Sipes went down to the cabin of theCrawfish, and returned with the jug. “Wouldn’t ye like to ’ave a little sump’n, after yer long walk?” he asked.
“B’lieve I would!”
“Say w’en,” said Sipes, as he tilted the jug over the cup.
“Jest aleetle, not more’n a thimbleful!”
“Some thimbles is bigger’n others,” observed the old sailor, as he half filled the cup.
While protesting against the liberal offering, the old man disposed of the “little sump’n” with much relish.
Narcissus watched the proceedings from behind his kitchen bench with appealing eyes.
“How long you been liv’n’ ’round ’ere, Ancient?” asked Sipes.
“I come here in the fall o’ forty-eight. It was all open water whar that slough is then. It’s weeded up sence. We used to chase deer out all over the ice thar in the winter. They’d slip down an’ couldn’t git up, an’ we got slews of ’em that way. In the fall we’d find ’em on the beach ’long the big lake. We’d shoo ’em out in the water, an’ then stay ’long the shore an’ yell at ’em an’ keep ’em from comin’ in. They’d swim ’round fer a couple of hours, an’ they’d git so tired the waves ’ud wash ’em in, an’ we’d cetch ’em. We’d lay up enough meat to last all winter.
“We had to save amminition, fer we had to go twenty miles to the trading post fer wot we used. The Injuns was thicker’n hair on a dog ’round ’ere then. Many’s the time, in the summer, I’ve looked down the marsh an’ seen ’em set’n’ on the mushrat houses suckin’ wild duck eggs wot they’d found ’round in the slough.”
“I bet them was big pearls wot they was munchin’ on,” observed Sipes.
Not noticing the interruption the Ancient continued.
“They was so many wild ducks an’ geese ’round ’ere in the fall, that you didn’t ’ave to shoot ’em at all. You c’d go down on that sand-spit whar the river runs out o’ the marsh, jest ’fore daylight, w’en they was comin’ out, an’ knock ’em down with a stick. They’d fly so low, an’ they was so thick you couldn’t miss ’em, an’ you c’d git all you c’d carry.”
“Gosh! Let’s give ’im another drink!” whispered Sipes.
“Them days is all gone. Sometimes you see ducks hereabouts, but the sky’s never black with ’em like it used to be. Thar was millions o’ wild pigeons ’ere too. They’d set on the dead trees so thick that the branches busted off, an’ thar was eagles ’ere that used to fly off with the young pigs, an’ I’ve killed rattlesnakes over in the hills as thick as yer arm, an’ eight feet long, but they’ve been gone fer years.
“Thar was tall pine all through this country then, but it’s been cut out. Pretty near ev’ry mile ’long the big lake thar’s old piles stick’n’ up. Them was piers that the logs was hauled to with oxen an’ bob-sleds. The logs was loaded from the piers onto schooners that carried ’em off onthe lake. I used to work at the loggin’ in the winter.
“Ev’ry now an’ then we’d git a b’ar, an’ we used to find lots o’ wild honey. The wolves used to chase us w’en they was in packs, but w’en one was alone ’e’d always run. Thar’s been some awful big fires through ’ere. Once it was all burnt over fer fifty miles.”
“That ol’ mossback knows a lot, don’t ’e?” whispered Sipes to me, as the narrator paused to light his pipe.
“Them pearls you fellers er fish’n’ fer reminds me of a story. Thar was a lot o’ Injuns lived ’ere at this end o’ the marsh long about sixty-three. Thar was an’ ol’ medicine-man that ’ad gathered about a peck o’ them things, big an’ little, an’ kep’ ’em in a skin bag. Thar was a bad Injun ’ere named Tom Skunk, an’ ’e stole ev’rything ’e c’d lay ’is hands on. He didn’t know the bag had much value, but ’e carried it off one day w’en the old man was gone. The Injuns got so mad ’bout all the meat an’ skins this feller kep’ takin’ that they fixed it up to drill ’im out o’ the country. They caught ’im an’ made ’im give the ol’ Injun back ’is bag. Then they told ’imto vamoose. He stuck ’round fer a few days, an’ one night ’e paddled down the river in ’is canoe. The ol’ Injun was pretty mad. He peeked out of ’is wigwam an’ seen ’im comin’. He got ’is ol’ smooth-bore rifle out an’ rammed a handful o’ them little pearls on top o’ the powder. [Groan from Sipes.] W’en Tom Skunk come by ’e let loose an’ filled ’im full of ’em. Tom got away somehow, an’ that was the last seen of ’im in these parts. We heard afterward that ’e went to a govament post, an’ the surgeon spent a week pick’n’ out the pearls an’ sold ’em fer a big price.
“We used to have snapp’n’ turtles in this river that was two feet across, an’ they’d come out in the night after the hens. We cut the head off o’ one once, an’ ’e lived a week after that. He had a date, seventeen hundred and sump’n, on ’is back. He was all caked up with moss an’ crusted shell, so we couldn’t quite make out the year. Somebody must ’a’ burnt it on with a hot iron.
“All the ol’ settlers in these parts are dead now, ’ceptin’ me, an’ I’m git’n’ pretty feeble, an’ don’t git ’round like I used to. I’m eighty-four an’, damn ’em, I’ve buried ’em all!”
He reached for his hickory cane and rose painfully.
“I guess I gotta be goin’ ’long now, fer it’s git’n’ late. If you see anything o’ my cow, I wish you’d let me know.”
We loaned him a lantern and bade him good-night, as he limped away through the woods.
After the departure of our entertaining visitor, we took Sipes to task about the cow. Under gentle pressure, he reluctantly agreed to release the animal, and left for the glade, where Spotty was secreted. I noticed that he took a pail with him.
Spotty visited the camp several times during the next week, and the menus were enriched with dishes that would have been otherwise impossible. I suggested that something ought to be done for the Ancient to even things up.
“All right,” said Sipes, “we’ll have Cookie take ’im up a big bunch o’ carps, so ’e c’n ’av’ some fish. Gosh! We gotta have milk.”
By the use of delicate diplomacy and confidential explanation, I amicably adjusted the milk difficulty with Spotty’s owner, and arranged that the faithful animal should furnish us with two quarts a day. The old settler was very tolerant and reasonable, and I had no trouble about thematter at all. He often came to see us, and brought welcome additions to our food supplies.
The golden fall days and the cool nights came. The pearl hunting and the genial gatherings at the camp fire continued. The destruction of the unios in the river went on with unabated zeal. Many hundreds of them were opened and thrown away. Man, the wisest, and yet the most ignorant of living creatures, lays waste the land of plenty that prodigal nature has spread before him.
The tin box was nearly full of specimens, varying in size, shape, and color. The attrition which Sipes caused by frequently shaking the box dulled the lustre on many of the pearls. Saunders discovered the damage, and afterwards they were properly protected. He suggested that we get a baby-rattle and a rubber teething ring for Sipes, so he would not “have to amoose ’imself shakin’ the shine offen them pearls.”
The dauntless toilers refused to be driven in by unfavorable weather. One morning dawned with a cold drizzly rain, but it was the day of days on the flatboat.
“Whoop! Whoop! Holy jumpin’ wild-cats!” shrieked Sipes, hysterically.
A resplendent oval form, as large as a filbert, iridescent with subtle light and flashing hues of rose and green, rolled out of a bivalve which he had partially opened. Its satiny sheen gleamed softly in the palm of the old man’s gnarled and dirty hand—a pearl that might glow on the bosom of a houri, or mingle in the splendor of a diadem.
“Avast there, you ol’ money-bags! You’ll founder the ship!” yelled Saunders, as they danced with delirious joy in each other’s arms.
Work was suspended for the day. The prize was proudly and tenderly carried to camp, with great rejoicing.
“Come ’ere, you Jack o’ Clubs, an’ see wot a million dollars looks like!” shouted Sipes to Narcissus, who was hurrying to meet them.
Saunders told me, when we met that night, that “Cookie’s eyes stuck out like grapes, an’ you c’d ’a’ brushed ’em off with a stick w’en ’e seen wot we had.”
Unfortunately the jug was much in evidence. Narcissus responded many times to Sipes’s insistent demands for “that cash-money tune.” The old shipmates danced in the flickering firelight. Vociferous songs awoke the echoes in thesurrounding gloom of the damp forest. The big pearl was repeatedly examined, and much speculation was indulged in as to its value, which was considered almost fabulous. The hilarity extended far into the night, until the revellers fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. The jug was left on the grass, and Narcissus fondled it between drinks, while the magnates slumbered.
“It’s only the rich an’ fuzzy that enjoys this life,” observed Sipes with a prolonged yawn, when I came over and woke him in the morning. “Think o’ them val’able clams wot sleeps out there in the bottom o’ the river. The little runts can’t swim ’round, an’ they can’t chase food. They ’ave to take wot’s fed ’em by the current. They can’t smoke ’er talk, an’ they can’t ’ave nothin’ but water to drink. They jest lay there an’ make them little jools fer me an’ Bill. That big feller’d prob’ly been wait’n’ fer us all summer to come ’long an’ save ’im from them mushrats.”
The happy old sailor’s remarks suggested the thought that most of the great intellectual pearls in the world have come from the minds of those who have pondered long in silent and secluded places.
“Hi there, Bill, you ol’ lobster, wake up. I want some breakfast. Where’s that cusséd cookie?” he demanded.
We found poor Narcissus reclining against a tree—a pitiful picture. The jug sat near him. The cup, mouth organ, and his tattered cap were lying about on the grass. A primitive human animal had found satiety in what he craved.
“Gosh! Look at that id’jut!” exclaimed Sipes, as he picked up the jug. “They was two gallons in ’ere w’en we started out, an’ they was about two quarts last night. This soak’s spilt it all into ’im ’cept about a pint, an’ we gotta save it fer snake-bites.”
“Say, Boss, lemme off!” pleaded the culprit, weakly. In his confused brain there was a sense of trouble that he could not quite comprehend.
We got our own breakfast. Narcissus watched us helplessly from under his tree. He appeared quite sick.
“That cookie’s blue ’round the gills,” remarked Sipes. “He’d jest as lief ’ave a pestilence come now as to see whiskey. His stummick’s gone punk. His eyes looks like holes burnt in a blanket, an’ ’is head don’t fit ’im. He needs a fewkind words, an’ I’m goin’ to take ’im over a little piece o’ the dog that bit ’im.”
He filled the cup to the brim and offered it to the sufferer.
“Here, Cookie, cheer up! Here’s some nice little meddy. You swallow it an’ you’ll feel fine!”
Pathos and misery were written on Narcissus’s doleful face, as he mutely protested against the cup being held where he could smell its contents. Sipes, with refined cruelty, sprinkled some of the liquid on the penitent’s coat, so that the odor would remain with him, and chuckled, as he returned the unused portion to the jug, which he locked in the boat’s cabin.
One night there was a light frost. When morning dawned there was a crispness in the air. A spirit of foreboding was in the forest, and a sadness in the tones of the wind that rustled the weakly clinging leaves. The wood odors had changed. Dashes of color brilliance were scattered along the edges of the timber on the river banks. The deep green of tamaracks, and flaming scarlet of vines and dogwoods, relieved by backgrounds of subtle and delicate minor hues, swept along the borders of the great marsh, andstole away into veils of purple haze beyond. Fruition and fulfilment had passed over the hills and through the low places, and it was time for sleep.
THE REQUIEM OF THE LEAVES(From the Author’s Etching)
THE REQUIEM OF THE LEAVES(From the Author’s Etching)
The tired grasses in the marsh were bent and gray. Among their dull masses the current of the open stream crept in a maze of silvery lines, that wound back in many retreating loops, and then moved slowly on, seemingly reluctant to enter into the oblivion of the depths beyond the passage through the dunes.
Wedges of wild geese trailed across the great clouds—valiant voyagers along the unseen paths of the sky. In the darkness their turbulent cries came out of the regions of the upper air, faint echoes of the Song of Life from the vault of the Infinite.
“Them winds ’as got an edge on ’em. I guess we gotta git out o’ here, Bill,” declared Sipes, as he warmed his numbed hands before the fire. “The news o’ that jool’ll git ’round, an’ the fust thing we know this country’ll be full o’ robbers. They’ll swipe it, an’ you an’ me’ll ’ave to work the rest of our lives, an’ mebbe eat carps, instid o’ set’n’ on soft cushions an’ smok’n’. The clams is ’bout allcleaned out an’ we got a fort’n’. Wot’s the use o’ try’n’ to grab it all? We got plenty to last us, an’ we can’t take no cash-money to the graveyard with us. We’ll git hold o’ that onion-skinnin’ feller, an’ mebbe ’e c’n peel some o’ them other jools, an’ make ’em wuth a lot more.
“We c’n do anything we want to now. Mebbe we’ll buy a big red church fer Holy Zeke, so ’e c’n git in it an’ spout damnation up the chimbly all by ’imself, an’ not come ’round us. I wonder wot that ol’ cuss is doin’ nowdays? Anyway, we’ll buy ’im a new hard hat, an’ a ticket that’ll carry ’im way off.”
The pearls were carefully concealed on theCrawfish. The sail, which had done duty as a shelter on shore, was put back in its place, and everything was snugly stowed on board. The boat that Narcissus had borrowed “offen Cap’n Peppehs” was attached, with my own, to the stern of the larger craft, and we were ready to push out into the current, when we saw Spotty contemplating us with mild eyes from among the trees.
“Gosh! I gotta bid that ol’ girl good-by,” exclaimed Sipes, as he seized a pail and nimblyhopped ashore. When he returned the homeward voyage began.
We threaded the sinuous channel for hours before we came to the sand-hills.
“This big dump’s full o’ jools,” remarked Sipes, as he indicated the marsh with a broad sweep of his hand. “Next year we’ll come down ’ere an’ bag the whole bunch.”
Narcissus, who had stuck by us faithfully, was anxious to go and spend the winter at the fish shanty. The old men were immensely pleased both with him and his cooking, and cheerfully consented.
The current took us through the hills, and we tied up at the dilapidated pier. We were out of tobacco, and other small necessities, and needed some gasoline, as Sipes wanted to “tune up” the motor, in case we found no wind on the lake. Narcissus was provided with a list, some funds, and the gasoline can, and he went ashore. Sipes considered that he was perfectly reliable up to five dollars in prohibition territory. We saw him swinging his can gayly, as he walked up the little path that led to the village and disappeared around a bend. We had had a wonderful trip, and everybody was in high spirits.
We waited nearly an hour for Narcissus, but he did not return. We got ashore and went up to the general store, where he was to do his shopping, but he had not been seen. Further search around the village was fruitless. Thinking that he might have returned to the boat by another route, we retraced our steps, and found the can in some weeds near the bend where we last saw him.
With sudden inspiration, Sipes ran to the boat. He dived into the cabin, and we heard an angry yell.
“Holy Mike! He’s frisked the jools!”
We hurried on board. The tin box had disappeared.
“We put ’em between them boards back o’ that little cuddy-hole. He swiped ’em an’ ’e’s lit out! Hold on a minute!” cried the distracted old man, as, with a glimmer of hope on his pale face, he again ducked into the cabin.
“Gosh! We’r’ saved!” he exclaimed, as he emerged with the big pearl. “Bully fer us! I stuck this in a crack with some paper, an’ ’e missed it.”
Saunders had been too much overcome by the sudden misfortune to say much. He appearedcrushed. His face lighted up when it was found that the disaster was not complete.
The question now was to catch Narcissus Jackson. He had had about two hours’ start.
“Gimme that gun!” commanded Sipes. “I’ll pot that nigger, if I git ’im inside o’ fifty yards. This gun ain’t loaded with no jools like that Injun’s was!”
Adjectives are weapons of temperament. Sipes had a plentiful supply of both. The past, present, and future of Narcissus Jackson was completely covered by a torrent of scarifying invective.
The next day we gave up the search, in which we were excitedly assisted by the villagers and scattered farmers. We returned to the boat and rowed it out into the calm lake, where we waited for a breeze. The motor had again “gone punk.”
“That smoke’s jest natch’ally drifted off,” remarked Sipes philosophically, as we floated idly on the gentle swells, “but we got enough to make us rich; wot do we care? I guess that ‘dark secret’ that Bill said this trip was, was set’n on them rocks w’en we fust come in the river. Think of all wot we done fer ’im! Me offerin’ ’im that whole cupful w’en ’e was sick, an’ git’n’ milk fer’im to cook with, an’ all them things you an’ Bill did, an’ now ’e’s hornswoggled us. They ain’t no gratitude. That smoke’s jest like all the rest of ’em!”
“You have had a prosperous trip,” I replied. “You will probably get a high price for your big pearl, and you won’t have to worry about money for quite a while. You had better get this trouble off your mind. Surplus wealth is mere dross.”
“How much dross d’ye think that damn cookie’ll git fer them jools?”
“He will get very little. You had spoiled the lustre on most of them by constantly shaking the box.”
“If I’d knowed ’e was goin’ to frisk ’em, I’d a shook the stuff’n’ out of ’em!”
During a visit to the village store, Saunders had written a letter to the “onion-skinner,” as Sipes persisted in calling the pearl-buyer, and mailed it to the address on the margin of the pamphlet. He described the location of the fish shanty, and informed him of the finding of the big pearl. He also told of the robbery, described Narcissus, and asked him to have him “nabbed” if he came to sell him the stolen pearls, which heprobably would do. Saunders spent much time writing and rewriting the letter. Sipes stood over him and cautioned him repeatedly not to say anything in it that “looked like we wanted to sell the jool.”
“Cat’s paws” appeared on the water. The breeze freshened rapidly, and there were white-caps on the lake shortly after we began to make fair headway. The wind increased, the boat careened under the pressure of the broad sail, and we shipped water copiously several times. Fortunately I had left my row-boat and tent with a fisherman at the village, who was to care for them during the winter, so we did not have these to bother us. I felt relieved when we saw the shanty in the distance.
“Hard-a-port, Bill,” commanded Sipes in a stentorian tone as he loosened the main-sheet. We turned in toward shore. Like a roving galleon proudly returning from distant seas, with her treasure in her hold, the gallantCrawfishtore in through the curling waves and flying spray, and felt the foam of her home waters over her prow.
We all got soaking wet getting in through the surf. The long rope from the windlass on thesand, composed of many odd pieces, knotted together, was finally attached to the iron ring on the bow, and the now historic craft was hauled out over the wooden rollers to its berth on the beach.
We had commenced taking some of the stuff out of the boat, when we suddenly paused with astonishment, and looked toward the shanty. Mingled with the voices of the wind, and the roar of the surf, we faintly, but unmistakably, heard the thrilling strains of “Money Musk” issuing from the weather beaten structure.
“Now wot d’ye think o’ that!” exclaimed Sipes. “That damn cookie’s in there. He don’t know it’s our place an’ ’e thinks ’e’s escaped. We got ’im trapped. Gimme the gun!
I happened to know that the gun was not loaded, and had no fears that there would be any shooting. In solid formation we marched to the shanty. The padlock on the door was undisturbed. Sipes unlocked it. Narcissus sat on the pile of nets inside and regarded us with a frightened expression. Evidently the wind had prevented him from hearing us when we landed. He seemed overawed by the presence of the gun and our angry looks.
“Say, Boss, lemme off!” he begged, as he looked up at me pleadingly.
“Narcissus, where are those pearls?” I demanded.
“Pea’ls? Ah don’t know nuff’n ’bout no pea’ls! Ah ain’t seen no pea’ls! Is theah some pea’ls miss’n’?”
“Of course they’re miss’n’, an’ you know it, you black devil!” roared Sipes, as he cocked his gun. “You shell out them jools, er yer goin’ to be shot right ’ere this minute!”
Narcissus’s face turned ashen gray.
“Ah ain’t nevah touched no pea’ls! Ah ain’t nevah seen you gen’lemen’s pea’ls since you had ’em at the camp. Gimme a Bible an’ Ah’ll take ma oath!”
While I knew that he was quite safe in asking Sipes for a Bible, his earnest denial seemed to have the ring of sincerity. I took Sipes aside, leaving Saunders with the now thoroughly terrified negro. He leaned against the side of the shanty and seemed in such mental agony that I felt sorry for him.
I asked Sipes to show me exactly where he had placed the tin box. With a small electric flashlightwe explored a deep recess between the boards back of the cuddy-hole, and found the box, wedged about a foot below where the old man had hidden it. Sipes seized it with a shout of jubilation. He and Saunders acted like a couple of small boys who had just been told that they could stay out of school and go to a circus.
The mystery of Narcissus’s disappearance and his presence in the shanty was still to be explained. He was greatly relieved when the box was found, but seemed too much confused by the sudden flood of events to talk, so we let him alone. That night, after the shanty was put in order, and a fire built in the stove, he told his story.
“When Ah took that gas can, an’ went fo’ them things at the stoah, Ah jest thought Ah’d stop at Cap’n Peppehs’s house. That’s the fi’st li’l house Ah come to. Ah wanted to thank ’im fo’ the boat Ah got offen ’im, an’ tell ’im Ah hoped ’e was well. Ah left the can neah the path. Cap’n Peppehs asked me all about you gen’lemen, an’ wanted me to come in a minute. He wanted to know what you-all had done up the rivah, an’ if you got any pea’ls. Ah didn’t tell ’im nuff’n. Then ’e got out ’is bottle, an’ we had some drinks.Then ’e asked me ’bout yo’ motah, an’ how you come by it. I told ’im you got it offen a fish man named John. Then ’e told me John got it f’om him, an’ ’e didn’t want me to let you know that.”
“And to think,” interrupted Sipes, “that we had that cuss right in the boat, an’ didn’t know it!”
“Then, aftah a while, we got to feel’n’ pretty good, an’ Ah done fergot all ’bout the gasoline. We looked out o’ the window, an’ theah was Mr. Sipes goin’ ’round with ’is gun. We didn’t know whethah he thought Ah’d run off with that li’l bunch o’ money Ah was goin’ to get the things with, er was aftah Cap’n Peppehs’ ’count o’ that motah, an’ Ah jest thought we’d keep still fo’ a while ’till Mr. Sipes put away ’is gun. Ah was sca’ed o’ that gun. Aftah that Cap’n Peppehs asked me mo’ about the pea’ls, an’ offe’d me a li’l mo’ ref’eshment. Ah must ’a’ went to sleep then, an’ Ah didn’t wake up ’til this mawnin’. Ah saw yo’ boat way out on the lake set’n’ still. I shuah felt bad, an’ Ah was goin’ to take a boat an’ row out, but ma haid hurt so Ah couldn’t. Ah knew ’bout wheah you lived, ’cause Ah hea’d you talkin’ ’bout it, an’ Ah jest walked ’long the beach ’til Ah come to the place that had yo’sign. The do’ was locked, but Ah got the window open an’ come in that way. Ah was ve’y ti’ed, an’ laid down fo’ a nap; then Ah got up an’ played that li’l tune Mr. Sipes likes so much.
“Say, Ah hope you’ll lemme off. Ah ain’t done nuff’n so awful bad. Ah’m awful sorry Ah made all that trouble, an’ had all them drinks with Cap’n Peppehs. Ah fo’got all ’bout that gasoline, an’ Ah won’t nevah do nuff’n like that no mo’. Mr. Sipes, does theah happ’n to be jest a few drops in the bottom o’ the jug, that Ah c’d have? Honest, Ah feels weak!”
Narcissus met with the full measure of forgiveness. He had faltered by the wayside, where hosts have fallen. The mantle of charity was laid over his sin. Sipes, while usually intolerant, was mollified with the recovery of the pearls.
We all slept in the shanty that night. In the morning we saw a horse and buggy on the beach in the distance. Saunders inspected the driver attentively through the “spotter.”
“That’s the onion-skinner comin’,” he remarked.
“Yes, an’ I bet we’ll be the onions,” said Sipes, as he took the glass.
The visitor arrived and looked over the fruits of the season’s work. He did not seem at all dazzled by the beauty of the big pearl. He examined it casually and laid it aside. He seemed more interested in the others.
“You be careful an’ don’t show no frenzy over that jool. You don’t own it,” cautioned Sipes, sarcastically. “You may want to buy it later if you ain’t got enough cash-money now. Mebbe you know o’ some rich fellers that ’ud like to buy intrusts in it with you.”
A substantial offer was made for the lot. The amount mentioned was much larger than I had any idea the pearls were worth.
“They was a feller ’long ’ere yisterd’y that offered us twice as much as that, an’ I told ’im ’e was a cheap skate. Wot d’ye think them are—peanuts? D’ye think we c’lected all them val’able jools jest fer love o’ you? Wot d’ye s’pose we are—helpless orphants?”
Most of the day was spent in jockeying over the price. The buyer was an expert judge of human nature, as well as pearls. He exhibited a large roll of bills at a psychological moment, and became the owner of the collection.
He drove away along the beach and turned into the dunes.
“He’ll prob’ly hide some’r’s off’n the woods, an’ peel some o’ them jools, like ’e did us,” said Sipes. “He oughta fly a black flag over that buggy, so people ’ud know wot’s comin’. I’ve seen piruts in furrin waters that was all bloodied up, but ’side o’ that robber, they’d look like a lot o’ funny kids. Bill, you oughta keep yer mouth shut w’en I’m sell’n’ jools! You butted in all the time an’ spoilt wot I was doin’. If you’d a kep’ still, I’d ’a’ got jest twice them figgers. By rights, I oughta keep wot’s ’ere fer my half an’ let you w’istle fer the half that that feller saved by you shoot’n’ off yer mouth at the wrong times.”
That night I sat before the dying embers of driftwood and mused over the eventful weeks.
I remembered the picturesque camp scenes; the genial gatherings around the fire; the advent of Narcissus,—his lovable qualities, frailties, and final vindication; the sociability of Spotty; the Ancient’s graphic reminiscences; the finding of the big pearl, and the odd combination of childish foibles, homely wit, kindliness, cupidity,shrewdness, and primitive savagery in the old shipmates.
The mingled glories of the autumn came back, with memories of the fragrant woods; the broad sweeps of changing color over the swamp-land; the majesty of the onward marching storms; the songs of the wind through trees and bending grasses; the music and beauty of rippling currents; the companionship and voices of the wild things; the witchery of twilight mists and purple shadows, and the enchantment of moon-silvered vistas.
I felt again the haunting mystery that is over the marsh, along the river through the silent nights, and in its fecund depths, where pearls are wrought among hidden eddies.
Under the gently moving water was the dreamland of the reflections. The dark forests and the ghostly dunes hung low in the realm of unreality. Beyond them the Pleiades and Orion glowed softly in the limitless abyss that held the endless story of the stars.
The Ego, mocking the Infinite with puny dogma, in its minute orbit—a speck between two eternities—recoils in terror from the void beyond the world.
The river bears a secret in its bosom deeper than its pearls. He who learns it has found the melodies that brood among tremulous strings in the human heart.
I meditated, and wondered if I, or the valiant crew of the flatboat, had found the Winding River’s Treasure?
The Game Warden and his Deputy
The Game Warden and his Deputy
Theinvitation of the old shipmates to remain with them for a while was gratefully accepted. The witchery of the changing landscapes and the color-crowned dunes was irresistible. The society of my odd friends, which was full of human interest, and certain beguiling promises made by Narcissus, were factors that prolonged the stay.
After a week of blustery weather, and a light fall of snow, the haze of Indian Summer stole softly over the hills. The mystic slumberous days had come, when, in listless reverie, we may believe that the spirits of a vanished race have returned to the woods, and are dancing around camp fires that smoulder in hidden places. Spectral forms sit in council through the still nights, when the moon, red and full-orbed, comes up out of a sea of mist. Smoke from phantom wigwams creeps through the forest. Unseen arrows have touched the leaves that carpet aisles among the trees where myriad banners have fallen.
Our drift-wood fire glowed on the beach in the evening. Sipes piled on all sorts of things that kept it much larger than necessary. With reckless prodigality, he dragged forth boxes, damaged rope, broken oars, and miscellaneous odds and ends, that under former conditions would have been carefully kept.
Sipes and Saunders were in high spirits. They walked with an elastic swagger that bespoke supreme confidence in themselves, and a lofty disdain of the rest of the world. There was much discussion of plans for the future.
“We got all kinds o’ money now, an’ we c’n spread out,” declared Sipes. “We gotta git ol’ John an’ ’is horse down ’ere, an’ take care of ’em. That ol’ nag’s dragged millions o’ pounds o’ fish ’round fer us, an’ ’e oughta have a rest. They’r’ both git’n’ too old to work any more, an’, outside o’ me an’ Bill an’ Cookie, them’s the only ones that lives round ’ere that’s fit to keep alive through the cold weather.
“We gotta haul down that ol’ sign on the shanty, ’cause we’ve gone out o’ the fish business. We’r’ goin’ to fix this place all over. All them fellers that has money, an’ lives in the country,an’ don’t work, has signs out that’s got names on ’em fer their places. I drawed out the new sign with the pencil yisterd’y, an’ this is wot it’s goin’ to be.”
He unfolded a piece of soiled wrapping paper, on which he had rudely lettered—$HiPMATE$ RE$T
“The names won’t be on it, but shipmates’ll mean us all right. The sign’ll still look like cash-money, an’ you bet we’r’ goin’ to rest, so that sign’s all right, an’ she’s goin’ up.”
Catfish John and Napoleon arrived the next morning.
“You can’t git no more fish ’ere!” announced Sipes, after he had made his usual derisive comments on the old peddler’s general appearance. “This place ’as changed hands. Some fellers own it now that don’t ’ave to work. You’r’ a wuthless ol’ slab-sided wreck, an’ you ain’t no good peddlin’ fish. You oughta be ’shamed o’ yerself. Yer ol’ horse is a crowbait, an’ yer fish waggin’s on the bum. You git down offen it an’ come ’ere. We got sump’n we want to tell you.”
John willingly admitted that all the chargeswere true, as he slowly and painfully descended from the rickety vehicle.
“Now listen ’ere, John,” continued Sipes seriously, “us fellers ’as got rich out o’ the jools wot we fished out o’ the river. We’r’ jest goin to set ’round an’ look pleasant, an’ quit work’n. You’ve been our ol’ friend fer years, an’ we got enough to keep you an’ Napoleon in tobaccy an’ hay fer the rest o’ yer lives. You’re a nice pair, an’ if you’ll go in the lake an’ wash up, we’ll burn all yer ol’ nets, an’ the other stuff up to your place, an’ yer ol’ boat, too, an’ you c’n come down ’ere an’ live. We don’t want none o’ them things ’ere, fer it ’ud make us tired to look at ’em. We don’t want to see nothin’ that looks like work ’round ’ere, no more’n we c’n help, but you gotta help haul some lumber. We’r’ goin’ to tack some more rooms on the shanty. It ain’t a fit place fer fellers like us to live in.”
John was greatly pleased over the good fortune that had come to his friends, and happy over the plans that had been made for his future. He said little, but I noticed that his eyes were moist as he limped over to the shanty to be “interduced to Cookie.”
“Ah ce’t’nly am glad to meet you, Mr. Catfish!” said Narcissus, cordially, as they shook hands. “Ah’ve hea’d a great deal ’bout you f’om these gen’lemen. Ah would like to make a li’l cup o’ coffee fo’ you. Jest have a seat an’ Ah’ll have it ready in jest a few minutes.”
John looked at him gratefully and sat down. He was much impressed by the evidences of prosperity around him. The old pine table was covered with a cloth that was spotless, except where Sipes had spilled a “loose egg” on one corner of it. There was a bewildering array of new clean dishes and kitchen utensils about the room, and some boxes that had not yet been unpacked. Narcissus had been givencarte blancheas to the domestic arrangements. He was chef, valet, major domo, and general manager.
“Cookie’s boss o’ the eats an’ the beds, an’ ev’rythin’ else ’round the house, ’cept drinks,” declared Saunders.
He had made several trips to the village with the old cronies and they had acquired a large part of the stock of the general store. Their advent must have been a godsend to the aged proprietor.
“Now, John,” said Sipes, after the old manhad finished his coffee, “you c’n go back to yer place jest once, an’ fetch anythin’ you want to keep that’s small, but don’t you bring nothin’ that weighs over a pound, an’ then you come an’ sleep in the cabin o’ theCrawfishtill we git the new fix’n’s on the shanty. We’ll feed you up so you’ll feel like a prize-fighter, an’ we’ll make Napoleon into a spring colt. He c’n stay in the work-shed ’til we make a barn fer ’im. We’r’ goin’ up there tomorrer night, an’ we’r’ goin’ to burn up the whole mess wot you leave, an’ you can’t go with us. We’ll chuck ev’rythin’ into that cusséd ol’ smoke-house, an’ set fire to it. Tomorrer night’s the night, an’ don’t you fergit it!”
John stayed for a couple of hours, but did little talking. Evidently he was deeply touched. He drove away slowly up the beach toward the only home he had known for many years. His quiet, undemonstrative nature was calloused by the unconscious philosophy of the poor. Gratitude welled from a fountain deep in his heart, but its outward flow was restrained by the rough barriers that a lifetime of unremitting toil and poverty had thrown around his honest soul.
He returned late the following afternoon. His wagon contained a few things that he said he wanted to keep, no matter what happened to him.
“Thar ain’t no value to the stuff I got ’ere, ’cept to me. If you’ll put this in a safe place ’til things git settled, I’ll be much obliged,” said the old man, as he extracted a small package from an inside pocket. He carefully opened it and showed us an old daguerreotype. A rather handsome young man, dressed in the style of the early fifties, sat stiffly in a high-backed chair. Beside him, trustfully holding his hand, was a sweet-faced girl in bridal costume. Pride and happiness beamed from her eyes.
“That thar’s me an’ Mary the day we was married. She died the year after it was took,” said the old fisherman, slowly. There was tenderness in the quiet look that he bestowed on the picture, and the care with which he rewrapped it and handed it to Saunders for safe-keeping.
The old daguerreotype had been treasured for over half a century. I knew that tears had fallen upon it in silent hours. Its story was in the old man’s face as he turned and walked over to his wagon to get the rest of his things.
“Now, hooray fer the fireworks!” shouted Sipes, when we had finished our after-dinner pipes in the evening. By the light of the lantern, the small row-boat was shoved into the lake. John watched the sinister preparations with misgivings. As we rowed away, Sipes called out cheerily, “Now you brace up, John; you ain’t got no kick comin’! You c’n stay an’ play with Cookie. He’ll make you some more coffee, an’ you’ll find a big can o’ tobaccy on the shelf.”
The old shipmates did not intend that any lingering affection that John might retain for his old habitat, or any heartaches, should interfere with his enjoyment of his new home, or with their delight in burning his old one. They had grimly resolved that the transition should be complete and irrevocable.
We reached the old fisherman’s former abode in due time. We found the tattered nets wound on the reels, which were old and much broken. We piled all of the loose stuff on the beach around the nets, and the leaky boat was set up endwise against them. With the lantern we explored the disreputable little smoke-house. It was filled with fish tubs, bait pails, and confused rubbish,and was redolent with fishy odors of the past that Saunders declared “a clock couldn’t tick in.”
We climbed up to the shanty on the edge of the bluff. The door of the ramshackle structure was fastened with a piece of old hitching strap that was looped over a nail. We entered and looked around the squalid interior. Four bricks in the middle of the room supported a nondescript stove. A rough bench stood against the wall, and a few tin plates, cups, and kettles were scattered about. The only other room was John’s sleeping apartment. A decrepit bedstead, that had seen better days and nights, an old hay mattress, a couple of much soiled blankets, a cracked mirror, some candle stubs, and two broken chairs were the only articles we found in it.
“All some people needs to make ’em happy is a lookin’ glass,” observed Sipes, “but ol’ John ain’t stuck on ’imself; wot does ’e want with it? He prob’ly busted it w’en ’e peeked in it to see if ’is ol’ hat was on straight.”
“I hope John’s got some insurance on this place,” Saunders remarked, as he dragged the mattress to the wall and piled the bedstead and chairs onit. We found a bottle half full of kerosene under the bench, which we emptied over the floor.
“Now gimme a match!” demanded Sipes.
When we reached the foot of the bluff the flames were merrily at work above us. The smoke-house, and the stuff accumulated around the nets, were soon on fire. We next visited Napoleon’s humble quarters on the sand, and another column of smoke and flame was added to the joy of the occasion.
“We can’t leave fer a while yet,” said Saunders; “no fire’s any good ’less somebody’s ’round to poke it.”
We spent considerable time watching the fires, to assure ourselves that the destruction was complete, and that there was no possibility of the flames on the bluff getting into the woods beyond through the dry weeds on the sand. There was a light off-shore breeze, so there was little danger.
“That ol’ joint’s clean at last,” observed Sipes, as we rowed away in the early hours of the morning.
From far away we looked upon the scene of Catfish John’s dreary life, illumined by gleams from the smouldering embers that played along the face of the bluff.
There were essentials that the old man’s humble surroundings had lacked. Long sad years were interwoven with them, but the faded face in the old daguerreotype may have lighted the dark rooms and helped to make the lonely place an anchorage, for is home anywhere but in the heart? It does not seem to consist of material things. Absence, estrangement, and death destroy it—not fire. Sometimes, out of the losses and wrecks of life, it is rebuilded, but not of wood and stone.
I arranged with John to transport my few belongings to the railroad station the next day, and regretfully left the contented old mariners and their happy “cookie,” who was no small part of the riches that had come from the Winding River.
On the way through the hills the old man opened his heart.
“Now wot d’ye think o’ them ol’ fellers? They battered ’round the seas an’ they been up ag’in pretty near ev’rythin’ they is. They come in these hills an’ settled down to fish’n’. We alw’ys got ’long well together. I done little things fer them an’ they done little things fer me. Sipesis a queer ol’ cod, an’ so’s Saunders, but all of us has quirks, an’ they ain’t nobody that pleases ev’rybody else. Now them ol’ fellers has got rich. I don’t know how much they got, but w’en anybody gits a lot o’ money you c’n alw’ys tell wot they really was all the time they didn’t have it. They’r’ all right, an’ you bet I like ’em, an’ I alw’ys did. They drink some, but they don’t go to town an’ go ’round all day shoppin’ in s’loons, like some fellers do. Mebbe they’ll git busted some day, an I c’n do sump’n fer ’em like they done fer me.”
I bade my old friend farewell on the railroad platform and departed.
In response to a letter sent to him in January, John was at the station when I stepped off the train one crisp morning a week after I wrote, but it was a metamorphosed John who stood before me. He was muffled up in a heavy overcoat and fur cap. He wore a gray suit, new high-topped boots, and leather fur-backed gloves. I hardly recognized him. Much as I was delighted with these evidences of his comfort, there was an inward pang, for the picturesque and fishy John,who had been one of the joys of former years, was gone. This was a reincarnation. The strange toggery seemed discordant. Somehow his general air, and the protuberance of his high coat collar above the back of his head, suggested an Indian chief, great in his own environment, who had been rescued out of barbarism and debased by an unwelcome civilization. He was like some rare old book that had been revised and expurgated into inanity.
“I got yer letter,” said the old man, after our greetings, “an’ ’ere I am! I yelled out at ye, fer I didn’t think you’d know me. What d’ye think o’ all this stuff them ol’ fellers ’as got hooked on me?”
Napoleon, sleek and apparently happy, with a new blanket over him, was standing near the country store, hitched to a light bobsled.
I congratulated the old man and inquired about our mutual friends. After we had put the baggage and some supplies from the store into the sled, we adjusted ourselves comfortably under a thick robe, and Napoleon trotted away on the road, with a merry jingle of two sleigh-bells on his new harness.
There were no tracks on the road after we got into the wooded hills, except those made byNapoleon and the sled a couple of hours before, and the cross trails of rabbits and birds that had left the tiny marks on the snow, in their search for stray bits of food that the frost and winter winds might have spared for their keeping.
Nature in her nudity is prodigal of alluring charms on her winter landscapes. The forests, cold, still, and bare, stretched away over the undulating contours of the dunes in their mantle of snow. The lacery of naked branches, silvered with frost, was etched against the moody sky.
He who is alone in the winter woods is in a realm of the spirit where the only borders are the limits of fancy. The big trees, like sentinels grim and gray, seem to keep watch and ward over the treasures that lie in the hush of the frozen ground, where a mighty song awaits the wand of the South Wind. The winding sheet that lies upon the white hills hides the promise as well as the sorrow. The great mystery of earth’s fecundity that is under the chaste raiment of the snow is the mystery of all life, and to it the questioning soul must ever come. The message of our loved ones, who are under the white folds, may be among the petals of the flowers when they open.