16. P. 208, changed “Aus” to “Aufs”. -17. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling. -18. Anachronistic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as - printed. -19. Footnotes have been re-indexed using numbers. -20. 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