image5"De Prodegale Son."
"Dar wuz de ole folks sottin' on de poach as he wen' down de road. Dey could see him ergin crowin' in de craddle;dey could see him larnin' how to teck his fust step, en back in de years, dey could heah de fust word he ever said—de fust one mos' uv us says,mammy.
"He rech de city, en dere wuz frens waitin' him by de score, en dey say, 'Whut a fine genermun! Whut a spote! All wool en a yahd wide!' Yassir! An he smile an' swole up an' say, 'Le's have sunthin!' Dey go inter de bar, en de barkeeper smile en say, 'Whut's yourn, gents?' Some say ole fashun toddy, some say gin, en' so on. De young man res' hi' foot on de railin' uv de bar, en look at hi'sel' in de glass, en he see de dimun rings on his fingers jes' glis'nin', an' when de licker gits to workin' inside him, he look in de glass ergin, en 'lows to hi'sel', 'I reckon I'se jes' about de wahmest thing in dis hyar town,'—an' he wuz! He foots all de bills. Lawse! how he meck frens. He tell er story, en dey all jes' laff fit ter bust, an' say, 'Hain' he great!' De ladies uv de town, some uv 'em, dey roll dey black eyes at him an' say, 'Hain' he sweet!' He done fergotde little girl wid de blue eyes an' de gold ha'r blowin' in de win'. De gamblers tuck a crack at him, too—dey kin tell a sucker three miles off. Dey showed him how to handle de kyards an' roll de bones, en he rar'd back in a sof' cheer wid a black seegar in hi' mouf an' see his money slip erway. Lawse! yo' oreter see his room whar he stay. He slep' in a feather-tick nine foot deep, an' show-nuff goose feathers, mine yo'; a red lam' wool blanket, en lookin'-glasses all over de wall, so ez he could see hi'sel' whichever way he tu'n. Nobody to scole him erbout gittin' up in de mawnin' en he had his breakfas' fotch up on a silver waiter by a shiny nigger, but somehow, de vittels got so dey didn't tase ez good ez dey did down on de ole fawm. City grub looks mi'ty temp'in at fust, but after while when yo' git down ter kinder pickin' ovah hit, yo'll find dat hit's lackin' in de juice er sunthin', en yo' long to lay yo' gums on de things jes' whar dey grow.
"Byme-bye—hit allus comes, he seedat he's gittin' low in cash, en 'fore long yo' see him slippin' 'roun' to de pawn shop. De ole pawn-shop man he scowl at him an' fix ter bleed him good en strong. His dimun shirt-stud wen' fust, en one by one de rings on hi' fingers, tell dey look ez bare ez a bean-pole in de wintah time.
"He move his bo'din' house, en purty soon he move ergin, tell he fine'ly cum ter a house whar dey didn't have much mo' den liver hash. Oh, Lord! Liver hash! Whar wuz his frens? Ef enny uv yo' hez ever been dar, good an' busted, yo' know whar dey wuz. Dey tu'n erway frum him lack he wuz a polecat.
"One mawnin' when ever'thing wuz gone, he started frum de city. Whut a change! One shurt wuz all he had, en dat hadn' seen de wash fer two weeks. He wuz seedy en his heart wuz sore; he wuz down an' out, en clean out, en didn't even have chawin' terbacker. He look lack a turkey buzzard ez had lost his wing-feathers. He wundered on; he stop by de bridge whar de water wuz tricklin'down below—he see de picture uv hi'sel' in de water, en' hit meck de cole chills run up hi' back. 'Shamed er himsel'? He dun got so ershamed dat he look lack he cum out'n a hole in de groun'. Byme-bye he cum to a fawm house, en ast fer a job. Yo' know he mus' er been awful hongry to think erbout wuk, but he dun got so hongry dat he et yarbs en sapplin' bark er ennything. De fawmer look at him en say, 'I cudden' hev yo' erbout de house; de wimmen wouldn' stan' fer hit, but I got some hawgs up de holler yo' kin feed, but yo'll hev to stay erway frum hyar, ez I doan' wan' my chillun skeered.'
"He wen' up de holler. De win' sigh en groan thru de poppaw bushes, en he wuz sad, en de dark drap down en hit wuz so lonesome; nobody but de katydids en de screech-owl en dem hawgs. Doan' yo' feel sorry fer him, frens? I do—I feel sorry fer ennybody in dat sort er fix, but feelin' sorry hain' gwine ter holp much when yo' git yo'se'f tied up in sech a box. He fed dem hawgs, he et what dem hawgs et, he slep' close to dem hawgs, he wuzsuttenlyon de hawg, but dey wuz better company en dem gamblers en some dem wimmen in de city—yes, dey wuz.
"Byme-bye, one night, ez he see de moon comin' over de hill, en de stars winkin en blinkin' in de sky, he got ter thinkin' uv de ole home, uv de chitlins en de spare ribs, de fat biskits en de sweet milk, de persarves en de yaller butter—he jes' cudden' stand hit. He walk down to de hawg-pen en throw over some cawn en say, 'Far'well, my frens, I'se done de bes' I kin fer yo', but I'm gwine home!'
"He struck out, fust in a kine er foxtrot, but de mo' he thought er home, de faster he got. Erlong time hit seem, over dat lonesome road. De little chillun cum out ter look at him, but fly back inter de house, he look so awdashus, en ef he meet a hawg in de road, he cudden' look him in de face. He could smell de ham and hominy fryin' in de skillet at de houses whar he pass, en' hit meck hi' mouf water lack a hoss wid de slobbers.
"Fine'ly he see erway down yondah, de ole place frum de top uv de hill—deole house sottin' back in de cool shade. He tuck a hitch on his rotten britches an' hit de grit.
"Ez he cum up to de yahd gate, his dawg bark at him, an' his daddy cum down de yahd wid his big gold-headed cane, en he never knowed hi' son whatsomever, tell de boy kiner drag up en say, 'Pap, fo' Gawd sake, gimme sunthin' ter eat!'
"Ole Miss, his mammy, sot by de big winder, lookin' kinder sad-like, doin' fancy wuk wid her needle, en singin' sorter sof 'In De Sweet Bye en' Bye,' en' presen'ly she hear her boy's voice—a mammy kin hear de voice uv her boy a long way—en' she jump up en' thode her sewin' erway en' cried out ez de tears stream down her cheek, 'Praise Gawd, my boy done cum back!'
"De ole genermun knowed de black sheep dun cum home, en he holler out en say, 'Bring de bes' robe en put hit on him, but wash him in de pon' fust!' Den he say, 'Bring de fattes' calf, de one fed on de bran' mash!' Dey wuz merry,en his mammy wep' on his neck, arfter hit wuz washed, en when he sot down to de table, en she give him de veal cutlets en de light rolls, he des hook his laig 'roun' a cheer 'roun' an' lay to, en he des kin er roll frum side ter side, layin' in de grub, en licken' his fingers, en passin' up hi' plate—en dey think he's thru, en gwine set back, but he jes' teck a fresh holt en square hi'se'f erway en des roam eroun' in glory, en he smile, en de grease jes' a-shinin' on hi' chin.
"But de brother wuz mad. He 'low dat he stay at home, en ack a puffeck genermun, en dis hyar skalawag jes' play de devil ginerally, en den cum back lack er skunk en dey tu'n de ole house upside down fer him. He chaw de rag monstrous fer a spell, but de ole man fine'ly tell him ef he doan' lack hit, he better go out en try de wurl hi'se'f, en de brother look at de Prodegale, en kiner shiver en simmer down.
"Dat night when de Prodegale got inter de feather-bed, whar he done hid a ham-bone under de piller, en hi' mammytucked him in en kiss him good night, he strotch hi'se'f en say, 'When I goes erway frum heah ergin, I goes erway daid!' En he drap to sleep—de sweetes' sleep fo' many er long time, en dream uv de little gal wid de blue eyes, who wuz still er waitin' fer him.
"Young men, all I wan' ter say tuh yo' by de way uv windin' up is dis—Ef yo' got a good home, er enny sort uv home, stay dar!"
And Shawn, sitting by the window, clasped his little Testament and fervently said, "Amen!"
Shawn hadbeen at home for several days. One night when the waves were rolling high on the stream, he sat in the office of the hotel, which stood on the bank of the river. A cheerful log fire glowed in the old fireplace. Pence Oiler, the ferryman, sat in the corner puffing at a cob pipe. Suddenly, came the loud cry of "Hello!" When the door was opened, a young man and woman came into the office. They had hurriedly gotten out of a buggy and both seemed very much agitated, and the young man quickly informed them that they were eloping from a neighboring county and were being hotly pursued by an angry father and brother. Shawn's gaze was fixed on the young woman, for never before had he seen such a beautiful face,such lustrous, dark eyes, lit up by the flame of love, seemed to shed a glow upon the dingy walls of the old room.
"Where can I find the ferryman?" asked the young man.
"I am the ferryman," said old Pence, "but you can't cross the river to-night; the wind is too high."
"But I must cross," said the young man, as a wild glance shot from his eye. "I'll give you ten dollars to set us over!"
"I'm feer'd to resk it," said Pence, but the beautiful girl went up to him, and with a smile which seemed to melt into the very soul, softly said, "I am not afraid. Won't you take us?"
Old Pence hesitated for a moment and then turned and asked, "Who will go with me?"
"Let me go, Mr. Oiler," said Shawn, never thinking of danger connected with the river.
"Can you hold the rudder?" asked old Pence as he turned to Shawn.
image6"I'll give you ten dollars to set us over."
"I'll hold it, Mr. Oiler," said Shawn. Down to the shore they went, the sweetwoman calm and undisturbed, while the young man at her side was trembling and uneasy. The wind was blowing a gale, and the waves were beating angrily upon the shore.
After several attempts, Shawn and Oiler succeeded in launching the boat and getting up sail. The spray and water came drenching the young woman, but she quietly took her seat.
"Hold her dead on Ogman's hill!" yelled Oiler to Shawn. The wind bellowed into the stout sail and they shot into the foam, Shawn leaning back with a firm grasp on the tiller, and his eye fixed on Oiler.
"Keep her quartered, with stern to the wind, and don't give her a chance to sheer!" shouted Oiler.
"Is there much danger?" asked the bridegroom, as his teeth chattered. Oiler did not answer him but yelled to Shawn, "Hold her steady and fast!"
"I'm trying to," said the groom, clutching his fair companion.
"I wasn't talking to you," said Oiler.
They were nearing the Indiana shore. Oiler shouted to Shawn, "Turn her down a few points, then lift her out on the shore!" and beautifully did they mount high on the pebbled beach. Oiler turned to Shawn and said, "We'll not go back to-night." They went to the hotel. The proprietor found the county clerk and a minister, and there in the little hotel parlor, Shawn saw their passengers take the marriage vows.
"Wasn't he scared comin' over?" said Shawn to Oiler as they went to bed.
"Yes," said Oiler, "but wimmen always has the best grit when it comes to a showdown, and when a woman makes up her mind to do a thing, 'spesh'ly to git married, thar ain't no river or anything else can stop her. I've seed a good many couples cross this stream—some of 'em, I reckon, wish they had never made the trip. I fetched old Joe Davis over here with his third wife. He run away with old Dodger Spillman's girl. Old Dodger killed a plug hoss tryin' to beat them to the river. We was about forty yardsfrom shore when old Dodger run down and hollered for me to come back, but his girl stood up in the skiff and hollered to him, 'Go back, pap and cool off—hit's my last chance!'
"I started across with a young couple once, but the girl's daddy beat 'em to the river, and drawed down on the young man with a hoss-pistol. The young man didn't flinch, but folded his arms and looked that old galoot in the eye as cool as ever I see. The father ordered his girl to come back with him, but she ketched holt of her lover's arm and said, 'If you are goin' to shoot, I bid for the fust fire—I'm goin' to have this man!' Her old daddy swelled up and bust out cryin' and begged them to go back home and git married, but they wouldn't do it, and he went across with us, and after he got four or five drinks, he like to bought out the town for them. Don't never run off to git married, Shawn. As for myself, they ain't no sort of weddin' to my likin'. I never got sot on but one girl, but I got sot on her for all time tocome, and dad-scat her, she run away with another feller just about a week before we was to be hitched. Wimmen is curious. Some say as how we couldn't git along without 'em, and it looks like it's mighty hard for some to git along with 'em, an' seems as after some people gits the ones they's after, that somethin' comes along to take away their happiness before it has begun. There was Ann Coffee. Her and Eli Travis must a courted nigh onto ten year. It was away back yonder in '52, but I can see 'em now settin' out thar on the bank, holdin' hands. They went down to Madison and was married at last. They took the Redstone for Cincinnati. The boat was full of people; it was in the spring, and a happy crowd was aboard, with music and dancin', and people come out all along the shore to see the boat pass. Just four miles below here, on the Kentucky side, the Redstone landed to take a young preacher aboard. His name was Perry Scott, and he come up the swingin'-stage wavin' his han'kerchief to his father and mother on the shore. Suddenly, there comes a mighty roar on the air. The steamer was hid from view as the explosion shook the earth and splashed water everywhere. The b'ilers of the Redstone had bust, and all around you could hear the groans of the dyin'. The young preacher was never heard of again, and nothin' but his white han'kerchief, hangin' in a tree, was ever found. There was over seventeen people killed outright. Eli Travis went down to death, and strange to say, Ann, his wife, who was standin' by his side, was saved. She was blowed high up in the air, but come down close to shore. Her hair turned white after that, Shawn, and she used to set out thar on the bank, where they had set so often, lookin' away down to the bend of the stream whar Eli had been took away from her."
The next morning when Oiler and Shawn started to the river, Oiler slipped a five dollar gold piece in Shawn's hand. "He give me two of 'em, and one of them belongs to you. What are you goin' to do with yours, Shawn?"
"Give it to my mammy," said Shawn.
Doctor Hissongsat by the fireplace in his office. Brad was blacking a pair of shoes. "Shawn," said the old doctor, "I'm going up to Old Meadows this afternoon to hunt quail, and I want you to go along. Go down and get ready while Brad hitches up the buggy."
The first snow of the season was gently sifting from the November skies as Doctor Hissong and Shawn drove along the river road. Scattered flocks of wild-geese and ducks were flying above the cottonwoods and sycamores. Thehonk,honkof the geese as they circled above the stream, their white wings flashing in the veiled sunlight, lent a delicious touch to the winter scene. Shawn was watching the curling smoke from a tall chimney at the bend of the river. Asthey drew nearer, he saw the old house nestling behind the tall pine trees, the white columns of the broad porch standing out in stately grandeur. Doctor Hissong drove through the orchard, coming up to the lower entrance to the house. Major LeCroix came down the yard, his long, silvery hair waving beneath his broad-brimmed hat, his ruddy countenance beaming a cordial welcome. Just behind him, his hat in his hand, was Horton, a colored gentleman of the old school, brought up in the LeCroix service, and staunch in his devotion to the family. Major LeCroix led the way to the house. The guineas began calling a chorus ofpot-racsand ran fluttering through the drifting snow. "They are giving us a song of welcome," said Doctor Hissong. Horton showed his gleaming teeth and said, "No, sah, it's a song uv sorrow, for my ole woman, Mary, hez got two uv 'em in de yuven, bakin' fo' yo' suppah."
As Shawn passed the old stone kitchen, he caught the fragrance of the good things in Aunt Mary's oven, and AuntMary, in her white cap and apron, was bending over the stove.
Major LeCroix and Doctor Hissong were standing on the porch. Shawn paused for a moment to gaze fondly to where the stream wended its way among the tall hills. The Major opened the low colonial door, and stood aside as his guests entered the beautiful old family room. A back-log blazed cheerfully in the open fireplace.
Over the fireplace was the mantel, with its rich hand-carving of the French coat of arms. On the walls of the room were family portraits, some of them brought from the provinces of old France. Doctor Hissong stood before one portrait, a face sweet in its Madonna-like innocence and purity. A tear-drop stole down the Major's cheek.
Leading Doctor Hissong over to the window, he pointed to the family burying-ground, and said, "The dear wife sleeps under that tallest pine." The snow had covered the mound, but again the Major could see April days out there,and the heavy bloom of the orchard—the redbird and the catbird were pouring out symphonies of melody; the silver-winged pigeons were bending through the golden skies, and again he could hear a mother's voice calling in happiest tones to her children.
"Horton, call Lallite," said Major LeCroix.
Shawn turned suddenly to see a young girl come into the room. She came up coyly, greeting Doctor Hissong, and when she came over toward Shawn, he felt a hot flush coming to his cheek. He had seen this young girl before, with her father in town, but now as she came before him, with her merry, flashing eyes and radiant color, he stood with downcast eyes, and the old desire to run off to the woods came over him again. She gave him her soft hand as her musical voice said, "I am so glad you came with the doctor." He stood as one entranced before this girl of such sweet and simple beauty, and unconsciously, he wasledinto aneasy attitude and relieved from his painful embarrassment.
Horton came into the room, bearing a tray and glasses. He turned to the Major and asked, "De white er de red, Major?"
"Both, Horton."
Horton took the keys which hung at the end of the mantel. Returning, he placed two bottles of grape wine on the tray. He filled the glasses, but the Major observed that Shawn did not take his glass.
"Do you want the wine, boy?"
"No, sir, I thank you," said Shawn, hesitatingly.
"It's all right, Major," said Doctor Hissong, "Mrs. Alden is looking after him, you know."
Raising his glass, Major LeCroix said, "Welcome to Old Meadows, and a health to pleasant memories. You find things sadly changed—my dear companion gone; my boy a soldier in a distant land, Louise long married and never returning until she comes with the children to spend the summer—but I have Lallite with herdear, happy heart, and I have Mary and Horton."
The winter day was fast drawing to its close. Horton again appearing, quietly said: "Supper is sarved."
The old dining-room with its mahogany side-board and dining-table, the heavy brass candle-sticks, the tall clock in the corner, were all familiar objects, and the presence of Aunt Mary and Horton, standing behind the chairs, was a picture of a happier time, with the background of many glad faces to be filled only with memory.
Shawn sat beside Lallite at the table, and deep down in his heart, he felt that it was good to be there, and that life was opening to something dearer than the general happenings of his narrow sphere had ever given hope for.
With bowed head the Major asked the table blessing. Aunt Mary brought in the delicious baked apples and poured over them the rich cream. The Major was carving the guineas. "Lallite, help Shawn to one of those corn-pones; I'llventure that you'll never get them any better in town. The last time I was in the city, they brought me something they said was cornbread, but it was mixed up with molasses, baking-powder and other things. There are different kinds of cornbread, as you know. There is a bread called egg-bread, made with meal, buttermilk, lard, soda and eggs, and there is a mush-bread, made by scalding the meal—some call it spoon-bread; but the only corn-bread is the pone, and the only way to make them is to get white flint corn, have it ground at a watermill, if you can, where they do not bolt the life out of it, scald your meal with hot water, adding salt, then drain off the water thoroughly and mix your meal with good, rich, sweet milk, then shove 'em in a hot oven, and you'll have cornbread that is cornbread. Take one and butter it while it is hot—don't cut it, break it. There you are. Let me help you to this guinea breast. Did you ever know anyone who could get the crisp turn that Mary gets on them?"
"Never, sir," said Doctor Hissong, "I never knew but one woman who could come anyways near Mary's cooking, and that was Joel Hobson's wife, Lucy. They used to say that her cooking was her only redeeming feature, for she had a temper like a wildcat, and vented it upon poor Joel and made life so miserable for him that he finally took to drink. One night, so the boys tell it, Joel got too much and was lying out under the big elm tree, afraid to go home. One of the boys rigged himself out in a white sheet and came up to Joel, tapping him on the shoulder. 'Who are you?' said Joel.'I am the devil,' answered the deep voice. 'Come right over and give me your hand; we're kinfolks. I married your sister.'
"I suppose you remember Lucy's mother, Major? Her name was Sahra Turner; she was a good woman but powerful curious. She had married off all of her girls but Mary Ellen, and Tip Jennings was paying court to her. It seems that Sahra had kept close track ofthe courtship and the headway of all her girls, and one night when Tip was in the parlor with Mary Ellen, Sahra had a small kitchen table set by the parlor door and was standing on it, looking over the transom to see how Tip was coming on. Tip had gotten down on his knees and was making his declaration to Mary Ellen. They were somewhat out of Sahra's range of vision. The crucial moment had come, and Sahra leaned over to see the climax, but she leaned too far, and one of the table-legs broke. Well, they got her up with two ribs broke and laid up in bed for a long spell. Tip never came back, and Mary Ellen married some fellow, who took her out to Kansas."
They sat long at the table, the Major rising again into the spirit of old days, Shawn laughing at the quaint jokes and stories. Lallite's sweet laughter rang out, bringing the glow into the Major's eyes. She had heard the stories so often, but they never grew dull with the years, and they seemed to mellow asbeautifully as did the sunset of the Major's life.
Shawn listened again as he sat by the blazing fire to tales of the war—of charges, victories and defeats. Above the piano hung the Major's sword, presented to him by his soldiers after the battle of Stone River.
"Major," said Doctor Hissong, "I want to hear some music before we retire."
"What do you say, Lally?" said the Major.
Lallite went to the piano and gently touched the yellow keys. Major LeCroix drew forth his beloved clarionet. As he took the instrument from its case, he said, "I'm getting rusty nowadays, but Lally keeps me from getting entirely out of tune. We'll try 'Sounds From Home'."
Lallite played the introduction and the Major joined in, the clarionet breathing forth a deep rich melody. The Major seemed to throw his very soul into the music, and Lallite followed him with atender accompaniment. The blaze from the fireplace flickered and threw changing shadows over the old room. The Major and his daughter played on. They were living again in the past, and the strains were bringing memories sacred and sweet. Shawn sat as one transported to a heavenly sphere, his eyes fixed on the delicately graceful figure swaying to and fro under the changing cadences of the melody. It was the sweetest music that had ever floated into the portals of Shawn's heart, awakening a thrill of tenderness and love.
The tall clock in the dining-hall pealed forth the hour of ten. Horton came with a lighted candle, and Shawn followed him to the south room overlooking the river. A cozy fire burned in the grate, the moon swinging above the stream touched the hills and valley to silvery softness. He stood near the window and gazed long upon the water, the stream running through every association of his life. On the table was a daguerrotype; it was Lallite'sface, and the eyes seemed smiling just for him.
Doctor Hissong and Major LeCroix sat long into the night. "Major," said the old doctor, "I'm going to make the race for the Legislature again. John Freeman wants it, but I want to represent the county just once more. Can you hold this end of the county for me?"
"I think I can," said the Major.
"Then I'll announce. Freeman is a bitter man to go against, but I'm not afraid to try him out. I'm getting worn out in the practice of medicine, and will probably retire whether elected or not. I have my affairs in good shape; a bachelor doesn't require much. I want to put Shawn into the practice some day, God bless him." A tear-drop glistened on the old doctor's cheek, and Major LeCroix knew the secret of this emotion.
Who doesnot recall the joyous thrill that comes with the preparation for a hunt—the powder-horns and shot pouches scattered here and there—the cleaning of guns, the glances at the sky to determine whether wind and weather are propitious, the barking of the dogs as their eyes gleam in anticipation of the day's sport.
Major LeCroix critically examined Dr. Hissong's gun: "Too much choke in the barrel for quail. Shawn, don't you load that rusty piece of yours too heavily." Reaching above the doorway, he brought down his muzzle-loading gun, with its silver mounted hammers and lock shields, and as he caressingly drew his coat-sleeve along the barrels, he said, "They don't know how to make them like this nowadays."
They went forth into the frosty, bracing air. They walked leisurely along the bank of the little creek, where a crust of ice fringed the shore. "Major," said Horton, "de las' time I see dat big flock uv birds, wuz in de stubble de uther side de orchid." The Major worked the dogs toward the stubble-field. Sam, the old English setter, began to trail, halting occasionally to sniff the breeze.
"I think we will locate them in the sorghum patch," said the Major. Sam was creeping cautiously through the sage grass just above the sorghum field. Presently he came up erect and rigid, Bess, the trim little Irish setter, behind him at back-stand. "Steady, there! Ho, steady! Can you beat that, doctor?" cried the Major. "Get to the lower side of them, Shawn, so we can drive them to the orchard—flush, Sam!" The old setter sprang forward and the birds arose from the ground with an exciting flutter. The guns roared and two birds fell. Doctor Hissong was reloading, ramming the charge home with a long hickoryramrod. With trembling hand, Major LeCroix drew the cork from his powder-horn, and endeavored to pour the powder into the barrel.
"Let me load for you," said Shawn.
"No, indeed, I'm not too old to load my gun." He stood for a moment looking at the shot-pouch. "Here, boy, maybe you had better load for me." A tinge of sadness crept over his features, but gave way to an expression of joy when Shawn said, "You and the doctor got your birds that time, I missed." Horton gave Shawn a grateful glance. They got into the scattered birds, the Major and Doctor Hissong thoroughly enjoying the sport. As each bird came from cover, Shawn held his fire, and followed closely after the shots of doctor Hissong and Major LeCroix, and as each bird fell, he would shout, "Good shot, Major!" or "Good shot, doctor!" They got into the lower bottoms, and by noon Horton showed a fine bag of game. Shawn modestly refused to claim but a few of the birds, but Horton knew of hisunerring marksmanship, and wondered at his unselfishness. Major LeCroix and Doctor Hissong were in jubilant spirits as they turned homeward. Old Sam, the setter, limped painfully behind the doctor.
image7"You and the doctor got your birds."
"What crippled Sam?" asked the Major.
"I loaned him to a young fellow from Ohio last winter," said the doctor, "I reckon about the greenest young man that ever went into the field. He told Brad that he didn't know when nor how to shoot at the birds, and the old black rascal said, 'Jes' shoot whar de dawg sets,' and unfortunately Sam got tired and sat down, and got a load of bird-shot in his hind-legs."
As they put their guns away that afternoon, Major LeCroix again examined Shawn's cheap gun. Then came the supper of broiled birds, cooked as only Mary could cook them, and at the table-board they went over the field again, the work of the dogs, the Major meanwhile waxing eloquent over the trueness of his gun.
Shawn lay again in the old Empire bed, watching the dying embers in the fireplace. Softly the door opened—the Major entered, a lighted candle in one hand, and his beloved muzzle-loader in the other. "Shawn, I have been thinking it all over; I will hunt no more, but there are many days for you in the field, but youmusthave a gun, and I am giving you mine." He paused at the door, held the candle aloft, the soft light falling on his silvery hair, "Good night and pleasant dreams."
And the night was filled with pleasant dreams for Shawn, for that afternoon as he and Lallite stood upon the porch, gazing upon the wintry stream, she drew near him and said, "It will be so lonesome tomorrow when you are gone," and something in the tone of the voice echoed the same words in his heart.
It wasmidwinter, and the river was frozen over. The boats had not been running for many days, and the happiest time of all the happy days for the young people of the river towns had come. The ponds and creeks were forgotten in the great event of skating on the river, and for miles the smooth surface was a speedway over which the skaters made merry excursions. In front of Skarrow the ice was firm, and with that buoyancy so dear to the lovers of this sport. In the afternoons the young people from the town of Skarrow and Vincent on the opposite side, all met on the river. All classes were there—the darkey with his big crook-runner skates, and the young beau, with his latest style polished runners. The two races voluntarily divided the skating grounds, the white people above, and the colored folks below.
The merry jingle of sleigh-bells could be heard amid this happy throng, and glad voices rising in a splendid chorus, echoed throughout the valley, and many a love dream had its first awakening and sweet realization in this joyous time. How the crisp, frosty air brought the glow of health and beauty to the cheek; how sweet the music of maiden voices rising upon the wintry air, and the tumbling of glossy curls underneath the hoods and sealskin caps as they sped through the delightful hours. Tullie Wasson was out there with his string band—Tullie with his old black fiddle, and Jim Grey with his cornet, and his son with his wondrous bass violin, and Tullie knew all the good old tunes, and a few fancy waltzes and polkas, but he was at his best in the Virginia Reel, and it was a pretty sight to see the joyous couples ranging off to their positions for the ice dance, and what great bursts oflaughter and cries of happiness swelled up when Tullie shouted, "Git yer pardners fer a Reel!" The movements of the dance were executed with a grace that would have done credit to the ball-room, Jimmy Dunla, the master of ceremonies, occasionally leaving the lines to give an exhibition of fancy skating and cutting his name on the ice.
Then came the races. The towns of Vincent and Skarrow gave a cup each skating year for the winner of the Ice Race. The race was for one thousand yards, the starting point was at the big hay barn, and a red flag marked the post at the end of the course. Four young men from each side of the river were entered in this race, the event of the season. Indiana held the cup. It had been three years since the last race. Among those entered by the Kentucky boys was Shawn. He had been practicing for many days, and somehow, the hopes of Kentucky were centered in him. The winner of the last race was also entered again. He was one of the mostpopular boys of the Indiana town, and the betting was strongly in his favor. He was of magnificent build, with a long, graceful stroke, and came skating out before the crowd with the easy confidence of one who felt that the race was won. He closely watched the Kentucky boys as they circled about the crowd preparatory to starting for the head of the course. His eyes were fixed on Shawn. Turning to a friend, he said, "If I am beaten to-day, there's the young fellow who will get the cup." He skated over toward Shawn, and extending his hand, with the utmost good will, he said, "I'm afraid that I will have to beat my old record to win out to-day." Shawn smilingly took his hand and answered, "We are going to do our best, but if Indiana keeps the cup, I know of no one who would deserve it more than you, Danner."
The starter announced the race, and ordered the contestants to the head of the course. As they gracefully swung away, Lallite waved her hand towardShawn, and the tender glance from her blue eyes sent a thrill into his bosom.
They were forming for the start, sixty yards beyond the flag which marked the line of starting. All was excitement in the crowd gathered on each side near the finishing line. It seemed that every voice was hushed as they saw the red flag at the head of the course suddenly fall, and heard the cry, "Go!" They could see the flash of steel against the ice as the skaters bent every effort toward the goal. After the first hundred yards, Danner and Shawn were seen to be in the lead, Danner almost erect and coming like a whirlwind. Shawn was bending over, but close on Danner's heels, and with a shorter but much faster stroke.Swish,swish,swish—they could hear the sound of the skates on the ice.
The Indiana crowd set up a mighty shout. "Come on, Danner! Look at Danner!"
"Come, Shawn," yelled the Kentucky boys. Old Brad ran out and threw up his hat and shouted, "Down to it, myShawn—bust yo'se'f wide open, honey!"
Shawn was just behind Danner. They were nearing the last hundred yard flag. Danner threw all his energy and power into the last effort; every nerve and muscle was strained to its utmost.
"Danner wins!" went up the cry, but suddenly like a rush of wind, Shawn shot past him and the flag went down with Shawn a good five yards in the lead.
And such a mighty shout that went up on that frozen stream was never heard before. Old Brad was rubbing Shawn's face and chest. Shawn heard the loud huzzas and heard Danner's voice praising his wonderful race, but best of all, Lallite came up, and with her own hand, presented him the cup. On the shoulders the boys of Skarrow he was carried in triumph. It was a proud day for Shawn. He had brought the cup back to Kentucky.
image8They were nearing the last hundred yard flag.
The winterhad passed away. Shawn had been working hard in school, and under the encouragement of Mrs. Alden, was making fair progress, but Sunday afternoons found him in his row-boat, wandering about the stream and generally pulling his boat out on the beach at Old Meadows, for Lallite was there to greet him, and already they had told each other of their love. What a dream of happiness, to wander together along the pebbled beach, or through the upland woods, to tell each other the little incidents of their daily life, and to pledge eternal fidelity. Oh dearest days, when the rose of love first blooms in youthful hearts, when lips breathe the tenderest promises, fraught with such transports of delight; when each lingering wordgrows sweeter under the spell of love-lit eyes. Oh, blissful elysium of love's young dream!
They stood together in the deepening twilight, when the sun's last bars of gold were reflected in the stream.
"Oh, Shawn, it was a glad day when you first came with Doctor Hissong to hunt."
"Yes," said Shawn, as he took her hand, "it was a hunt where I came upon unexpected game, but how could you ever feel any love for a poor river-rat?"
"I don't know," said Lallite, "but maybe, it is that kind that some girls want to fall in love with, especially if they have beautiful teeth, and black eyes and hair, and can be unselfish enough to kill a bag of game for two old men, and let them think that they did the shooting."
"Lally, when they have love plays on the show-boats, they have all sorts of quarrels and they lie and cuss and tear up things generally."
"Well, Shawn, there's all sorts of love,I suppose, but mine is not the show-boat kind."
"Thank the Lord," said Shawn.
He drew out a little paste-board box. Nestling in a wad of cotton, was the pearl given to him by Burney.
"Lally, this is the only thing I have ever owned in the way of jewelry, and it's not much, but will you take it and wear it for my sake?"
"It will always be a perfect pearl to me," said the blushing girl.
Doctor Hissongwas announced as a candidate for the Legislature. John Freeman, his opponent, was making a vigorous canvass for the nomination before the democratic primary. Freeman, unfortunately, saw fit to inject personalities into the campaign, and sought to throw the old doctor into a violent passion, possibly leading him to his old weakness of resorting to liquor, but Doctor Hissong made his canvass upon a high plane, appealing to the voters from a standpoint of the duties and responsibilities involving this honor, and ignoring the petty thrusts of his opponent.
Major LeCroix gave a burgoo at his locust grove on the river, to which all the candidates were invited. It wasan occasion which brought out an immense crowd of farmers and town-people. "Turkle" Thompkins had been engaged to make the burgoo, and the river country could not boast of another such burgoo maker as "Turkle", for the making of burgoo soup requires an experience born of long practice and care. Thompkins always selected the best meats, of beef, mutton, chickens and squirrels, and vegetables of corn, tomatoes, onions, cabbage and potatoes. The boiling of this delicious soup was begun the night before. Darkies were stirring the great kettles as "Turkle" went quietly around, adding some new ingredient here and there. Others could make burgoo—a certain kind, but not the Thompkins kind, for there was a lusciousness about his burgoo that filled you with a satisfaction never known before—a something that soothed your aching pangs—something that seemed to put your heart at rest with all the world, and recall the words, "Fate cannot harm me; I have dined to-day."
Above the smoke of the kettles, the sky was blue and dreamy; the river was winding like a thread of silver through the quiet valley. The long table of rough boards, with the row of tin cups and great stacks of bread, was an inviting spectacle. The farmers stood around in groups, discussing political questions and cropping prospects until "Turkle" Thompkins announced dinner. Then came a merry clattering of tin cups as "Turkle" came by with buckets of burgoo,dipping it out with a long ladle. What an appetite each individual seemed to develop for this open-air repast. After the dinner, preparations were made for the speaking. The spot selected for the speaking was below the grove, where an elm stump answered for a platform.
The candidates for the county offices were called for, and each one made a short talk, asking the support of the voters. Doctor Hissong's name was shouted. Unbuttoning his long blue coat, he drew forth a large red silk handkerchief and wiped the gathering beadsof perspiration from his forehead. Pulling down his black velvet vest, he made a courtly bow, took a drink of water from a gourd and began:
"Gentlemen and fellow citizens—It gives me transcendent happiness and unalloyed pleasure to lend my humble presence to this sublime and significant occasion, and I cannot permit this occasion to pass without availing myself of the opportunity that this magnificent and intelligent audience affords of presenting myself to you as the candidate for the democratic nomination for the office of representative in the Kentucky Legislature. It has been the pride of my life to proclaim myself as a patriot; that I am a descendent of one who helped to make this country free—'decori decus addit avoto,' and I have felt that the realization of this patriotism and its dream that has clung to me through life, would be in getting a system of locks and dams on the Kentucky river—that river that winds through an enchantment of rocky cliffs and hangingfoliage; by mountains, cedar-tipped and mossy-green; by rolling meadows, where the velvet softness of the blue-grass enriches this idyllic picture—this stream that is famed in song and story, a perfect Switzerland of enrapturing and delicious beauty. Here a thundering waterfall and fragile foliage bending over the foam. Here cool and shady ravines leading up to tranquil Edens, the voluptuous bends through an enchantment of bloom and wildwood, losing themselves among the rock-ribbed hills. This stream, bathed in the effulgence of the dropping sun—the mingling afterglow of sunset and the primrose bloom of the first stars, unfolds then with its majestic splendors to the enraptured gaze. We are held spell-bound, my friends, as we see the bright moon riding the hilltops and shining overhead,
The rough and rocky points are softened under the magic and seem to lean lovingly toward the stream. Ah, to keep all of this loveliness stored from human eye—I mean to lock and dam this stream for all humanity who wish to journey thence and revel amid these splendors. 'Sic passem; semper idem.' Not one measly lock and dam, but a system of locks by which navigation could be advanced from the mountains to the Ohio, developing the great resources of that wonderous possibility, wherein the bema procliamus of nature we might find another Arch of Hadrian, or the Tower of the Winds; where mountain peaks may rise like unto the temple of Olympian Zeus, or the far away monument of Philopappos. Yes, gentlemen, I stand for locking and damming the Kentucky river! 'Civis Romanus Sum' was the proud utterance of the noble Roman, and the proudest of that proud and conquering race never proclaimed himself such with greater delight than I, that I am an American and a Democrat. With my feeling ofpatriotism runs my devotion to the democratic party. But, gentlemen, in saying that I am a Democrat, brings forward the great existing issues between the two leading parties of the country. I might go into a long discussion of the principles of those two parties, but in a nutshell I can define the differences of such vital import to the voters of this land. The principles of the Democratic party represent—er, well, they represent the principles which that great party stands for, and the principles of the Republican party, ahem! Yes, sir, gentlemen, the principles of the Republican party represent the principles for which the Democratic party won't stand! So there you have it, and I defy any man to dispute this argument. I will not go into discussion of its principles here. I have sought public preferment at the hands of my party, but 'Ego, spembat pretio nionemonio,' sometimes that preferment was accorded, at least, upon one occasion. No man has a right to complain when, under any form of government, thepeople withhold their indorsement, but every citizen has a right to complain if the downfall of an aspirant is accomplished by foul and unfair means," (this last statement was made while looking toward Freeman). "I have passed practically all of my life in your midst. A man should be honest, with a courage to face the great truths opening to him."
Freeman interrupted him at this point, "A man should be courageous enough to own his own children!"
"You sneaking hypocrite!" shouted Doctor Hissong, "You let one of your own sisters die in poverty and distress!"
"You are a damned liar!" said Freeman.
Doctor Hissong leaped from the stand, a derringer in his hand. The crowd fell back. Freeman fired point-blank at Hissong, but missed, then turned to run. Doctor Hissong brought up his derringer and pulled the trigger. Old Brad shouted, "You got him in de laig, doctah, but he runnin' yit!" Freeman's son, Henry, the one who kicked Coaly thatday in school, caught up his father's pistol which had fallen to the ground, but as he turned toward Doctor Hissong, Shawn sprang forward, knocking the revolver from his hand.
The older men separated the younger combatants, and the crowd broke up and turned homeward.
The townmarshall of Skarrow was a very busy man the next morning after the burgoo, serving warrants on Doctor Hissong and Freeman, summoning witnesses and a jury, and getting men to serve on a jury in a small town, where two of its foremost citizens are to stand trial, is a matter of considerable difficulty. Freeman had only received a slight flesh wound, and was not confined to his home.
Court was held in the office of Judge Budlong, who acted as prosecuting attorney, magistrate, writer of wills and general collector of accounts and rents. An occasional runaway couple, seeking the marriage bond, added a few dollars to his bank account, for the Judge had a happy-go-lucky ceremony which did not impress nor detain a restless lover tooseriously with the sanctity of the occasion. There were a few law books on the table, a heavy tool-chest, where the Judge kept a jug of white corn whiskey under lock and key. The police Judge, a sort of hanger-on about town, put a coal of fire in his pipe and said, "Gentlemen, air you ready to try this case?"
Budlong arose and balanced his ponderous form against the table, holding a law-book in his hand. The tuft of whiskers on his chin seemed to quiver into an accompaniment to his words. He began reading in a deep voice: "Gentlemen of the jury, to enlighten you as to the nature of this case, I shall read to you under Subdivision V, Section 1165, Kentucky Statutes: 'If any person shall by fighting, or otherwise unlawfully pull or put out an eye, cut or bite off the tongue, nose, ear or lip, or cut or bite off any other limb or member of another person, he shall be confined in the penetentiary for not less than one, or more than five years'."
"That law don't seem to apply to this case," said the police-Judge.
"Shut up," said Budlong, "I ain't through. What do you know about law, anyhow?"
"I ain't very strong on tecknickelties," said the police-Judge, "duly elected by the voters of this town, I am the Court, and as such I perpose to perside, and I demand, sah, your respectful recognition of that fact."
"Duly elected," said Budlong, "because nobody else would have it. But, gentlemen of the jury, I shall read you Section 1166, which is as follows, 'If any person shall draw and present a pistol, loaded with lead or other substance, or shoot at and wound another with the intention to kill him, so that he does not die thereby, he shall be confined in the penetentiary not less than one, or more than five years. There's your law, gentlemen. Call the first witness!"
"Bill Shonts!" called the marshall. Bill came to the chair.
"What's your name?"
"W'y, Jedge, you know my name."
"Answer my question. What's your name?"
"Bill Shonts."
"Where do you live?"
"Sho, Jedge, you've knowed me all my life!"
"That ain't the question. You answer accordin' to the custom of the court."
"I want you to state what you know about this case."
"Directly, or indirectly, Jedge?"
"Where was you when this difficulty started?"
"Well, sir, I was not in any one certain spot, directly, but indirectly, I was jest beginnin' to—"
"State where you was at!" thundered Budlong.
"Well, sir, jest at the time of this difficulty, I was jest beginning to take a nap—"
"Do you mean to say that you was asleep?"
"Not directly, Jedge, but—"