SKETCHES OF EAST-FLORIDA.NUMBER THREE.SAINT AUGUSTINE: THE FIRST LOOK.Thereare places, and there are passages, in life that keep bright in all weathers. They improve just in proportion as we have been able to contrast them with others, and change, if at all, only to come a little closer to the heart. I beg Tom Moore's pardon; he says something about 'growing brighter and brighter,' but he was thinking of a first kiss, or a last one, which perhaps hangs the most; or at the moment of that writing, he may have had a side-thought for the choice wine that smoothed his inspiration; all which are very charming, bewitching, and all-possessing to those who affect that sort of thing——But I was only thinking of St. Augustine, East-Florida. I may live to feel a stronger pull at the heart; but so far, St. Augustine is my particular passion. And what the deuce is the reason? It is not my home, for my first step 'forward and back' was in the face of a cold wind; high mountains on either side, and the only gap in them opened to the north-east. All winds north of the sun's track had to bend around and come in by that gap. Of course, every thing in that country has a north-east cast, and perhaps this is why I love the south, for it's hard loving any thing that is forced upon you with the pertinacity of a high wind. Men running after hats, women holding their skirts down, toppling chimneys, and faces tied up with the tooth-ache, prevail in all that region; wherefore it is, that those who cannot learn to love the place, for these privileges, will (if only to beobstinate) love so much the more the warm sun and air of the south, and the quiet, the repose, the opiate of the southern climate. But I do not mean the south-west. I was once crossing the Alleghanies, on my way to the south-west, when, fortunately, it occurred to me that the south-west was only a north-easterly continuation, and I immediately struck off at right angles, or rather left angles, and landed in Florida. That, Sir, is the exact spot, where the hat takes care of itself.I am willing to believe that therearepeople who sleep with their feet uncovered, when the mercury at the bedside is below freezing, because I have seen it done, and not as a penance, but a privilege, to which the physician gave his consent; and I have myself, springing from a warm bed, stepped into a tub of water frozen so hard as to require my whole weight to crush a passage through the ice. I have done this often, but not for the pleasure of it. I have also been through a course ofcalido-frigido. I suppose you know all about that, Mr.Editor,calido-frigido? Well, I will tell you the order of proceeding.Get into a warm bath, so exactly tempered to your delicacy of outline, that the change from the warm air of the room is insensible, and having stretched yourself, part your limbs, so as to produce a vacant space in the water, and into this space let your servant pour hot water which you will pump up and down with a long-handled brush. (I say youwillpump, because if you don't, it will be too hot there.) The servant then bringsboilingwater and continues to pour, and you to pump, till your nerves begin to slacken, and insensibly to you, the pump works slower and slower, and at last it stops. You think you are still pumping, but that is a delusion. You are now in boiling water, but like the approach of vice, or any other insidious thing, the change has been so gradual, that you are not sensible of boiling; you onlyknowthat you are very comfortable, and that is sufficient. 'John, you may go,' but John knows better. Presently you begin to confess that you are a little happier than usual, and you speculate about Heaven; where it may be; how far off, and whether it is possible to make a nearer approach before breakfast; and then a faintness comes over you, a die-away-ative-ness, during which, you forgive your enemies, and bless those that persecute you; in short, you love every body and every thing beyond all conception, and you would clasp the whole universe with all its black spots of sin and damnation, for your heart is melting within you. All this time, John has an eye upon you; and just as you are going to sleep, with the infatuation of a man sucking exhilarating gas, he lifts you from the bath, and with a struggle, you are landed upon the floor. You stagger, and grasp at a chair to keep from falling, and the servant, dipping a pail in a tub of iced-water, gives you the whole contents at a single dash. First in front, then in the rear, then under each arm; after which he jumps upon the bath, and drops a pail-full on top of your head. Of course you try to knock him down with a chair, or poker; but at every attempt,splash!comes the bucket of water; and at the last throw, theservant disappears. Such, Sir, is the operation; and they say there is no living in this climate without going through it once or twice a week. If you have lived so long, Mr. Editor, without doing it, don't flatter yourself that you will live much longer. You may die suddenly, some cold morning, from not practising the calido-frigido. After the calido-frigido, you breakfast; and stepping into the street, any warm morning in January, the snow is melting from the hot sun, and the gutters are running; the effect of which is so sickening that every body is at a gasp. Butyoudelight in it. In the evening of the same day you walk home to dinner in a snow-storm; streets glazed with ice, wind blowing a hurricane out of the north, and Fahrenheit, as the evening papers tell you, twenty degrees below zero; but toyou, the weather is charming; only a fine bracing atmosphere. Why? You and your servant went through the same contrasting operation before breakfast. Sir, you are acclimated.But we have forgotten St. Augustine. Perhaps there is something in getting there that renders the place so charming. The pleasantest route is by way of Savannah, which you may reach by rail road and steam-boat in three or four days, or in half a dozen by packet, with a rough-and-tumble, pleasant or unpleasant, as the wind happens, and a day or two additional in working up the river, a tide at a time. But there you are in another climate; and if it pleases the wind not to blow, you are quite indifferent whether the ship is a day or a week in getting up the river. How delightful to be without the necessity of overcoat and umbrella; and oh! how delicious the soft warm air after a week's passage at sea. Matter-of-fact here, is better than the most frolicsome imagination, especially that of being seven hundred miles from the region of ice and snow. There is nothing very enticing in the low, flat shores, or the interminable marshes, or the cormorants standing in a row on the beach; but over all, lying warm and lovingly, is the soft haze of the Indian summer, giving the country a look, not like spring, for that has life and effort, and the feeling of spring is bounding; nor like summer, with its scorching heat and long wearisome days; nor is it much like our northern autumn, for that has decay and death; the moaning wind and the rustling of dry leaves; the scarlet tea that gives the same nervous tremor under foot that green tea does to the head; but (if you won't laugh) it is something like what we imagine of the silent land; not dead, but sleeping. You will query whether to crack nuts and eat apples on deck, or go ashore and dream away the day, not in joy or sadness; no looking before or behind, and no speculation or argument upon the present; but merely its enjoyment. How is your blood, Sir? Bounding, with a steady motion like the falls of Niagara, or faint and intermittent? Have you suffered yourself to get feverish, merely for the fun of the thing, and now have to endure itstortures? Have you prayed forrest—rest, that one burden of your prayer? Then, Sir, take the first packet for the Savannah river, and shoot duck, from the quarter deck; or, if you choose to land on some of the islands, there are hawks therethat will let you shoot at them a dozen times without winking! But perhaps you are a better marksman. I like any thing that is off-hand; but the wit ofaiminghard at any thing, with the savage determination to kill, in this world of short-comings, great outlays and small returns, is too forced to suit my particular temperament. I don't see the point of it. The next best thing after shooting, is to go ashore on the west side. On the edge of the bluff, which looks down upon the rice-fields and the river, there is a small circular opening in the live-oaks; and standing about that circle, are fifty to a hundred blacks threshing out rice. There are old men and women, and young men and maidens, and all varieties of dress, from the coquettish and full, to the indifferent andhalf-dress of more fashionable circles; skirts tucked, skirts looped, and skirts gathered at the waist; some with a riband, and some with a scarf dangling; all with a head-dress of some kind, and all singing whatever happens to be the impromptu of the occasion. The boys question and the girls answer in a kind of chant, and this is repeated opera-fashion once or twice, when the young and old all join in a regular break-down, and then the flails come down all as one, and exact as the bow-tip of an orchestra-leader. The young girl sings with a roguish cast of the eye, and a smile on her lip, but the old men, and the old hags of women, how frantic they look as they burst into the chorus! Here and there is an old African, who hardly knows what it all means, but with a guess at the subject, he joins in with his native lingo, and his notes are as well timed and unearthly as the best of them. The song may affect to be lively and joyous, but it is not so. There is something so sad and wild about it, that I defy any one who knows the tones of the heart, to look on and listen without something of a shudder. And yet they appear to be happy, all but those old creatures who have the look of being past all care or hope. On the edge of the bank, in a sentry-box, a man stands, with rifle in hand, ready to pick off any bird that may come within his aim, and on the other side of the group is an old, blind, gray-headed negro sitting in the straw, with a dozen half-naked children frolicking about him, and rolling in the sunshine. Puffing away at his pipe that went out 'long, long ago,' he will sit there in the sun hour after hour, bare-headed and almost motionless, muttering to himself, or grasping eagerly at the young ones, as though he would tear them in pieces; but they know better, for just so have they seen an old cat play with her kittens. Occasionally he starts, as though he heard and understood the song of the threshers, and with a fling of his arms, as if there again at his old post, he breaks out with some old, forgotten ditty, and then crouches down again in the straw, motionless as before; and so the time goes by, till the children lead him away to his hut and his hominy.In this lounging way a day or two passes pleasantly, during which the ship has drifted up to Savannah, where fifteen darkeys, of different sizes and novelties of wardrobe, stand ready, each with a hand raised to his hatless head, to take your luggage to Mr.Wiltberger's. Not less than fifteen will answer; for it needs two for a hat-box,three for a valise, and five for each trunk. I recommend this in preference to the more gentlemanlike way of having your baggage sent for; for a cart would have to be got up for that purpose, and a negro who could harness a horse in less than half a day, would be too smart to live at the South. With this ragged troop you clamber up the high bank, and after a good deal of fuss, find yourself in a pleasant room at the Pulaski House, and look out the open window to see what is going on; but the square and the streets are still and dreamy as midnight. Nothing living save the warm sunlight; but that seems so much a thing of life, that you put out your hand to see if it will bite, and, rather surprised that it don't, look about again for an object.The shop doors are all open, and through one of them is discovered a man with a lathered face, the sunshine lying half way up his lap, a white barber holding his nose, and a small black one whisking about the room with a brush. Every little while the small barber goes out to the door-steps to pull at the ears of a dog that lies asleep on the side-walk, and then back again to brush with renewed vigor. It is not fly-time, but he is whisking for a picayune. And this is all that can be seen of Savannah during the impatient half-hour of the day. At the end of that time, a black head appears at your door and asks, 'Will massa please walk down to dinner?' which being repeated three times to make you fully understand the meaning, you follow the head to the first floor, and sit down to constituents from all parts of the land. Delicate preparations from the interior, the substantials from Charleston market, the luxuries of the Florida coast, and West-Indian fruits freshly-gathered, are all there, to help charm away the hour. Beside, there are pleasant faces and bright eyes about you, and not the slightest jar to disturb your digestion. Those who like to doze or dream over the last half hour, will find the low murmur of table-talk as lulling as a brook in a June night. After dinner you step into the street with renewed conviction that stomach and climate have more to do with one's religion than most people imagine. The wide street that opens to the south (every one knows how beautiful are the streets in Savannah) leads past a cemetery, where of course it is very still and solemn, but it is equally so in every other, save the one that skirts the river bank; and even there the cawing of the crows a mile distant over the river comes to the ear as distinctly as in the shut-up mountains of the Highlands. Fifty feet below are the outward-bound ships, stowing away their cotton for the East, and from their gloomy depths comes up the half-smothered, never-ending song of the negro slave. All day long you may hear the same monotonous, melancholy cry, a little exaggerated as the labor varies; and, with only at long intervals a louder quack from some bold crow venturing over, or the far-off scream of a boat coming down the river, there is nothing to prevent your taking a siesta, wherever the humor of the moment is disposed to be lazy.The journey south from Savannah was formerly made in what is called the inland passage, between the Sea Islands and the mainland. The boat that ran in those waters, some seven or eight years since, promising to reach Picolata as soon as the weather and tide would permit, was a small fussy affair, lying very low in the water, with no cabin under deck, but hatchways very convenient to fall through, and a power of engine, equal to—say five hundred cats. It also had about the same power of screaming, and was steered by a big black on the upper deck, with the old-fashioned tiller. Much of this inland channel is narrow and crooked, running for long distances through immense marshes, where the passage was alike solemn and slow. If the helmsman happened to look aside for a moment, it needed but a slight penchant either way for the boat to go ashore; but the motion was never so great as to send us very far inland, and by the help of setting-poles and reversed wheels, we were soon made to float again. But it would sometimes come to pass, that in working with the one desire of getting the boat off, the captain and his men forward and the big helmsman aft would not amalgamate in their operations, and the boat when launched would be heading the wrong way. In such cases, we had to run back to find a place wide enough to turn in, or go ashore again very carefully, and repeat the operation. As this occurred pretty often, and the captain always found some landing-place to rest over night, it was only after many days, and a die-away scream, as though the poor old thing was breathing its last, that the boat reached its destination.Now, the boats are intended to be sea-worthy, and when the weather is pleasant, the passage is made outside, running in between the islands occasionally to the landings on the coast, and stopping at St. Mary's the last night, so as to pass the bar at St. Augustine by daylight. The tide of those inland seas and rivers seems to be very sluggish; but a little incident occurred a few years since, showing the contrary, in no very contemptible manner. Half a dozen of us had taken passage for St. Augustine, and the third day out, just after we had passed the St. Johns, the wind suddenly freshened from the south, and the boat pitched about to such a degree, that we decided upon running back and making the harbor. The captain had never passed the bar, and the breakers were in one continued dash of foam for miles, presenting no passage to the eye; but a gentleman on board said he knew the way, and under his pilotage we floundered through; and avoiding a wreck that was rolling about near the scene of its disaster the day previous, we ran up to Pablo and fastened to a schooner that was secured to a dock; shortly after, a government steamer came in and made fast to us outside, so that the three vessels and the dock, which was quite long, extended some distance into the river. After a stroll of some hours on shore, prying into the bushes very carefully, for fear of Indians, we went back to supper, condoled with the ladies upon sea-sickness, discussed the probability of an Indian attack, and went to bed. The night soon fell, solemn and still; so still that the small talk of the pelicans over the river might have been heard distinctly; that is, if any one had been awake to listen; but some time between midnight and morning, there was a sudden shock,something like an earthquake, only more personal; after which a shouting and tramping, but no yells, as in that case it would have been an Indian attack. What could be the matter? We might have been struck with lightning, or, as any thing is possible to our apprehension, it might be that the boiler had burst, though the fire had gone out long ago; but then the engine would certainly have screamed at that; beside, in case of lightning, or steam, we should have smelt, or felt it, which we did not. All things considered, as there was no cry of fire, nor murder, we turned over in our berths, and went to sleep again. The next morning, going on deck, we found the boat anchored some two miles from shore; the government steamer still farther out on the west side; the schooner in another direction; the dock in pieces, hither and yon; and outside of all, dancing about in the breakers, was the wreck. Fine work, indeed, for Sunday morning! The old thing had gone up with the tide in the night, and getting a fair start, came down broadside on, and carried us all out to sea!About nine o'clock, we fired up and ran down the coast, making St. Augustine early in the afternoon, to the great delight of the idlers who had marked our coming by the black line on the horizon, long before the boat was in sight. The coast of Florida above St. Augustine is not such as we should expect from the promised land; a smooth white beach with little hillocks of sand in the rear, having a stunted growth of scrub oak, with here and there a cabbage-tree, or palmetto, and in the spring a few large flowers of the Spanish-bayonet, looking in the distance like sentries with white feathers, posted on the verge of the sea.St. Augustine, sheltered by an island in front, and a sea-wall running close along the town, presents only a long line of low, flat stone houses, with narrow sandy streets, a square in the centre with a church and cathedral, and at the upper end of the town, an old fort, looking as though it had been built in the time of Adam, and so, for that matter, looks the town. There is much, very much, that would be intolerable in any other latitude; but oh! beautiful, beautiful beyond all picturing, the climate! The first day you take to be the belle of the season; a little passée, and a little sad, you think, but for all that, very bewitching. Well, the next day rises and sets the same, with perhaps a brighter blush at parting; and after a fortnight of such, you feel an utter contempt for all the extras and extravaganzas of northern life. Your boxes of books are unopened, and so they remain all winter, with an increasing wonder that you ever cared for them, when the song, and the dance, and therealpoetry of life can so thoroughly fill the heart. Nothing under heaven to do, (so you say in writing home,) and yet with fishing, and riding, sea-bathing and nine-pins, pic-nics and dances, and the half dozen 'sociables' of the day, not forgetting the one 'round the corner,' you will go to bed in the small hours, with some urgent fancy still ahead, which will be fresh for the morning; and, sure that the sun will rise to-morrow, and abide with you, you neither hurry your dreams nor your breakfast. The devotionalhour, to be sure, is at sunrise; but the Catholic bells are ringing at all hours of the day, and a man would be indolent indeed, who could not make out some religion from these multiplied conveniences.So passes the day, the week, the month, the winter; and with so much done, there are so many pleasant things undone, that the longer you tarry the greater will be the throng to put a finger on your lips at the last good-bye. Verily, those who love pleasant faces and warm hearts will love St. Augustine. But it is not the place for all. The young, the eager, and the ambitious should not go into that silent land; and especially to those who have that kind of nervous irritation which requiresstimulantsto allay, would the climate be frightful. Such persons would have the St. Vitus's dance. But the mentally-dyspeptic, and all those who have tired of crowds, and forced civilities; all those, in short, who in one way or another have 'had enough of it,' will find all true as above written.Have you ever found yourself sitting up in bed after long illness, fever or delirium? You listen to the song of birds, and the thousand and one voices of the outside world, and wonder whether you are in the same old planet from which you retired long ago in sickness and disgust. You think back, and there is a confused memory of pain and trouble; of long nights in which you neither slept nor waked; of a kind hand that seemed ever vainly attempting to minister comfort about you, and of low tones sounding in your ear like voices in the dark: musing in this way, you sink back upon the pillow, with your face turned to the light, and after a little, begin to argue with yourself, very rationally as you think, whetherthistoo is not a dream, only pleasanter than usual; and then you dispute whether you were just now sitting up in bed, and deciding on the whole thatthattoo was a delusion, you fix your eyes upon the sunshine playing on the carpet, and sleep again. Half an hour afterward you wake to the touch of warm lips, the clasp of warm arms, and open your eyes to another's——and so forth.Not unlike, in this quiet city of St. Augustine, is the feeling with which you thankGodthat you have escaped the fretting, restless fever of a northern life. As to the lips and arms, I say nothing; but oh! good-bye to the long faces, the sharp look of care and apprehension; the cold reply, the rush of the eager heartless throng; good-bye to all your cold things of the forty-second latitude! I look back upon the long line of a thousand miles, and say that your cold winds shall not reach me; your blustering northerners, and your blustering politics shall storm within their own dominions. Good-bye!HEART-COMPENSATIONS.There'snot a heart, however rude, but hath some little flowerTo brighten up its solitude, and scent the evening hour:There's not a heart, however cast by grief and sorrow down,But has some memory of the past, to love and call its own.THE MEETING AT SEA.Spoken—Sept. 5, Lat. 47 41, Lon. 12, ship South Carolina,Owen, from Havre, for New-Orleans; (by the Rochester, at Cowes, from New Orleans, commanded by a son of CaptainOwen. They had not seen each other for several years, and the weather being fine, CaptainOwenof the Rochester made a visit to his parent.)Shipping List.Whenamber skies hung o'er the wave,And autumn winds were light,And neither sea-fowl dipped his bill,Nor petrel took her flight;When o'er the ocean here and thereA tremulant ripple swept,And on the vast Atlantic's breastA deepening silence slept;The captain of a gallant ship, with hearty sailors manned,Paced slowly o'er the quarter-deck, and all the horizon scanned.The stamp of youth not yet removed,He trode with manly grace;His heart unhurt by brooding woes,No wrinkle marred his face;Yet, with a brow sunburnt and broad,An eye with eagle's fire,A stalwart form, might well work outAmbition's proud desire;He for the moment felt a thrill as tender yet as wildAs e'er touched woman's bosom, or the heart of sunny child.Afar, and yet how far it was!A white speck caught his eye,Most like the wing of some fair bird,Between the wave and sky;But though along the trackless deepSuch things were often seen,The sailor's eye was moistened,And he showed an altered mien;Whoe'er could then have looked upon the compass of his soul,Had marked the needle of quick joy point truly to Hope's pole.'Make sail! make sail! ay, 'fore and aft,Below, and up aloft;Spread wide the billowy canvass,To catch the breezes soft.My spirit feels, that ere this dayShall deepen into shade,Or ere these winds shall all expire,Or sunset colors fade,I'll grasp a hand, and clasp a form, ungrasped, unclasped for years!''Ay, ay! make sail!' the seamen cried, 'stand by to haul, with cheers!'Then glided fleetly o'er the waveThat tall and graceful ship,While ripples murmured at her bow,As words from woman's lip;The dark keel glided onward,O'er beds of tinted shell,And shaded from the intruding sunFull many a mermaid cell.Joy was around her—joy above, as on her path she went,Like some o'er-joyful messenger, on welcome errand sent.As some white cloud which riseth upThrough Heaven's eternal blue,That speck in the horizon rose,And broader, larger grew.Full soon three taper top-masts lieOutlined against the sky,And from the halliards, waving out,Three well-known signals fly;'Bear down! 'tis he! my noble Sire! as cherished on the seasAs when, a child, I clambered up, to prattle on his knees!'Behold! two ships upon the deep,With canvass partly furled,And flags that droop along their masts,By breezes scarcely curled:No sound of flapping rope is heard,No creak of heavy block;But side by side, and easily,Those meeting vessels rock.'My son! my father!' Both have met upon that ocean-plain,And thoughts of home and childhood-life crowd on their hearts again!New-Orleans, Oct., 1843.A. C. Ainsworth.THE QUOD CORRESPONDENCE.Harry Harson.CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH.Michael Rustsat in his office with his arms twined round his knees, and his chin bowed down to them, like a wild beast crouching to spring. His thin cheek was thinner than on the day before; his hair tangled and matted; and, unconsciously, he grated his teeth, and muttered to himself. But he neither moved, nor changed his position; and the black flashing eye, which darted hither and thither, never resting, even for a moment, alone showed that his mind was on the alert.He was awaiting the return of his messenger, who was exceedingly dilatory. Step after step came and went. Persons ascended and descended the stairs; and as the morning advanced, and the hours of business approached, the sound of out-door bustle increased, until a perfect current of human beings seemed to pour through the street. Still, Rust sat there in silence, watching the return of his clerk. Once, he fancied that he distinguished his voice in the entry. He got up, opened the door, and looked out; a strange man was loitering in the passage, but no one else. He shut it, dragged a chair to the middle of the room, stamped it down heavily, and flung himself into it, gnawing his fist with impatience. Ha! a step slowly ascended the stairs. He was certain this time. It was Kornicker. There was no mistaking that heavy, irregular tread; but, nevertheless,Rust did not stir until the door opened and Kornicker walked in.'Your answer!' said Rust, looking at him, as if to read his success in his features.'He'll come.''When?''He didn't say,' replied his clerk, shutting the door by butting his shoulder against it.'Did he write?''No.''Good!' replied Rust, abruptly. 'Any thing else?''No. If you're done with me, I'll get my breakfast.''Go.'Kornicker departed, and Rust relapsed into his old attitude, occasionally biting his nails, or passing his fingers through his matted hair, or casting a suspicious glance toward the door.Half an hour had passed, and Rust was absorbed in his own dreams, when he was startled by a heavy step at his door. He sat up in his chair, and listened attentively, holding his breath. There was something in that step which he did not like. It was calm, slow, and deliberate. He hoped that it would pass on, but it did not. Two hard knocks at the door followed.'Come in,' said Rust, without rising.The door opened, and Harson and Holmes entered. Still Rust sat where he was, with his black eyes peering from beneath his heavy brows, and glancing from face to face.'I'm seeking a Mr. Rust,' said Harson, advancing.'That's me. My name is Rust,' was the laconic answer.'And mine is Harson,' replied the other. 'I received this, this morning,' said he, pointing to the letter which he had received from Kornicker, 'and have come to keep the appointment proposed in it.'Rust moved uneasily on his chair, and turned to the lawyer; for some moments he did not speak; but at last, seeing that no farther efforts at opening a conversation were made by his visitors, he pointed to Holmes, and asked:'Is that gentleman's name Henry Harson, too?''No,' replied Harson.'Then he wasn't invited here. My note was to Henry Harson, and to no one else. My conversation is to be on private matters, which I don't choose to make known to every body.''Perhaps it is as well that I should go,' said Holmes, without any trace of anger. 'I'll leave you, Harry, and will return in half an hour.'He was leaving the room, when Harson laid his hand on his arm, and said: 'No, no; don't go, Dick; I can't spare you.' Turning to Rust he added: 'There are no secrets between this man and me, and I don't intend that there shall be. So, what you have to say, you must speak out before us both, or keep it to yourself.'Rust eyed him for a few moments in silence, with his thin lips closely compressed, and then looked on the floor, apparently makingup his mind. At length he said, in a slow tone: 'So youwillhave him here, will you? Well, be it so. Should what I say hit hard, thank yourself that one more knows it than is necessary!'He went to the table and took up a letter, which he handed to Harson. 'Did you write that?'Harson opened it, and ran his eye over it. 'I did,' said he. 'How cameyouby it?''No matter. You'll find that out, some day; but not now. I may have borrowed it, I may have found it, or bought it, or begged it, or stolen it. Michael Rust, you know, is not too good to do any thing. I think you hinted something of the kind in it.'Harson passed the letter to Holmes, who seating himself, deliberately perused it, and turned it over, and examined the back, with a kind of habitual caution. There was a smile upon his lips, as he read it, that puzzled Rust. 'It's not at all improbable that hemayhave stolen it,' said he, folding it up, and returning it to Harson. 'The language is free, but no doubt it is deserved.'Rust's eyes fairly shot fire, as they encountered the calm, steady gaze of the old lawyer. But he could not look him down, and he turned away and said:'I'm not fond of law, or there is that in that letter which, if revenged in a court of justice, would fall heavily upon the writer of it.''Perhaps so, perhaps so,' said Holmes, in reply.'Well, Sir, I'll not waste time about this matter, but will state why I sent for you; which was, not to ask favors, but to warn you against the consequence of your own acts. For weeks, a man whose gray hairs might have brought him prudence, has been at work in the dark, tracking my footsteps, prying into my actions; throwing out insinuations against me; asserting nothing openly, but doing every thing in secret; working with the vilest tools, and frequenting the haunts of the very offscouring of the earth. It was a noble pursuit,' said he, bitterly, 'and it was worthy of the person upon whom I was at last able to fix it. That person wasyou,' said he, pointing to Harson. 'Stop, Sir!' said he, seeing that Harson was going to speak, 'stop, Sir. Your turn will come. Hear whatIyet have to say. I have told you what you have done; I have told you too that I hated law; but if you think that I am the man to be hunted down like a beast, and branded in the eyes of the world, with impunity, you don't know Michael Rust.'Harson's fingers had gradually closed, until his fist grew into a form not unlike the head of a sledge-hammer; and for a short time it was a matter of no small doubt whether it would not light upon the sharp, fierce face that glared upon him. But a cautioning glance from Holmes called him to himself; and he replied in a manner which, if less to the point, was at least more peaceable: 'What Ihavedone, I will abide by; what Iintendto do, you'll find out, and that soon. Take your own course, and I'll take mine. If you are innocent, you'll not be injured; if you are not, you'll get your deserts.'Rust bit his lips at this quiet answer. 'Perhaps,' said he, in a low, sneering tone, 'since you seem to be so anxious to pry into my conduct, you may obtain more authentic information by applying to me in person; and perhaps you will not object to make my misdeeds, of which you hint so freely, known tome, who certainly am interested in learning what they are.'Harson drew Holmes to the other end of the room, where they whispered together for some moments; after which, Holmes turned to Rust, and said:'Your name, I think, is Michael Rust?''Thatismy name,' replied Rust, bowing stiffly.'And you accuse Mr. Harson of having endeavored to injure your character?''I do,' replied Rust.'Perhaps your memory may lead you astray, and his remarks and allusions may refer to another than yourself.'Michael Rust turned from him with a contemptuous smile; and then tapping the letter with his finger, said: 'Ink never forgets. Henry Harson and his friend may both vary their story, but this is always the same, and the slanders once uttered against mehere, are here still unchanged and unsoftened.''Againstyou?' repeated Holmes. 'Read it again.Youare not even mentioned in it.'Rust glanced at it; and the lawyer thought that for a moment he observed a change in his features. If so, it was but momentary; for he answered in the same low tone, though perhaps with even more of a sneer:'It was a trap, was it? Pah! a child could see through it! It alludes to oneHenry Colton. The charges are made againsthim. I'll save you the trouble of farther manœuvering to obtain information on that point, by informing you that Henry Colton and Michael Rust are one. I'll inform you too that you knew it before you came here. If you wish it, I'll give you the same admission in writing.''I accept your offer,' said Holmes, quietly. 'There's paper,' said he, pointing to the table; 'write it on that.'Rust cast an angry glance at him, and seemed to hesitate; but he saw that he was watched narrowly, and must not shrink. So he sat down and scrawled something, which he pushed to Holmes.Holmes read it over slowly: 'Alterthat; the wording is not clear,' said he, pointing out a paragraph which did not suit him.Rust took up the pen and altered the phrase.'Perhapsthatwill do?' said he, again handing it to Holmes.'That's just what I want,' replied the lawyer, running his eye over it, and apparently weighing every word. 'But you are very forgetful. You haven't signed it.'Rust took the paper and signed his name to it. 'I hope you are satisfied. I suppose you have me now,' said he, with a sneer.'I think Ihave,' replied Holmes, folding up the paper, and putting it in his pocket. 'Have you any farther remarks to make to Mr. Harson or myself? What you have done has been of much service, and will save us a great deal of trouble.''None,' replied Rust; 'I sent forhim,' said he, pointing to Harson, 'to let him know that I was aware of his proceedings, and to warn him that I was prepared to defend myself; and that if he persisted in his attacks upon me, he would do so at his peril.''It is well,' said Holmes. 'It's frank in you, and no doubt Mr. Harson feels grateful. And now that you have finished, perhaps you will listen to a strange tale, which I am going to narrate to you. I wish you to pay particular attention, as you may find it interesting. It's quite romantic, but strictly true.''Once upon a time,' (that's the way stories begin, I think,) 'there were two brothers living at a place far from this city; the names of whom were George and Henry Colton. The former received a large property from a distant relative; while the means of the latter were limited; so much so, that but for the liberality of his elder brother, he would have found it utterly impossible to live, in the style and manner in which he always did and still is accustomed to live.''Well, Sir, does this refer to me?' said Rust; 'and if it does, and is true, what then?''I have not finished,' replied Holmes. 'You shall hear the rest. Shortly after the accession of George Colton to this property, he married; but previous to doing so, to secure his brother against want, he settled upon him property sufficient to produce him a handsome income.''Well, Sir,' said Rust, 'what then?''You shall hear,' replied Holmes. 'By this marriage George Colton had two children, who in the course of law would have inherited his entire property, had they been living at the time of his death. These children had reached the ages of two or three years, when they were lost in a very singular manner. They had been left alone by their nurse, in a room in their father's house; and when she returned, after the lapse of a very few minutes, they were gone; and from that day to this their parents have had no tidings of them. Search was made in every direction; rewards were offered; persons were employed in all parts of the country, and descriptions of the missing children were placarded in every quarter. No one was more earnest and untiring in his efforts to find them than Henry Colton, the younger brother; for he remembered only his brother's past kindness; entirely forgetting, that if these children were dead he would, in all probability, receive his brother's vast property. But he was equally unsuccessful with the others. By degrees, hope grew fainter, and the efforts of all, except this noble younger brother, relaxed; but he travelled, wrote, had agents employed in every direction, and, I am told, is still endeavoring to unravel this mystery. And now,' said he, in a low, stern tone, 'shall I tell you the reason why he failed? It was this. The agents employed by him were put on a false scent; and although a high reward was offered for the discovery of the children, a higher one was paid for keeping the place of their concealment undiscovered. Shall I tell you,' added the lawyer, in the same tone, 'who paid the bribe? That same noble Henry Colton, the younger brother; and what's more, thatsame man sometimes bore the name of Michael Rust. All this can be proved beyond the shadow of a doubt, and will be, in a court of justice, if we are compelled to do it.'The lawyer paused, and looked Rust steadily in the face.'Well, Sir,' said Rust, 'part of what you say is true. I know that the children were lost, I know that I did what I could to find them. As to the rest, it is false, and I care nothing for it. They are dead, I fear.''Not quite,' replied Holmes. 'One of them is already rescued; so that Michael Rust's hopes and schemes are thwarted; and his only chance to escape the arm of the law is to give up the other, or to tell where he is.'Rust turned toward him, and looking him steadily in the face, said: 'Well, Sir, if this be true I'm glad of it; but if some designing scoundrel is desirous of palming off his own brats on an honest man, to swindle him out of his property, let him beware, lest he run his legs into shackles. For my part, I've no doubt that the whole tale is a fabrication of that old man's,' said he, pointing to Harson, 'got up for no honest purpose.''That's false!' replied Holmes, sternly. 'Lie as you will; deny as stoutly as you please; I tell you that what I have said is true, and that you are the man.'Rust grew deadly pale, but said nothing.'And I tell you again,' said Holmes, in the same stern voice, 'that your only hope of escaping punishment is in giving up the remaining child, or in giving such information as may lead to his discovery. Do that, and we will show you all the favor we can.''Nay, more,' added Harson. 'We will never let it be known what you had to do with it. We'll let it be supposed that the children were stolen, and found. We will keep it quiet, won't we, Ned?' said he, walking up to the lawyer, and laying his hand on his shoulder.'You've said so, and your promise must be kept,' replied Holmes. 'I shouldn't have made it. But you must decide at once.'Michael Rust had sat as still as a statue, merely turning his eyes from one to the other, as they spoke.'Have you done?' asked he, in a voice as quiet and composed as if the threats just uttered had no reference to himself.'You have heard all that we have to offer,' said Holmes.'You're very kind,' replied Rust; 'you'reverykind; but you don'tknowMichael Rust. He accepts favors from no man. There, there—go! He values your threats and promises alike; and neither the one nor the other will turn him one inch from his own course, to aid you in your dishonest purpose. It's against his conscience. Good morning. Our interview is ended, I think. I'm sorry to see gray hairs so steeped in depravity.''Michael Rust,' said Holmes, turning to him, 'you have sealed your own doom. I'm glad you've rejected our offers, and I now withdraw them. You're unworthy of them; and you shall have no other grace than what the law extends to a felon.'Rust bowed. 'You're kind. I shall not trouble you to repeat the offer. As for the grace extended to felons, I believe there is a law which makes a conspiracy to defraud, a felony likewise. It takes three to make a conspiracy, in law; but I have no doubt you have abettors. Perhaps you had better examine the matter. I wish you good morning, gentlemen; I wish to be alone.'Rust sat without moving, until the sound of their footsteps descending the stairs was lost, and then he sprang to his feet.'Now then,' exclaimed he, 'I know where I am! Now I can see where to strike. Ha! ha! We'll see who conquers, Harry Harson or Michael Rust—a desperate man, who has no alternative but to succeed or die. Ho! ho! I know where the mine is to be sprung; and I will countermine!'Listless, desponding, and irresolute as to his course, as he had been before his interview with Harson, all trace of it had disappeared now. He had decided upon the steps to be taken; and, desperate as they were, he was not the man to hesitate. The anxiety which had borne him down, disappeared as he ascertained the extent of his danger, and was able to nerve himself to cope with it; and his manner was not only cheerful but merry, and his eye shone with a self-confidence not unlike that of a gladiator preparing for a conflict in which he or his adversary must perish.Lingering in his office only long enough to give his two visitors time to get some distance off, he put on his hat, locked the door, placed the key over it, so that Kornicker might know where to find it, and sallied out into the street.
Thereare places, and there are passages, in life that keep bright in all weathers. They improve just in proportion as we have been able to contrast them with others, and change, if at all, only to come a little closer to the heart. I beg Tom Moore's pardon; he says something about 'growing brighter and brighter,' but he was thinking of a first kiss, or a last one, which perhaps hangs the most; or at the moment of that writing, he may have had a side-thought for the choice wine that smoothed his inspiration; all which are very charming, bewitching, and all-possessing to those who affect that sort of thing——But I was only thinking of St. Augustine, East-Florida. I may live to feel a stronger pull at the heart; but so far, St. Augustine is my particular passion. And what the deuce is the reason? It is not my home, for my first step 'forward and back' was in the face of a cold wind; high mountains on either side, and the only gap in them opened to the north-east. All winds north of the sun's track had to bend around and come in by that gap. Of course, every thing in that country has a north-east cast, and perhaps this is why I love the south, for it's hard loving any thing that is forced upon you with the pertinacity of a high wind. Men running after hats, women holding their skirts down, toppling chimneys, and faces tied up with the tooth-ache, prevail in all that region; wherefore it is, that those who cannot learn to love the place, for these privileges, will (if only to beobstinate) love so much the more the warm sun and air of the south, and the quiet, the repose, the opiate of the southern climate. But I do not mean the south-west. I was once crossing the Alleghanies, on my way to the south-west, when, fortunately, it occurred to me that the south-west was only a north-easterly continuation, and I immediately struck off at right angles, or rather left angles, and landed in Florida. That, Sir, is the exact spot, where the hat takes care of itself.
I am willing to believe that therearepeople who sleep with their feet uncovered, when the mercury at the bedside is below freezing, because I have seen it done, and not as a penance, but a privilege, to which the physician gave his consent; and I have myself, springing from a warm bed, stepped into a tub of water frozen so hard as to require my whole weight to crush a passage through the ice. I have done this often, but not for the pleasure of it. I have also been through a course ofcalido-frigido. I suppose you know all about that, Mr.Editor,calido-frigido? Well, I will tell you the order of proceeding.
Get into a warm bath, so exactly tempered to your delicacy of outline, that the change from the warm air of the room is insensible, and having stretched yourself, part your limbs, so as to produce a vacant space in the water, and into this space let your servant pour hot water which you will pump up and down with a long-handled brush. (I say youwillpump, because if you don't, it will be too hot there.) The servant then bringsboilingwater and continues to pour, and you to pump, till your nerves begin to slacken, and insensibly to you, the pump works slower and slower, and at last it stops. You think you are still pumping, but that is a delusion. You are now in boiling water, but like the approach of vice, or any other insidious thing, the change has been so gradual, that you are not sensible of boiling; you onlyknowthat you are very comfortable, and that is sufficient. 'John, you may go,' but John knows better. Presently you begin to confess that you are a little happier than usual, and you speculate about Heaven; where it may be; how far off, and whether it is possible to make a nearer approach before breakfast; and then a faintness comes over you, a die-away-ative-ness, during which, you forgive your enemies, and bless those that persecute you; in short, you love every body and every thing beyond all conception, and you would clasp the whole universe with all its black spots of sin and damnation, for your heart is melting within you. All this time, John has an eye upon you; and just as you are going to sleep, with the infatuation of a man sucking exhilarating gas, he lifts you from the bath, and with a struggle, you are landed upon the floor. You stagger, and grasp at a chair to keep from falling, and the servant, dipping a pail in a tub of iced-water, gives you the whole contents at a single dash. First in front, then in the rear, then under each arm; after which he jumps upon the bath, and drops a pail-full on top of your head. Of course you try to knock him down with a chair, or poker; but at every attempt,splash!comes the bucket of water; and at the last throw, theservant disappears. Such, Sir, is the operation; and they say there is no living in this climate without going through it once or twice a week. If you have lived so long, Mr. Editor, without doing it, don't flatter yourself that you will live much longer. You may die suddenly, some cold morning, from not practising the calido-frigido. After the calido-frigido, you breakfast; and stepping into the street, any warm morning in January, the snow is melting from the hot sun, and the gutters are running; the effect of which is so sickening that every body is at a gasp. Butyoudelight in it. In the evening of the same day you walk home to dinner in a snow-storm; streets glazed with ice, wind blowing a hurricane out of the north, and Fahrenheit, as the evening papers tell you, twenty degrees below zero; but toyou, the weather is charming; only a fine bracing atmosphere. Why? You and your servant went through the same contrasting operation before breakfast. Sir, you are acclimated.
But we have forgotten St. Augustine. Perhaps there is something in getting there that renders the place so charming. The pleasantest route is by way of Savannah, which you may reach by rail road and steam-boat in three or four days, or in half a dozen by packet, with a rough-and-tumble, pleasant or unpleasant, as the wind happens, and a day or two additional in working up the river, a tide at a time. But there you are in another climate; and if it pleases the wind not to blow, you are quite indifferent whether the ship is a day or a week in getting up the river. How delightful to be without the necessity of overcoat and umbrella; and oh! how delicious the soft warm air after a week's passage at sea. Matter-of-fact here, is better than the most frolicsome imagination, especially that of being seven hundred miles from the region of ice and snow. There is nothing very enticing in the low, flat shores, or the interminable marshes, or the cormorants standing in a row on the beach; but over all, lying warm and lovingly, is the soft haze of the Indian summer, giving the country a look, not like spring, for that has life and effort, and the feeling of spring is bounding; nor like summer, with its scorching heat and long wearisome days; nor is it much like our northern autumn, for that has decay and death; the moaning wind and the rustling of dry leaves; the scarlet tea that gives the same nervous tremor under foot that green tea does to the head; but (if you won't laugh) it is something like what we imagine of the silent land; not dead, but sleeping. You will query whether to crack nuts and eat apples on deck, or go ashore and dream away the day, not in joy or sadness; no looking before or behind, and no speculation or argument upon the present; but merely its enjoyment. How is your blood, Sir? Bounding, with a steady motion like the falls of Niagara, or faint and intermittent? Have you suffered yourself to get feverish, merely for the fun of the thing, and now have to endure itstortures? Have you prayed forrest—rest, that one burden of your prayer? Then, Sir, take the first packet for the Savannah river, and shoot duck, from the quarter deck; or, if you choose to land on some of the islands, there are hawks therethat will let you shoot at them a dozen times without winking! But perhaps you are a better marksman. I like any thing that is off-hand; but the wit ofaiminghard at any thing, with the savage determination to kill, in this world of short-comings, great outlays and small returns, is too forced to suit my particular temperament. I don't see the point of it. The next best thing after shooting, is to go ashore on the west side. On the edge of the bluff, which looks down upon the rice-fields and the river, there is a small circular opening in the live-oaks; and standing about that circle, are fifty to a hundred blacks threshing out rice. There are old men and women, and young men and maidens, and all varieties of dress, from the coquettish and full, to the indifferent andhalf-dress of more fashionable circles; skirts tucked, skirts looped, and skirts gathered at the waist; some with a riband, and some with a scarf dangling; all with a head-dress of some kind, and all singing whatever happens to be the impromptu of the occasion. The boys question and the girls answer in a kind of chant, and this is repeated opera-fashion once or twice, when the young and old all join in a regular break-down, and then the flails come down all as one, and exact as the bow-tip of an orchestra-leader. The young girl sings with a roguish cast of the eye, and a smile on her lip, but the old men, and the old hags of women, how frantic they look as they burst into the chorus! Here and there is an old African, who hardly knows what it all means, but with a guess at the subject, he joins in with his native lingo, and his notes are as well timed and unearthly as the best of them. The song may affect to be lively and joyous, but it is not so. There is something so sad and wild about it, that I defy any one who knows the tones of the heart, to look on and listen without something of a shudder. And yet they appear to be happy, all but those old creatures who have the look of being past all care or hope. On the edge of the bank, in a sentry-box, a man stands, with rifle in hand, ready to pick off any bird that may come within his aim, and on the other side of the group is an old, blind, gray-headed negro sitting in the straw, with a dozen half-naked children frolicking about him, and rolling in the sunshine. Puffing away at his pipe that went out 'long, long ago,' he will sit there in the sun hour after hour, bare-headed and almost motionless, muttering to himself, or grasping eagerly at the young ones, as though he would tear them in pieces; but they know better, for just so have they seen an old cat play with her kittens. Occasionally he starts, as though he heard and understood the song of the threshers, and with a fling of his arms, as if there again at his old post, he breaks out with some old, forgotten ditty, and then crouches down again in the straw, motionless as before; and so the time goes by, till the children lead him away to his hut and his hominy.
In this lounging way a day or two passes pleasantly, during which the ship has drifted up to Savannah, where fifteen darkeys, of different sizes and novelties of wardrobe, stand ready, each with a hand raised to his hatless head, to take your luggage to Mr.Wiltberger's. Not less than fifteen will answer; for it needs two for a hat-box,three for a valise, and five for each trunk. I recommend this in preference to the more gentlemanlike way of having your baggage sent for; for a cart would have to be got up for that purpose, and a negro who could harness a horse in less than half a day, would be too smart to live at the South. With this ragged troop you clamber up the high bank, and after a good deal of fuss, find yourself in a pleasant room at the Pulaski House, and look out the open window to see what is going on; but the square and the streets are still and dreamy as midnight. Nothing living save the warm sunlight; but that seems so much a thing of life, that you put out your hand to see if it will bite, and, rather surprised that it don't, look about again for an object.
The shop doors are all open, and through one of them is discovered a man with a lathered face, the sunshine lying half way up his lap, a white barber holding his nose, and a small black one whisking about the room with a brush. Every little while the small barber goes out to the door-steps to pull at the ears of a dog that lies asleep on the side-walk, and then back again to brush with renewed vigor. It is not fly-time, but he is whisking for a picayune. And this is all that can be seen of Savannah during the impatient half-hour of the day. At the end of that time, a black head appears at your door and asks, 'Will massa please walk down to dinner?' which being repeated three times to make you fully understand the meaning, you follow the head to the first floor, and sit down to constituents from all parts of the land. Delicate preparations from the interior, the substantials from Charleston market, the luxuries of the Florida coast, and West-Indian fruits freshly-gathered, are all there, to help charm away the hour. Beside, there are pleasant faces and bright eyes about you, and not the slightest jar to disturb your digestion. Those who like to doze or dream over the last half hour, will find the low murmur of table-talk as lulling as a brook in a June night. After dinner you step into the street with renewed conviction that stomach and climate have more to do with one's religion than most people imagine. The wide street that opens to the south (every one knows how beautiful are the streets in Savannah) leads past a cemetery, where of course it is very still and solemn, but it is equally so in every other, save the one that skirts the river bank; and even there the cawing of the crows a mile distant over the river comes to the ear as distinctly as in the shut-up mountains of the Highlands. Fifty feet below are the outward-bound ships, stowing away their cotton for the East, and from their gloomy depths comes up the half-smothered, never-ending song of the negro slave. All day long you may hear the same monotonous, melancholy cry, a little exaggerated as the labor varies; and, with only at long intervals a louder quack from some bold crow venturing over, or the far-off scream of a boat coming down the river, there is nothing to prevent your taking a siesta, wherever the humor of the moment is disposed to be lazy.
The journey south from Savannah was formerly made in what is called the inland passage, between the Sea Islands and the mainland. The boat that ran in those waters, some seven or eight years since, promising to reach Picolata as soon as the weather and tide would permit, was a small fussy affair, lying very low in the water, with no cabin under deck, but hatchways very convenient to fall through, and a power of engine, equal to—say five hundred cats. It also had about the same power of screaming, and was steered by a big black on the upper deck, with the old-fashioned tiller. Much of this inland channel is narrow and crooked, running for long distances through immense marshes, where the passage was alike solemn and slow. If the helmsman happened to look aside for a moment, it needed but a slight penchant either way for the boat to go ashore; but the motion was never so great as to send us very far inland, and by the help of setting-poles and reversed wheels, we were soon made to float again. But it would sometimes come to pass, that in working with the one desire of getting the boat off, the captain and his men forward and the big helmsman aft would not amalgamate in their operations, and the boat when launched would be heading the wrong way. In such cases, we had to run back to find a place wide enough to turn in, or go ashore again very carefully, and repeat the operation. As this occurred pretty often, and the captain always found some landing-place to rest over night, it was only after many days, and a die-away scream, as though the poor old thing was breathing its last, that the boat reached its destination.Now, the boats are intended to be sea-worthy, and when the weather is pleasant, the passage is made outside, running in between the islands occasionally to the landings on the coast, and stopping at St. Mary's the last night, so as to pass the bar at St. Augustine by daylight. The tide of those inland seas and rivers seems to be very sluggish; but a little incident occurred a few years since, showing the contrary, in no very contemptible manner. Half a dozen of us had taken passage for St. Augustine, and the third day out, just after we had passed the St. Johns, the wind suddenly freshened from the south, and the boat pitched about to such a degree, that we decided upon running back and making the harbor. The captain had never passed the bar, and the breakers were in one continued dash of foam for miles, presenting no passage to the eye; but a gentleman on board said he knew the way, and under his pilotage we floundered through; and avoiding a wreck that was rolling about near the scene of its disaster the day previous, we ran up to Pablo and fastened to a schooner that was secured to a dock; shortly after, a government steamer came in and made fast to us outside, so that the three vessels and the dock, which was quite long, extended some distance into the river. After a stroll of some hours on shore, prying into the bushes very carefully, for fear of Indians, we went back to supper, condoled with the ladies upon sea-sickness, discussed the probability of an Indian attack, and went to bed. The night soon fell, solemn and still; so still that the small talk of the pelicans over the river might have been heard distinctly; that is, if any one had been awake to listen; but some time between midnight and morning, there was a sudden shock,something like an earthquake, only more personal; after which a shouting and tramping, but no yells, as in that case it would have been an Indian attack. What could be the matter? We might have been struck with lightning, or, as any thing is possible to our apprehension, it might be that the boiler had burst, though the fire had gone out long ago; but then the engine would certainly have screamed at that; beside, in case of lightning, or steam, we should have smelt, or felt it, which we did not. All things considered, as there was no cry of fire, nor murder, we turned over in our berths, and went to sleep again. The next morning, going on deck, we found the boat anchored some two miles from shore; the government steamer still farther out on the west side; the schooner in another direction; the dock in pieces, hither and yon; and outside of all, dancing about in the breakers, was the wreck. Fine work, indeed, for Sunday morning! The old thing had gone up with the tide in the night, and getting a fair start, came down broadside on, and carried us all out to sea!
About nine o'clock, we fired up and ran down the coast, making St. Augustine early in the afternoon, to the great delight of the idlers who had marked our coming by the black line on the horizon, long before the boat was in sight. The coast of Florida above St. Augustine is not such as we should expect from the promised land; a smooth white beach with little hillocks of sand in the rear, having a stunted growth of scrub oak, with here and there a cabbage-tree, or palmetto, and in the spring a few large flowers of the Spanish-bayonet, looking in the distance like sentries with white feathers, posted on the verge of the sea.
St. Augustine, sheltered by an island in front, and a sea-wall running close along the town, presents only a long line of low, flat stone houses, with narrow sandy streets, a square in the centre with a church and cathedral, and at the upper end of the town, an old fort, looking as though it had been built in the time of Adam, and so, for that matter, looks the town. There is much, very much, that would be intolerable in any other latitude; but oh! beautiful, beautiful beyond all picturing, the climate! The first day you take to be the belle of the season; a little passée, and a little sad, you think, but for all that, very bewitching. Well, the next day rises and sets the same, with perhaps a brighter blush at parting; and after a fortnight of such, you feel an utter contempt for all the extras and extravaganzas of northern life. Your boxes of books are unopened, and so they remain all winter, with an increasing wonder that you ever cared for them, when the song, and the dance, and therealpoetry of life can so thoroughly fill the heart. Nothing under heaven to do, (so you say in writing home,) and yet with fishing, and riding, sea-bathing and nine-pins, pic-nics and dances, and the half dozen 'sociables' of the day, not forgetting the one 'round the corner,' you will go to bed in the small hours, with some urgent fancy still ahead, which will be fresh for the morning; and, sure that the sun will rise to-morrow, and abide with you, you neither hurry your dreams nor your breakfast. The devotionalhour, to be sure, is at sunrise; but the Catholic bells are ringing at all hours of the day, and a man would be indolent indeed, who could not make out some religion from these multiplied conveniences.
So passes the day, the week, the month, the winter; and with so much done, there are so many pleasant things undone, that the longer you tarry the greater will be the throng to put a finger on your lips at the last good-bye. Verily, those who love pleasant faces and warm hearts will love St. Augustine. But it is not the place for all. The young, the eager, and the ambitious should not go into that silent land; and especially to those who have that kind of nervous irritation which requiresstimulantsto allay, would the climate be frightful. Such persons would have the St. Vitus's dance. But the mentally-dyspeptic, and all those who have tired of crowds, and forced civilities; all those, in short, who in one way or another have 'had enough of it,' will find all true as above written.
Have you ever found yourself sitting up in bed after long illness, fever or delirium? You listen to the song of birds, and the thousand and one voices of the outside world, and wonder whether you are in the same old planet from which you retired long ago in sickness and disgust. You think back, and there is a confused memory of pain and trouble; of long nights in which you neither slept nor waked; of a kind hand that seemed ever vainly attempting to minister comfort about you, and of low tones sounding in your ear like voices in the dark: musing in this way, you sink back upon the pillow, with your face turned to the light, and after a little, begin to argue with yourself, very rationally as you think, whetherthistoo is not a dream, only pleasanter than usual; and then you dispute whether you were just now sitting up in bed, and deciding on the whole thatthattoo was a delusion, you fix your eyes upon the sunshine playing on the carpet, and sleep again. Half an hour afterward you wake to the touch of warm lips, the clasp of warm arms, and open your eyes to another's——and so forth.
Not unlike, in this quiet city of St. Augustine, is the feeling with which you thankGodthat you have escaped the fretting, restless fever of a northern life. As to the lips and arms, I say nothing; but oh! good-bye to the long faces, the sharp look of care and apprehension; the cold reply, the rush of the eager heartless throng; good-bye to all your cold things of the forty-second latitude! I look back upon the long line of a thousand miles, and say that your cold winds shall not reach me; your blustering northerners, and your blustering politics shall storm within their own dominions. Good-bye!
HEART-COMPENSATIONS.There'snot a heart, however rude, but hath some little flowerTo brighten up its solitude, and scent the evening hour:There's not a heart, however cast by grief and sorrow down,But has some memory of the past, to love and call its own.
There'snot a heart, however rude, but hath some little flowerTo brighten up its solitude, and scent the evening hour:There's not a heart, however cast by grief and sorrow down,But has some memory of the past, to love and call its own.
There'snot a heart, however rude, but hath some little flowerTo brighten up its solitude, and scent the evening hour:There's not a heart, however cast by grief and sorrow down,But has some memory of the past, to love and call its own.
THE MEETING AT SEA.Spoken—Sept. 5, Lat. 47 41, Lon. 12, ship South Carolina,Owen, from Havre, for New-Orleans; (by the Rochester, at Cowes, from New Orleans, commanded by a son of CaptainOwen. They had not seen each other for several years, and the weather being fine, CaptainOwenof the Rochester made a visit to his parent.)Shipping List.Whenamber skies hung o'er the wave,And autumn winds were light,And neither sea-fowl dipped his bill,Nor petrel took her flight;When o'er the ocean here and thereA tremulant ripple swept,And on the vast Atlantic's breastA deepening silence slept;The captain of a gallant ship, with hearty sailors manned,Paced slowly o'er the quarter-deck, and all the horizon scanned.The stamp of youth not yet removed,He trode with manly grace;His heart unhurt by brooding woes,No wrinkle marred his face;Yet, with a brow sunburnt and broad,An eye with eagle's fire,A stalwart form, might well work outAmbition's proud desire;He for the moment felt a thrill as tender yet as wildAs e'er touched woman's bosom, or the heart of sunny child.Afar, and yet how far it was!A white speck caught his eye,Most like the wing of some fair bird,Between the wave and sky;But though along the trackless deepSuch things were often seen,The sailor's eye was moistened,And he showed an altered mien;Whoe'er could then have looked upon the compass of his soul,Had marked the needle of quick joy point truly to Hope's pole.'Make sail! make sail! ay, 'fore and aft,Below, and up aloft;Spread wide the billowy canvass,To catch the breezes soft.My spirit feels, that ere this dayShall deepen into shade,Or ere these winds shall all expire,Or sunset colors fade,I'll grasp a hand, and clasp a form, ungrasped, unclasped for years!''Ay, ay! make sail!' the seamen cried, 'stand by to haul, with cheers!'Then glided fleetly o'er the waveThat tall and graceful ship,While ripples murmured at her bow,As words from woman's lip;The dark keel glided onward,O'er beds of tinted shell,And shaded from the intruding sunFull many a mermaid cell.Joy was around her—joy above, as on her path she went,Like some o'er-joyful messenger, on welcome errand sent.As some white cloud which riseth upThrough Heaven's eternal blue,That speck in the horizon rose,And broader, larger grew.Full soon three taper top-masts lieOutlined against the sky,And from the halliards, waving out,Three well-known signals fly;'Bear down! 'tis he! my noble Sire! as cherished on the seasAs when, a child, I clambered up, to prattle on his knees!'Behold! two ships upon the deep,With canvass partly furled,And flags that droop along their masts,By breezes scarcely curled:No sound of flapping rope is heard,No creak of heavy block;But side by side, and easily,Those meeting vessels rock.'My son! my father!' Both have met upon that ocean-plain,And thoughts of home and childhood-life crowd on their hearts again!New-Orleans, Oct., 1843.A. C. Ainsworth.
Spoken—Sept. 5, Lat. 47 41, Lon. 12, ship South Carolina,Owen, from Havre, for New-Orleans; (by the Rochester, at Cowes, from New Orleans, commanded by a son of CaptainOwen. They had not seen each other for several years, and the weather being fine, CaptainOwenof the Rochester made a visit to his parent.)Shipping List.
Spoken—Sept. 5, Lat. 47 41, Lon. 12, ship South Carolina,Owen, from Havre, for New-Orleans; (by the Rochester, at Cowes, from New Orleans, commanded by a son of CaptainOwen. They had not seen each other for several years, and the weather being fine, CaptainOwenof the Rochester made a visit to his parent.)
Shipping List.
Whenamber skies hung o'er the wave,And autumn winds were light,And neither sea-fowl dipped his bill,Nor petrel took her flight;When o'er the ocean here and thereA tremulant ripple swept,And on the vast Atlantic's breastA deepening silence slept;The captain of a gallant ship, with hearty sailors manned,Paced slowly o'er the quarter-deck, and all the horizon scanned.The stamp of youth not yet removed,He trode with manly grace;His heart unhurt by brooding woes,No wrinkle marred his face;Yet, with a brow sunburnt and broad,An eye with eagle's fire,A stalwart form, might well work outAmbition's proud desire;He for the moment felt a thrill as tender yet as wildAs e'er touched woman's bosom, or the heart of sunny child.Afar, and yet how far it was!A white speck caught his eye,Most like the wing of some fair bird,Between the wave and sky;But though along the trackless deepSuch things were often seen,The sailor's eye was moistened,And he showed an altered mien;Whoe'er could then have looked upon the compass of his soul,Had marked the needle of quick joy point truly to Hope's pole.'Make sail! make sail! ay, 'fore and aft,Below, and up aloft;Spread wide the billowy canvass,To catch the breezes soft.My spirit feels, that ere this dayShall deepen into shade,Or ere these winds shall all expire,Or sunset colors fade,I'll grasp a hand, and clasp a form, ungrasped, unclasped for years!''Ay, ay! make sail!' the seamen cried, 'stand by to haul, with cheers!'Then glided fleetly o'er the waveThat tall and graceful ship,While ripples murmured at her bow,As words from woman's lip;The dark keel glided onward,O'er beds of tinted shell,And shaded from the intruding sunFull many a mermaid cell.Joy was around her—joy above, as on her path she went,Like some o'er-joyful messenger, on welcome errand sent.As some white cloud which riseth upThrough Heaven's eternal blue,That speck in the horizon rose,And broader, larger grew.Full soon three taper top-masts lieOutlined against the sky,And from the halliards, waving out,Three well-known signals fly;'Bear down! 'tis he! my noble Sire! as cherished on the seasAs when, a child, I clambered up, to prattle on his knees!'
Behold! two ships upon the deep,With canvass partly furled,And flags that droop along their masts,By breezes scarcely curled:No sound of flapping rope is heard,No creak of heavy block;But side by side, and easily,Those meeting vessels rock.'My son! my father!' Both have met upon that ocean-plain,And thoughts of home and childhood-life crowd on their hearts again!
New-Orleans, Oct., 1843.
A. C. Ainsworth.
THE QUOD CORRESPONDENCE.Harry Harson.CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH.Michael Rustsat in his office with his arms twined round his knees, and his chin bowed down to them, like a wild beast crouching to spring. His thin cheek was thinner than on the day before; his hair tangled and matted; and, unconsciously, he grated his teeth, and muttered to himself. But he neither moved, nor changed his position; and the black flashing eye, which darted hither and thither, never resting, even for a moment, alone showed that his mind was on the alert.He was awaiting the return of his messenger, who was exceedingly dilatory. Step after step came and went. Persons ascended and descended the stairs; and as the morning advanced, and the hours of business approached, the sound of out-door bustle increased, until a perfect current of human beings seemed to pour through the street. Still, Rust sat there in silence, watching the return of his clerk. Once, he fancied that he distinguished his voice in the entry. He got up, opened the door, and looked out; a strange man was loitering in the passage, but no one else. He shut it, dragged a chair to the middle of the room, stamped it down heavily, and flung himself into it, gnawing his fist with impatience. Ha! a step slowly ascended the stairs. He was certain this time. It was Kornicker. There was no mistaking that heavy, irregular tread; but, nevertheless,Rust did not stir until the door opened and Kornicker walked in.'Your answer!' said Rust, looking at him, as if to read his success in his features.'He'll come.''When?''He didn't say,' replied his clerk, shutting the door by butting his shoulder against it.'Did he write?''No.''Good!' replied Rust, abruptly. 'Any thing else?''No. If you're done with me, I'll get my breakfast.''Go.'Kornicker departed, and Rust relapsed into his old attitude, occasionally biting his nails, or passing his fingers through his matted hair, or casting a suspicious glance toward the door.Half an hour had passed, and Rust was absorbed in his own dreams, when he was startled by a heavy step at his door. He sat up in his chair, and listened attentively, holding his breath. There was something in that step which he did not like. It was calm, slow, and deliberate. He hoped that it would pass on, but it did not. Two hard knocks at the door followed.'Come in,' said Rust, without rising.The door opened, and Harson and Holmes entered. Still Rust sat where he was, with his black eyes peering from beneath his heavy brows, and glancing from face to face.'I'm seeking a Mr. Rust,' said Harson, advancing.'That's me. My name is Rust,' was the laconic answer.'And mine is Harson,' replied the other. 'I received this, this morning,' said he, pointing to the letter which he had received from Kornicker, 'and have come to keep the appointment proposed in it.'Rust moved uneasily on his chair, and turned to the lawyer; for some moments he did not speak; but at last, seeing that no farther efforts at opening a conversation were made by his visitors, he pointed to Holmes, and asked:'Is that gentleman's name Henry Harson, too?''No,' replied Harson.'Then he wasn't invited here. My note was to Henry Harson, and to no one else. My conversation is to be on private matters, which I don't choose to make known to every body.''Perhaps it is as well that I should go,' said Holmes, without any trace of anger. 'I'll leave you, Harry, and will return in half an hour.'He was leaving the room, when Harson laid his hand on his arm, and said: 'No, no; don't go, Dick; I can't spare you.' Turning to Rust he added: 'There are no secrets between this man and me, and I don't intend that there shall be. So, what you have to say, you must speak out before us both, or keep it to yourself.'Rust eyed him for a few moments in silence, with his thin lips closely compressed, and then looked on the floor, apparently makingup his mind. At length he said, in a slow tone: 'So youwillhave him here, will you? Well, be it so. Should what I say hit hard, thank yourself that one more knows it than is necessary!'He went to the table and took up a letter, which he handed to Harson. 'Did you write that?'Harson opened it, and ran his eye over it. 'I did,' said he. 'How cameyouby it?''No matter. You'll find that out, some day; but not now. I may have borrowed it, I may have found it, or bought it, or begged it, or stolen it. Michael Rust, you know, is not too good to do any thing. I think you hinted something of the kind in it.'Harson passed the letter to Holmes, who seating himself, deliberately perused it, and turned it over, and examined the back, with a kind of habitual caution. There was a smile upon his lips, as he read it, that puzzled Rust. 'It's not at all improbable that hemayhave stolen it,' said he, folding it up, and returning it to Harson. 'The language is free, but no doubt it is deserved.'Rust's eyes fairly shot fire, as they encountered the calm, steady gaze of the old lawyer. But he could not look him down, and he turned away and said:'I'm not fond of law, or there is that in that letter which, if revenged in a court of justice, would fall heavily upon the writer of it.''Perhaps so, perhaps so,' said Holmes, in reply.'Well, Sir, I'll not waste time about this matter, but will state why I sent for you; which was, not to ask favors, but to warn you against the consequence of your own acts. For weeks, a man whose gray hairs might have brought him prudence, has been at work in the dark, tracking my footsteps, prying into my actions; throwing out insinuations against me; asserting nothing openly, but doing every thing in secret; working with the vilest tools, and frequenting the haunts of the very offscouring of the earth. It was a noble pursuit,' said he, bitterly, 'and it was worthy of the person upon whom I was at last able to fix it. That person wasyou,' said he, pointing to Harson. 'Stop, Sir!' said he, seeing that Harson was going to speak, 'stop, Sir. Your turn will come. Hear whatIyet have to say. I have told you what you have done; I have told you too that I hated law; but if you think that I am the man to be hunted down like a beast, and branded in the eyes of the world, with impunity, you don't know Michael Rust.'Harson's fingers had gradually closed, until his fist grew into a form not unlike the head of a sledge-hammer; and for a short time it was a matter of no small doubt whether it would not light upon the sharp, fierce face that glared upon him. But a cautioning glance from Holmes called him to himself; and he replied in a manner which, if less to the point, was at least more peaceable: 'What Ihavedone, I will abide by; what Iintendto do, you'll find out, and that soon. Take your own course, and I'll take mine. If you are innocent, you'll not be injured; if you are not, you'll get your deserts.'Rust bit his lips at this quiet answer. 'Perhaps,' said he, in a low, sneering tone, 'since you seem to be so anxious to pry into my conduct, you may obtain more authentic information by applying to me in person; and perhaps you will not object to make my misdeeds, of which you hint so freely, known tome, who certainly am interested in learning what they are.'Harson drew Holmes to the other end of the room, where they whispered together for some moments; after which, Holmes turned to Rust, and said:'Your name, I think, is Michael Rust?''Thatismy name,' replied Rust, bowing stiffly.'And you accuse Mr. Harson of having endeavored to injure your character?''I do,' replied Rust.'Perhaps your memory may lead you astray, and his remarks and allusions may refer to another than yourself.'Michael Rust turned from him with a contemptuous smile; and then tapping the letter with his finger, said: 'Ink never forgets. Henry Harson and his friend may both vary their story, but this is always the same, and the slanders once uttered against mehere, are here still unchanged and unsoftened.''Againstyou?' repeated Holmes. 'Read it again.Youare not even mentioned in it.'Rust glanced at it; and the lawyer thought that for a moment he observed a change in his features. If so, it was but momentary; for he answered in the same low tone, though perhaps with even more of a sneer:'It was a trap, was it? Pah! a child could see through it! It alludes to oneHenry Colton. The charges are made againsthim. I'll save you the trouble of farther manœuvering to obtain information on that point, by informing you that Henry Colton and Michael Rust are one. I'll inform you too that you knew it before you came here. If you wish it, I'll give you the same admission in writing.''I accept your offer,' said Holmes, quietly. 'There's paper,' said he, pointing to the table; 'write it on that.'Rust cast an angry glance at him, and seemed to hesitate; but he saw that he was watched narrowly, and must not shrink. So he sat down and scrawled something, which he pushed to Holmes.Holmes read it over slowly: 'Alterthat; the wording is not clear,' said he, pointing out a paragraph which did not suit him.Rust took up the pen and altered the phrase.'Perhapsthatwill do?' said he, again handing it to Holmes.'That's just what I want,' replied the lawyer, running his eye over it, and apparently weighing every word. 'But you are very forgetful. You haven't signed it.'Rust took the paper and signed his name to it. 'I hope you are satisfied. I suppose you have me now,' said he, with a sneer.'I think Ihave,' replied Holmes, folding up the paper, and putting it in his pocket. 'Have you any farther remarks to make to Mr. Harson or myself? What you have done has been of much service, and will save us a great deal of trouble.''None,' replied Rust; 'I sent forhim,' said he, pointing to Harson, 'to let him know that I was aware of his proceedings, and to warn him that I was prepared to defend myself; and that if he persisted in his attacks upon me, he would do so at his peril.''It is well,' said Holmes. 'It's frank in you, and no doubt Mr. Harson feels grateful. And now that you have finished, perhaps you will listen to a strange tale, which I am going to narrate to you. I wish you to pay particular attention, as you may find it interesting. It's quite romantic, but strictly true.''Once upon a time,' (that's the way stories begin, I think,) 'there were two brothers living at a place far from this city; the names of whom were George and Henry Colton. The former received a large property from a distant relative; while the means of the latter were limited; so much so, that but for the liberality of his elder brother, he would have found it utterly impossible to live, in the style and manner in which he always did and still is accustomed to live.''Well, Sir, does this refer to me?' said Rust; 'and if it does, and is true, what then?''I have not finished,' replied Holmes. 'You shall hear the rest. Shortly after the accession of George Colton to this property, he married; but previous to doing so, to secure his brother against want, he settled upon him property sufficient to produce him a handsome income.''Well, Sir,' said Rust, 'what then?''You shall hear,' replied Holmes. 'By this marriage George Colton had two children, who in the course of law would have inherited his entire property, had they been living at the time of his death. These children had reached the ages of two or three years, when they were lost in a very singular manner. They had been left alone by their nurse, in a room in their father's house; and when she returned, after the lapse of a very few minutes, they were gone; and from that day to this their parents have had no tidings of them. Search was made in every direction; rewards were offered; persons were employed in all parts of the country, and descriptions of the missing children were placarded in every quarter. No one was more earnest and untiring in his efforts to find them than Henry Colton, the younger brother; for he remembered only his brother's past kindness; entirely forgetting, that if these children were dead he would, in all probability, receive his brother's vast property. But he was equally unsuccessful with the others. By degrees, hope grew fainter, and the efforts of all, except this noble younger brother, relaxed; but he travelled, wrote, had agents employed in every direction, and, I am told, is still endeavoring to unravel this mystery. And now,' said he, in a low, stern tone, 'shall I tell you the reason why he failed? It was this. The agents employed by him were put on a false scent; and although a high reward was offered for the discovery of the children, a higher one was paid for keeping the place of their concealment undiscovered. Shall I tell you,' added the lawyer, in the same tone, 'who paid the bribe? That same noble Henry Colton, the younger brother; and what's more, thatsame man sometimes bore the name of Michael Rust. All this can be proved beyond the shadow of a doubt, and will be, in a court of justice, if we are compelled to do it.'The lawyer paused, and looked Rust steadily in the face.'Well, Sir,' said Rust, 'part of what you say is true. I know that the children were lost, I know that I did what I could to find them. As to the rest, it is false, and I care nothing for it. They are dead, I fear.''Not quite,' replied Holmes. 'One of them is already rescued; so that Michael Rust's hopes and schemes are thwarted; and his only chance to escape the arm of the law is to give up the other, or to tell where he is.'Rust turned toward him, and looking him steadily in the face, said: 'Well, Sir, if this be true I'm glad of it; but if some designing scoundrel is desirous of palming off his own brats on an honest man, to swindle him out of his property, let him beware, lest he run his legs into shackles. For my part, I've no doubt that the whole tale is a fabrication of that old man's,' said he, pointing to Harson, 'got up for no honest purpose.''That's false!' replied Holmes, sternly. 'Lie as you will; deny as stoutly as you please; I tell you that what I have said is true, and that you are the man.'Rust grew deadly pale, but said nothing.'And I tell you again,' said Holmes, in the same stern voice, 'that your only hope of escaping punishment is in giving up the remaining child, or in giving such information as may lead to his discovery. Do that, and we will show you all the favor we can.''Nay, more,' added Harson. 'We will never let it be known what you had to do with it. We'll let it be supposed that the children were stolen, and found. We will keep it quiet, won't we, Ned?' said he, walking up to the lawyer, and laying his hand on his shoulder.'You've said so, and your promise must be kept,' replied Holmes. 'I shouldn't have made it. But you must decide at once.'Michael Rust had sat as still as a statue, merely turning his eyes from one to the other, as they spoke.'Have you done?' asked he, in a voice as quiet and composed as if the threats just uttered had no reference to himself.'You have heard all that we have to offer,' said Holmes.'You're very kind,' replied Rust; 'you'reverykind; but you don'tknowMichael Rust. He accepts favors from no man. There, there—go! He values your threats and promises alike; and neither the one nor the other will turn him one inch from his own course, to aid you in your dishonest purpose. It's against his conscience. Good morning. Our interview is ended, I think. I'm sorry to see gray hairs so steeped in depravity.''Michael Rust,' said Holmes, turning to him, 'you have sealed your own doom. I'm glad you've rejected our offers, and I now withdraw them. You're unworthy of them; and you shall have no other grace than what the law extends to a felon.'Rust bowed. 'You're kind. I shall not trouble you to repeat the offer. As for the grace extended to felons, I believe there is a law which makes a conspiracy to defraud, a felony likewise. It takes three to make a conspiracy, in law; but I have no doubt you have abettors. Perhaps you had better examine the matter. I wish you good morning, gentlemen; I wish to be alone.'Rust sat without moving, until the sound of their footsteps descending the stairs was lost, and then he sprang to his feet.'Now then,' exclaimed he, 'I know where I am! Now I can see where to strike. Ha! ha! We'll see who conquers, Harry Harson or Michael Rust—a desperate man, who has no alternative but to succeed or die. Ho! ho! I know where the mine is to be sprung; and I will countermine!'Listless, desponding, and irresolute as to his course, as he had been before his interview with Harson, all trace of it had disappeared now. He had decided upon the steps to be taken; and, desperate as they were, he was not the man to hesitate. The anxiety which had borne him down, disappeared as he ascertained the extent of his danger, and was able to nerve himself to cope with it; and his manner was not only cheerful but merry, and his eye shone with a self-confidence not unlike that of a gladiator preparing for a conflict in which he or his adversary must perish.Lingering in his office only long enough to give his two visitors time to get some distance off, he put on his hat, locked the door, placed the key over it, so that Kornicker might know where to find it, and sallied out into the street.
Harry Harson.
Michael Rustsat in his office with his arms twined round his knees, and his chin bowed down to them, like a wild beast crouching to spring. His thin cheek was thinner than on the day before; his hair tangled and matted; and, unconsciously, he grated his teeth, and muttered to himself. But he neither moved, nor changed his position; and the black flashing eye, which darted hither and thither, never resting, even for a moment, alone showed that his mind was on the alert.
He was awaiting the return of his messenger, who was exceedingly dilatory. Step after step came and went. Persons ascended and descended the stairs; and as the morning advanced, and the hours of business approached, the sound of out-door bustle increased, until a perfect current of human beings seemed to pour through the street. Still, Rust sat there in silence, watching the return of his clerk. Once, he fancied that he distinguished his voice in the entry. He got up, opened the door, and looked out; a strange man was loitering in the passage, but no one else. He shut it, dragged a chair to the middle of the room, stamped it down heavily, and flung himself into it, gnawing his fist with impatience. Ha! a step slowly ascended the stairs. He was certain this time. It was Kornicker. There was no mistaking that heavy, irregular tread; but, nevertheless,Rust did not stir until the door opened and Kornicker walked in.
'Your answer!' said Rust, looking at him, as if to read his success in his features.
'He'll come.'
'When?'
'He didn't say,' replied his clerk, shutting the door by butting his shoulder against it.
'Did he write?'
'No.'
'Good!' replied Rust, abruptly. 'Any thing else?'
'No. If you're done with me, I'll get my breakfast.'
'Go.'
Kornicker departed, and Rust relapsed into his old attitude, occasionally biting his nails, or passing his fingers through his matted hair, or casting a suspicious glance toward the door.
Half an hour had passed, and Rust was absorbed in his own dreams, when he was startled by a heavy step at his door. He sat up in his chair, and listened attentively, holding his breath. There was something in that step which he did not like. It was calm, slow, and deliberate. He hoped that it would pass on, but it did not. Two hard knocks at the door followed.
'Come in,' said Rust, without rising.
The door opened, and Harson and Holmes entered. Still Rust sat where he was, with his black eyes peering from beneath his heavy brows, and glancing from face to face.
'I'm seeking a Mr. Rust,' said Harson, advancing.
'That's me. My name is Rust,' was the laconic answer.
'And mine is Harson,' replied the other. 'I received this, this morning,' said he, pointing to the letter which he had received from Kornicker, 'and have come to keep the appointment proposed in it.'
Rust moved uneasily on his chair, and turned to the lawyer; for some moments he did not speak; but at last, seeing that no farther efforts at opening a conversation were made by his visitors, he pointed to Holmes, and asked:
'Is that gentleman's name Henry Harson, too?'
'No,' replied Harson.
'Then he wasn't invited here. My note was to Henry Harson, and to no one else. My conversation is to be on private matters, which I don't choose to make known to every body.'
'Perhaps it is as well that I should go,' said Holmes, without any trace of anger. 'I'll leave you, Harry, and will return in half an hour.'
He was leaving the room, when Harson laid his hand on his arm, and said: 'No, no; don't go, Dick; I can't spare you.' Turning to Rust he added: 'There are no secrets between this man and me, and I don't intend that there shall be. So, what you have to say, you must speak out before us both, or keep it to yourself.'
Rust eyed him for a few moments in silence, with his thin lips closely compressed, and then looked on the floor, apparently makingup his mind. At length he said, in a slow tone: 'So youwillhave him here, will you? Well, be it so. Should what I say hit hard, thank yourself that one more knows it than is necessary!'
He went to the table and took up a letter, which he handed to Harson. 'Did you write that?'
Harson opened it, and ran his eye over it. 'I did,' said he. 'How cameyouby it?'
'No matter. You'll find that out, some day; but not now. I may have borrowed it, I may have found it, or bought it, or begged it, or stolen it. Michael Rust, you know, is not too good to do any thing. I think you hinted something of the kind in it.'
Harson passed the letter to Holmes, who seating himself, deliberately perused it, and turned it over, and examined the back, with a kind of habitual caution. There was a smile upon his lips, as he read it, that puzzled Rust. 'It's not at all improbable that hemayhave stolen it,' said he, folding it up, and returning it to Harson. 'The language is free, but no doubt it is deserved.'
Rust's eyes fairly shot fire, as they encountered the calm, steady gaze of the old lawyer. But he could not look him down, and he turned away and said:
'I'm not fond of law, or there is that in that letter which, if revenged in a court of justice, would fall heavily upon the writer of it.'
'Perhaps so, perhaps so,' said Holmes, in reply.
'Well, Sir, I'll not waste time about this matter, but will state why I sent for you; which was, not to ask favors, but to warn you against the consequence of your own acts. For weeks, a man whose gray hairs might have brought him prudence, has been at work in the dark, tracking my footsteps, prying into my actions; throwing out insinuations against me; asserting nothing openly, but doing every thing in secret; working with the vilest tools, and frequenting the haunts of the very offscouring of the earth. It was a noble pursuit,' said he, bitterly, 'and it was worthy of the person upon whom I was at last able to fix it. That person wasyou,' said he, pointing to Harson. 'Stop, Sir!' said he, seeing that Harson was going to speak, 'stop, Sir. Your turn will come. Hear whatIyet have to say. I have told you what you have done; I have told you too that I hated law; but if you think that I am the man to be hunted down like a beast, and branded in the eyes of the world, with impunity, you don't know Michael Rust.'
Harson's fingers had gradually closed, until his fist grew into a form not unlike the head of a sledge-hammer; and for a short time it was a matter of no small doubt whether it would not light upon the sharp, fierce face that glared upon him. But a cautioning glance from Holmes called him to himself; and he replied in a manner which, if less to the point, was at least more peaceable: 'What Ihavedone, I will abide by; what Iintendto do, you'll find out, and that soon. Take your own course, and I'll take mine. If you are innocent, you'll not be injured; if you are not, you'll get your deserts.'
Rust bit his lips at this quiet answer. 'Perhaps,' said he, in a low, sneering tone, 'since you seem to be so anxious to pry into my conduct, you may obtain more authentic information by applying to me in person; and perhaps you will not object to make my misdeeds, of which you hint so freely, known tome, who certainly am interested in learning what they are.'
Harson drew Holmes to the other end of the room, where they whispered together for some moments; after which, Holmes turned to Rust, and said:
'Your name, I think, is Michael Rust?'
'Thatismy name,' replied Rust, bowing stiffly.
'And you accuse Mr. Harson of having endeavored to injure your character?'
'I do,' replied Rust.
'Perhaps your memory may lead you astray, and his remarks and allusions may refer to another than yourself.'
Michael Rust turned from him with a contemptuous smile; and then tapping the letter with his finger, said: 'Ink never forgets. Henry Harson and his friend may both vary their story, but this is always the same, and the slanders once uttered against mehere, are here still unchanged and unsoftened.'
'Againstyou?' repeated Holmes. 'Read it again.Youare not even mentioned in it.'
Rust glanced at it; and the lawyer thought that for a moment he observed a change in his features. If so, it was but momentary; for he answered in the same low tone, though perhaps with even more of a sneer:
'It was a trap, was it? Pah! a child could see through it! It alludes to oneHenry Colton. The charges are made againsthim. I'll save you the trouble of farther manœuvering to obtain information on that point, by informing you that Henry Colton and Michael Rust are one. I'll inform you too that you knew it before you came here. If you wish it, I'll give you the same admission in writing.'
'I accept your offer,' said Holmes, quietly. 'There's paper,' said he, pointing to the table; 'write it on that.'
Rust cast an angry glance at him, and seemed to hesitate; but he saw that he was watched narrowly, and must not shrink. So he sat down and scrawled something, which he pushed to Holmes.
Holmes read it over slowly: 'Alterthat; the wording is not clear,' said he, pointing out a paragraph which did not suit him.
Rust took up the pen and altered the phrase.
'Perhapsthatwill do?' said he, again handing it to Holmes.
'That's just what I want,' replied the lawyer, running his eye over it, and apparently weighing every word. 'But you are very forgetful. You haven't signed it.'
Rust took the paper and signed his name to it. 'I hope you are satisfied. I suppose you have me now,' said he, with a sneer.
'I think Ihave,' replied Holmes, folding up the paper, and putting it in his pocket. 'Have you any farther remarks to make to Mr. Harson or myself? What you have done has been of much service, and will save us a great deal of trouble.'
'None,' replied Rust; 'I sent forhim,' said he, pointing to Harson, 'to let him know that I was aware of his proceedings, and to warn him that I was prepared to defend myself; and that if he persisted in his attacks upon me, he would do so at his peril.'
'It is well,' said Holmes. 'It's frank in you, and no doubt Mr. Harson feels grateful. And now that you have finished, perhaps you will listen to a strange tale, which I am going to narrate to you. I wish you to pay particular attention, as you may find it interesting. It's quite romantic, but strictly true.'
'Once upon a time,' (that's the way stories begin, I think,) 'there were two brothers living at a place far from this city; the names of whom were George and Henry Colton. The former received a large property from a distant relative; while the means of the latter were limited; so much so, that but for the liberality of his elder brother, he would have found it utterly impossible to live, in the style and manner in which he always did and still is accustomed to live.'
'Well, Sir, does this refer to me?' said Rust; 'and if it does, and is true, what then?'
'I have not finished,' replied Holmes. 'You shall hear the rest. Shortly after the accession of George Colton to this property, he married; but previous to doing so, to secure his brother against want, he settled upon him property sufficient to produce him a handsome income.'
'Well, Sir,' said Rust, 'what then?'
'You shall hear,' replied Holmes. 'By this marriage George Colton had two children, who in the course of law would have inherited his entire property, had they been living at the time of his death. These children had reached the ages of two or three years, when they were lost in a very singular manner. They had been left alone by their nurse, in a room in their father's house; and when she returned, after the lapse of a very few minutes, they were gone; and from that day to this their parents have had no tidings of them. Search was made in every direction; rewards were offered; persons were employed in all parts of the country, and descriptions of the missing children were placarded in every quarter. No one was more earnest and untiring in his efforts to find them than Henry Colton, the younger brother; for he remembered only his brother's past kindness; entirely forgetting, that if these children were dead he would, in all probability, receive his brother's vast property. But he was equally unsuccessful with the others. By degrees, hope grew fainter, and the efforts of all, except this noble younger brother, relaxed; but he travelled, wrote, had agents employed in every direction, and, I am told, is still endeavoring to unravel this mystery. And now,' said he, in a low, stern tone, 'shall I tell you the reason why he failed? It was this. The agents employed by him were put on a false scent; and although a high reward was offered for the discovery of the children, a higher one was paid for keeping the place of their concealment undiscovered. Shall I tell you,' added the lawyer, in the same tone, 'who paid the bribe? That same noble Henry Colton, the younger brother; and what's more, thatsame man sometimes bore the name of Michael Rust. All this can be proved beyond the shadow of a doubt, and will be, in a court of justice, if we are compelled to do it.'
The lawyer paused, and looked Rust steadily in the face.
'Well, Sir,' said Rust, 'part of what you say is true. I know that the children were lost, I know that I did what I could to find them. As to the rest, it is false, and I care nothing for it. They are dead, I fear.'
'Not quite,' replied Holmes. 'One of them is already rescued; so that Michael Rust's hopes and schemes are thwarted; and his only chance to escape the arm of the law is to give up the other, or to tell where he is.'
Rust turned toward him, and looking him steadily in the face, said: 'Well, Sir, if this be true I'm glad of it; but if some designing scoundrel is desirous of palming off his own brats on an honest man, to swindle him out of his property, let him beware, lest he run his legs into shackles. For my part, I've no doubt that the whole tale is a fabrication of that old man's,' said he, pointing to Harson, 'got up for no honest purpose.'
'That's false!' replied Holmes, sternly. 'Lie as you will; deny as stoutly as you please; I tell you that what I have said is true, and that you are the man.'
Rust grew deadly pale, but said nothing.
'And I tell you again,' said Holmes, in the same stern voice, 'that your only hope of escaping punishment is in giving up the remaining child, or in giving such information as may lead to his discovery. Do that, and we will show you all the favor we can.'
'Nay, more,' added Harson. 'We will never let it be known what you had to do with it. We'll let it be supposed that the children were stolen, and found. We will keep it quiet, won't we, Ned?' said he, walking up to the lawyer, and laying his hand on his shoulder.
'You've said so, and your promise must be kept,' replied Holmes. 'I shouldn't have made it. But you must decide at once.'
Michael Rust had sat as still as a statue, merely turning his eyes from one to the other, as they spoke.
'Have you done?' asked he, in a voice as quiet and composed as if the threats just uttered had no reference to himself.
'You have heard all that we have to offer,' said Holmes.
'You're very kind,' replied Rust; 'you'reverykind; but you don'tknowMichael Rust. He accepts favors from no man. There, there—go! He values your threats and promises alike; and neither the one nor the other will turn him one inch from his own course, to aid you in your dishonest purpose. It's against his conscience. Good morning. Our interview is ended, I think. I'm sorry to see gray hairs so steeped in depravity.'
'Michael Rust,' said Holmes, turning to him, 'you have sealed your own doom. I'm glad you've rejected our offers, and I now withdraw them. You're unworthy of them; and you shall have no other grace than what the law extends to a felon.'
Rust bowed. 'You're kind. I shall not trouble you to repeat the offer. As for the grace extended to felons, I believe there is a law which makes a conspiracy to defraud, a felony likewise. It takes three to make a conspiracy, in law; but I have no doubt you have abettors. Perhaps you had better examine the matter. I wish you good morning, gentlemen; I wish to be alone.'
Rust sat without moving, until the sound of their footsteps descending the stairs was lost, and then he sprang to his feet.
'Now then,' exclaimed he, 'I know where I am! Now I can see where to strike. Ha! ha! We'll see who conquers, Harry Harson or Michael Rust—a desperate man, who has no alternative but to succeed or die. Ho! ho! I know where the mine is to be sprung; and I will countermine!'
Listless, desponding, and irresolute as to his course, as he had been before his interview with Harson, all trace of it had disappeared now. He had decided upon the steps to be taken; and, desperate as they were, he was not the man to hesitate. The anxiety which had borne him down, disappeared as he ascertained the extent of his danger, and was able to nerve himself to cope with it; and his manner was not only cheerful but merry, and his eye shone with a self-confidence not unlike that of a gladiator preparing for a conflict in which he or his adversary must perish.
Lingering in his office only long enough to give his two visitors time to get some distance off, he put on his hat, locked the door, placed the key over it, so that Kornicker might know where to find it, and sallied out into the street.