^rpsentkb to
of tl]e
Executors of the estate
of Mrs. Hume Blake
THE MISSISSIPPI PILOT,
By Mark Twain.
—J ^<
H» t—
THE
MISSISSIPPI PILOT
BY
MARK TWAIN.
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR
AND
POEMS
< BY
BRET HARTE.
510980
7. 9 -SO
WARD, LOCK, BOWDEN, AND CO.,
LONDON : WARWICK HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE. EC.
NEW YORK: BOND STREET.
MELBOURNE: ST. JAMES'S STREET. SYDNEY: YORK STREET.
'PS
1^-
CONTENTS.
Part I.
By mark twain.
THE MISSISSIPPI PILOT:—
PAGE
I. — How I Became a Pilot 1
II. — A "Cub" Pilot's Experience ; or, Learning
THE River 14
ITT. — The Continued Perplexities of -Cub"
Piloting 35
IV.— The "Cub " Pilot's Education nearly Com-
pleted 55
V. — "Sounding." Faculties peculiarly Neces-
sary to a Pilot 74
VI.— Official Rank and Dignity of a Pilot.
The Rise and Decadence of the Pilots'
Association 96
VlL— Leaving Port : Racing : Shortening of the
River by Cut-offs : A Steamboats Ghost :
"Stephen's "Plan of "Resumption" ... 123
CONTENTS.
?y BRET HARTE.
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR ...
POEMS :
Ramon „
For the King
Don Diego of the South
Friar Pedro's Ride
At the Hacienda
Truthful James to the Editor
"The Babes in thl Wood"
After the Accident
The Ghost that Jim Saw
Miss Blanche Says
Half-an-Hour before Suiter
What the Chimney Sang
Guild's Signal
Caldwell of Springfield
Poem
1
118
IL'O
127
131
137
138
141
145
147
148
i:)2
154
155
157
159
PREFACE.
The following pages contain a very humorous
account of the life of a Mississippi Pilot. Amid
his varied experiences, Mr. Clemens, the writer of
this book, appears to have studied piloting ; and if
our information be correct, he assumed his no7n de
plmne, Mark Twain, from the sounding line in use on
the river, the cry "mark twain" being the depth
indicated, as mentioned at page 31. But the pilot's
life, as described by Mark Twain, is not merely a
record of adventure. It is full of information ; and,
under the thick veil of quaintness and American
drollery, there lies much practical knowledge and
information. The difficulties of the Mississippi Pilot
are no fiction, and while Mark Twain carries us along
with hirn in easy flowing narrative, we are con-
stantly reminded of the danger of the channel and
the skill of the pilot himself. And although " Mark
Twain " does not shrink from some forcible word-
painting in his book, there is nothing to ofiend even
the fastidious reader in the pages now offered for
hio perusal.
% ' The Mississippi Pilot.
transpired, the day was a dead and empty thing.
Not only the boys, but the whole village, felt this.
After all these years I can picture that old time to
myself now, just as it was then: the white town
drowsing in the sunshine of a summer's morning ;
the streets empty, or pretty nearly so ; one or two
clerks sitting in front of the Water Street stores,
with their splint-bottomed chairs tilted back against
the wall, chins on breasts, hats slouched over their
faces, asleep — with shingle-shavings enough around
to show what broke them down } a sow and a litter
of pigs loafing along the sidewalk, doing a good
business in water-melon rinds and seeds ; two or
three lonely little freight piles scattered about the
" levee ;" a pile of " skids " on the slope of the stone-
pared wharf, and the fragrant town drunkard asleep
in the shadow of them ; two or three wood flats at
the head of the whai^f, but nobody to listen to the
peaceful lapping of the wavelets against them ; the
great Mississippi, the majestic, the magnificent Mis-
sissippi, rolling its mile-wide tide along, shining in
the sun; the dense forest away on the other side;
the " point " above the town, and the " point " below,
bounding the river-glimpse and turning it into a sort
of sea, and withal a very still and brilliant and lonely
one. Presently a film of dark smoke appears above
one of those remote *' points ; " instantly a negro
drayman, famous for his quick eye and prodigious
I,
The Mississippi Pilot. 3
voice, lifts up the cry, " S-t-e-a-m-boat a-coming ! "
and the scene changes ! The town drunkard stirs,
the clerks wake up, a furious clatter of drays follows,
every house and store pours out a human contribu-
tion, and all in a twinkling the dead town is alive and
moving. Drays, carts, men, boys, all go huirying
from many quarters to a common centre, the wharf.
Assembled there, the people fasten their eyes upon
the coming boat as upon a wonder they are seeing
for the first time. And the boat is rather a handsome
eight, too. She is long and sharp, and trim and
p.retty ; she has two tall, fancy-topped chimneys,
with a gilded device of some kind swung between
them ; a fanciful pilot-house, all glass and " ginger-
bread,'' perched on the top of the " texas " deck
behind them ; the paddle-boxes are gorgeous with a
picture or with gilded rays above the boat's name;
the boiler deck, the hurricane deck, and the texas
deck are fenced and ornamented with clean white
railings ; there is a flag gallantly flying from the jack -
stafi"} the furnace doors are open and the fires glaring
bravely ; the upper decks are black with passengers ;
the captain stands by the big bell, calm, imposing,
the envy of all ; great volumes of the blackest smoke
are rolling and tumbling out of the chimneys — a
husbanded grandeur created with a bit of pitch pine
just before arriving at a town ; the crew are
grouped on the forecastle : the broad stage is run
4 The Mississippi fitot.
far out over the port bow, and an envied deck-hand
stands picturesquely on the end of it with a coil of
rope in his hand ; the pent steam is screaming through
the gauge-cocks ; the captain lifts his hand, a bell
rings, the wheels stop ; then they turn back, churning
the water to foam, and the steamer is at rest. Then
such a scramble as there is to get aboard, and to get
ashore, and to take in freight and to discharge freight,
all at one and the same time ; and such a yelling and
cursing as the mates facilitate it all with! Ten
minutes later the steamer is under way again, with
no flag on the jack-staff" and no black smoke issuing
from the chimneys. After ten more minutes the town
is dead again, and the town drunkard asleep by the
skids once more.
My father was a justice of the peace, and I sup-
posed he possessed the power of life and death over
all men and could hang anybody that ofi^ended him.
This was distinction enough for me as a general
thing; but the desire to be a steamboatman kept
intruding, nevertheless. I first wanted to be a cabin-
boy, so that I could come out with a white apron on
and shake a table-cloth over the side, where all my
old comrades could see me ; later I thought I would
rather be the deck-hand who stood on the end of the
stage-plank with the coil of rope in his hand, because
he was particularly conspicuous. But these were only
da^'-dreams — they were too heavenly to be contem-
The Mississ.^pi Pilot. 5
plated as real possibilities. By and by one of our
boys went away. He was not heard of for along time.
At last he turned up as apprentice engineer or
"striker" on a steamboat. This thing shook the
bottom out of all my Sunday-school teachings. That
boy had been notoriously worldly, and I just the
reverse ; yet he was exalted to this eminence, and I
left in obscurity and misery. There was nothing
generous about this fellow in his greatness. He would
always manage to have a rusty bolt to scrub while
his boat tarried at our town, and he would sit on the
inside guard and scrub it, where we could all see him
and envy him and loathe him. And whenever his
boat was laid up he would come home and swell
around the town in his blackest and greasiest clothes,
so that nobody could help remembering that he was
a steamboatman ; and he used all sorts of steamboat
technicalities in his talk, as if he were so used to them
that he forgot common people could not understand
them. He would speak of the " labboard " side of a
horse in an easy, natural way that would make one
wish he was dead. And he was always talking about
" St. Looy " like an old citizen ; he would refer
casually to occasions when he " was coming down
Fourth Street," or when he was "passing by the
Planter's House," or when there was a fire and he
took a turn on the brakes of " the old Big Missouri ; "
und then be would go on and lie about how many
6 The Missiiiipfji Piloi,
townu the size of ours were burned down there that
day. Two or three of the boys had long been persons
of consideration among us because they had been to
St. Louis once and had a vague general knowledge of
its wonders, but the day of their glory was over now.
They lapsed into a humble silence, and learned to
disappear when the ruthless " cub "-engineer ap-
proached. This fellow had money, too, and hair oil.
Also an ignorant silver watch and a showy brass watch
chain. He wore a leather belt and used no suspenders.
If ever a youth was cordiallv admired and hated by
his comrades, this one was. No girl could withstand
his charms. He " cut out " every boy in the village.
When his boat blew up at last, it diffused a tranquil
contentment among us such as we had not known
for months. But when he came home the next week,
alive, renowned, and appeared in church all battered
up and bandaged, a shining hero, stared at and won-
dered over by everybody, it seemed to us that the
partiality of Providence for an undeserving reptile
had reached a point where it was open to criticism.
This creature's career could produce but one re-
sult, and it speedily followed. Boy after boy managed
to get on the river. The minister's son became an engi«
neer. The doctor's and the postmaster's sons became
" mud clerks ; " the wholesale liquor dealer's son
became a bar-keeper on a boat ; four sons of the chief
merchant, and two sons of the county judge, became
The Mississippi Pilot. 51
pilots. Pilot was the grandest position of all. The pilot,
even in those days of trivial wages, had a princely
salary — from a hundred and fifty to two hundred and
fifty dollars a month, and no board to pay. Two
months of his wages would pay a preacher's salary
for a year. Now some of us were left disconsolate.
We could not get on the river — at least our parents
would not let us.
So by and by I ran away. I said I never would
come home again till I was a pilot and could come in
glory. But somehow I could not manage it. I went
meekly aboard a few of the boats that lay packed
together like sardines at the long St. Louis wharf,
and very humbly inquired for the pilots, but got only
a cold shoulder and short words from mates and
clerks. I had to make the best of this sort of treat-
ment for the time being, but I had comforting day-
dreams of a future when I should be a greab and
honoured pilot, with plenty of money, and could
kill some of these mates and clerks and pay for
them.
Months afterward the hope within me struggled
to a reluctant death, and I found myself without an
ambition. But I was ashamed to go home. I was in
Cincinnati, and I set to work to map out a new career.
I had been reading about the recent exploration of
the river Amazon by an expedition sent out by our
govarament. It was said that the expedition, owing
8 The Mississippi Pilot.
fo diflSculties, had not thoroughly explored a part of
the country lying about the head-waters, some four
thousand miles from the mouth of the river It was
only about fifteen hundred miles from Cincinnati to
New Orleans, where I could doubtless get a ship. I
had thirty dollars left ; I would go and complete the
exploration of the Amazon. This was all the thought
I gave to the subject. I never was great in matters
of detail. I packed my valise, and took passage on
an ancient tub called the " Paul Jones," for New
Orleans. For the sum of sixteen dollars I had the
scarred and tarnished splendours of " her " maic
saloon principally to myself, for she was not a creature
to attract the eye of wiser travellers.
When we presently got under way and went
poking down the broad Ohio, I became a new being,
and the subject of my own admiration. I was a tra-
veller ! A word never had tasted so good in my
inouth before. I had an exultant sense of being bound
for mysterious lands and distant climes which 1 never
have felt in so uplifting a degree since. I was in such
a glorified condition that all ignoble feelings departed
out of me, and I was able to look down and pity the
•flntravelled with a compassion that had hardly a trace
of contempt in it. Still, when we stopped at villages
and wood-yards, I could not help lolling carelessly
upon the railings of the boiler deck to enjoy the envy
of the countr y boys on the bank. If they did not
I
The Mississippi Pitot, <3
seem to discover me, I presently sneezed to attract
their attention, or moved to a position where they
could not help seeing me. And as soon as I knew
they saw me I gaped and stretched, and gave other
signs of being mightily bored with travelling,
I kept my hat off all the time, and stayed where
the wind and the sun could strike me, because I
wanted to get the bronzed and weather-beaten look
of an old traveller. Before the second day was half
gone, I experienced a joy which filled me with the
purest gratitude ; for I saw that the skin had begun
to blister and peel off my face and neck. I wished
that the boys and girls at home could see me now.
We reached Louisville in time — at least the neigh-
bourhood of it. We stuck hard and fast on the rocks
in the middle of the river and lay there four days. I
was now beginning to feel a strong sense of being a
part of the boat's family, a sort of infant son to the
captain and younger brother to the officers. There
is no estimating the pride I took in this grandeur, or
the affection that began to swell and grow in me for
those people. I could not know how the lordly
steamboatman scorns that sort of presumption in a
mere landsman. I particularly longed to acquire the
least trifle of notice from the big stormy mate, find I
was on the alert for an opportunity to do him a ser-
vice to that end. It came at last. The riotous pow-
wow of setting a spar was going on down on the
lO The Mississippi Pilots
forecastle, and I went down there and stood around in
the way — or mostly skipping out of it — till the mate
suddenly roared a general order for somebody to
bring him a capstan bar. I sprang to his side and
said : " Tell me where it is— I'll fetch it ! "
If a rag-picker had offered to do a diplomatic ser-
vice for the Emperor of Russia, the monarch could
not have been more astounded than the mate was.
He even stopped swearing. He stood and stared
down at me. It took him ten seconds to scrape his
disjointed remains together again. Then he said
impressively : " Well, if this don't beat hell ! " and
turned to his work with the air of a man who had been
confronted with a problem too abstruse for solution.
I crept away, and courted solitude for the rest
of the day. I did not go to dinner ; I stayed away
from supper until everybody else had finished. I did
not feel so much like a member of the boat's family
now as before. However, my spirits returned, in in-
stalments, as W9 pursued our way down the river. I
was sorry I hated the mate so, because it was not in
(young) human natare not to admire him. He was
huge and muscular, his face was bearded and whis •
kered aU over; he had a red woman and a blue
woman tattooed on his right arm — one on each side of
a blue anchor with a red rope to it ; and in the matter
of profanity he was perfect. When he was getting
out cargo at a landing, I was always where I could
The Mississippi Pilot. li
Bee and hear. He felt all the sablimity of his great
position, and made the world feel it, too. When he
gave even the simplest order, he discharged it like a
blast of lightning, and sent a long, reverberating peal
of profanity thundering after it. I could not help con-
trasting the way in which the average landsman
would give an order, with the mate's way of doing it.
If the landsman should wish the gang-plank moved a
■oot farther forward, he would probably say : " James
or William, one of you push that plank forward,
please ; " but put the mate in his place, and he would
roar out : " Here, now, start that gang-plank for'ard !
Lively, now ! TF^a^'re you about ! Snatch it ! snatch
it ! There ! there ! Aft again ! aft again ! Don't you
hear me ? Dash it to dash ! are you going to sleep
over it ! ' Vast heaving. 'Vast heaving, I tell you !
Going to heave it clear astern ? WHERE're you
going with that barrel ! for'ard with it 'fore I make
you swallow it, you dash-dash-dash-fZas^ecZ split be-
tweenatiredmud-turtleandacrippledhearse-horse ! *"
I wished I could talk like that.
When the soreness of my adventure with the
mate had somewhat worn off, I begun timidly to make
up to the humblest official connected with the boat —
the night watchman. He snubbed my advances at
first, but I presently ventured to offer him a new
chalk pipe, and that softened him. So he allowed me
to sit with him by the big bell on the hu:Ticaae
I a The Mississippi Pilot.
deck, and in time he rr. sited into conversation. He
could not well have helped it, I hung with such
homage on his words and so plainly showed that I
felt honoured by his notice. He told me the names
of dim capes and shadowy islands as we glided by them
in the solemnity of the night, under the winking
stars, and by and by got to talking about himself. He
seemed over-sentimental for a man whose salary was
six dollars a week — or rather he might have seemed
so to an older person than I. But I drank in his
words hungrily, and with a faith that might have
moved mountains if it had been applied judiciously
What was it to me that he was soiled and seedy and
fragrant with gin ? What was it to me that hio
grammar was bad, his construction worse, and his
profanity so void of art that it was an element of
weakness rather than strength in his conversation ?
He was a wronged man, a man who had seen trouble,
and that was enough for me. As he mellowed into
his plaintive history his tears dripped upon the lan-
tern in his lap, and 1 cried, too, from sympathy. He
said he was the son of an English nobleman — either
an earl or an alderman, he could not remember which,
but believed he was both; his father, the nobleman,
loved him, but his mother hated him from the cradle;
and so while he was still a little boy he was sent to
" one of them old, ancient colleges " — he could'nt
remember which ; and by and by his father died and
The Mississippi Pilot. 13
his mother seized the property and " shook '' him, as
he phrased it. After his mother shook him, members
of the nobility with whom he was acquainted used
eheir influence to get him the position of " lob-lolly
boy in a ship ; " and from that point my watchman
threw off all the trammels of date and locality and
branched out into a narrative that bristled all alono-
with incredible adventures ; a narrative that was so
reeking with bloodshed and so crammed with hair-
breadth escapes and the most engaging and uncon-
scious pei'sonal villanies, that I sat speechless, enjoy-
ing, shuddering, wondering, worshipping.
It was a sore blight to find out afterwards that he
was a low, vulgar, ignorant, sentimental, half-witted
humbug, an untravelled native of the wilds of Illinois,
who had absorbed wildcat literature and appropriated
its marvels, until in time he had woven odds and ends
of the mess into this yarn, and then gone on telling it
to fledgelings like me, until he bad c^*«e to believe
it himself.
n
A " CUB " pilot's EXPEEIENCE ; OR, LEARNING THE RIVER.
W HAT with lying on the rocks four days at Louisville,
andsonieotherdelays,the poor old " Paul Jones" fooled
awAj about two weeks in making the voyage from
Cincinnati to New Orleans. This gave me a chance
to get acquainted with one of the pilots, and he taught
me how to steer the boat, and thus made the fascina-
tion of river life more potent than ever for me.
It also gave me a chance to get acquainted witL
a youth who had taken deck passage — more's the
pity ; for he easily borrowed six dollars of me on a
promise to return to the boat and pay it back to me
the day after we should arrive. But he probably
died or forgot, for he never came. It was doubtless
the former, since he had said his parents were
wealthy, and he only travelled deck passage because
it was cooler. *
I soon discovered two things. One was that a
vessel would not be likely to sail for the mouth of
* " Deck " passage — i.e., steerage passage.
(
The Mississippi Pilots 15
the AinazOTi under ten or twelve years ; and the
other was that the nine cr ten dollars still left in my
pocket would not sufBce for so imposing an explora-
tion as I had planned, even if I could afford to wait
for a ship. Therefore it followed that I must contrive
a new career. The " Paul Jones " was now bound for
St. Louis. I planned a siege against my pilot, and
at the end of three hard days he surrendered. He
agreed to teach me the Mississippi River from New
Orleans to St. Louis for five hundred dollars, payable
cut of the first wages I should receive after graduat-
ing. I entered upon the small enterprise of " learn-
ing ' twelve or thirteen hundred miles of the great
Mississippi River with the easy confidence of my
time of life. If I had really known what I was about
to require of my faculties, I should not have had the
courage to begin. I supposed that all a pilot had to
do was to keep his boat in the river, and I did not
consider that that could be much of a trick, since it
was so wide.
The boat backed out from New Orleans at four in
the afternoon, and it was "our watch " until eight. Mr.
B , my chief, " straightened her up," ploughed
her along past the sterns of the other boats that lay
at the Levee, and then said, "Here, take her j shave
those steamships as close as you'd peel an apple." I
took the wheel, and my heart went down into ray
boots ; for it seemed to me t.hat we were about ^<t
1 6 The Mhsissippi Pilot.
scrape the side off every ship in the line, we were so
close. I held my breath, and began to claw the boat
away from the danger ; and I had my own opinion of
the pilot who had known no better than to get us
into such peril, but I was too wise to express it. In half
a minute I had a wide margin of safety intervening
between the " Paul Jones " and the ships ; and
within ten seconds more I was set aside in disgrace,
and Mr. B was going into danger again and
flaying me alive with abu«e of my cowardice. I was
gtung, but I was obliged to admire the easy confidence
with which my chief loafed from side to side of his
wheel, and trimmed the ships so closely that disaster
seemed ceaselessly imminent. When he had cooled
a little he told me that the easy water was close
ashore and the current outside, and therefore we must
hug the bank, up-stream, to get the benefit of the
former, and stay well out, down-stream, to take
advantage of the latter. In my own mind I resolved
to be a down-stream pilot, and leave the up-stream-
ing to people dead to prudence.
Now and then Mr. B called my attention to
/ertain things. Said he, " This is Six-Mile Point." I
assented. It was pleasant enough information, but I
could not see the bearing of it. I was not conscious
that it was a matter of any interest to me. Another
time he said, " This is Nine-Mile Point." Later he
Baid, " This is Twelve-Mile Point." They were all
The Mississippi ^ilot. 17
about level wifcli the water's edge ; they all lookec?
about alike to me ; they were monotonously un-
picturesque. I hoped Mr. B would change the
subject. But no ; he would crowd up around a
point, hugging the shore with affection, and then say :
" The slack water ends here, abreast this bunch of
China-trees ; now we cross over." So he crossed
over. He gave me the wheel once or twice, biit I
had no luck. I either came near chipping off the
edge of a sugar plantation, or else I yawed too far
from shore, and so I dropped back into disgrace
again and got abused.
The watch was ended at last, and we took supper
and went to bed. At midnight the glare of a lantern
shone in my eyes, and the night watchman said : —
" Come ! turn out ! "
And then he left. I could not understand thih>
estraordinary procedure ; so I presently gave up
trying to, and dozed off to sleep. Pretty soon the
watchman was back again, and this time he was
gruff. I was annoyed. I s^id : —
"What do you want to come bothering around
here in the middle of the night for ? Now as like as
not I'll not get to sleep again to-night."
The watchman said : —
" Well, if this an't good, I'm blessed."
The " off- watch " was just turning in, and I heard
eome brutal laughter Irom them, and such remark^
» ^ Vie Mississip/ji Pilot.
•s " Hello, watchman ! an't the new cub turned ont
yet ? He's delicate, likely. Give him some sugar in
a ra2 and send for the chambermaid to sino' rock-a-
by -baby to him."
About this time Mr. B appeared on the scene.
Something like a minute later I was climbing the
pilot-house steps with some of my clothes on and the
rest in my arms. Mr. B was close behind,
commenting. Here was something fresh — this thing
of getting up in the middle of the night to go to
work. It was a detail in piloting that had never
occurred to me at all. I knew that boats ran all
night, but somehow I had never happened to reflect
that somebody had to get up out of a warm bed to
run them. I began to fear that piloting was not
quite so romantic as I had imagined it was ; there
was something very real and work-like about thia
new phase of it.
It was a rather dingy night, although a fair
number of stars were out. The big mate was at the
wheel, and he had the old tub pointed at a star and
was holding her straight up the middle of the river.
The shores on either hand were not much more thay
a mile apart, but they seemed wonderfully far awaj
and ever so vague and indistinct. The mate said : —
" We've got to land at Jones's plantation, sir.''
The vengeful spirit in me exulted. I said to
myself, I wish you joy of your job, Mr. B ; you'll
The Mississippi Pilot. 19
have a good time finding Mr. Jones's plantation such
a night as this ; and I hope you never will find it as
long as you live.
Mr. B said to the mate : —
" Upper end of the plantation, or the lower ? "
*' Upper."
"I can't do it. The stumps there are out of
water at this stage. It's no great distance to the
lower, and you'll have to get along with that."
" All right, sir. If Jones don't like it he'll have
to lump it, I reckon."
And then the mate left. My exultation began to
cool and my wonder to come np. Here was a man
who not only proposed to find this plantation on such
a night, but to find either end of it you preferred. I
dreadfully wanted to ask a question, but I was carry-
ing about as many short answers as my cargo-room
would admit of, so I held my peace. All I desired to
ask Mr. B was the simple question whether he
was ass enough to really imagine he was going to
find that plantation on a night when all plantations
were exactly alike and all the same colour. But I
held in. I used to have fine inspirations of jirudence
in those days.
Mr. B made for the shore and soon was
scraping it, just the same as if it had been daylight.
And not only that, but singing —
" Father in heaven, the daj it declining," etc.
20 The Mississippi Pilot,
It seemed to me that I had put my life in the keeping
of a peculiarly reckless outcast. Presently he turned
on me and said : —
" What 's the name of the first point above
New Orleans ? "
I was gratified to be able to answer promptly,
and I did. I said I didn't know.
" Don't know ? "
This manner jolted me. I was down at the foot
again, in a moment. But I had to say just what I
had said before.
" Well, you're a smart one," said Mr. B .
" What 's the name of the next point ? "
Once more I didn't know.
" Well this beats anything. Tell me the name of
any point or place I told you."
I studied a while and decided that I couldn't.
" Look-a-here ! What do you start out from,
above Twelve-Mile Point, to cross over ? "
" I— I— don't know."
** You — you — don't know?" mimicking my drawl-
ing manner of speech. " What do you know ? "
" I — I — nothing, for certain."
" By the great Caesar's ghost I believe you.
You're the stupidest dunderhead I ever saw or ever
heard of, so help me Moses ! The idea of you being
a pilot — you ! Why, you don't know enough to pilot
ft cow down a lane"
i
TTie Mississippi Pilot. 2i
Oh, bnt his wrath was up ! He was a nervous
man, and he shuffled from one side of his wheel to
the other as if the floor was hot. He would boil a
while to himself, and then overflow and scald me
again.
" Look-a-here ! Wliat do you suppose I told you
the names of those points for ? "
I tremblingly considered a moment, and then the
devil of temptation provoked me to say : —
"Well — to — to — be entertaining, I thought."
This was a red rag to the bull. He raged and
stormed so (he was crossing the river at the time)
that I judge it made him blind, because he ran over
the steering-oar of a trading-scow. Of course the
traders sent up a volley of red-hot profanity. Never
was a man so grateful as Mr. B was : because he
was brim full, and here were subjects who would
talk hack. He threw open a window, thrust his head
out, and such an irruption followed as I never had
heard l^ore. The fainter and farther away the
scowmen's curses drifted, the higher Mr. B
lifted his voice and the weightier his adjectives grew.
When he closed the window he was empty. You
could have drawn a seine through his system and not
caught curses enough to disturb your mother with.
Presently he said to me in the gentlest way : —
" My boy, you must get a little memorandum*
book, Kn^ every time I *^11 you a thing, put it down
22 The Mississippi Pilot.
rigkt away. There's only one way to be a pilot, and
that is to get this entire river by heart. You have to
know it just like A B C,"
That was a dismal revelation to me; for my
memory was never loaded with anything but blank
cartridges. However, I did not feel discouraged
long. I judged that it was best to make some allow-
ances, for doubtless Mr. B was " stretching."
Presently he pulled a rope and struck a few strokes
on the big bell. The stars were all gone, now, and
the night was as black as ink. I could hear the
wheels churn along the bank, but I was not entirely
certain that I could see the shore. The voice of the
invisible watchman called up from the hurricane
deck : —
" What's this, sir ? "
"Jones's plantation."
I said to myself, I wish I might venture to offer a
small bet that it isn't. But I did not chirp. I only
waited to see. Mr. B handled the engine bells,
and in due time the boat's nose came to the land, a
torch glowed from the forecastle, a man skipped
ashore, a darky's voice on the bank said, " Gimme de
carpet-bag, Mars' Jones," and the next moment we
were standing up the river again, all serene. I
reflected deeply a while, and then said, — but not
fcloud, — Well, the finding of that plantation was the
luckiest accident that ever happened ; but it couldn't
The Mississippi Pilot, 23
nappen again in a hundred years. And I fnlly
believed it loas an accident, too.
By the time we had gone seven or eight hundred
miles up the river, I had learned to be a tolerably
plucky up-stream steersman, in daylight, and before
we reached St. Louis I had made a trifle of progress
in night-work, but only a trifle. I had a note-book
that fairly bristled with the names of towns, " points,"
bars, islands, bends, reaches, etc. ; but the informa-
tion was to be found only in the note-book — none of
it was in my head. It made my heart ache to think
I had only got half of the river set down ; for as our
watch was four hours ojQT and four hours on, day
and night, there was a long four-hour gap in my book
for every time I had slept since the voyage began.
My chief was presently hired to go on a big New
Orleans boat, and I packed my satchel and went with
him. She was a grand affair. When I stood in her
pilot-house I was so far above the water that I
seemed perched on a mountain; and her decks
stretched so far away, fore and aft, below me, that I
wondered how I could ever have considered the little
" Paul Jones " a large craft. There were other
differences, too. The " Paul Jones's " pilot-house
was a cheap, dingy, battered rattle-trap, cramped for
room : but here was a sumptuous glass temple ; room
enough to have a dance in; showy red and gold
window-curtains ; an imposing sofa ; leather cushions
24 The Mississippi Pilot,
and a bai.-k to the high bench where visiting pilots
sit, to spin yarns and " look at the river ; " bright,
fanciful " cuspadores," instead of a broad wooden
box filled with sawdust ; nice new oil-cloth on the
floor ; a hospitable big stove for winter ; a wheel as
high as my head, costly with inlaid work ; a wire
tiller-rope ; bright brass knobs for the bells ; and a
tidy, white-aproned, black " texas-tender," to bring
up tarts and ices and coffee during mid-watch, day
and night. Now this was " something like ; " and so
I began to take heart once more to believe that pilot-
ing was a romantic sort of occupation after all. The
moment we were under way I began to prowl about
the great steamer and fill myself with joy. She was
as clean and as dainty as a drawing-room ; when I
looked down her long, gilded saloon, it was like gaz-
ing through a splendid tunnel. She had an oil-picture,
by some gifted sign-painter, on every state-room
door ; she glittered with no end of prism-fringed
chandeliers ; the clerk's oflGce was elegant, the bar
was marvellous, and the bar-keeper had been barbered
and upholstered at incredible cost. The boiler deck
(i.e., the second story of the boat, so to speak) was
as spacious as a church, it seemed to me ; so with the
forecastle ; and there was no pitiful handful of deck-
hands, firemen, and roust-abouts down there, but a
whole battalion of men. The fires were fiercely
glaring from a long row of furnaces, and over them
The Mississippi Pilot. 25
were eight huge boilers ! This was unutterable pomp.
The mighty engines — hut enough of this. I had
never felt so fine before. And when I found that the
regiment of natty servants respectfully " sir'd " me,
my satisfaction was complete.
When I returned to the pilot-house St. Louis was
gone and I was lost. Here was a piece of river which
was all down in my book, but I could make neither
head nor tail of it : you understand, it was turned
around. I had seen it, when coming up-stream, but
I had never faced about to see how it looked when it
was behind me. My heart broke again, for it was plain
Aiat I had got to learn this troublesome riverbothways.
The pilot-house was full of pilots, going down to
"look at the river." What is called the "upper
river " (the two hundred miles between St. Louis and
Cairo, where the Ohio comes in) was low ; and the
]\Iississippi changes its channel so constantly that the
pilots used to always find it necessary to run down to
Cairo to take a fresh look, when their boats were to
lie in port a week, that is, when the water was at a
low stage. A deal of this " looking at the river " was
done by poor fellows who seldom had a berth, and
whose only hope of getting one lay in their being
always freshly posted and therefore ready to drop
into the shoes of some reputable pilot, for a singi*;
trip, on account of such pilot's sudden illness, or some
other necessitv. And a good many of them constantly
2
ft6 The Mississippi Pilot.
ran up and down inspecting the river, not because
they ever really hoped to get a berth, but because
(they being guests of the boat) it was cheaper to
''look at the river " than stay ashore and pay board.
In time these fellows grew dainty in their tastes, and
only infested boats that had an established reputation
for setting good tables. All visiting pilots were use-
ful, for they were always ready and willing, winter
or summer, night or day, to go out in the yawl and
help buoy the channel or assist the boat's pilots in
any way they could. They were likewise welcome,
because all pilots are tireless talkers, when gathered
together, and as they talk only about the river, they
are always understood and are always interesting.
Tour true pilot cares nothing about anything on ji
earth but the river, and his pride in his occupation f
surpasses the pride of kings. V
We had a fine company of these river-inspectors j
along, this trip. There were eight or ten ; and there
was abundance of room for them in our great pilot-
house. Two or three of them wore polished silk hats,
elaborate shirt fronts, diamond breastpins, kid gloves,
and patent leather boots. They were choice in their
English, and bore themselves with a dignity proper
to men of solid means and prodigious reputation as
pilo^A The o,*;hers were more or less loosely clad,
and wore upoi? their heads tall felt cones that were
suggestive of tbe days of the Commonwealth.
The Mississippi Pilot, 27
I was a cipher in this august company, and felt
subdued, not to say torpid, I was not even of suf-
ficient consequence to assist at the wheel when it was
necessary to put the tiller hard down in a hurry ; the
guest that stood nearest did that when occasion re-
quired— and this was pretty much all the time,
because of the crookedness of the channel and the
scant water, I stood in a corner ; and the talk I
listened to took the hope all out of me. One visitor
said to another : —
** Jim, how did you run Plum Point, coming up ? "
*' It was in the night, there, and I ran it the way
one of the boys on the ' Diana * told me j started out
about fifty yards above the wood pile 011 the false
point, and held on the cabin under Plum Point till 1
raised the reef — quarter less twain — then straightened
up for the middle bar till I got well abreast the ol(f
one-limbed cotton-wood in the bend, then got my
stern on the cotton-wood and head on the low place
above the point, and came through a-booming — nine
and a half."
" Pretty square crossing, an't it ? "
" Yes, but the upper bar's working down fast,'*
Another pilot spoke up and said : —
" I had better water than that, and ran it lower
down ; started out from the false point— mark twain—
raised the second reef abreast the big snag in the
bend, and had quarter less twain '*
»8 The Mississippi Pilot.
One of the gorgeous ones remarked : " I don't
want to find fault with your leadsmen, but that's a
good deal of water for Plum Point, it seems to me."
There was an approving nod all around as this
quiet snub dropped on the boaster and " settled "
him. And so they went on talk-talk-talking. Mean-
time, the thing that was running in my mind was,
" Now if my cars hear aright, I have not only to get
the names of all the to\Tns and islands and bends, and
so on, but I must even get up a warm personal ac»
quaintanceship with every old snag and one-limbed
cotton-wood and obscure wood pile that, ornaments the
banks of this river for twelve hundred miles ; and
more than that, 1 must actually know where these
things are in the dai-k, unless these guests are gifted
with eyes that can pierce through two miles of solic ^
blackness ; I wish the piloting business was in Jericho
and I had never thought of it."
At dusk Mr. B tapped the big bell three times
(the signal to land), and the captain emerged fron?
his drawing-room in the forward end of the texas,
and looked up inquiringly. Mr. B said : —
" We will lay up here all night, captain."
*' Very well, sir."
That was nil. The boat came to shore and was
tied up for the ni<^ht. It seemed to me a fine thing
that the pilot could do as he pleased without asking [ n
60 grand a captain's permission. I took my suppeij ^
The Mississippi Pilot, 2^
and went immediately to bed, discouraged by my
day's observations and experiences. My late voyage's
note-booking was but a confusion of meaningless
names. It bad tangled me all up in a knot every
iime I bad looked at it in the daytime. I now hoped
for I'espite in sleep ; but no, it revelled all through my
head till sunrise again, a frantic and tireless night-
mare.
Next morning I felt pretty rusty and low-spirited.
"VVe went booming along, taking a good many chances,
for we were anxious to " get out of the river " (as
getting out to Cairo was called) before night should
overtake us. But Mr. B 's partner, the other
pilot, presently grounded the boat, and we lost so
much time getting her off that it was plain the dark-
ness would overtake us a good long way above the
mouth. This was a great misfortune, especially to
certain of our visiting pilots, whose boats would have
to wait for their return, no matter how long that
might be. It sobered the pilot-house talk a good
deal. Coming up-stream, pilots did not mind low
water or any kind of darkness ; nothing stopped them
but fog. But down-stream work was different ; a
boat was too nearly helpless, with a stiff current
pushing behind her; so it was not customary to ruu
down-stream at night in low water.
There seemed to be one small hope, however: if
we could get through the intricate and dangeroas
40 The MissKsippi Pilot.
Hat Island crossing before night, we could venture
the rest, for we would have plainer sailing and better
water. But it would be insanity to attempt Hat
Island at night. So there was a deal of looking at
watches all the rest of the day, and a constant cipher-
ing upon the speed we were making ; Hat Island was
ihe eternal subject ; sometimes hope was high and
sometimes we were delayed in a bad crossing, and
down it went again. For hours all hands lay under
the burden of this suppressed excitement ; it was even
communicated to me, and I got to feeling so solicitous
about Hat Island, and under such an awful pressure
of responsibility, that I wished I might have five
minutes on shore to draw a good, full, relieving
breath, and start over again. We were standing no
regular watches. Each of our pilots ran such por-
tions of the river as he had run when coming up-
stream, because of his greater familiarity with it ; but
both remained in the pilot-house constantly.
An hour before sunset, Mr. B took the wheel
dnd Mr. W stepped aside. For the next thirty
i^inutee every man held his watch in his hand and
v»as restless, silent, and uaeasy. At last somebody I
said, with a doomful sigh,
" Wellj yonder's Hat Island — and we can't make
it."
All the watches closed with a snap, everybody
sighed and muttered something about its being "too
The Mississippi Pilot. 31
bad, too bad — ab, if we could only have got here half
an hour sooner ! " and the place was thick with the
itmosphere of disappointment. Some started to go
)ut, but loitered, hearing no bell-tap to land. The
sun dipped behind the horizon, the boat went on.
Inquiring looks passed from one guest to another;
and one who had his hand on the door-knob, and had
; {turned it, waited, then presently took away his hand
land let the knob turn back again. We bore steadily
(down the bend. More looks were exchanged, and
inods of surprised admiration — but no words. Insen-
Isibly the men drew together behind Mr. B as the
isky darkened and one or two dim stars came out.
The dead silence and sense of waiting became oppres-
1 sive. Mr. B pulled the cord, and two deep, mel-
'. low notes from the big bell floated off on the night.
) Then a pause, and one more note was struck. The
watchman's voice followed, from the hurricane deck :
" Labboard lead, there ! Stabboard lead ! "
The cries of the leadsmen began to rise out of the
distance, and were grufiBy repeated by the word-
passers on the hurricane deck.
"M-a-r-k three! M-a-r-k three! Quarter-less-
fchree ! Half twain ! Quarter twain ! M-a-r-k twain !
Quarter-less."
Mr. B pulled two bell-ropes, and was answered
by faint jinglings far below in the engine-room, and
our speed slackenec^ The steam began to whistle
33 The Mississippi Pilot.
through the gauge-cocks. The cries of the leadsmen
went on — and it is a weird sound, always, in the
night. Every pilot in the lot was watching, now,
with fixed eyes, and talking under his breath. Nobody
was calm and easy but Mr. B . He would put
his wheel down and stand on a spoke, and as the
steamer swung into her (to me) utterly invisible
marks — for we seemed to be in the midst of a wide
and gloomy sea — he would meet and fasten her there.
Talk was going on, now, in low voices :
" There ; she's over the first reef all right ! ''
After a pause, another subdued voice : —
"Her stern's coming down just exactly right, by
George ! Now she's in the marks ; over she goes ! "
Somebody else muttered : —
** Oh, it was done beautiful — beautiful ! **
Now the engines were stopped altogether, and wcj
drifted with the current. Not that I could see the
i)oat drift, for I could not, the stars being all gone by
ihis time. This drifting was the dismallest work ; it
held one's heart still. Presently I discovered a
blacker gloom than that which surrounded us. It
was the head of the is'and. We were closing
right down upon it. We entered its deeper
shadow, and so imminent seemed the peril that I Avas
likely to suffocate ; and I had the strongest impulse
to do something, anything, to save the vessel. But
still Mr. B stood by his wheel, silent, intent as a
The Mississippi Pilot. 33
sat, and all the pilots stood shoulder to shoulder at his
lack.
" She'll not make it ! " somebody whispered.
The water grew shoaler and shoaler by the leads*
)aen's cries, till it was down to—
"Eight-and-a-half! E-i-g-h-t feet! E-i-g-h-t
eet! Seven-and **
Mr. B said warningly through his speaking
tube to the engineer : —
" Stand by, now ! " ,
I " Aye-aye, sir."
" Seven- an d-a-half! Seven feet ! (Sza;-and "
We touched bottom ! Instantly Mr. B set a
lot of bells ringing, shouted through the tube, " Noiv
let her have it— every ounce you've got ; " then to his
; partner, " I'ut her hard down ! snatch her ! snatch
her ! " The boat rasped and ground her way through
the sand, hung upon the apex of disaster a single tre-
mendous instant, and then over she went ! And such
a shout as went up at Mr. B 's back never loos-
ened the roof of a pilot-house before !
There was no more trouble after that . Mr. B
was a hero that night ; and it was some little time,
too, before his exploit ceased to be talked about by
river men.
Fully to realize the marvellous precision required
inlaying the great steamer in her marks in that murky
waste of water, one should know that not only must
34 The Mississippi Pilot. '■
she pick her intricate way through snags and blind ;
reefs, and then shave the head of the island so closely
as to bvush the overhanging foliage with her stern,
but afc one place she must pass almost within arm's
reach of a sunken ar>d invisible wreck that would
snatch the hull timbers from under her if she should
strike it, and destroy a quarter of a million dollars'
worth of steamboat and cargo in five minutes, and
maybe a hundred and fifty human lives into the bar-
gain.
The last remark I heard that night was a compli-
ment to Mr. B , uttered in soliloquy and with
unction by one of our guests. He said :
" By the Shadow of Death, but he's a lightninjj
pilot r'
mt
III.
THE CONTINUED PERPLEXITIES OP ' COB PILOTING.
At the end of what seemed a tedious while, I
had managed to pack my head fall of islands, towns,
bars, " points," and bends } and a curiously inanimate
mass of lumber it was, too. However, inasmuch as I
could shut my eyes and reel off a good long string of
these names without leaving out more than ten miles
of river in every fifty, I began to feel that I could
take a boat down to New Orleans if I could make her
skip those little gaps. But of course my complacency
could hardly get start enough to lift my nose a trifle
into the air, before B would think of something
to fetch it down again. One day he turned on me
suddenly with this settler —
" What is the shape of Walnut Bend ? "
He might as well have asked me my grand-
mother's opinion of protoplasm. I reflected respect-
fully, and then said I didn't know it had any parti-
cular shape. My gunpowdery chief went ofi* with a
bang, of course, and then went on loading and firing
until ho was out of adjectives
36 The Mississippi Pilot.
I had learned long ago that he only carried just
many rounds of ammunition, and was sure to subside
into a very placable and even remorseful old smooth.
bore as soon as they vrere all gone. That word
" old " is merely affectionate ; he was not more than
thirty-four. I waited. By and by he said, —
" My boy, you 've got to know the sliape of th(
river perfectly. Jt is all there is left to steer by on a
very dark night. Everything else is blotted out and
gone. But mind you, it hasn't the same shape in the
night that it has in the day-time."
" How on earth am I ever going to learn it, then ? "
" How do you follow a hall at home in the dark ?
Because you know the shape of it. You can't see it.."
" Do you mean to say that I 've got to know all
the million trifling variations of shape in the banks of
this interminable river as well as I know the shape of
the front hall at home ? "
" On my honour you've got to know them hetter
than any man did know the shapes of the halla in his
own house."
" I wish I was dead ! '"
" ^'^ow I dont want to dif-'-Jonrage you, but " V
"Well, pile it on me 5 I might as well have itnoM
as another time.'' I
*' You see, this has got to be learned ; there isn't
any getting around it. A clear starlight night throws
such heavy shadows that if you didn't knoir the
The Mississippi Pilot. 37
ihape of a shore perfectly you would claw away from
}very bunch of timber, because you would take the
black shadow of it for a solid cape ; and you see you
would be getting scared to death every fifteen minutes
by the watch. You would be fifty yards from shore
all the time when you ought to be within twenty feet
of it. You can't see a snag in one of those shadows,
but you know exactly where it is, and the shape of
the river tells you when you are coming to it. Then
there's your pitch dark night ; the river is a very
diff'erent shape on a pitch dark night from what it is
on a starlight night. All shores seem to be straight
lines, then, and mighty dim ones, too; and you'd
run them for straight lines, only you know betler.
You boldly drive your boat right into what seems tc
be a solid, straight wall (you knowing very well that
in reality there is a curve there), and that wall falls
back and makes way for you. Then there's your
gray mist. You take a night when there's one of
these grisly, drizzly, gray mists, and then there
isn't any particular shape to a shore. A gray
mist would tangle tho head of the oldest man that
ever lived. "Well, then, different kinds of moonlight
change the shape of the river in different ways.
You see "
" Oh, don't say any more, please ! Have I got to
learn the shape of the river according to all these five
hundred thousand different ways ? If 1 tripd to carry
38 The Mississippi Pilot.
all that cargo in my head it would make me stoop-
shouldered."
" No ! you only learn the shape of the river ; and
you learn it with such absolute certainty that you
can always steer by the shape that 's in your head, and
never mind the one that's before your eyes."
" Very well, I'll try it ; butafter I have learnt it
:;an I depend on it ? Will it keep the same form and
not go fooling around ? "
Before Mr, B could answer, Mr. W
came in to take the watch, and he said —
" B , you '11 have to look out for President's
Island and all that country clear away up above the
Old Hen and Chickens. The banks are cavingf and
the shape of the shores changing like everything.
Why, you wouldn't know the point above 40. You
can go up inside the old sycamore snag, now." *
So that question was answered. Here were
leagues of shore changing shape. My spirits were
down in the mud again. Two things seemed pretty
apparent to me. One was that in order to be a pilot a
man had got to learn more than any one man ought to
be allowed to know ; and the other was, that he must
learn it all over again in a different way every twenty-
four hours.
* It may not be necessary, but still it can do no harm to
explain that "inside" mea'^a between the snag and the shore.'—
M.T.
The Mississippi Pilot, jg
That night we had the watch until twelve. Now
it was an ancient river custom for the two pilots to
chat a bit when the watch changed. While the
relieving pilot put on his gloves and lit his cigar, his
partner, the retiring pilot, would say something like
this : —
*' I judge the upper bar is making down a little at
Hale's Point ; had quarter twain with the lower lead
and mark twain * with the other."
" Yes, I thought it was making down a little, last
trip. Meet any boats ? "
" ilet one abreast the head of 21, but she was
away over hugging the bar, and I couldn't make her
out entirely. I took her for the * Sunny South '— .
hadn't any skylights forward of the chimneys."
And so on. And as the relieving pilot took the
wheel his partner f would mention that we were in
such-and-such a bend, and say we were abreast of
such-and-such a man's wood-yard or plantation. This
was courtesy ; I suppose it was necessity. But Mr,
W came on watch full twelve minutes late, on
this particular night — a tremendous breach of eti-
quette; in fact, it is the unpardonable sin among
pilots. So Mr. B gave him no greeting what-
ever, but simply surrendered the wheel and marched
• Two fathoms. Quarter twain is 2\ fathoms, 13i feet.
Mark three is three fathoms.
t " Partner " is technical for " the other pilot."
4.0 The Mississippi Pilot,
out of the pilot-liouse without a word, I was
appalled ; it was a villanous night for blackness ; we
were in a particular wide and blind part of the river,
where there was no shape or substance to anything,
and it seemed, incredible that Mr. B should have
left that poor fellow to kill the boat trying to find
out where he was. But I resolved that I would
stand by him any way. He should find that he was
not wholly friendless. So I stood around, and waited
to be asked where we were. But Mr. W plunged
on serenely through the solid firmament of black cats
that stood for an atmosphere, and never opened his
mouth. Here is a proud devil, thought I ; here is a
limb of Satan that would rather send us all to des-
truction than put himself under obligations to me,
because I am not yet one of the salt of the earth and
privileged to snub captains and lord it over everything
dead and alive in a steamboat. I presently climbed up
on the bench ; I did not think it was safe to go to
sleep while this lunatic was on watch.
However, I must have gone to sleep in the coursi
of time, because the next thing I was aware of was the
fact that day was breaking, Mr. W gone, and Mr.
B at the wheel again. So it was four o'clock
and all well — but mej I felt like a skinful of dry
bones, and all of them trying to ache at once. ■
Mr. B asked me what I had stayed up there
for, I confessed that it was to do Mr. W «
The Mississippi Pilot. 4 1
benevolence : tell bim where he was. It took five
minutes for the entire preposterousness of the thing
to filter into Mr. B 's system, and then I judge it
filled him nearly up to the chin ; because he paid me
a compliment — and not much of a one either. He
said : —
" Well, taking you by-and-large, you do seem to
be more different kinds of an ass than any creature I
ever saw before. What did you suppose he wanted
to know for ? "
I said I thought it might be a convenience to him.
" Convenience ! Dash ! Didn't I tell you that a
man's got to know the river in the night the samr
as he'd know his own front hall ? "
*' Well, I can follow the front hall in the dark if I
know it is the front hall ; but suppose you set m;«
down in the middle of it in the dark and not tell me
which hall it is ; how am / to know ? "
*' Well, you *ve got to, on the river ! "
"All right. Then I'm glad I never said any-
thing to Mr. W ."
" I should say so. Why, he'd have slammed you
through the window and utterly ruined a hundred
dollars' worth of window-sash and stuff."
I was glad this damage had been saved, for it
would have made me unpopular with the owners
They always hated anybody who had the name of
beiiJ« careless, and injuring things.
42 The Mississippi Pilot,
I went to work, now, to learn tlie shape of the
river; and of all the eluding and ungrnspable objects
that ever I tried to get mind or hands on, that was
^he chief. I would fasten my eyes n;ion a sharp,
, .'>«;ded point that projected far into tho river some
miles ahead of me, and go to laboriously photograph-
ing its shape upon my brain ; and just as I was
beginning to succeed to my satisfaction, y^e would
draw up towards it and the exasperating thing would
begin to melt away and fold back into the bank ! If
there had been a conspicuous dead tree standing
upon the very point of the cape, I would find that
tree inconspicuously merged into the general forest,
and occupying the middle of a straight shore, when I
got abreast of it ! No prominent hill would stick to
its shape long enough for me to make up my mind
what its form really was, but it was as dissolving and
changeful as if it had been a mountain of butter in
the hottest corner of the tropics. Nothing ever had
the same shape when I was coming down-stream
that it had borne when I went up. I mentioned the
little difficulties to Mr. B . He said —
** That's the very main virtue of the thing,
the shapes didn't change every three seconds the
wouldn't be of any use. Take this place where we
are now, for instance. As long as that hill over
yonder is only one hill, I can boom right along the way
I'm going ; but the moment it spHts at the top and
1
The Mississippi Pilot. 43
torms a V, I know I've got to scratch to starboard in
a hurry, or I'll bang this boat's brains out against a
rock ; and then the moment one of the prongs of the
V swinjrs behind the other, I've got to waltz to
larboard again, or I'll have a misunderstanding with
a snag that would snatch the keelson out of this
steamboat as neatly as if it were a sliver in your hand.
If that hill didn't change its shape on bad nights
there would be an awful steamboat grave-yard around
here inside of a year."
It was plain that I had got to learn the shape of
the river in all the different ways that could be
thought of — upside down, wrong end first, inside
out, fore-and-aft, and " thortships " — and then know
what to do on gray nights when it hadn't any shape
at all. So I set about it. In the course of time I
began to get the best of this knotty lesson, and ray
self-complacency moved to the front once more. Mr.
B was all fixed, and ready to start it to the rear
again. He opened on me after this fashion —
" How much water did we have in the middle
crossing at Hole-in-the-Wall, trip before last ? "
I considered this an outrage. I said —
"Every trip, down and up, the leadsmen are
singing through that tangled place for three quarters
of an hour on a stretch. How do you reckon I can
remember such a mess as that ? "
" My boy, you 've got to remember it. You 've
^ The Mississippi Pilot,
got to remember the exact spot and the exact marks
the boat lay in when we had the shoalest water, in
every one of the two thousand shoal places between
St. Louis and New Orleans ; and you mustn't get the
shoal soundings and marks of one trip mixed up with
the shoal soundings and marks of another, either, for
they're not often twice alike. You must keep them
separate."
When I came to myself again, I said —
" When I get so that I can do that, I'll be able to
raise the dead, and then I won't have to pilot a steam-
boat in order to make a living. I want to retire from
this business. I want a slush-bucket and a brush ;
I 'm only fit for a roustabout. I havn't got brains
enough to be a pilot ; and if I had I wouldn't have
strength enough to carry them around, unless I went
on crutches."
"Now, drop that ! When I say I'll learn * a man
the river, I mean it. And you can depend on it I'll
learn him or kill him."
There was no use in arguing with a person like
this. I promptly put such a strain on my memory
that by and by even the shoal water and the countless
crossing-marks began to stay with me. But the
result was just the same. I never could more than
get one knotty thing learned before another presented
•tself. Now I had often seen pilots gazing at the
• " Teach " is not in the river yoeabutary.
I
The Mississippi Pilot. 45
tvater and pretending to read it as if it were a book;
but it was a book that told me nothinsr. A time
came at last, however, when Mr. B seemed to
think me far enough advanced to bear a lesson 01
o
water-reading. So he began —
" Do you see that long slanting line on the face of
the water? Now that's a reef. Moreover, it's a
bluff reef. There is a solid sand-bar under it that is
nearly as straight up and down as the side of a house.
There is plenty of water close up to it, but mighty
little on top of it. If you were to hit it you would
knock the boat's brains out. Do you see where the
line fringes out at the upper end and begins to fade
away ? "
" Yes, sir."
" Well, that is a low place ; that is the head of the
reef. You can climb over there, and not hurt any-
thing. Cross over, now, and follow along close under
the reef — easy water there — not much current."
I followed the reef along till I approached the
fringed end. Then Mr. B said —
" Now get ready. Wait till I give the word. She
won't want to mount the reef; a boat hates shoal
water. Stand by — wait — wait — keep her well in
hand. Now cramp her down ! Snatch her ; snatch
her ! "
He seized the other side of the wheel and helped
to spin it around until it was hard down, and then we
46 The Mississippi Pilot.
held it BO. The boat resisted and refused to answer
for a while, and next she came surging to starboard,
mounted the reef, and sent a long, angry ridge oi
water foaming away from her bows.
" Now watch her ; watch her like a cat, or she'll
get away from you. When she fights strong and the
tiller slips a little, in a jerky, greasy sort of way, let
up on her a trifle ; it is the way she tells you at night
that the water is too shoal ; but keep edging her up,
little by little, toward the point. Tou are well up on
the bar, now ; there is a bar under every point, be-
cause the water that comes down around it forms an
eddy and allows the sediment to sink. Do you see
those fine lines on the face of the water, that branch
out like the ribs of a fan ? Well, those are little reefs;
you want to just miss the ends of them, but run them
pretty close. Now look out — look out ! Don't you
crowd that slick, greasy-looking place ; there ain't
nine feet there ; she won't stand it. She begins to
smell it ; look sharp, I tell you ! Oh blazes, there
you go ! Stop the starboard wheel ! Quick ! Ship up
to back ! Set her back ! "
The engine bells jingled, and the engines answered
promptly, shooting white columns of steam far aloft
out of the scape pipes, but it was too late. The boat
had "smelt" the bar in good earnest; the foamj
ridges that radiated from her bows suddenly dis-
appeared, a great dead swell came rolling forward
The Mississippi Pilot, 47
and swept ahead of her, she careened far over to
larboard, and went tearing away toward the other
shore as if she were about scared to death. We
were a good mile from where we ought to have
been, when we finally got the upper hand of her
again.
During the afternoon watch the next day, Mr.
B asked me if I knew how to run the next few
miles. I said —
" Go inside the first snag above the point, outside
the next one, start out from the lower end of Higgins's
wood-yard, make a square crossing and "
"That's all right. I'll be back before you close
up on the next point."
But he wasn't. He was still below when 1
rounded it and entered upon a piece of river which 1
had some misfirivin2:s about. I did not know that he
was hiding behind a chimney to see how I would per-
form. I went gayly along, getting prouder and
prouder, for he had never left the boat in my sole
charge such a length of time before. I even got to
"setting" her and letting the wheel go, entirely,
while I vaingloriously turned my back and inspected
the stern marks and hummed a tune, a sort of easy
indifference, which I had prodigiously admired in
B and other great pilots. Once I inspected
rather long, and when I faced to the front again my
heart flew into my mouth so suddenly that if I hadn't
48 The -Mississippi Pilot
clapped my teeth together I would have lost it. One
of those frightful bluff reefs was stretching its deadly
length right across our bows ! My head was gone in
a moment ; I did not know which end I stood on ; I
gasped and could not get my breath ; I spun the
wheel down with such rapidity that it wove itself to-
gether like a spider's web ; the boat answered and
turned square away from the reef, but the reef fol-
lowed her ! I fled, and still it followed — still it kept
right across my bows ! I never looked to see where
I was going, I only fled. The awful crash was immi-
nent— why didn't that villain come ! If I committed
the crime of ringing a bell, I might get thrown over-
board. But better that than kill the boat. So in
blind desperation I started such a rattling " shivaree "
down below as never had astounded an engineer in
this world before, I fancy. Amidst the frenzy of
the bells the engines began to back and fill in a furious
way, and my reason forsook its throne — we were
about to crash into the woods on the other side of the
river. Just then Mr. B stepped calmly into view
on the hurricane deck. My soul went out to him in
gratitude ; my distress vanished ; I would have felt
safe on the brink of Niagara, with ]\[r. B on the
hurricane deck. He blandly and sweetly took his
tooth-pick out of his mouth between his fingers, as if
it were a cigar, — we were just in the act of climb-
ing an overhanging big tree, and the passen-
The Mississippi Pilot.
gers were scudding astern like rats, — and lifted
up these commands to me ever so gently —
*' Stop the starboard. Stop the larbo.?Ttl Se< her
back on both."
The boat hesitated, halted, pressed her nose among
the boughs a critical instant, then reluctanllv begai.i
to back away.
" Stop the larboard. Come ahead on it. Step tbi'
starboard. Come ahead on it. Point her foi tbe
bar."
I sailed away as serenely as a summer's momiii^ •.
Mr. B came in and said, with mock simplicity —
" When you have a hail, my boy, you ought to tap
the big bell three times before you land, so that the
engineers can get ready."
I blushed under the sarcasm, and said I hadn't had
any hail.
" Ah ! Then it was for wood, I suppose. The
officer of the watch will tell vou when he wants to
wood up."
I went on consuming, and said I wasn't after wood.
" Indeed ? Why, what could you want over here
in the bend, then ? Did you ever know of a boat fol-
lowing a bend-up stream at this stage of the river ? "
" No, sir, — and I wasn't trying to follow it. I wa3
getting away from a blaff reef."
" No, it wasn't a bluff reef; there isn't one within
three miles of where you were."
5© The Mississippi Pilot.
'* But I saw it. It was as bluff as that one
yonder."
"Just about. Run over it ! "
** Do you give it as an order ? "
*' Yes. Run over it."
" If I don't, I wish I may die. *
" All right, I am taking the responsibility.*'
I was just as anxious to kill the boat, now, as I
had been to save her before. I impressed my orders
upon my memory, to be used at the inquest, and made
a straight break for the reef. As it disappeared under
our bows I held my breath ; but we slid over it like
oil.
" Now don't you see the difference ? It wasn't
anything but a wind reef. The wind does that."
" So I see. But it is exactly like a bluff reef.
How am I ever going to tell them apart ? "
" I can't tell you. It is an instinct. By and by
you will just naturally know one from the other, but
you never will be able to explain why or how you
know them apart."
It turned out to be true. The face of the water,
in time, became a wonderful book — a book that was
a dead language to the uneducated passenger, but
which told me its mind without reserve, deliverinsr
its most cherished secrets as clearly as if it uttered
them with a voice. And it was not a book to be read
once and thrown aside, for it had a new story to telJ
The Mississippi Pilot. 51
every day. Throughout the long twelve hundred
miles there was never a page that was void of inter-
est, never one that you could leave unread without
loss, never one that you would want to skip, thinking
you could find higher enjoyment in some other thing.
There never was so wonderful a book written by man ;
never one whose interest was so absorbing, so un-
flagging, so sparkingly renewed with every re-perasal.
The passenger who could not read it was charmed
with a peculiar sort of faint dimple on its surface (on
the rare occasions when he did not overlook it alto-
gether) ; but to the pilot that was an italicized pas-
sage ; indeed, it was more than that, it was a legend
of the largest capitals with a string of shouting excla-
mation points at the end of it ; for it meant that a
wreck or a rock was buried there that could tear the
life out of the strongest vessel that ever floated. It is
the faintest and simplest expression the water ever
makes, and the most liideous to a pilot's eye. In truth,
the passenger who could not read this book saw noth-
ing bat all manner of pretty pictures in it, painted by
the sun and shaded by the clouds, whereas to tho
trained eye these were not pictures at all, but the
grimmest and most dead-earnest of reading matter.
Now when I had mastered the language of this
water and had come to know every trifling feature
that bordered the great river as familiarly as I knew
the letters of the alphabet, I had made a valuable ac5»
5» The Mississippi Pilot.
quisition. But I had lost something, too. I had los<
something which could rever be restored to me while
I lived. All the grace, the beauty, the poetry had
gone out of the majestic river ! I still keep in mind a
certain wonderful sunset which I witnessed when
steamboating was new to me. Abroad expanse of the
river was turned to blood ; in the middle distance the
red hue brightened into gold, through which a soli-
tary log came floating, black and conspicuous ; in one
place a long, slanting mark lay sparkling upon the
water ; in another the surface was broken by boiling,
tumbling rings, that were as many -tinted as an opal ;
where the ruddy flush was faintest, was a smooth spot,
that was covered with graceful circles and radiating
lines, ever so delicately traced ; the shore on our left
was densely wooded, and the sombre shadow that fell
from this forest was broken in one place by a long,
ruffled trail that shone like silver ; and high above the
forest wall a clean-stemmed dead tree waved a single
leafy bough that glowed like a flame in the unob-
structed splendour that was flowing from the sun.
There were graceful curves, reflected images, woody
heights, soft distances ; and over the whole scene, far
and near, the dissolving lights drifted steadily, en-
riching it, every passing moment, with new marvels
of colouring.
I stood like one bewitched, I drank it in, in a
speechless rapture. The world was new to mo, and
The Mississippi Pilot. 53
I had never seen anything like this at home. But as
I have said, a day came when I began to cease noting
the glories and the charms vfhich the moon and the
sun and the twilight wrought upon the river's face ;
another day came when I ceased altogether to note
them. Then, if that sunset scene had been repeated,
I would have looked upon it without rapture, and
would have commented upon it, inwardly, after this
fashion : This sun means that we are going to have
wind to-morrow; that floating log means that the
river is rising, small thanks to it ; that slanting mark
on the water refers to a bluff reef which is going to
kill somebody's steamboat one of these nights, if it
keeps on stretching out like that; those tumbling
*' boils " show a dissolving bar and a changing channel
there ; the lines and circles in the slick water over
yonder are a warning that that execrable place is
shoaling up dangerously ; that silver streak in the
shadow of the forest is the " break " from a new
snag, and he has located himself in the very be- 1 place
he could have found to fish for steamboats ; that tall,
dead tree, with a single living branch, is not going to
last long, and then how is a body ever going tc get
through this blind place at night without the friendly
old landmark ?
No, the romance and the beauty were all gone
from the river. All the value any feature of it ever
had for me now was the amount of usefulness it could
54
The Mississippi Pilo .
furnish toward compassing the safo pilotin;^ of a
Bteamboat. Since those days, I have pitied doctors
from my heart. What does tho lovely flush in a
beauty's cheek mean to the doctor but a " break "
that ripples above soma deadly disease ? Are not all
her visible charms sown thick with what are to him
the signs and symbols of hidden decay ? Does he ever
Bee her beauty at all, or doesn't he simply view her
professionally, and comment upon her unwholesome
condition all to himself? And doesn't he sometimes
wonder whether he has gained most or lost most by
Itiarning his trade P
IV.
THE " CUB " pilot's EDUCATION NEAELT COMPLETED
Whosoever has done me the courtesy to read my
chapters which have preceded this may possibly
wonder that I deal so minutely with piloting as a
science. It was the prime purpose of these articles ;
and I am not quite done yet. I wish to show, in the
most patient and painstaking way, what a wonderful
sc'.jnce it is. Ship channels are buoyed and lighted,
and therefore it is a comparatively easy undertaking
to learn to run them ; clear- water rivers, with gravel
bottoms, change their channels very gradually, and
therefore one needs to learn them but once; but
piloting becomes another matter when you apply it
to vast streams like the Mississippi and the Missouri,
whose alluvial b;..nk3 cave and change constantly,
whose snags are always hujiting up new quarters,
whoso sand-bars are never at rest, whose channels
are for ever dodging and shirking, and whose obstruc-
tions must be confronted in all nights and all weathers
without the ai<* of a smgie lighthouse or a single
$6 The Mississippi Pilot.
buoy ; for there is neither iight nor buoy to be founo
anywhere in all this three or four thousand miles of
villanous river. I feel justified in enlarging upon
tliis great scierce for the reason that I feel sure no
one has ever yet vpritten a paragraph about it who
had piloted a steamboat himself, and so had a prac-
tical knowledge of the subject. If the theme were
hackneyed, I should be obliged to deal gently with
the reader ; but since it is wholly new, I have felt at
liberty to take up a considerable degree of room with it.
When I had learned the name and position of
every visible feature of the river; when I h so
mastered its shape that I could shut my eyes and
trace it from St. Louis to New Orleans ; when I had
learned to read the face of the water as one would
cull the news from the morning paper ; and finally,
when I had trained my dull memory to treasure up an
endless array of soundings and crossirg- marks, and
keep fast hold of them, I judged that my education
was complete : so I got to tilting my cap to the side
of my head, and wearing a tooth-pick in my mouth at
the wheel. Mr. B had his eye on these airs.
One day he said —
*' What is the height of that bank yonder, at
Burgess's ? *'
" How can I tell, sir ? It is three-quarters of a
mile away."
"Very poor eye — very poor. Take the glass."
The Mississippi Pilot. 57
I took the glass, and presently said —
" I can't tell. I suppose that that bank is about
a foot and a half high."
"Foot and a half! That's a six-foot bank. How
high was the bank along here last trip ? "
" I don't know ; I never noticed."
" You didn't ? Well, you must always do that
hereafter."
" AVhy ? "
" Because you'll have to know a good many
things that it tells you. For one thing, it tells you
the stage of the rivei- — tells you whether there's
more water or less in the river along here than there
was last trip."
" The leads tell me that," I rather thought I had
the advantage of him there.
" Yes, but suppose the leads lie ? The bank
would tell you so, and then you'd stir those leads-
men up a bit. There was a ten-foot bank here last
trip, and there is only a six-foot bank now. What
does that signify ? "
" That the river is four feet higher than it was
last trip,"
" Very good. Is the river rising or falling ? **
" Rising."
" No it an't."
•' I guess I am right, sir. Yonder is some drift-
wood floating down the stream."
3
58 The Mississippi Pilot.
" A rise starts the drift-wood, but then it keeps on
floating a while after the river is done rising. Now
the bank will tell you about this. Wait till you
come to a place where it shelves a little. Now here ;
do you see this narrow belt of fine sediment ? That
was deposited while the water was higher, Tou see
the drift-wood begins to strand, too. The bank
helps in other ways. Do you see that stump on the
false point ? "
*'Ay, ay, sir."
" Well, the water is just up to the roots of it. Ton
must make a note of that."
" Why ? "
" Because that means that there's seven feet in
the chute of 103."
" But 103 is a long way up the river yet."
** That's where the benefit of the bank comes in.
'There is water enough in 103 now^ yet there may not
be by the time we get there ; but the bank will keep
US posted all along. Tou don't run close chutes on a
falling river, up-stream, and there are precious few of
them that you are allowed to run at all down-stream.
There's a law of the United States against it. The
river may be rising by the time we get to 103, and in
that case we'll run it. We are drawing — how much ? "
*' Six feet aft, — six and a half forward."
" Well, you do seem to know something."
" But what I particularly want to know is, if 1
The Mississippi Pilot. 59
have got to keep up an everlasting mcastiriiig of the
banks of this river, twelve hundred miles, month in
and month out ? "
" Of course ! "
My emotions were too deep for words for a
wliile. Presently I said —
" And how about these chutes ? Are there many
of them ? "
" I should say so. I fancy we shan't run any of
the river this trip as you've ever seen it run before — so
to speak. If the river begins to rise again, we '11 go up
behind bars that you've always seen standing out of
the river, high and dry like the roof of a house ;
we'll cut across low places that you've never
noticed at all, right through the middle of bars that
cover fifty acres of river ; we'll creep through cracks
where you've always thought was solid land ; we '11
dart through the woods and leave twenty-five miles of
river cff to one side ; we'll see the hind-side of every
island between New Orleans and Cairo."
" Then I've got to go to work and learn just as
much more river as I already know."
" Just about twice as much more, as near as you
can come at it."
" Well, one lives to find out. I think I was a
fool when I went into this business."
" Yes, that is true. And you are yet. But you'll
not be when you've learned it."
6o The Mississippi Pilot,
" All, I never can learn it."
*' I will see that you do."
By and by I ventured again —
" Have I got to learn all this thing just as I know
the rest of the river — shapes and all — and so I can
run it at night ? "
" Yes, And you've got to have good fair marks
from one end of the river to the other, that will help
the bank tell you when there is water enough in each
of these countless places, — like that stump, you know.
When the river first begins to rise, you can run half
a dozen of the deepest of them ; when it rises a foot
more you can run another dc zen ; the next foot will
add a couple of dozen, and so on : so you see you have
to know your banks and marks to a dead moral cer-
tainty, and never get them mixed ; for when you
start through one of those cracks, there's no backing
out again, as there is in the big river ; you've got to
go through, or stay there six months if you get
caught on a falling river. There are about fifty of
these cracks which you can't run at all except when
the river is brim full and over the banks."
*' This new lesson is a cheerful prospect."
"Cheerful enough. And mind what I've just
told you ; when you start into one of those places
you've got to go through. They are too narrow to
turn around in, too crooked to back out of, and the
shoal water is always iip at tJiehcad; never elsewhere.
The Mississippi Pilot. 6\
A.nd the head of them is always likely to be fiUing up,
little by little, so that the marks you reckon on their
depth by, this season, may not answer for next."
'• Learn a new Fct, then, every year ? *'
*' Exactly. Cramp her up to the bar ! What are
you standing up through the middle of the river for? "
The next few months showed me strange things.
On the same day that we held the conversation above
narrated, we met a great rise coming down the river.
The whole vast face of the stream was black with
drifting dead logs, broken boughs, and great trees
that had caved in and been washed away. It
required the nicest steering to pick one's way
through this rushing raft, even in the day-time, when
crossing from point to point ; and at night the diffi-
culty was mightly increased ; every now and then a
huge log, lying deep in the water, would suddenly
appear right under our bows, coming head-on ; no
use to try to avoid it then ; we could only stop the
engines, and one wheel would walk over that log
from one end to the other, keeping up a thundering
racket and careening the boat in a way that was very
uncomfortable to passengers. Now and then we
would hit one of these sunken logs a rattling bang,
dead in the centre, with a full head of steam, and it
would stun the boat as if she had hit a continent.
Sometimes this log would lodge and stay right across
our nose, and back the Mississippi up before it ; we
6a The Mississippi Pi int.
would have to do a little craw-fisluug, then, to get
away from the obstruction. We often hit icJiite logs,
in the dark, for we could not see them till we were
right on them ; but a black log is a pretty distinct
object at night. A white snag is an ugly customer
when the daylight is gone.
Of coui-se, on the great rise, down came a swarm
of prodigious timber-rafts from the head waters of
the Mississippi, coal barges from Pittsburgh, little
trading scows from everywhere, and broadhorns
from " Posey County," Indiana, freighted with "fruit
and furniture " — the usual term for describing it,
though in plain English the freight" thus aggrandized
was hoop-poles and pumpkins. Pilots bore a mortal
hatred to these craft ; and it was returned with usury.
The law lequired all such helpless traders to keep a
I'ght burning, but it was a law that was often broken.
All of a sudden, on a murky night, a light would hop
up, right under our bows, almost, and an agonized
voice, with the backwoods " whang " to it, would
wail out : —
" Whar'n the you goin' to ! Can't you see
DOlliin', you dash-dashed aig-suckin', sheep-stealin',
one-eyed son of a stuffed monkey ! "
Then for an instant, as we whistled by, the red
glare from our furnaces would reveal the scow and
the form of the gesticulating orator as if under a
lightning-flasli, and in that instant our firemen and
The Mississippi Pilot. 63
deck-hands would send and retieive a tempest of
missiles of profanity, one of our wheels would walk
off with the crashing fragments of a steering-oar, and
down the dead blackness would shut again. And that
flatboatman would be sure to go into New Orleans and
sue our boat, swearing stoutly that he had a light
burning all the time, when in truth his gang had the
light down below to sing and lie and drink and
gamble by, and no watch on deck. Once, at night, in
one of those forest-bordered crevices (behind an
island) which stcamboatmen intensely describe with
the phrase " as dark as the inside of a cow," we
should have eaten up a Posey County family, fruit,
furniture, and all, but that they happened to be
fiddliug down below, and we just caught the sound of
the music in time to sheer off, doing no serious
damage, unfortunately, but coming so near it that we
had good hopes for a moment. These people brought
up their lantern, then, of course; and as we backed
and filled to get away, the precious family stood in
the light of it — both sexes and various ages — and
cursed us till everything turned blue. Once a coal-
boatman sent a bullet through our pilot-house when
we borrowed a stcering-oar of him, in a very narrow
place.
During this big rise these small-fry craft were an
intolerable nuisance. We were running chute after
chute, — a new world to me, — and if there ^as a ]iar-
64 The Mississippi Pilot.
ticularly cramped place in a chute, we would be
pretty sure to meet a broad-liorn tbei-ej and if he
failed to be there we would find him in a still worse
locality, namely, the head of the chute, on the shoal
water. And then there would be no end of profane
cordialities exchanged.
Sometimes, in the big river, when we would be
feeling our way cautiously along through a fog, the
deep hush would be suddenly broken by yells and a
clamour of tin pans, and all in an instant a log raft
would appear vaguely through the webby veil, close
upon us ; and then we did not wait to swap knives,
but snatched onr engine bells out by the roots and
piled on all the steam we had, to scramble out of the
way ! One doesn't hit a rock or a solid log raft with
a steamboat when he can get excused.
You will hardly believe it, but many steamboat
clerks always carried a large assortment of religious
tracts with them in those old departed stcamboaling
days. Indeed they did. Twenty times a day we
would be cramping up around a bar, while a string of
these small-fr^' rascals were drifting down into the
head of the bend away above and beyond us a couj^Ie
of miles. Now a skiff would dart away from one of
them and come fighting its laborious way across the
desert of water. It would " ease all," in the shadow
of our forecastle, and the panting oai'smcn would
shout " Gimme a pa-a-pcr i " as the skiff drifted
The Mississippi Pilot. " 65
Bwiftly astern. The clerk would throw over a tile of
I^ew Orleans journals. If these were picked np
without comment you. might notice that now a dozen
other skiffs had been drifting down upon us without
saying anything. Tou understand, they had been
waiting to see how No. 1 was going to fare. No. 1
making: no comment, all the rest would bend to their
oars, and come on, now ; and as fast as they came the
clerk would heave over neat bundles of religious
tracts tied to shingles. The amount of hard swearing
which twelve packages of religious literature will
command when impartially divided up among twelve
raftsmen's crews, who have pulled a heavy skiff two
miles on a hot day to get them, is simply incredible.
As I have said, the big rise brought a new world
under my vision. By the time the river was over its
banks we had forsaken our old paths and were hourly
climbing over bars that had stood ten feet out of
water before ; we were shaving stumpy shores, like
that at the foot of Madrid Bend, which I had always
seen avoided before; we were clattering through
chutes like that of 82, where the opening at the foot
was an unbroken wall of timber till our nose was
almost at the very spot. Some of these chutes were
utter solitudes. The dense, untouched forest over-
hung both banks of the crooked little crack, and
one could believe that human creatures had never
intruded there before. The swinging grape-vines,
66 The Mississippi Pilot.
the grassy nooks and vistas glimpsed as we swept
by, the flowering creepers waving their red blossoms
from the tops of dead trunks, and all the spendthrift
richness of the forest foliage, were wasted and thrown
away there. The chutes were lovely places to steer
in ; they were deep, except at the head ; the current
was gentle ; under the " points " tbe water was abso-
lutely dead, and the invisible banks so bluff that
where the tender willow thickets projected you could
bury your boat's broadside in them as you tore
along, and then you seemed fairly to fly.
Behind other islands we found wretched little
farms, and wretcheder little log-cabins ; there were
crazy rail fences sticking a foot or two above the
water, with one or two jean-clad, chills-racked,
yellow-faced male-miserables rooting on the top-rails,
elbows on knees, jaws in hands, grinding tobacco and
discharging the result at floating chips through
crevices left by lost milk-teeth ; while tbe rest of the
family and the few farm animals were huddled
together in an empty wood-flat riding at her moor-
ings close at hand. In this flatboat the family would
have to cook and eat and sleep for a lesser or greater
number of days (or possibly weeks), until the river
should fall two or three ieet, and let them get
back to their log-cabin and their chills again — chills
being a merciful provision of an all- wise Providence
to enable them to take exercise without exertion.
The Mississippi Pilot. 67
And this sort of watery camping ont was a thing
which these people were rather liable to be treated
to a couple of times a year : by the December rise
out of the Ohio, and the June rise out of the Missis-
sippi. And yet these were kindly dispensations, for
they at least enabled the poor things to rise from the
dead now and then, and look upon life when a steam-
boat went by. They appreciated the blessing, too,
for they spread their mouths and eyes wide open and
made the most of these occasions. Now what could
these banished creatures find to do to keep from
dying of the blues during the low- water season ?
Once, in one of these lovely island chutes, we
found our course completely bridged by a great fallen
tree. This will serve to show how narrow some of
the chutes were. The passengers had an hour's
recreation in the virgin wilderness, while the boat-
hands chopped the bridge away ; for there was no
such thing as turning back, you comprehend.
From Cairo to Baton Eouge, when the river is
over its banks, you have no particular trouble in the
night, for the thousand-mile wall of dense forest that
guards the two banks all the way is only gapped
with a farm or wood-yard opening at intervals, and
so you can't "get out of the river" much easier
than you could get out of a fenced lane ; but from
Baton Eouge to New Orleans it is a different matter
The river is more than a mile wide, and very deep —
68 The Mississippi Pilot.
as much as two hundred feet, in places. Both banks,
for a good deal over a hundred miles, are shorn of
their ^timber and bordered by continuous sugar
plantations, with only here and there a scattering
sapling or row of ornamental China trees. The
timber is shorn off clear to the rear of the planta-
tions, from two to four miles. When the first frost
threatens to come, the planters snatch oif their crops
in a hurry. When they have finished grinding the
cane, they form the refuse of the stalks (which they
call hagasse) into great piles and set fire to them,
though in other sugar countries the bagasse is usctl
for fuel in the furnaces of the sugar mills. Now
the piles of damp bagasse burn slowly, and smoko
like Satan's own kitchen.
An embankment ten or fifteen feet high guardo
both banks of the Mississippi all the way down that
lower end of the river, and this embankment is set
back from the edge of the shore froni ten to perhaps
a hundred feet, according to circumstances ; say
thirty or forty feet, as a general thing. Fill tbat
whole region with an impenetrable gloom of smoke
from a hundred miles of burning bagasse piles, when
the river is over the banks, and turn a steamboat
loose along there at midnight and see how she wih
feel. And see how you will feel, too ! You find
yourself away out in the midst of a vague dim sea
that is shoreless, that fades out and loses itself in
The Mississippi Pilot. 69
the miirky distances ; for you cannot discern the thin
rib of embankment, and you are always imaginmg
you see a straggling tree when you don't. The plan-
tations themselves are transformed by the smoke and
look like a part of the sea. All through your watch
you are tortured with the exquisite misery of un-
certainty. Tou hope you are keeping in the river,
but you do not know. All that you are sure about is
that you are likely to be within six feet of the bank
and destruction, when you think you are a good half
mile from shore. And you are sure, also, that if you
chance suddenly to fetch up against the embank-
ment and topple your chimneys overboard, you will
have the small comfort of knowing that it is abouj;
what you were expecting to do. One of the grea-
Vicksbarg packets darted out into a sugar plantat
tion one night, at such a time, and had to stay there
a week. But there was no novelty about it ; it had
often been done before.
I thought I had finished this chapter, but I wish
to add a curious thing, while it is in my mind. It is
only relevant in that it is connected with piloting.
There used to be an excellent pilot on the river, a
Mr. X , who was a somnambulist. It was said that
if his mind was troubled about a bad piece of river,
he was pretty sure to get up and walk in his sleep
and do strange things. He was once fellow-pilot fur
a trip or two with George E , on a Great New
70 The Mississippi Pilot.
Orleans passenger packet. During a considerable
part of the first trip George was uneasy, but got
over it by and by, as X seemed content to stay in
his bed when asleep. Late one night the boat was
approaching Helena, Arkansas ; the water was low,
and the crossing above the town in a very blind and
tangled condition. X had seen the crossing since
E had, and as the night was particularly drizzly,
sullen, and dark, E was considering whether he
had not better have X called to assist in running
the place, when the door opened and X walked in.
Now on very dark nighfs, light is a deadly enemy to
piloting ; you are aware that if you stand in a lighted
room on such a night you cannot see things in the
street to any purpose ; but if you put out the lights
and stand in the gloom you can make out objects in
the street pretty well. So, on very dark nights, pilots
do not smoke ; they allow no fire in the pilot-house
stove if there is a crack which can allow the least
ray to escape ; they order the furnaces to be cur-
tained with huge tarpaulins and the sky-lights to be
closely blinded. Then no light whatever issues from
the boat. The undefinable shape that now entered
the pilot-house had Mr. X 's voice. This said —
" Let me take her, Mr. E ; I've seen this place
since you have, and it is so crooked that I reckon I
can run it myself easier than I could tell you bow to
do it."
The Mississippi Pilot. 71
** It is kind of you, and I swear I am willing. I
haven't got another drop of perspiration left in me. I
have been spinning around and around the wheel like
a squirrel. It is so dark I can't tell which way she
is swinging till she is coming around like a whirli-
gig-
So E took a seat on the bench, panting and
breathless. The black phantom assumed the wheel
without saying anything, steadied the waltzing
steamer with a turn or two, and then stood at ease,
coaxing her a little to this side and then to that, as
gently and as sweetly as if the time had been noon-
day. When E observed this marvel of steering,
he wished he had not confessed ! He stared, and
wondered, and finally said —
" Well, I thought I knew how to steer a steam-
boat, but that was another mistake of mine."
X said nothing, but went serenely on with his
work. He rang for the leads ; he rang to slow down
the steam ; he worked the boat carefully and neatly
into invisible marks, then stood at the centre of the
wheel and peered blandly out into the blackness, fore
and aft, to verify his position ; as the leads shoaled
more and more, he stopped the engines entirely, and
the dead silence and suspense of ** drifting '' followed ;
when the shoalest water was struck, he cracked on the
steam, carried her handsomely over, and then began
to work her warily into the next system of shoal
7a The Mississippi Pilot.
marks ; the same patient, heedful use of leads and
engines followed, the boat slipped through without
touching bottom, and eutered upon the third and last
intricacy of the crossing ; imperceptibly she moved
through the gloom, crept by inches into her mark^
drifted tediously till the si loalest water was cried, and
then, under a tremendous head of steam, went swing-
ing over the reef and away into deep water and
safety !
E let his long-pent breath pour out in a great,
relieving sigh, and said —
" That's the sweetest piece of piloting that was
ever done on the Mississippi Eiver ! I wouldn't be-
lieved it could be done, if I hadn't seen it."
There was no reply, and he added :
" Just hold her five minutes longer, partner, and
let me run down and get a cup of coffee."
A minute later E was biting into a pie, down
in the " texas," and comforting himself with coffee.
Just then the night watchman happened in, and was
about to happen out again, when he noticed E
and exclaimed —
" Who is at the wheel, sir c^ "
"X."
"Dart for the pilot-house, quicker than light-
ning ! "
The next moment both men were flying up the
pilot-house companion-way, three steps at a jump!
(
The Mississippi Pilot. 73
Nobody there ! The great steamer was whistling
down the middle of the river at her own sweet will !
The watchman shot out of the place again ; E
seized the wheel, set an engine back with power, and
held his breath while the boat reluctantly swung
away from a *• ^owhead " which she was about to
knock into the ru.ddle of the Gulf of Mexico !
By and by the .vatchmau came back and said, —
" Didn't that luiiatic tell you he was asleep, when
he first came up hero ? "
"]So."
" Well, he was. I foand liim walking along on
top of the railings, just as unconcerned, as another
man would walk a pavement; and I put him to bed ;
now just this minute thex'o ho was again, away astern,
going through that sort of tight-rope deviltry the
same as before."
" Well, I think I'll stay by, next time he has one
of those fits. But I hope he'll have them often. Tou
just ought to have seen him take this boat through
Helena crossing. / never saw anything so gaudy
before. And if he can da such gold-leaf, kid-glove,
diamond-breastpin pilotii-g when he is sound asleep,
what couldn't he do if ho was dead ! "
V.
** sounding" faculties peculiaely necessary to a
PILOT.
When the river is very low, and one's steamboat.
is " drawing all the water '' there is in the channel —
or a few inches more, as was often the case in the old
times — one must be painfully circumspect in his
piloting. We used to have to " sound " a number of
particularly bad places almost every trip when the
river was at a very low stage.
Sounding is done in this way. The boat ties up
at the shore, just above the shoal crossing ; the pilot
not on watch takes his " cub " or steersman and a
picked crew of men (sometimes an officer also), and
goes out in the yawl — provided the boat has not that
rare and sumptuous luxury, a regularly-devised
" sounding-boat " — and proceeds to hunt for the best
water, the pilot on duty watching his movements
through a spy-glass, meantime, and in some instances
assisting by signals of the boat's whistle, signifying
" try higher up '' or " try lower down ; " for the sur-
face oftho water, like an oil-painting, is more expres-
The Mississippi Pilot. ?5
Bive and intelligible when inspected from a little dis-
tance than very close at hand. The whistle signals
are seldom necessary, however; never, perhaps,
except when the wind confuses the significant ripples
upon the water's surface. When the ;yawl has reached
the shoal place, the speed is slackened, the pilot begins
to sound the depth with a pole ten or twelve feet long,
and the steersman at the tiller obeys the order to
" hold her up to starboard ; " or " let her fall off to
larboard ; "* or " steady — steady as you go."
When the measurements indicate that the yawl
is approaching the shoalest part of the reef, the com-
mand is given to '' ease all ! " Then the men stop
rowing and the yawl drifts with the current. The
next order is, " Stand by with the buoy ! '' The
moment the shoalest point is reached, the pilot delivers
the order, " Let go the buoy ! " and over she goes.
If the pilot is not satisfied, he sounds the place again ;
if he finds better water higher up or lower down, he
removes the buoy to that place. Beiug finally satis-
fied, he gives the order, and all the men stand their
oars straight up in the air, in line j a bla^t from the
boat's whistle indicates that the signal has been seen ;
then the men " give way " ou their oars and lay the
yawl alongside the buoy ; tlie steamer comes creep-
ing carefully down, is pointed straight at the buoy,
* The term "larboard" is never used at sea, now, to signify
the left hand ; h«^ wns al vay% used on ^he river in my time.
75 The Mississippi Pilot.
husbands her power for the comiug struggle, and
presently, at the critical moment, turns on all her
steam and goes grinding and. wallowing over the buoy
and the sand, and gains the deep water beyond. Or
maybe she doesn't ; maybe she " strikes and swings."
Then she has to while away several hours (or days)
sparring herself off.
Sometimes a buoy is not laid at all, but the yawl
goes ahead, hunting the best water, and the steamer
follows along in its wake. Often there is a deal of
fun and excitement about sounding, especially if it is
a glorious summer day, or a blustering night. But
in winter the cold and the peril take most of the fun
out of it.
A buoy is nothing but a board four or five feet
long, with one end turned up ; it is a reversed boot-
jack. It is anchored on the shoalest part of the reef
by a rope with a heavy stone made fast to the end of
it. But for the resistance of the turned-up end, the
current would pull the buoy under water. At night
•a, paper lantern with a candle in it is fastened on top
of the buoy, and this can be seen a mile or more, a
little glimmering spark in the waste of blackness.
Nothing delights a cub so much as an opportunity
to go out sounding. There is such an air of adven-
ture about it ; often there is danger ; it is so gaudy
and man- of- war- like to sit up i"^ the stern- sheets and
steer a swift yawl; there is sc^.ihing fine about the
I
The Mississippi Pilot. 7
1
esultant spring of the boat when an experienceil old
sailor crew throw their souls into the oars ; it is lovely
to see the white foam stream away from the bows ;
there is music in the rush of the water ; it is deli-
ciously exhilarating, in summer, to go speeding over
the breezy expanses of the river when the world of
wavelets is dancing in the sun. It is such grandeur,
too, to the cub, to get a chance to give an order ; for
often the pilot will simply say, " Let her go about ! "
and leave the rest to the cub, who instantly cries, in
his sternest tone of command, " Ease starboard !
Strong on the larboard ! Starboard give way ! With
a will, men ! " The cub enjoys sounding for the
further reason that the eyes of the passengers are
watching all the yawl's movements with absorbing
interest, if the time be daylight ; and if it be night he
knows that those same wondering eyes are fastened
upon the yawl's lantern as it glides out into the
gloom and fades away in the remote disiance.
One trip a pretty girl of sixteen spent her time in
our pilot-house with her uncle and aunt, every day
and all day long. I fell in love with her. So did Mr.
T 's cub, Tom G . Tom and I had been
bosom friends until this time ; but now a coolness
beo'an to arise. I told the girl a good many of my
river adventures, and made myself out a good deal of
a hero ; Tom tried to make himself appear to be a
hero, too, and succeeded to some extent, but then he
7g The Mississippi Pilot.
always had a way of embroidering. However, virtue
is its own reward, so I was a barely perceptible trifle
ahead in the contest. About this time something
happened which promised handsomely for me : the
pilots decided to sound the crossing at the head of 21.
This would occur about nine or ten o'clock at night,
when the passengers would be still up ; it would be
Mr. T 's watch, therefore my chief would have to
do the sounding. We had a perfect love of a sounding
boat — long, trim, graceful, and as fleet as a grey-
hound ; her thwarts were cushioned; she carried
twelve oarsmen ; one of the mates was always sent
in her to transmit orders to her crew, for ours was a
steamer where no end of " style " was put on.
We tied up at the shore above 21, and got ready.
It was a foul night, and the river was so wide, there.,
that a landsman's uneducated eyes could discern no
opposite shore through such a gloom. The pas-
sengers were alert and interested ; everything was
satisfactory. As I hurried through tjie engine-room,
picturesquely gotten up in storm toggery, I met Tom,
and could not forbear delivering myself of a mean
speech : —
" Ain't you glad i/ou don't have to go out sound-
ing?"
Tom was passing on, but he quickly turned, and
said —
" Now just for that, you can go and get the
The Mississippi Pilot. 79
sounding-pole yourself. I was going after it, but I'd
see you in Halifax, now, before I'd do it."
" Who wants you to get it ? 1 don't. It's in
the sounding-boat."
" It ain't, either. It's been new-painted ; and it's
been up on the lady's-cabin guards two days, drying."
I flew back, and shortly arrived among the crowd
of watching and wondering ladies just in time to hear
the command : —
" Give way, men ! "
I looked over, and there was the gallant sounding-
boat booming away, the unprincipled Tom presiding
at the tiller, and my chief sitting by him with the
sounding-pole -which I had been sent on a fool's
errand to fetch. Then that young girl said to me, —
" Oh, how awful to have to go out in that little
boat on such a night ! Do you think there is any
danger ? "
I would rather have been stabbed. I went off,
full of venom, to help in the pilot-house. By and by
the boat's lantern disappeared, and after an interval
a wee spark glimmered upon the face of the water a
mile away. Mr. T blew the whistle, in acknow-
ledgment, backed the steamer out, and made for it.
We flew along for a while, then slackened steam and
went cautiously gliding toward the spark. Presently
Mr. T. exclaimed —
" Hello, the buoy -lantern's out ! "
8o The Mississippi Pilot,
He stopped the engines. A moment or two later
he said —
" Why, there it is again ! "
So he came ahead on the engines once more, and
rang for the leads. Gradaally the water shoaled up,
and then began to deepen again ! Mr. T
muttered —
" Well, I don't understand this. I believe that
buoy has drifted off the reef. Seems to be a little
too far to the left. No matter, it is safest to run over
it, anyhow."
So, in that solid world of darkness, we went
creeping down on the light. Just as our bows were
in the act of ploughing over it, Mr. T. seized the
bell-ropes, rang a startling peal, and exclaimed —
" My soul, it's the sounding boat ! "
A sudden chorus of wild alarms burst out far
below — a pause — and then a sound of grinding and
crashing forward. Mr. T exclaimed —
'' Thei'e ! the paddle-wheel has ground the sound-
ing-boat to lucifer matches ! Run ! See who is
killed ! "
I was on the main deck in the twinkling of an
eye. IVly chief and the third mate and nearly all the
men were saf(F» They had discovered their danger
when it was too late to pull out of the way ; then,
when the great guards overshadowed them a moment
J^ter, they were prepared and knew what to do; at
The Missis nppi Pilot. 81
mv chiefs orders they sprang afc the right instant,
seized the guard, and were hauled aboard. The next
moment the sounding-yawl swept aft to the wheel and
was struck and splintered to atoms. Two of the
men, and the cub Tom, were missing — a fact which
spread like wild-fire over the boat. The passengers
came flocking to the forward gangway, ladies and all,
anxious-eyed, white-faced, and talking in awed voices
of the dreadful thing. And often and again I heard
them say, " Poor fellows ! poor boy, poor boy ! "
By this time the boat's yawl was manned and
away, to search for the missing. Now a faint call
was heard, off to the left. The yawl had disappeared
in the other direction. Half the people rushed to one
Bide to encourage the swimmer with their shouts ; the
other half rushed the other way to shriek to the yawl
to turn about. By the callings, the swimmer was
approaching, but some said the sound showed failing
strength. The crowd massed themselves against the
boiler- deck railings, leaning over and staring into the
gloom ; and every faint and fainter cry wruno- from
them such words as, " Ah, poor fellow, poor fellow ! is
there no way to save him ? "
But still the cries held out, and drew nearer, and
presently the voice said pluckily —
" I can make it ! Stand by with a rope ! "
What a rousing cheer they gave him! The chief
mate took his stand in the glare of a torch-basket, a
83 The Mississippi Pilot,
coil of rope in his hand, and his men grouped about
nim. The next moment the swimmer's face appeared
in the circle of light, and in another one the owner of
it was hauled aboard, limp and drenched, while cheer
on cheer went up. It was that devil Tom.
The yawl crew searched everywhere, but found no
sign of the two men. They probably failed to catch
the guard, tumbled back, and were struck by the
wheel and killed. Tom had never jumped for the
guard at aU, but had plunged head-first into the
river and dived under the wheel. It was nothing ; I
could have done it easy enough, and I said so ; but
everybody went on just the same, making a wonder-
ful to-do over that ass, as if he had done something
great. That girl couldn't seem to have enough of
that pitiful " hero " the rest of the trip ; but little I
cared ; I loathed her, any way.
The way we came to mistake the sounding-boat's
lantern for the buoy-light was this. My chief said
that after laying the buoy he fell away and watched
it till it seemed to be secure; then he took up a
position a hundred yards below it and a little to one
side of the steamer's course, headed the sounding-boat
up-stream, and waited. Having to wait some time,
he and the officer got to talking; he looked up when
he judged that the steamer was about on the I'eef ;
saw that the buoy was gone, but supposed that the
Bleamer had already run over it ; he went on with h\e
The Mississippi Pilot. 83
talk ; he noticed that the steamer was getting very
close down on him, but that was the correct thing ; it
was her business to shave him closely, for convenience
in taking him aboard ; he was expecting her to sheer
off, until the last moment ; then it flashed upon him
that she was trying to run him down, mistaking his
lantern for the buoy-light ; so he sang out, " Stand by
to spring for the guard, men! " and the next instant
the jump was made.
But I am wandering from what I was intending
to do — that is, make plainer than perhaps appears in
my previous chapters, some of the peculiar require'
ments of the science of piloting. First of all, there
is one faculty which a pilot must incessantly cultivate
until he has brought it to absolute perfection.
Nothing short of perfection will do. That faculty is
memory. He cannot stop with, merely thinking a
thing is so and so ; lie must hiow it ; for this is
eminently one of the " exact " sciences. With what
scorn a pilot was looked upon, in the old times, if he
ever ventured to deal in that feeble phrase " I think,''
instead of the vigorous one " I know ! " One cannot
easily realize what a tremendous thing it is to know
every trivial detail of twelve hundred miles of river,
and know it with absolute exactness. If you will
take the longest street in New York, and travel up
and down it, conning its features patiently until you
know every house and window and door and lamp-
84 The Mississippi Pilot.
post, and big and little sign by heart, and know them
80 accurately that you can instantly name the one you
are abreast of when you are set down at random in
that street in the middle of an inky black night, you
will then have a tolerable notion of the amount and
the exactness of a pilot's knowledge who carries tb
Mississippi Uiver in his head. And then if you will
go on until you know every street crossing, the
character, size, and position of the crossing-stones,
and the varying depth of mud in each of those
numberless places, you will have some idea of what
the pilot must know in order to keep a Mississippi
steamer out of trouble. Next, if you will take half
of the signs in that long street, and change their
l^laces once a month, and still manage to know their
new positions accurately on dark nights, and keep up
with these repeated changes without making any
mistake^; you will understand what is required of a
pilot's peerless memory by the fickle Mississippi.
I think a pilot's memory is about the most
wonderful thing in the world. To know the Old
and New Testaments by heart, and be able to recite
them glibly, forward or backvpard, or begin at ran-
dom anywhere in the book and recite both ways and
never trip or make a mistake, is no extravngant mass
of knowledge, and no marvellous facility compared
to a pilot's massed knowledge of the Mississippi,
and his marvellous facility in the handling of
The Mississippi Pilot. 85
it. I make this comparison deliberately, and be-
lieve I am not expanding the truth when I do it.
Many will think my figure too strong, but pilots will
not.
And how easily and comfortably the pilot's memory
does its work ; how placidly effortless is its way !
how unconsciously it lays up its vast stores, hour by
hour, day by day, and never loses or mislays a single
valuable package of them all ! Take an instance.
Let a leadsman cry, " Half twain ! half twain ! half
twain! half twain! half twain!" until it becomes as
monotonous as the ticking of a clock ; let conversa-
tion be going on all the time, and the pilot be doing
his share of the talking, and no longer listening to
the leadsman ; and in the midst of this endless
string of half twains let a single " quarter twain ! "
be interjected without emphasis, and then the half
twain cry go on again, just as before : two or three
weeks later that pilot can describe with precision the
boat's position in the river when that quarter twain
was uttered, and give you such a lot of head-marks,
stern-marks, and side-marks to guide you, that
you ought to be able to take the boat there and
put her in that same spot again yourself I The cry
of quarter twain did not really take his mind from
his talk, but his trained faculties instantly photo-
graphed tbo bearings, noted the change of depth,
and laii^ up the important details for future reference
86 The Missisnppi Pilot.
without requiring any assistance from him in the
matter. If you were walking and talking with a
friend, and another friend at your side kept up a
monotonous repetition of the vowel sound A, for a
couple of blocks, and then in the midst interjected
an R, and thus, A, K, A, A, A, R, A, A, A, etc , and
gave the R, no emphasis, you would not be able to
state, two or three weeks afterwards, that the R
had been put in, nor be able to tell what objects you
were passing at the moment it was done. But you
could if your memory had been patiently and labo-
riously trained to do that sort of thing me-
chanically.
Give a man a tolerably fair memory to start
with, and piloting will develop it into a very colos-
sus of capability. But onlij in the matters it is daily
drilled in. A time would come when the man's
faculties could not help noticing landmarks and
soundiogs, and his memory could not help holding
on to them with the grip of a vice ; but if you asked
that same man at noon what he had had for break-
fast, it would be ten chances to one that he could
not tell you. Astonishing things can be dune with
the human memory if you will devote it faithfully to
one particular line of business.
At the time that wages soared so high on the
Missouri River, my chief, Mr. B , went up there,
and learned more thau a thousand miles «f that
Tke Mississippi Pilot. 87
efcream with an ease and rapidity tkat were astonish-
ing. When he had seen each division once in the
daytime and once at night, his education was so nearly
complete that he took out a " daylight " license ; a
few trips later he took out a full license, and went to
piloting day and night — and he ranked A 1, too.
Mr. B placed me as steersman for a while
under a pilot whose feats of memory were a constant
marvel to me. However, his memory was born in
him, I think, not built. For instance, somebody
would mention a name. Instantly Mr. J would
break in —
" Oh, I knew him, sallow-faced, red-headed fel-
low, with a little scar on the side of his throat like a
splinter under the flesh. He was only in the Southern
trade six months. That was thirteen years ago. I
made a trip with him. There was five feet in the
upper river then, the * Henry Blake ' grounded at the
foot of Tower Island, drawing four and a half; the
' George Elliott ' unshipped her rudder on the wreck
of the 'Sunflower.'"
" Why the ' Sunflower ' didn't sink until "
"I" know when she sunk; it was three years
before that, on the 2nd of December ; Asa Hardy
was captain of her, and his brother John was first
clerk ; and it was his first trip in her, too ; Tom
Jones told me these things a week afterward in
New Orleans ; he was first mate of the ' Sunflower.'
88 The Mississippi Pilot.
Captain Hardy stuck a nail in liis foot the 6th of
July of the next year, and died of the lockjaw on
the 15th. His brother John died two years after —
3rd of March — erysipelas. I never saw either of the
Hardy's — they were Alleghany River men ; but
people who knew them told me all these things.
And they said Captain Hardy wore yarn socks
winter and summer jast the same, and his first wife's
name was Jane Shook — she was from New Eng-
land— and his second one died in a lunatic asylum.
, It was in the blood. She was from Lexington, Ken-
tucky. Name was Horton before she was married."
And so on, by the hour, the man's tongue would
go. He could not forget anything. It was simply
impossible. The most trivial details remained as dis-
tinct and luminous in his head, after they had lain
there for years, as the most memorable events. His
was not simply a pilot's memory; its grasp was
universal. If he were talking about a trifling letter
be had received seven j'ears before, he was pretty
sure to deliver you the entire screed from memory.
And then, without observing that he was departing
from the true line of his talk, he was more than
likely to hurl in a long-drawn parenthetical biography
of the writer of that letter j and you were lucky
indeed if he did not take up that writer's relatives,
one by one, and give you their biographies, too.
Such a memory as that is a great misfortune. To
The Mississippi Pilot. 89
it, all occurrences are of the same size. Its possessor
cannot distinguish an interesting circumstance from
an uninteresting one. As a talker, he is bound to
clog his narrative with tiresome details and make
himself an insufferable bore. Moreover, he cannot
stick to his subject. He picks up every little
grain of memory he discerns in his way, and so is
led aside. Mr. J would start out with the honest
intention of telling you a vastly fanny anecdote about
a dog. He would be " so full of laugh " that he
could hardly begin. Then his memory would start
with the dog's breed and personal appearance .
drift into a history of his owner; of his owner's
family, with descriptions of weddings and burials
that had occurred in it, together with recitals of con-
gratulatory verses and obituary poetry provoked by
the same ; then this memory would recollect that one
these events occurred during the celebrated " hard
winter " of such and such a year, and a minute de-
scription of that winter would follow^ along with the
names of people who were frozen to death, and statis-
ics showing the high figures which pork and hay
went up to. Pork and hay would suggest corn and
fodder ; corn and fodder would suggest cows and
horses; the latter would suggest the circus and
certain celebrated bare-back riders ; the transition
from the circus to the menagerie was easy and natu-
ral ; from the elephant to equatorial Africa was but a
4
90 The Mississippi Pilot.
step ; then of course the heathen savages would sufr-
gest religion ; and at the end of three or four hours'
tedious jaw the watch would change and J
would go out of the pilot-house muttering extracts
from sermons he had heard years before about the
eflBcacy of prayer as a means of grace. And the
original first mention would be all you had learned
about that dog, after all this waiting and hungering.
A pilot must have a memory ; but there are two
higher qualities which he must also have. He must
have good and quick judgment and decision, and a
cool, calm courage that no peril can shake. Give a
man the merest trifle of pluck to start with, and by
the time he has become a pilot he cannot be un-
manned by any danger a steamboat can get into ; but
one cannot quite say the same for judgment. Judg-
ment is a matter of brains, and a man must start with
a good stock of that article or he will never succeed
as a pilot.
The growth of courage in the pilot-house is steady
all the time, but it does not reach a high and satis-
factory condition until some time after the young
pilot has been " standing his own watch,'' alone and
under the staggering weight of all the responsibilities
connected with the position. When an apprentice
has become pretty thoroughly acquainted with the
river, he goes clattering along so fearlessly with his
steamboat, night or day, that he presently begins to
The M'/ssiisifjpi Pilot. 91
imagine that it is Ids courage that animates him ; but
the first time the pilot stops out and leaves him to
his own devices he finds out it was the other man's.
He discovers that the article has been left out of his
own cargo altogether. The whole river is bristling
with exigencies in a moment ; he is not prepared for
them ; he does not know how to meet them ; all his
knowledge forsakes him ; and within fifteen minutes
he is as white as a sheet and scared almost to death.
Therefore pilots wisely train these cubs by various
strategic tricks to look danger in the face a little more
calmly. A favourite way of theirs is to play a
friendly swindle upon the candidate.
Mr. B served me in this fashion once, and for
years afterwards I used to blush even in my sleep
when I thought of it, I had become a good steers-
man ; so good, indeed, that I had all the work to do
on our watch, night and day ; Mr. B seldom made
a suggestion to me ; all he ever did was to take the
v/heel on particularly bad nights or in particularly
bad crossings, land the boat when she needed to be
landed, play gentleman of leisure nine-tenths of the
watch, and collect the wages. The lower river was
about bank-full, and if anybody had questioned my
ability to run any crossing between Cairo and New
Orleans without help or instruction, I should have
felt irreparably hurt. The idea of being afraid of any
crossing m the lot, in the day-time, was a thing too
92 The Mississippi Pilot.
preposterous for contemplation. Well, one matchlesB
Bummer's day I was bowling down the bend above
island 6G, brim full of self-conceit, and carrying my
nose as high as a giraffe's, when Mr. B said —
" I am going below awhile. I suppose you know
the next crossing ? "
This was almost an affront. It was about the
plainest and simplest crossing in the whole river.
One couldn't come to any harm, whether he ran it
right or not ; and as for depth, there never had been
any bottom there. I knew all this, perfectly well,
" Know how to run it ? Why, I can run it with
my eyes shut.'*
" How much water is there in it ? "
" Well, that is an odd question. I couldn't get
bottom there with a church steeple."
" You think so, do you ? ''
The very tone of the question shook ray confi-
dence. That was what Mr. B was expecting. He
left, withoutsajinganythingmore. Ibeganto imagine
all sorts of things. Mr. B , unknown to me, of
course, sent somebody down to the forecastle with
some mysterious instructions to the leadsmen,
another messenger was sent to whisper among the
officers, and then Mr. B went into hiding behind
a smoke-stack where he could observe results. Pre-
sently the captain stepped out on the hurricane deck;
next the chief mate appeared ; then a clerk. Every
Tke Mississippi Pilot. 93
moment or two a straggler was added to my audience ;
and before I got to the head of the island I had fifteen
or twenty people assembled down there under my
nose. I began to wonder what the trouble was. As
I started across, the captain glanced aloft at me and
said, with sham vjieasiness in his voice —
"Where is Mr. B ?"
" Gone below, sir."
But that did the business for me. My imagina-
iion begun to construct dangers out of nothing, and
they multiplied faster than I could keep the run of
them All at once I imagined I saw shoal water
ahead! The wave of coward agony that surged
tnrouffli me then came near dislocating every joint in
me. All my confidence in that crossing vanished.
I seized the bell-rope ; dropped it, ashamed ; seized it
again; dropped it once more ; clutched it tremblingly
oiice again, and pulled it so feebly that I could hardly
hear the stroke myself. Captain and man sang out
instantly, and both together —
" Starboard lead there ! and quick about it ! ''
This was another shock. I began to climb the
wneel like a squirrel ; but I would hardly get the
boat started to port before I would see new dangers
on that side, and away I would spin, to the other ;
oniy to find perils accumulating to starboard, and be
ctai,y to get to port again. Then came the leadsman's
sepulchral cry —
94 The Missisnfjfj'i Pilot.
"D-e-e-pfour!"
Deep four in a bottomlesa crossing ! The terror of
it took my breafcli away.
" M-a-r-k three ; M-a-r-k three ! Quarter less
three ! Half twain ! "
This was frightful ! I seized the bell-ropes and
stopped the engines.
" Quarter twain ! Quarter twain ! MarJc tv^ain ! "
I was helpless. I did not know what in the world
to do. I was quaking from head to foot, and I Goalu
have hung my hat on my eyes, they stuck out so far.
" Quarter less twain ! Kine and a Jialf! "
We were drawing nine ! My hands were in a
nerveless Hutter. I could not ring a bell intelligibly
with them. I Hew to the speaking-tn.be and shouted
to the engineer —
"Oil, Ben, if you love me, haclc her ! Quick Ben !
01), back the inituortal soul out of her ! "
I heard the door close gently. I looked round,
and there stood Mr. B , smiling a bland, sweet
smile. Then the audience on the hurricane deck sent
up a shout of humiliating laughter. I saw it all, now,
and I felt meaner than the meanest man in human
history. I laid in the lead, set the boat in her marks,
came ahead on the engines and said —
" It was a fine trick to play on an orphan, tvasn't
it ? I suppose I'll never hear the last of how I was
ass enourrh to heave the lead at +.he head of 66."
The Mississippi Pilot. 95
•* W"eH, no, you won't, maybe. In fact I hope you
won t ; for I want you to learn something by that ex-
perience. Didn't you know there was no bottom in
that crossing ? "
"Yes, sir, I did."
"Very well, then. You shouldn't have allowed
me or anybody else to shake your confidence in that
knowledge. Try to remember that. And another
thing : when you get into a dangerous place, don't
turn coward. That isn't going to help matters any."
It was a good enough lesson, but pretty hardly
learned. Yet about the hardest part of it was that
for monfns I so often had to hear a phrase which I
had conceived a particular distaste for. It was, " Oh,
Ben it you love me, back her ! "
VI.
OFFICIAL BANK AND DIGNITY OF A PILOT, THE RISE
AND DECADENCE OF THE PILOT&' ASSOCIATION.
In my preceding chapters I have tried, by going
into the minutise of the science of piloting, to carry
the reader step by step to a comprehension of what
the science consists of ; and at the same time I have
tried to show him that it is a very curious and
wonderful science, too, and very worthy of his atten-
Sion. If I have seemed to love my subject, it is no
surprising thing, for I loved the profession far better
than any I have followed since, and I took a measure-
less pride in it. The reason is plain : a pilot, in
those days, was the only unfettered and entirely
iidependent human being that lived in the earth.
Kings are but the hampered servants of parliament
and people ; parliaments sit in chains forged by their
constituency ; the editor of a newspaper cannot be
independent, but must work with one hand tied
behind him by party and patrons, and be content to
utter only half or two-thirds of his mind ; no clerg;, -
man is a free man and may spea]c the whole truth,
The Mississippi Pilot. 97
reerardless of his parish's ODinions : writers of all
kinds are manacled servants of the public. We write
frankly and fearlessly, but then we " modify " before
we print. In truth, every man and woman and child
has a master, and worries and frets in servitude ; but
in the day I write of, the Mississippi pilot had none.
The captain could stand upon the hurricane deck, in
the pomp of a very brief authority, and give him five or
six orders, while the vessel backed into the stream,
and then that skipper's reign was over. The moment
that the boat was under way, in the river, she was
under the sole and unquestioned control of the pilot.
He could do with her exactly as he pleased, run her
when and whither he chose, and tie her up to the
bank whenever his judgment said that that course
was best. His movements were entirely free ; he
consulted no one, he received commands from
nobody, he promptly resented even the merest sug-
gestions. Indeed, the law of the United States
forbade him to listen to commands or suggestions,
rightly considering that the pilot necessarily knew
better how to handle the boat than anybody could
tell him. So here was the novelty of a king without
a keener, an absolute monarch who was absolute in
sober truth and not by a fiction of words. I have
seen a boy of eighteen taking a great steamer
serenely into what seemed almost certain destruction,
and the aged captain standing mutely by, filled with
98 The Mississippi Pilot.
apprehension but powerless to interfere. His inter-
ference, in that particular instance, might have been
an excellent thing, but to permit it would have been
to establish a most pernicious precedent. It will
easily be guessed, considering the pilot's boundless
authority, that he was a great personage in the old
steamboating days. He was treated with marked
courtesy by the captain and with marked deference
by all the ofhcers and servants ; and this deferential
spirit was quickly communicated to the passengers,
too. I think pilots were about the only people I ever
knew who failed to show, in some degree, embarrass-
ment in the presence of travelling foreign princes,
But then, people in one's own grade of life are not
usually embarrassing objects.
By long habitj pilots came to put all their wishes
in the form of comman-ds. It " gravels " me, to this
day, to put my will in the weak shape of a request,
instead of launching it in the crisp language of an
order.
In those old days, to load a steamboat at St.
Louis, take her to Kew Oilcans and back, and
discharge cargo, consumed about twenty-five days,
on an average. Seven or eight of these days the boat
spent at the wharves of St. Louis and New Orleans,
and every soul on board was hard at work, except the
two pilots ; thei/ did nothing but play gentleman, up
town, and receive the same wages for it as 'f they hail
The Mississippi Pilot. 99
been op ^utv- The moment the boat touched the
wharf at eitb^j" city, they were ashore ; and they were
not likely to be seen acain tiil the last bell was
rinffiDu: and everything in readiness for another
voyacre.
When a captain eot hold of a pilot of particularly
higu T-emnation, he took pains to keep him. When
waires were four hundred dollars a month on tliu
TJpner Mississippi, I have known a captain to keep
such a pilot in idleness, under full pay, three months
at a time, while the river was frozen up. And one
must remember that in those cheap times four
hundred dollars was a salary of almost inconceivable
splendour. Few men on shore got such pay as that)
and when they did they were mightily looked up to.
When pilots from either end of the river wandered
into our small Missouri village, they were sought by
the best and the fairest, and treated with exalted
respect. Lying in port under wages was a thing
which many pilots greatly enjoyed and appreciated ;
especially if they belonged in the Missouri River in
the heyday of that trade (Kansas times), and got nine
hundred dollars a trip, which was equivalent to about
eighteen hundred dollars a month. Here is a conver-
sation of that day. A chap out of the Illinois River,
with a little stern-wheel tub. accosts a couple of
ornate and crilded Missouri RWei pilots —
" Gentlemen, I've gel a pretty good trip for tne
lOO The Mississippi Pilot.
up-country, and shall want you about a month. How
much will it be ? "
" Eighteen hundred dollars apiece."
" Heavens and earth ! You take my boat, let me
have your wages, and I'll divide ! "
I will remark, in passing, that Mississippi steam-
boatmen were important in landsmen's eyes (and in
their own, too, in a degree) according to the dignity
of the boat they were on. For instance, it was a
proud thing to be of the crew of such stately craft as
the " Aleck Scott " or the " Grand Turk." Negro
firemen, deck hands, and barbers belonging to those
boats were distinguished personages in their grade of
life, and they were well aware of that fact, too. A stal-
wart darkey once gave offence at a negro ball in New
Orleans by putting on a good many airs. Finally
one of the managers bustled up to him and said —
" Who is you, any way ? Who fsyou ? dat's what
/wants to know!"
The offender was not disconcerted in the least,
but swelled himself up and threw that into his voice
which showed that he knew he was not putting on all
those airs on a stinted capital.
" Who is I ? Who IS I? I let you know mighty
quick who I is ! I want you niggers to understau'
dat I fires de middle do' * on de ' Aleck Scott 1 ' *
That was sufficient.
• Dcot.
The Mississippi Pilot, loi
The barber of the "Grand Turlc " was a spruce
young negro, who aired his importance with balmy
complacency, and was greatly courted by the circle in
which he moved. The young coloured population of
New Orleans were much given to flirting, at twilight,
on tbe pavements of the back streets. Somebody
saw and heard something like the following, one even-
ing, in one of those localities. A middle-aged negro
woman projected her head through a broken pane
and shouted (very willing that the neighbours should
hear and envy), " You Mary Ann, come in de house
dis minute ! Stannin' out dah foolin' 'long wid dat
low trash, an' heah's de barber off 'n de * Gran'
Turk ' wants to conwerse wid you! "
My reference, a moment ago, to the fact that a
pilot's peculiar official position placed him out of the
reach of criticism or command, brings Stephen
W naturally to my mind. He was a gifted
pilot, a good fellow, a tireless talker, and had both
wit and humour in him. He had a most irreverent
independence, too, and was deliciously easy-going
aiid comfortable in the presence of age, official
dignity, and even the most august wealth. He
always had work, he never saved a penny, he was a
most persuasive borrower, he was in debt to every
pilot on the river, and to the majority of the captains.
He could throw a sort of splendour around a bit of
harum-scarum, devil-may-care piloting, that made it
loa The Mississippi Pilot.
almost fascinating — but not to everybod}-. He made a
trip with good old gentle-spirited Captain Y once,
and was " relieved '' from duty when the boat got to
New Orleans. Somebody expressed surprise at the
discharge. Captain Y shuddered at the mere
mention of Stephen. Then his poor, thin old voice
piped out something like this —
"Why, bless me! I wouldn't have such a wild
creature on my boat for the world — not for the whole
world ! He swears, he sings, he whistles, he yells —
I never saw such an Injun to yell. All times of the
night — ib never made any difference to him. He
would just yell that way, not for anything in parti-
cular, but merely on account of a kind of devilish
comfort he got out of it. I never could get into a
sound sleep, but he would fetch me out of bed, all in
a cold sweat, with one of those dreadful war-whoops.
A. queer being — very queer being ; no respect for
anything or anybody. Sometimes he called me
Johnny. And he kept a fiddle and a cat. He
played execrably. This seemed to distress the cat,
and so the cat would howl. Xobody could sleep
where that man — and his family — was. And
reckless ? There was never anything like it. Now
you may believe it or not, but as sure as I am
sitting here, he brought my boat a-tilting down
through tho£e awful snags at Chicot under a rattling
bead of steam, and the wind a blowing like the very
The Mississippi Pilot. 103
natiou, at that! My officers will tell you so. They
saw it. And, sir, while he was a-tearing right down
through those snags, and I a shaking in my shoes
and praying, I wish I may never speak again if he
didn't pucker up his mouth and go to ivhistling !
Yes, sir ; whistling ' Buffalo gals, can't you come out
to night, can't you come out to-night, can't you
come out to night ; ' and doing it as calmly as if he
were attending a funeral and weren't related to the
corpse. And when I remonstrated with him about
it, he smiled down on me as if I was a child, and told
me to run in the house and try to be good, and
not be meddling with my superiors ! " *
Once a pretty mean captain caught Stephen in
New Orleans out of work, and as usual out of money.
He laid steady siege to Stephen, who was in a very
" close place," and finally persuaded him to hire with
him at one hundred and twenty-five dollars per month,
just half wages — the captain agreeing not to divulge
the secret and so bring down the contempt of all the
guild upon the poor fellow. But the boat was not
more than a day out of New Orleans before Stephen
discovered that the captain was boasting of his ex-
ploit, and that all the officers had been told. Stephen
winced but said nothing. About the middle of the
• Considering a captain's ostentatious but hollow ckieftain*
ship, and a pilot's real authorif.y, tinare Tras something inipu*
dently apt and happy about that way of phrasing it.
104 Th^ Mississippi Pilot.
afternoon the captain stepped out on the hurricane
deck, cast his eye around, and looked a good deal
surprised. He glanced inquiringly aloft at Stephen,
but Stephen was whistling placidly, and attending to
business. The captain stood around awhile in evi-
dent discomfort, and once or twice seemed about to
make a suggestion ; bat the etiquette of the river
taught him to avoid that sort of rashness, and so he
managed to hold his peace. He chafed and puzzled
a few minutes longer, then retired to his apart-
ment. Bat soon he was out again, and apparently
more perplexed than ever. Presently he ventured to
remark, with deference —
" Pretty good]stage of the river now, ain't it, sir ? "
" Well I should say so ! Bank-full is a pretty
liberal stage."
" Seems to be a good deal of current here ? '*
" Good deal don't describe it. It's worse than a
mill race."
" Isn't it easier in toward shore than it is out here
in the middle? "
*' Yes, I reckon it is ; but a body can't be too
careful with a steamboat ; it's pretty safe out here ;
can't strike any bottom here, you can depend on
that."
The captain departed, looking rueful enough.
At this rate he would probably die of old age before
Ills boat got to St. Louis. Next day he appeared
The Mississippi Pilot. 105
on deck, and again found Stephen faithfully stand-
ing up in the middle of the river, fighting the whole
vast force of the Mississippi, and whistling the same
placid tune. This thing was becoming serious. In
by the shore was a slower boat clipping along in the
easy water and gaining steadily ; she began to make
for an island chute. ; Stephen stuck to the middle of the
river. Speech was xorunj from the captain. He said —
" Mr. W , don't that chute cut off a good
deal of distance ? "
" I think it does, but I don't know."
" Don't know ! Well, isn't there water enough in
it now to go through ? "
" I expect there is, but I am not certain,"
" Upon my word this is odd. Why, those pilots on
that boat yonder are going to try it. Do you mean
to say that you don't know as much as they do ? "
" They ! Why, therj are two-hundred-and-fifty-
dollar pilots ! But don't you be uneasy ; I know as
much as any man ca*i aiFord to know for a hundied
and twenty-five."
Five minutes later Stephen was bowling through
the chute and showing the rival boat a two-hundred-
and-fifty-dollar pair of heels.
One day on board the "Aleck Scott," my chief, Mr.
B , was crawling carefully througli a close place
at Cat Island, both leads going, and everybody
holding his breath. The captain, a nervous apprehen-
io6 The Mississippi Pilot.
sive man, kept still as long as he could, but finally
broke down and shouted from the hurricane deck —
** For gracious sake, give her steam, Mr. B !
give her steam ! She'll never raise ths reef on this
headway ! ''
For all the effect that was produced upon Mr.
B , one would have supposed that no remark had
been made. But five minutes later, when the danger
was past and the leads laid in, he burst instantly into
a consuming fury, and gave the captain the most ad-
mirable cursing I ever listened to. No bloodshed
ensued ; but that was because the captain's cause was
weak ; for ordinarily he was not a man to take correc-
tion quietly.
Having now set forth in detail the nature of the
science of piloting, and likewise describing the rank
which the pilot held among the fraternity of steam-
boatmen, this seems a fitting place to say a few words
about an organization which the pilots once formed
for the protection of their guild. It was curious
and noteworthy in this, that it was perhaps the com-
pactest, the completest, and the strongest commercial
organization ever formed among men.
For a long time wages had been two hundred
and fifty dollars a month ; but curious enough, as
steamboats multiplied and business increased, the
wages began to fall, little by little. It was easy to
discover the reason of this. Too many pilots were
The Mississippi Pilot. 107
oeing "made." It was nice to have a "cub," a
steersman, to do all the bard work for a couple of
years gratis, while his master sat on a high bench
and smoked ; all pilots and captains had sons or bro-
thers who wanted to be pilots. By and by it came to
pass that nearly every pilot on the river had a steers-
man. When a steersman had made an amount of
progress that was satisfactory to any two pilots in
the trade, they could get a pilot's license for him by
signing an application directed to the United States
Inspector. Nothing further was needed ; usually no
][uestion3 were asked, no proofs of capacity required.
Very well, this growing swarm of new pilots
presently began to undermine the wages, in order to
get berths. Too late — apparently — the knights of
the tiller perceived their mistake. Plainly something
had to be done, and quickly ; but what was to be the
needful thing ; a close organization. Nothing else
would answer. To compass this seemed an impossi-
bility ; so it was talked, and talked, and then dropp-
ed. It was too likely to ruin whoever ventured to
move in the matter. But at last about a dozen of the
boldest — and some of them the best — pilots on the
river launched themselves into the enterprise and
took all the chances. They got a special charter
from the legislature, with large powers, under the
name of the Pilots' Benevolent Association ; elected
their officers, completed their organization, contri-
1 o8 The Mississippi Pilot.
buted capital, put " association " wages up to two
hundred and fifty dollars at once — and then retired
to their homes for they were promptly discharged
from employment. But there were two or three un-
noticed trifles in their bye-laws which had the seeds
of propagation in them. Tor instance, all idle mem-
bers of the association, in good standing, were
entitled to a pension of twenty-five dollars per
month. This began to bring in one straggler after
another from the ranks of the new-fledged pilots, in
the dull (summer) season. Better have twenty-five
dollars than starve ; the initiation fee was only twelve
dollars, and no dues required from the unemployed.
Also, the widows of deceased members in good
standing could draw twenty-five dollars per month,
and a certain sum for each of their children. Also,
the said deceased Avould be buried at the associa-
tion's expense. These thing resurrected all the
superannuated and forgotten pilots in the Mississippi
Valley. They came from farms, they came from
interior villages, they came from everywhere. They
came on crutches, on drays, in ambulances — any way,
so they got there. They paid in their twelve dollars,
and straightway began to draw out twenty-five dol-
lars a month and calculate their burial bills.
By and by, all the useless, helpless pilots, and a
dozen first-class ones, were in the association, and
nine-tenths of the best pilots out of it and laughing
ii
The Mississippi Pilot. 109
at it. It was the laughinsr-stock of the whole river.
Everybody joked about the bye-law requiring mern
bers to pay ten per cent, of their wages, every month
into the treasury for the support of the association,
whereas all the members were outcast and tabooed,
and no one would employ them. Everybody was
derisively grateful to the association for taking all
the worthless pilots out of the way, and leaving the
whole field to the excellent and the deserving ; and
everybody was not only jocularly grateful for that, but
for a result which naturally followed — namely, the
gradual advance of wages as the busy season ap-
proached. Wages had gone up from the low figure
of one hundred dollars a month to one hundred ami
twenty-five, and in some cases to one hundred and
fifty ; and it was great fun to enlarge upon the fact
that this charming thing had been accomplished by a
body of men not one of whom received a particle of
benefit from it. Some of the jokers used to call at
the association rooms and have a good time chafiing
the members, and offering them the charity of taking
them as steersmen for a trip, so that they could see
what the forgotten river looked like. However, the
association was content ; or at least it grave no sio-n
to the contrary. Now and then it captured a pilot
who was " out of luck,'' and added him to its list ;
and these later additions were very valuable, for thev
were good pilots ; the incompetent ones had all been
no The Mississippi Pilot,
absorbed before. As business fresbened, wages
climbed gradually np to two hundred and fifty dol-
lars— the association figure — and became firmly fixed
there ; and still without benefiting a member of that
body, for no member was hired. The hilarity at the
association's expense burst all bounds now. There
was no end to the fan which that poor martyr had to
put up with.
However, it is a long lane that has no turning.
Winter approached, business doubled and trebled,
and an avalanche of Missouri, Illinois, and Upper
]\Iississippi Eiver boats came pouring down to take j
chance in the New Orleans trade. All of a sudden
pilots were in great demand, and were correspond-
ingly scarce. The time for revenge was come. It
was a bitter pill to have to accept association pilots
at last, yet captains and owners agreed that there
was no other way. But none of these outcasts
offered ! So there was a still bitterer pill to be swal-
lowed : they must be sought out and asked for their
services. Captain was the first man who found
it necessary to take the dose, and he had been the
loudest derider of the organization. He hunted up
one of the best of the association pilots, and said,
*' Well, you boys have rather got the best of us for a
little while, so I'll give in with as good a grace as I
can. I've come to hire you ; get your trunk
aboard right away. I want to leave at * welve o'clock."
The Mississippi Pilot. iii
"I don't know about that. Who is your other
pilot ?"
" I've got I. S . Why?"
"I can't go with him; he don't belong to the
association."
"What!"
*' It's so."
" Do you mean to tell me that you won't turn a
wnecl with one of the very best and oldest pilots on
the river because he don't belong toyour association ?"
"Yes, I do."
"Well, if this isn't putting on airs ! I supposed
I was doing you a benevolence ; but I begin to think
that I am the party that wants a favour done. Are
you acting under a law of the concern ?"
" Yes."
" Show it to me."
So they stepped into the association rooms, ana
the secretary soon satisfied the captain, wlio said,
" Well, what am I to do ? I have hired Mr. S
for the entire season."
"I will provide for you," said the secretary. '*I
will detail a pilot to go with you, and he shall bo on
board at twelve o'clock."
" But if I discharge S , he will come on me
for the whole season's wages."
" Of course, that is a matter between you and Mr.
8 , captain ; we cannot meddle in jour private
affairs."
1 1 2 The Mississippi Pilot.
The captain stormed, but to no purpose. In the
end he had to discharge S , pay him about a thou-
sand dollars, and take an association pilot in his
place. The laugh was beginning to turn the other
way now. Every day, thenceforward, a new victim
fell ; every day some outraged captain discharged a
non-association pet, with tears and profanity, and
installed a hated association man in his berth. In a
very little while idle non-associationists began to be
pretty plenty, brisk as business was, and much as
their services were desired. The laugh was shifting
to the other side of their mouth most palpably.
These victims, together with the captains and owners,
presently ceased to laugh altogether, and began to
rage about the revenge they would take v.'hen the
passing business " spurt " was over.
Soon all the laughers that were left were the
owners and crews of boats that had two non-associa-
tion pilots. But their triumph was not very long-
lived. For this reason : It was a rigid rule of the
association that its members should never, under any
circumstances whatever, give information about the
channel to any " outsider." By this time about half
the boats had none but association pilots, and the
other half had none but outsiders. At the first
glance one would suppose that when it came to for-
bidding information about the river, these two par-
ties could play equally at that game ; but this was
The Mississippi Pilot. 1 1 3
not so. At every good. sized town, from one end of
the river to the other, there was a " wharf-boat " to
land atj instead of a wharf or a pier. Freight was
stored in it for transportation, waiting passengers
slept in its cabins. Upon each of these wharf boats
the association's officers placed a strong box, fastened
with a peculiar lock which was used in no other ser-
vice but one — the United States mail service. It
was the letter-bag lock, a sacred governmental thing.
By dint of much beseeching, the government had
been persuaded to allow the association to use this
lock. Every association man carried a key which
would open these boxes. That key or rather a
peculiar way of holding it in the hand when its owner
was asked for river information by a stranger — for
the success of the St. Louis and New Orleans asso
ciation had now bred tolerably thriving branches in
a dozen neighbouring steamboat trades — was the
association man's sign and diploma of membership j
and if the stranger did not respond by producino' a
similar key and holding it in a cei-tain manner duly
prescribed, bis question was politely ignored. Erora
the association's secretary each member received a
package of more or less gorgeous blanks, printed
like a bill-head, on haudsome paper, properly
ruled in columns ; a bill-head worded somethino- like
this —
114 The Mississippi Pilot.
STEAMER "GREAT REPUBLIC."
John Smith, Mastee
Pilots, John Jones and Thos. Brown.
Crossinfjf.
Soundings.
Marks.
Eemarks.
These blanks were filled up day by day, as the
voyage progressed, and deposited in the several
wharf-boat boxes. For instance, as soon as the first
crossing out from St. Louis was completed, the items
would be entered upon the blank, under the appro-
priate headings, thus —
" St. Louis. Nine and a half (feet). Stern on
court-house, head on dead cottonwood above wood-
yard, until you raise the first reef, then pull up
square." Then, under head of remarks, "Go just
outside the wrecks ; this is important. New snag
just where you straighten down ; go above it.''
The pilot who deposited that blank in the Cairo
box (after adding to it the details of every crossing
all the way down from St. Louis) took out and read
half a dozen fresh reports (from upward-bound
steamers) concerning the river between Cairo and
Memphis, posted himself thoroughly, returned them
to the box, and went back aboard his boat again so
armed against accident that he could not possibly get
The Mississippi Pilot. 115
Lis boat into trouble without bringing the most inge-
nious carelessness to his aid.
Imagine the benefits of so admirable a system in
a piece of river twelve or thirteen hundred miles long,
whose channel was shifting every day ! The pilot
who had formerly been obliged to put up with seeing
a shoal place once or possibly twice a month, had a
hundred sharp eyes to watch it for him now, and
bushels of intelligent brains to tell him how to run it.
His information about it was seldom twenty-four
hours old. If the reports in the last box chanced to
leave any misgivings on his mind concerning a
treacherous crossing, he had his remedy ; he blew
his steam-whistle in a peculiar way as soon as he saw
a boat approaching ; the signal was answered in a
peculiar way if that boat's pilots were association
men ; and then the two steamers ranged alongside,
and all uncertainties were swept away by fresh in-
formation furnished to the inquirer by word of mouth
and in minute detail.
The first thing a pilot did when he reached New
Orleans or St. Louis was to take his final and elabo-
rate report to the association parlours and hang it up
there— after which he was free to visit his family. In
these parlours a crowd was always gathered together
discussing changes in the channel, and the moment
there was a fresh arrival, everybody stopped talking
till this witness had told the newest news and settled
1 1 6 The Mississippi Pilot*
the latest uncertainty. Other craftsmen can " sink
the shop " sometimes, and interest themselves in
other matters. Not so with a pilot : he must devote
himself wholly to his profession and talk of nothing
else, for it would be small gain to be perfect one day
and imperfect the next. He has no time or words to
waste if be would keep " posted."
But the outsiders had a hard time of it. No par-
ticular place to meet and exchange information, no
wharf-boat reports, none but chance and unsatisfac-
tory ways of getting news. The consequence was
that a man sometimes had to run five hundred miles
of river on information that was a week or ten days
old. At a fair stage of the river that might have
answered ; but when the dead low water came it was
destructive.
Now came another perfectly logical result. The
outsiders began to ground steamboats, sink them,
and get into all sorts of trouble, whereas accidents
seemed to keep entit-ely away from the association
men. Wherefore even the owners and captains of
boats furnished exclusively with outsiders, and pre-
viously considered to be wholly independent of the
association and free to comfort themselves with brag
and laughter, began to feel pretty uncomfortable.
Still, they made a show of keeping up the brag,
until one black day, when every captain of the lot
Tvas formally ordered immediately to discharge his
The Mississippi Pilot. 117
outsiders and take association pilots in their stead.
And who was it that had the gaudy presumption to
do that ? Alas, it came from a power behind tho
throne, that was greater than the throne itself. It
was the underwriters !
It was no time to " swap knives." Every out-
sider had to take his trunk ashore at once. Of course
it was supposed that there was collusion between the
association and the underwriters, but this was not so.
The latter had come to comprehend the excellence of
the " report " system of the association and tho
safety it secured, and so they had made their decision
among themselves and upon plain business prin-
ciples.
There was weeping and wailing and gnashing of
teeth in the camp of the outsiders now. But no
matter, there was but one course for them to pursue,
and they pursued it. They came forward in couples
and groups, and proffered their twelve dollars and
asked for membership. They were surprised to learn
that several new bye-laws had been long ago added.
For instance, the initiation fee had been raised to
fifty dollars ; that sum must be tendered, and also
ten per cent, of the wages which the applicant had
received each and every month since the founding of
the association. In many cases this amounted to
three or four hundred dollars. Still, the association
would not entertain the application until the money
1 1 8 The Mississippi Pilot.
was present. Even then a single adverse vote killed
the application. Every member had to vote yes or
no in person and before witnesses ; so it took weeks
to decide a candidacy, because many pilots were so
long absent on voyages. However, the repentant
sinners scraped their savings together, and one by
one, by our tedious voting process, they were added
to the fold. A time came at last when only about
ten remained outside. They said they would starve
before they would apply. They remained idle a long
while, because of course nobody could venture to
employ them.
By and by the association published the fact that
apon a certain date the wages would be raised to five
hundred dollars per month. All the branch associa-
tions had grown strong now, and the Eed River one
had advanced wages to seven hundred dollars a
month. Reluctantly the ten outsiders yielded, in
view of these things, and made application. There
was another new bye-law by this time, which required
them to pay dues not only on all the wages they
had received since the association was born, but also
on what they would have received if they had con-
tinued at work up to the time of their application,
instead of going oif to pout in idleness. It turned
out to be a difficult matter to elect them, but it was
accomplished at last. The most virulent sinner of this
batch had stayed out and allowed " dues " to accumu-
The Mississippi Pilot. 1 1 9
late against him so long tliat he had to send in six
hundred and twenty-five dollars with his application.
The association had a good bank account now, and
was very strong. There was no longer an outsider.
A bye-law was added forbidding the reception of any
more cubs or apprentices for five years ; after which
time a limited number would be taken, not by indi-
viduals, but by the association, upon these terms :
The applicant must not be less than eighteen years
old, of respectable family and good character ; he
must pass an examination as to education, pay a
thousand dollars in advance for the privilege of be-
coming an apprentice, and must remain under the
commands of the association until a great part of the
membership (more than half, I think) should be will-
ing to sign his application for a pilot's license.
All previously articled apprentices were now
taken away from their masters and adopted by the
association. The president and secretary detailed
them for service on one boat or another, as they
chose, and changed them from boat to boat according
to certain rules. If a pilot could show that he was
in infirm health and needed assistance, one of the
cubs would be ordered to go with him.
The widow and orphan list grew, but so did the
association's financial resources. The association
attended its own funerals in state, and paid for them.
When occasion demanded, it sent members down the
lao Tke Mississippi Pilot.
river upon searches for the bodies of brethren lost by
steamboat accidents ; a search of this kind some-
times cost a thousand dollars.
The association procured a charter and went into
the insurance business, also. It not only insured the
lives of its members, but took risks on steam-boats.
The organization seemed indestructible. It was
the tightest monopoly in the world. By the United
States law, no man could become a pilot unless two
duly licensed pilots signed his application ; and now
there was nobody outside of the association compe-
tent to sign. Consequently the making of pilots was
at an end. Every year some would die and others
become incapacitated by age and infirmity ; there
would be no new ones to take their places. In iime,
the association could put wages up to any figure it
chose ; and as long as it should be wise enough not
to carry the thing too far and provoke the national
government into amending the licensing system,
steamboat owners would have to submit, since there
would be no help for it.
The owners and captains were the only obstruc-
tion that lay between the association and absolute
power ; and at last this one was removed. Incredible
as it may seem, the owners and captains deliberately
did it themselves. When the pilots' asiiociaiion
announced, months beforehand, that on the first day
of Sentember, 1861, wages would be advanced to five
The Mississippi Pilot, I2i
hundred dollars per month, the owners and captains
instantly put freights up a few cents, and explained
to the farmers along the river the necessity of it, by
calling their attention to the burdensome rate of
wages about to be established. It was a rather
slender argument, but the farmers did not seem to
detect it. It looked reasonable to them that to add
five cents freight on a bushel of corn was justifiable
under the circumstances, over-looking the fact that
this advance on a cargo of forty thousand sacks was
a good deal more than necessary to cover the new
wages.
So straightway the captains and owners got up an
association of their own, and proposed to put captains'
wages up to five hundred dollars, too, and niiove for
another advance in freights. It was a novel idea,
but of course an effect which had been produced once
could be produced again. The new association de-
creed (for this was before all the outsiders had been
taken into the pilots' association) that if any captain
employed a non- association pilot, he should be forced
to discharge him, and also pay a fine of five hundred
dollars. Several of these heavy fines were paid before
the captains' organization grew strong enough to
exercise full authority over its membership ; but that
all ceased, presently. The captains tried to get the
pilots to decree that no member of their corporation
should serve under a non-association captain ; bat
a
laa The Mississippi Pilot.
this proposition was declined. The pilots saw that
they would be backed up by the captains and the
underwriters anyhow, and so they wisely refrained
from entering into entangling alliances.
As I have remarked, the pilots' association was
now the compactest monopoly in the world, per-
haps, and seemed simply indestructible. And yet the
days of its glory were numbered. First, the new
railroad stretching up throuh Mississippi, Tennessee,
and Kentucky, to Northern railway centres, began to
divert the passenger travel from the steamers ; next
the war came and almost entirely annihilated the
steamboating industry during several years, leaving
most of the pilots idle, and the cost of living advanc-
ing all the time ; then the treasurer of the St. Louis
association put his hand into the till and walked oflP
with every dollar of the ample fund ; and finally, the
railroads intruding everywhere, there was little for
steamers to do, when the war was over, but carry
freights ; so straightway some genius from the
Atlantic coast introduced the plan of towing a dozen
steamer cargoes down to New Orleaus at the tail of a
vulgar little tug-boat ; and behold, in the twinkling
of an eye, as it were, the association and the noble
science of piloting were things of the dead and
pathetic past i
vn.
LEAVING PORT : RACING : SHORTENING OP THE RIVER BY
CUT-OFFS : A STEAMBOAT'S GHOST : " STEPHEN'S "
PLAN OF " EESDMPTION."
It was always the custom for the boats to leave New
Orleans between four and five o'clock in the after-
noon. From three o'clock onward they would be
burning resin and pitch pme (the sign of preparation),
and SO one had the picturesque spectacle of a rank,
some two or three miles long, of tall, ascending
columns of coal-black smoke ; a colonnade which sup-
ported a sable roof of the same smoke blending toge-
ther and spreading abroad over the city. Every
outward-bound boat had its flag flying at the jack-
staff", and sometimes a duplicate on the verge staif
astern. Two or three miles of mates were command-
ing and swearing with more than usual emphasis;
countless processions of freight barrels and boxes were
spinning down the slant of the levee and flying aboard
the stage-planks j belated passengers were dodging
and skipping among these frantic things, hoping to
124 ^'''^ Mississippi Pilot.
'•each the forecastle companion way alive, but having
their doubts about it j women with reticules and
bandboxes were trying to keep up with husbands
freighted with carpet-sacks and crying babies, and
making a failure of it by losing their heads in the
whirl and roar and general distraction ; drays and
baggage- vans were clattering hither and thither in a
wild hurry, every now and then getting blocked and
jammed together, and then during ten seconds one
could not see them for the profanity, except vaguely
and dimly ; every windlass connected with every
fore-hatch, from one end of that long array of steam-
boats to the other, was keeping up a deafening whiz
and whir, lowering freight into the hold, and the half
naked crews of perspiring negroes that worked them
were roaring such songs as De Las' Sack ! De Las'
Sack ! — inspired to unimaginable exaltation by the
chaos of turmoil and racket that was driving every-
body else mad. By this time the hurricane and
boiler decks of the steamers would be packed and black
with passengei's. The " last bells " would begin to
clang, all down the line, and then the pow-wow seemed
to double ; in a moment or two the final warning
came — a simultaneous din of Chinese gongs, with the
cr3% " All dat ain't goin', please to get asho' ! " — and
behold, the pow-wow quadrupled! People came
swarming ashore, overturning excited stragglers that
were trying to swarm aboard. One more moment
The Mississippi Pilot, li^
later a long array of stage-planks was being hanled
it^ eacli witli its customary latest passenger clinging
to the end of it with teeth, nails, and everything else,
and the Gustomary latest procrastinator making a wild
spring shoreward over his head.
Now a number of the boats slide backward into
tbe stream, leaving wide gaps in the serried rank of
steamers. Citizens crowd the decks of boats that are
not to go, in order to see the sight. Steamer after
steamer straightens herself up, gathers all her
strength, and presently comes swinging by, under a
tremendous head of steam, with flag flying, black
smoke rolling, and her entire crew of firemen and
deck-hands (usually swarthy negroes) massed toge-
ther on the forecastle, the best " voice " in the lot
towering from the midst (being mounted on the cap-
stan), waving his hat or a flag, and all roaring a
mighty chorus, while the parting cannons boom ana
the multitudinous spectators swing their hats and
huzza ! Steamer after steamer falls into line, and the
stately procession goes winging its way up the river.
In the old times, whenever two fast boats started
out on a race, with a big crowd of people looking on, it
was inspiring to hear the crews sing, especially if the
time were night-fall, and the forecastle lit up with the
red glare of the torch-baskets. Racing was royal fan.
The puWic always had an idea that racing was dan-
gerous ; whereas the very opposite was the case —
126 The Mississippi Pilot.
that is, after the laws were passed which restricted
each boat to just so many pounds of steam to the
square inch. No engineer was ever sleepy or careless
when his heart was in a race. He was constantly
on the alert, trying gauge-cocks and watching things.
The dangerous place was on slow, popular boats,
where the engineers drowsed around and allowed
ships to get into the " doctor " and shut off the water
supply from the boilers.
In the " flush times " of steamboating, a race
between two notoriously fleet steamers was an event
of vast importance. The date was set for it several
weeks in advance, and from that time forward, the
whole Mississippi Valley was in a state of consuming
excitement. Politics and the weather were dropped,
and people talked only of the coming race. As the
time approached, the two steamers " stripped " and
got ready. Every incumbrance that added weight,
or exposed a resisting surface to wind or water, was
removed, if the boat could possibly do without it.
The " spars," and sometimes even their supporting
derricks, were sent ashore, and no means left to sec
the boat afloat in case she got afrround. When the
"Eclipse" and the "A. L. Shotwell" ran their
great race twenty-two years ago, it was said that
pains were taken to scrape the gilding off the
fanciful device which hung between the " Eclipse's"
chimneys, and that for that one trip the captain left
The Mississippi Pilot. ay
oS his kid gloves and had his head shaved. But I
always doubted these things.
If the boat was known to make her best speed
when drawing five and a half feet forward and five
feet aft, she was carefully loaded to that exact figure
— she wouldn't enter a dose of homoeopathic pills on
her manifest after that. Hardly any passengers
were taken, because they not only add weight but
they never will " trim boat." TJiey always run to the
side when there is anything to see, whereas a con-
scientious and experienced steamboatman would stick
to the centre of the boat and part his hair in the
middle with a spirit level.
No way-freights and no way-passengers were
allowed, for the racers would stop only at the largest
towns, and then it would be only " touch and go."
Coal flats and wood flats were contracted for before-
hand, and these were kept ready to hitch on to the
flying steamers at a moment's warning. DoubAe
crews were carried, so that all work could be quickly
done.
The chosen date being come, and all things in
readiness, the two great steamers back into the
stream, and lie there jockeying a moment, and appa-
rently watching each other's slightest movement, like
sentient creatures; flags drooping, the pent steam
shrieking through safety-valves, the black smoke
rolling and tumbling from the chimneys apd darken.
128 Tke Mississippi Pilot,
ing all the air. People, people everywhere ; the
shores, the house-tops, the steamboats, the ships, are
packed with them, and yon know that the borders of
the broad Mississippi are going to be fringed with
humanity thence northward twelve hundred miles, to
welcome these racers.
Presently tall columns of steam burst from the
'scape-pipes of both steamers, two guns boom a good-
by, two red-shirted heroes mounted on capstans wave
their small flags above the massed crews on the fore-
castles, two plaintive solos linger on the air a few
waiting seconds, two mighty choruses burst forth —
and here they come ! Brass bands bray " Hail
Columbia," huzza after huzza thunders from the
shores, and the stately creatures go whistling by like
the wind.
Those boats will never halt a moment between
New Orleans and St. Louis, except for a second or
two at large towns, or to hitch thirty-cord wood-boats
alongside. You should be on board when they take
a couple of those wood-boats in tow and turn a swarm
of men into each ; by the tinSe you have wiped your
glasses and put them on, you will be wondering what
has become of that wood.
Two nicely-matched steamers will stay in sight of
each other day after day. They might even stay side
by side, but for the fact that pilots are not all alike,
and the smartest pilots will win the race. If one of
The Mississippi Pilot, 129
tte boats has a " lightning " pilot, whose " partner "
is a trifle his inferior, you can tell which one is on
watch by noting whether that boat has gained ground
or lost some during each four-hour stretch. The
shrewdest pilot can delay a boat if he has not a fine
genius for steering. Steering is a very high art. One
must not keep a rudder dragging across a boat's
stem if he wants to get up the river fast.
There is a marvellous difference in boats, of course.
For a long time I was on a boat that was so slow we
used to forget what year it was we left port in. But
of course this was at rare intervals. Ferry-boats
used to lose valuable trips because their passengers
grew old and died, waiting for us to get by. This was
at still rarer intervals. I had the documents for these
occurrences, but through carelessness they have been
mislaid. This boat, the " John J. Roe," was so slow
that when she finally sunk in Madrid Bend, it was
five years before the owners heard of it. That was
always a confusing fact to me, but it is according to
the record, any way. She was dismally slow; still
we often had pretty exciting times racing with
islands, and rafts, and such things. One trip,
however, we did rather well. We went to St. Louis
in sixteen days. But even at this rattling gait I
think we changed watches three times in Fort Adaais
reach, which is five miles long. A " reach " is a
piece of *i*.^aight river, and of course the current
130 The Mississippi Pilot.
drives through such a place in a pretty lively
way.
That trip we went to Grand Gulf, from New
Orleans, in four days (three hundred and forty
miles) ; the " Eclipse " and " Shotwell " did it in
one. We were nine days out, in the chute of 63
(seven hundred miles) ; the " Eclipse " and " Shot-
well " went there in two days.
Just about a generation ago, a boat called the
" J. M. White " went from New Orleans to Cairo in
three days, six hours, and forty-four minutes. Twenty-
two years ago the " Eclipse " made the same trip in
three days, three hours, and twenty minutes. About
five years ago the superb " R. E. Lee " did it in three
days and o??e hour. The last is called the fastest trip
on record. I will try to show that it was not. For
this reason : the distance between New Orleans and
Cairo, when the " J. M. Whife " ran it, was about
eleven hundred and six miles ; consequently her
average speed was a trifle over fourteen miles per
hour. In the " Eclipse's " day the distance between
the two ports had become reduced to one thousand
and eighty miles ; consequently her average speed was
a shade under fourteen and three- eighths miles per
hour. In the " R. E. Lee's " time the distance had
diminished to about one thousand and thirty miles,
consequently her average was about fourteen and one-
eighth miles per hour. Therefore the " Eclipse's "
The Mississippi Pilot. 13 1
was conspicuously the fastest time that has ever been
made.
These dry details are of importance in one
particular. They give me an opportunity of intro-
ducing one of the Mississippi's oddest peculiarities —
that of shortening its length from time to time. If
you will throw a long, pliant apple-paring over your
shoulder, it will pretty fairly shape itself into an
average section of the Mississippi River ; that is, the
nine or ten hundred miles stretching from Cairo,
Illinois, southward to New Orleans, the same being
wonderfully crooked, with a brief straight bit here
and there at wide intervals. The two-hundred-mile
stretch from Cairo northward to St. Louis is by no
means crooked, that being a rocky country which the
river cannot cut much.
The water cuts the alluvial banks of the "lower"
river into deep horseshoe curves ; so deep, indeed,
that in some places if you were to get ashore at one
extremity of the horseshoe and walk across the neck,
half or three-quarters of a mile, you could sit down
and rest a couple of hours while your steamer was
coming around the long elbow, at a speed of ten
miles an hour, to take you aboard again. When the
river is rising fast, some scoundrel whose plantation
is back in the country, and therefore of inferior value,
has only to watch his chance, cut a little gutter across
the narrow neck of land some dark night, and turn
133 The Mississippi Pilot.
the water into it, and in a wonderfully short time a
miracle has liappened : to wit, the whole Mississippi
has taken possession of that little ditch, and placed
the countryman's plantation on its bank (quadrupling
its value"), and that other party's formerly valuable
plantation finds itself away out yonder on a big
island; the old water-course around it will soon
shoal up, boats cannot approach within ten miles of
it, and down goes its value to a fourth of its former
worth. Watches are kept on these narrow necks, at
needful times, and if a man happens to be caught
cutting a ditch across them, the chances are all against
his ever having another opportunity to cut a ditch.
Pray observe some of the effects of this ditching
business. Once there was a neck opposite Port
Hudson, Louisiana, which was only half a mile across,
in its narrowest place. You could walk across there
in fifteen minutes; but if you made the journey
around the cape on a raft, you travelled thirty- five
miles to accomplish the same thing. In 1722 the
river darted through that neck, deserted its old bed,
and thus shortened itself thirty-five miles. In the
same way it shortened itself twenty-five miles at Black
Hawk Point in 1C09. Below Red River Landing,
Raccourcl cut-off was made (thirty or forty years ago,
I think). This shortened the river twenty-eight
miles. In our day, if you travel by river from the
■southernmost of these three cut-offs to the northcru-
The Mississippi Pilot, 1 33
most, you go only seventy miles. To do the same
thing a hundred and seventy- six years ago, one had
to go a hundred and fifty-eight miles ! — a shortening
of eighty-eight miles in that trifling distance. At
some forgotten time in the past, cut-offs were made
above Vidalia, Louisiana ; at island 92 ; at island 84 ;
and at Hale's Point. These shortened the river, in
the aggregate, seventy-seven miles.
Since my own day on the Mississippi, I am in-
formed that cut-offs have been made at Hurricane
Island ; at island 100 ; at Napoleon, Arkansas ; at
Walnut Bend ; and at Council Bend. These shortened
the river in the aggregate, sixty-seven miles. In my
own time a cut-off was made at American Bend,
which, shortened the river ten miles or more.
Therefore : the Mississippi between Cairo and
New Orleans was twelve hundred and fifteen miles
long one hundred and seventy-six years ago. It was
eleven hundred and eighty after the cut-off of 1722.
It was one thousand and forty after the American
Bend cut-off (some sixteen or seventeen years ago).
It has lost sixty-seven miles since. Consequently, its
length is only nine hundred and seventy-three miles
at present.
Now, if I wanted to be one of those ponderous
scientific people, and "let on" to prove what had
occurred in the remote past by what had occurred in
a given time in the recent past, or what will occut in
r 34 The Mississippi Pilot.
the far future by what has occurred in late years, what
an opportunity is here ! Geology never had such a
chance, nor such exact data to argue from! Nor
" djBvelopment of species," either ! Glacial epochs
are great things, but they are vague — vague. Please
observe —
In the space of one hundred and seventy-six years
the Lower Mississippi has shortened itself two hun-
dred and forty-two miles. That is an average of a
trifle over one mile and a third per year. Therefore,
any calm person, who is not blind or idiotic, can see
that in the Old Oolitic Silurian Period, just a million
years ago next November, the Lower Mississippi
River was upwards of one million three hundred
thousand miles long, and stuck out over the Gulf of
Mexico like a fishing-rod. And by the same token
any person can see that seven hundred and forty-two
years from now the Lower Mississippi will be only a
mile and three quarters long, and Cairo and New
Orleans will have joined their streets together, and be
plodding comfortably along under a single mayor and
a mutual board of aldermen. There is somethins'
fascinating about science. One gets such wholesale
returns of conjecture out of such a trifling invest-
ment of fact.
"When the water begins to flow through one of
those ditches I have been speaking of, it is time for
he people thereabouts to move. The water cleave
The Mississippi Pilot. 135
the banks away like a knife. By the time the ditch
has become twelve or fifteen feet wide, the calamity
is as good as accomplished, for no power on earth can
stop it now. When the width has reached a hundred
yards, the banks begin to peel off in slices half an
acre wide. The current flowing around the bend
travelled formerly only five miles an hour; now it is
tremendously increased by the shortening of the dis-
tance. I was on board the first boat that tried to go
through the cut-off at American Bend, but we did not
get through. It was toward midnight, and a wild
night it was — thunder, lightning, and torrents of
rain. It was estimated that the current in the cut-off
was making about fifteen or twenty miles an hour ;
twelve or thirteen was the best our boat could do, even
in tolerably slack water, therefore perhaps we were
foolish to try the cut-off. However, Mr. X was
ambitious, and he kept on trying. The eddy running
up the bank, under the "point," was about as swift
as the current out in the middle ; so we would go
flying up the shore like a lightning express train, get
on a big head of steam, and " stand by for a surge "
when we struck the current that was whirling by the
point. But all our preparations were useless. The
instant the current hit us it spun us around like a top,
the water deluged the forecastle, and the boat careened
so far over that one could hardly keep his feet. The
next instant we were away down the river, clawing
1^6 The Mississippi Pilot.
with migbt and main to keep out of the woods. We
tried the expex'iment four times. I stood on the fore-
castle companion way to see. It was astonishing to
observe how suddenly the boat would spin around and
turn tail the moment she emerged from the eddy and
the current struck her nose. The sounding concus-
sion and the quivering would have been about the
same if she had come full speed against a sand-bank.
Under the lightning flashes one could see the planta-
tion cabins and the goodly acres tumble into the
river ; and the crash tbey made was not a bad effoi t
at thunder. Once, when we spun around, we only
missed a house about twenty feet, that had a light
burning in the window ; and in the same instant that
house went overboard. Nobody could stay on our
forecastle ; the water swept across it in a torrent every
time we plunged athwart the cui'rent. At the end of
our fourth effort we brought up in the woods two
miles below the cut-ofi"; all the country there was
overflowed of course. A day or two later the cut-off
was three-quarters of a mile wide, and boats passed
up through it without much difficulty, and so saved
ten miles.
The old K-iccourci cut-off reduced the river's
length twenty-eight miles. There used to be a tradi.
tion connected with it. It was said that a boat came
along there in the night and went around the enor-
mous elbow the usual way, the pilots not knowing
The Mississippi Pilot. xyf
that the cut-off had been made. It was a f^^sly,
hideous night, and all shapes were vague and distorted.
The old bend had already begun to fill up, and the
boat got to running away from mysterious reefs, and
occasionally hitting one. The perplexed pilots fell to
swearing, and finally uttered the entirely unnecessary
wish that they might never get out of that place. As
always happens in such cases, that particular prayer
was answered, and the others neglected. So to this
day that phantom steamer is still butting around in
that deserted river, trying to find her way out. More
than one grave watchman has sworn to me that on
drizzly, dismal nights, he has glann'^d r,-itjfully down
that forgotten river as he passed the head of the
island, and seen the faint glow of the spectre steamer's
lights drifting through the distant gloom, and heard
the mu filed cough of her 'scape-pipes and the plaintive
cry of her leadsmen.
In the absence of further statistics, 1 he^ to close
thia series of Old Mississippi articles with one more
reminiscence of wayward, careless, ingenious *' Ste-
phen," whom I described in a former chapter.
Most of the captains and pilots held Stephen's
note for borrowed sums ranging from two hundred
and fifty dollars upward. Stephen never paid one of
these notes, but he was very prompt and very zealous
ibout renewing them every twelvemonth.
Of course there came a time, at last, when Stephen
118 Vie Mississippi Pilot.
coTtld no longer borrow of his ancient creditors} bo
was obliged to lay in wait for new men who did not
know him. Such a victim was good-hearted, simple-
natured young Yates (I use a fictitious name, but the
real name began, as this one does, with a T). Young
Yates graduated as a pilot, got a berth, and when
the month was ended and he stepped up to the clerk's
office and received his two hundred and fifty dollars
in crisp new bills, Stephen was there ! His silvery
tongue began to wag, and in a very little while
Yates's two hundred and fifty dollars had changed
hands. The fact was soon known at pilot headquar-
ters, and the amusement and satisfaction of the old
creditors were large and generous. But innocent
Yates never suspected that Stephen's promise to pay
promptly at the end of the week was a worthless one.
Yates called for his money at the stipulated time ;
Stephen sweetened him up and put him oflf a week.
He called then, according to agreement, and came
away sugar-coated again, but sufi"ering under another
postponement. So the thing went on. Yates haunted
Stephen week after week, to no purpose, and at last
gave it up. And then straightway Stephen began to
haunt Yates ! Wherever Yates appeared, there was
the inevitable Stephen. And not only there, but
beaming with afiection and gushing with apologies
for not being able to pay. By and by, whenever poor
Yates Baw him coming, he would turn and fly, anrl
The Mississippi Pilot. I39
drag bis company with him, if he had company ; but
it was of no use ; his debtor would run him down and
corner liim. Panting and red-faced, Stephen would
come, with outstretched hands and eager eyes, in\ade
the conversatiou, shake both of Yates's arms loose in
their sockets, and begin —
"My, what a race I've had! I saw you didn't
see me, and so I clapped on all steam for fear I'd miss
you entirely. And here you are ! there, just stand
so, and let me look at you ! Just the same old noble
countenance." [To Yates's friend:] "Just look at
him! Look at him! Ain't it just good to look at
him ! AinH it now ? Ain't he just a picture ! (S'ome
call him a picture; 1 call him a panorama! That's
what he is — an entire panorama. And now I'm re-
minded ! How 1 do wish I could have seen you an
hour earlier ! For twenty-four hours I've been saving
up that two hundred and fifty dollars for you ; been
looking for you everywhere. I waited at the
Planter's from six yesterday evening till two o'clock
this morning, without rest or food ; my wife says :
' Where have you been all night ? ' I said, * This
debt lies heavy on my mind.' She says, ' In all my
days I never saw a man take a debt to heart the way
you do.' I said, ' It's my nature ; bow can I change
it ? ' She says, ' Well, do go to bed and get some
rest.' I said, ' Not till that poor, noble young mau
has got his money.' So I set up all night, and this
140 The Mississippi Pilot.
iDorninj^ out I shot, and the first man I struck told
me you had shipped ou the ' Grand Turk ' and gone to
New Orleans. Well, sir, I had to lean up against a
building and cry. So help me goodness, I couldn't
help it. The man that owned the place come out
cleaning up with a rag, and said he didn't like to
have people cry against his building, and then it
seemed to me that the whole world had turned
against me, and it wasn't any use to live any more ;
and coming along an hour ago, suffering no man
knows what agony, I met Jim Wilson and paid him
the two hundred and fifty dollars on account ; and to
think that here you are, now, and I havn't got a cent !
But as sure as I am standing here on this ground, on
this particular brick — there, I've scratched a mark
on the brick to remember it by — I'll borrow thac
money and pay it over to you at twelve o'clock sharp
to-morrow ! Now, stand so, let me look at you just
once more.''
And so on. Yates's life became a burden to him.
He could not escape his debtor and hi? debtor's awful
sufferings on account of not being able to pay. Ho
dreadeil to show himself in the street, lest he should
find Stephen lying in wait for him at the corner.
Bogart's billiard saloon was a great resort for
pilots in those days. They met there about as much
to exchange river news as to play. One morning
Yates was there ; Stephen was there, too, but kept
The Mississippi Pilot. 141
ont of sight. Bat by and by, when about all tbe
pilots had arrived who were in town, Stephen sud-
denly appeared in the midst, and rushed for Yates as
for a long-lost brother.
" Oil, I am so glad to see you ! Oh my soul, tne
sight of you is such a comfort to my eyes ! Gentle-
men, I owe all of you money ; among you I owe
probably forty thousand dollars. I want to pay it ; I
intend to pay it — every last cent of it. You all know,
without my telling you, what sorrow it has cost me
to remain so long under such deep obligations to such
patient and generous friends ; but the sharpest pang
I suffer — by far the sharpest — is from the debt I owe
to this noble young man here ; and I have come to
this place this morning especially to make the
announcement that I have at last found a method
whereby I can pay off all my debts ! And most espe-
cially I wanted liim to be here when I announced it.
Yes, my faithful friend — my benefactor, I've found
the method ! I've found the method to pay off all my
debts, and you'll get your money ! " Hope dawned
m Yates's eye ; then Stephen, beaming benignantly,
and placing his hand upon Yates's head, added, " I
•aJK going to pay them off in alphabetical order ! "
Then he turned and disappeared. The full sig-
nificance of Stephen's " method " did not dawn upon
the perplexed and mnsinc; crowd for some twe
minutes ; and then Yates murmured with a sigh —
I4S
The Mississippi Pilot.
'■ Well, the Y's stand a gaudy chance He won't
get any farther than the C's in this world, and I
reckon that after a good deal of eternity has wasted
away in the next one, I'll still be referred to up there
as ' that poor, ragged pilot that came here from St,
Louis in the early days ! ' **
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR
By BRET HARTE.
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR,
ACT I.
Scene i. — Courtyard and Corridors of the Roncho.
Manuela [arranging supper-table in corridor L., so1hs\
There ! Tortillas, chocolate, olives, and — the whisky of the
Americans ! And supper's ready. But why Don Jose
chooses to-night, of all nights, with this heretic fog lying
)ver the Mission Hills like a wet serape', to take his supper
out here, the saints only know. Perhaps it's some distrust of
his madcap daughter, the Doiia Jovita ; perhaps to watch
her — who knows ? And now to find Diego. Ah, here he
comes. So ! The old story. He is getting Dona Jovita's
horse ready for another madcap journey. Ah ! [Retires to
table.'l
Enter cautiously from corridor, L., Sandy Morton, carry-
ing lady's saddle aftd blanket; starts on observing Ma-
NUELA, and hastily hides saddle and blanket in recess,
Sandy \aside\ She's alone. I reckon the old man's at
his siesta yet. Ef he'll only hang onto that snooze ten
minutes longer, I'll manage to let that gal Jovita slip out to
that yer fandango, and no questions asked.
Manuela \caUi71g Sandy]. Diego !
Sandy [aside^ without heeding her]. That's a sweet voice
for a serenade. Round, full, high-shouldered, and calkilated
2 TWO MKN OF s'ANDY BAR.
to fetch a man every time. Only thar ain't, to my sartain
knowledge, one o' them chaps within a mile of the rancho.
[La7(g-/is.]
Mamtela. Diego !
Sa7idy \aside\. Oh, go on ! That's the style o' them
Greasers. They'll stand rooted in their tracks, and yell for
a chap without knowin' whether he's in sight or sound.
Manuela [approaching Sandy impatie7itly\. Diego !
Sandy [star/ing, aside]. The devil ! Why, that's jne she's
after. [Laughs^ I clean disremembered that when I kem
yer I tole those chaps my name was James, — James Smith
[laughs], and thet they might call me "Jim." And De-a-go's
their lingo for Jim. [Aloitd ' Well, my beauty, De-a-go it
is. Now, wot's up ?
Manuela. Eh ? no sabe !
'<andy. Wot's your little game ? [Etnbraces her.]
Manuela [aside, and recoiling coquetiishly]. Mother of
God ! He must be drunk again. These Americans have no
time for love when they are sober. [Aloud and coquetiishly.]
Let me go, Diego. Don Jose is coming. He has sent for
you. He takes his supper to-night on the corridor. Listen,
Diego. He must not see you thus. You have been drinking
again. I will keep you from him. I will say you are not
well.
Sandy. Couldn't you, my darling, keep hini from mef .
Couldn't you make him think he was sick? Couldn't you
say he's exposin' his precious health by sittin' out thar to-
night; thet ther's chills and fever in every breath ? [Aside?\
Ef the old Don plants himself in that chair,- that gal's chances
for goin' out to-night is gone up.
Mamiela. Never. He Avould suspect at oncfe. Listen,
Diego. If Don Jos(? does not know that his daughter steals
away with you to meet some caballero, some lover, — you un-
derstand, Diego, — it is because he does not know, or would
not hfijn K) know, what eveiy one else in the rancho knows.
TWO ArEN OF SANDY BAR. 3
Have a care, foolish Diego ! If Don Jose is old and blind,
look you, friend, we are not. You understand ?
Sandy \aside\. What the devil does she expect? — money?
No ! S^Aloud^^ Look yer, Manuela, you ain't goin' to blow
on that young gal ! {Putting his arm around her 'waist.'\
Allowin' that she hez a lover, thar ain't nothin' onnateral in
thet, bein' a purty sort o' gal. Why, suppose somebody
should see you and me together like this, and should just let
on to the old man.
Manuela. Hush ! {Disengaging herself^ Hush ! He
is coming. Let me go, Diego. It is Don Josd !
Enter Don Jose, who walks gravely to the table, and seats
himself. Manuela retires to table.
Sandy \aside\ I wonder if he saw us. I hope he did : it
would shut that Manuela's mouth for a month of Sundays.
{Laughs.'] God forgive me for it ! I've done a heap of things
for that young gal Dofia Jovita ; but this yer gittin' soft on
the Greaser maid-servant to help out the missis, is a little
more than Sandy Morton bargained fur.
Don Jose' {to Manuela]. You can retire. Diego will
attend me. {Looks at DiEGO attentively.}
{Exit Manuela.
Sandy {aside}. Diego will attend him ! Why, blast his
yeller skin, does he allow that Sandy Morton hired out as a
purty waiter-gal ? Because I calkilated to feed his horses, it
ain't no reason thet my dooty to animals don't stop thar.
Pass his hash ! {Tiirns to follow Manuela, but stops.}
Hello, Sandy ! wot are ye doin', eh ? You ain't going back
on Miss Jovita, and jest spile that gal's chances to git out to-
night, on'y to teach that God-forsaken old gov'ment mule
manners? No ! I'll humour the old man, and keep one eye
out for the gal. {Comes to table, a7id leans familiarly over
the back ofDo^ Jose's chair.}
Don fos^ {aside}. He seems insulted and anrwyed. Hia
♦ TWO MEN OF SANDY RAR.
manner strengthens my worst suspicions. He has not ex-
pected this. [A/oud.] Chocolate, Diego.
Sandy \lea7iing over table carclessly\. Yes, I reckon it's
somewhar thar.
Don Jos^ \aside\. He is unused to menial labour. If I
should be right in my suspicions ! if he really were Dona
Jovita's secret lover ! This gallantry with the servants only
a deceit ! Bueno I I will watch him. \Alond?[ Chocolate,
Diego !
Sandy \aside\ I wonder if the old fool reckons I'll pour
it out. Well, seein's he's the oldest. \Poin-s chocolate awk-
wardly, a7id spills it 07t the tabic and Don Jos^].
Do}i Josd\aside\. He /j embarrassed. I am right. \Aloiid^
Diego !
Sandy \leaning confidentially over Don Josh's chair\
Well, old man !
Don Jose. Three months ago my daughter the Doiia
Jovita picked you up, a wandering vagabond, in the streets
of the Mission. [Aside.] He does not seem ashamed.
[Aloud.l She — she — ahem ! The aguardie7itc, Diego.
Sa7idy \asidc\. That means the whisky. It's wonderful
how quick a man learns Spanish. {Passes the bottle, fills DoN
Josh's glass, a7idthe7i his own. Don Jos^ recoils i7t ast07tish-
7nent.'] I looks toward ye, ole man. [Tosses offliqtior^
Don Jose [asidc\ This familiarity ! He is a gentleman.
Btic7io ! [Aloud.] She was thrown from her horse ; her
skirt caught in the stirrup ; she was dragged ; you saved her
life. You
Sa7idy [interrnpting, coifidentially d7-awi7tg a chair to thi
table, a7id seaii/ig himself]. Look yer ! I'll tell you all about
it It wasn't that gal's fault, ole man. The hoss shied at
me, lying drunk in a ditch, you see ; the hoss backed, the
surcle broke ; it warn't in human natur for her to keep her
seat, and that gal rides like an angel ; but the mustang
throwed her. Well, I sorter got in the way o' thet hoss, and
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 5
it stopped. Hevin' bin the cause o' the hoss shyin', for I
reckon I didn't look much like an angel lyin' in that ditch, it
was about the only squar thing for me to waltz in and help
the gal. Thar, thet's about the way the thing pints. Now,
don't you go and hold that agin her !
Don Jose. Well, well ! She was grateful. She has a
strange fondness for you Americans ; and at her solicitation
I gave you — you, an unknown vagrant — employment here
as groom. You comprehend, Diego. I, Don Jose Castro,
proprietor of this rancho, with a hundred idle vaqueros on
my hands, — I made a place for you.
Sandy \ineditatively\ Umph.
Don Jose. You said you would reform. How have you
kept your word ? You were drunk last Wednesday.
Sandy. Thet's so.
Do7i Jose. And again last Saturday.
Sandy [s/owfy]. Look yer, ole man, don't ye be too hard
on me : that was the same old drunk.
Don Jose. I am in no mood for trifling. Hark ye, friend
Diego. You have seen, perhaps, — who has not .'' — that I am
a fond, an !n lulgent father. But even my consideration for
my daughter's strange tastes and follies has its limit. Your
conduct is a disgrace to the rancho. You must go.
Sandy \jneditatively\ Well, I reckon, perhaps I'd better,
Don Jose \aside\ His coolness is suspicious. Can it be
that he expects the girl will follow him? Mother of God !
perhaps it has been already planned between them. Good !
Thank heaven ! I can end it here. \Aloiid.\ Diego !
Sandy. Old man.
Don Jose'. For my daughter's sake, you understand, — for
her sake, — I am willing to try you once more. Hark ye !
My daughter is young, foolish, and romantic. I have reason
to believe, from her conduct lately, that she has contracted
an intimacy with some Americaiio, and that in her ignor-
ance, her foolishness, she has allowed that man to believe
6 TWC MBN OF SANDY BAR.
that he might aspire to her hand. Good ! I^ o\v hsten to
me. You shall stay in her service. You shall find out, —
you are in her confidence, — you shall find out this American,
this adventurer, this lover, if you please, of the Doiia Jovita,
my daughter ; and you will tell him this, — you will tell him
that a union with him is impossible, forbidden ; that the hour
she attempts it, without my consent, she is penniless j that
this estate, this rancho, passes into the hands of the Holy
Church, where even your laws cannot reach it.
Sandy \leaning familiarly over the table\. But suppose
that he sees that little bluff, and calls ye.
Don Jose. I do not comprehend you \coldly\.
Sandy. Suppose he loves that gal, and will take her as
she stands, without a cent, or hide or hair of yer old cattle.
Do7i Jose \scornfully\ Suppose — a miracle ! Hark ye,
Diego ! It is now five years since I have known your coun-
trymen, these smart Americaiios. I have yet to know when
love, sentiment, friendship, was worth any more than a
money value in your market.
Sandy \truciileMtly and driinkenly]. You hev, hev ye?
Well, look yar, oie man. Suppose I refuse. Suppose I'd
rather go than act as a spy on that young gal your darter !
Suppose that — hie — allowin' she's my friend, I'd rather
starve in the gutters of the Mission than stand between her
and the man she fancies. Hey? Suppose I would — damn
me ! Suppose I'd see you and your denied old rancho in —
t'other place — hie ■ — damn me ! You hear me, ole man !
That's the kind o' man I am — damn me !
Dott Jose' [aside, rising conteniptnously\ It is as I sus-
pected. Traitor ! Ingrate ! Satisfied that his scheme has
failed, he is ready to abandon her. And this — this is«the
man for whom she has been ready to sacrifice everything, —
her home, her father! {Aloud, coldly i\ Be it so, Diego;
you shall go.
Sandy [soberly and seriously, after a pause\ Well, I
TW© KEN OF SANDV BAR. 7
reckon 1 had better. [7i/V///^.] I've a few duds, old man,
to put up. It won't take me long. [Goes to L., and pauses.]
Don Jose \_aside\ Ah ! he hesitates ! He is changing his
mind. [Sandy returns slozuly to table, pours out glass oj
liquor, nods to DON JoSE, and drinks.'] I looks toward ye,
ole man. Adios / {Exit Sandy.
Don Jose. His coolness is perfect. If these Americans
are cayotes in their advances, they are lions in retreat !
Biieno ! I begin to respect him. But it will be just as well
to set Concho to track him to the Mission ; and I will see
that he leaves the rancho alone. \Exit JoSE.
Enter hurriedly JOVITA Castro, in riding habit, with
whip.
So ! Chiquita not yet saddled, and that spy Concho haunt-
ing the plains for the last half-hour. What an air of
mystery ! Something awful, something deliciously dreadful,
has happened ! Either my amiable drunkard has forgotten
to despatch Concho on his usual- fool's errand, or he is him-
self lying helpless in some ditch. Was tliere ever a girl so
persecuted ? With a father wrapped in mystery, a lover
nameless and shrouded in the obscurity of some Olympian
height, and her only confident and messenger a Bacchus in-
stead of a Mercury ! Heigh ho ! And in another hour Don
Juan — he told me I might call him John — will be waiting for
me outside the convent wall ! What if Diego fails me ."^ To
go there alone would be madness ! Who else would be as
charmingly unconscious and inattentive as this American
vagabond ! \_Goes to L.] Ah, my saddle and blanket
hidden ! He has been interrupted. Some one has been
watching. This freak of my father's means something. And
to-night, of all nights, the night that Oakhurst was to disclose
himself, and tell me all ! What is to be done ? Hark !
[Diego, without, sittgitig.]
"Oh, here's your aguardiente.
Drink it down ! "
8 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
Joviia. It is Diego ; and, Mother of God ! drunk
again !
Enter Sandy, carrying pack, intoxicated ; staggers to centre,
and, observing Jovita, takes off his hat respectfully.
Jovita {shaking him by the shoulders passionately^ Diego !
How dare you ! And at such a time !
Sandy [with drunken solemnity']. Miss Jovita- 'lid ye evv
know me to be drunk afore at such a time ?
Jovita. No.
Sandy. Zachy so. It's abnormal. And it means — the
game's up.
jovita. I do not understand. For the love of God,
Diego, be plain !
Sandy \solemnly and drunke7ily\ When say your game's
up, I mean the old man knows it all. You're blowed upon.
Hearken, miss ! \Seriously and soberly.'] Your father
knows all that I know ; but, as it wasn't my business to
interfere with, I hev sorter helped along. He knows that
you meet a stranger, an American, in these rides with me.
Jovita {passionately]. Ingrate ! You have not dared to
tell him ! [Seising him by the collar, and threatening him
with the horsewhip.]
Sandy {rising with half-drunken, half-sober solemnity].
One minit, miss ! one minit ! Don't ye ! don't ye do that !
Ef ye forget (and I don't blame ye for it), ef ye forget that
I'm a man, don't ye, don't ye forget that you're a woman !
Sit ye down, sit ye down, so ! Now, ef ye'U kindly remem-
ber, miss, I never saw this yer man, yer lover, Ef ye'U re-
collect, miss, whenever you met him, I allers hung back and
waited round in the Mission or in the fields beyond for ye,
and allowed ye to hev your own way, it bein' no business o'
mine. Thar isn't a man on the ranch, who, ef he'd had a
mind to watch ye, wouldn't hev known more about yer lover
than 1 da
TWf MEN OF SANDY BAR. 9
yovita [aside] . He speaks truly. He always kept in the
background. Even Don Juan never knew that I had an
attendant until I told him. [Alo!^d.] I made a mistake,
Diego. I was hasty. What am I to do ? He is waiting for
me even now.
Sandy. Well \with drunken gravity] , ef ye can't go to
hirn, I reckon it's the squar thing for him to come to ye.
Jovita. Recollect yourself, Diego. Be a man !
Sandy. Thash jus war I say. Let him be a man, and
come to ye here. Let him ride up to this ranch like a man,
and call out to yer father that he'll take ye jist as ye are, with-
out the land. And if the old man allows, rather than hev ye
marry that stranger, he'll give this yer place to the church,
why, let him do it, and be damned.
yovita \j-ecoiling, aside] . So ! That is their plan. Don
Jose has warked on the fears O'' the cupidity of this drunken
ingrate.
Sandy \with drunken submissioii]. Ye was speaking to
me, miss. Ef ye'll take my advice, — a drunken man's advice,
miss, — ye'll say to that lover of yours, ef he's afeard to come
for ye here, to take ye as ye stand, he ain't no man for ye.
And, ontil he does, ye'll do as the ole man says. Fur ef I do
say it, miss, — and thar ain't no love lost between us, — he's a
good father to ye. It ain't every day that a gal kin afford to
swap a father like that, as she does know, fur the husband
that she donH .' He's a proud old fool, miss ; but to ye, to
ye he's clar grit all through.
Jo-uita [passionately, aside]. Tricked, fooled, like a
child ! and through the means of this treacherous, drunken
tool. [Stamping her foot.] Ah ! we shall see ! You are
wise, you are wise, Don ]os6 ; but your daughter is not a
novice, nor a helpless creature of the Holy Church. [Fas-
sionately.] I'll — I'll become a Protestant to-morrow !
Sandy [unheeding her passion, and becoming more earnest
and selj-possessed]. Ef ye hed a father, miss, ez instead q'
lO TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
harkinin' to your slightest wish, and surroundin' ye with
luxury, hed made your infancy a stru.'^jgle for life among
strangers, and your childhood a disgrace and a temptation ;
ef he had left ye with no company but want, with no com-
panions but guilt, with no mother but suffering ; ef he had
made your home, this home, so unhappy, so vile, so terrible,
so awful, that the crowded streets and gutters of a great city
was something to fly to for relief ; ef he had made his pre-
sence, his very name, — your name, miss, allowin' it was your
father, — ef he had made that presence so hateful, that name
so infamous, that exile, that flyin' to furrin' parts, that wan-
derin' among strange folks ez didn't know ye, was the only
way to make life endurable ; and ef he'd given ye, — I mean
this good old man Don Jos^, miss, — ef he'd given ye as part
of yer heritage a taint, a weakness in yer very blood, a fond-
ness for a poison, a poison that soothed ye like a vampire
bat and sucked yer life-blood [seisi/ii^ her arm] ez it soothed
ye ; ef this curse that hung over ye dragged ye down day by
day, till, hating him, loathing him, ye saw yerself day by day
becoming more and more like him, till ye knew that his fate
was yours, and yours his, — why then. Miss Jovita \7-isiiig witli
an hysterical, drunken langli], why then, I'd run away with
ye myself, — I would, damn me !
Jovita \who has been withdraiving from him scornfiil/y\
Well acted, Diego. Don Josd should have seen his pupil.
Trust me, my father will reward you. \_Aside.'\ And yet
there were tears in his drunken eyes. Bah ! it is the liquor :
he is no longer sane. And, either hypocrite or imbecile, he
is to be trusted no longer. But where and why is he going ?
[A/ond.] You are leaving us, Diego.
Sandy [gnietiy]. Well, the old man and me don't get on
together.
Jovita \scornfully\ Bueno ! I see. Then you abandon me.''
Sandy \ijuiLkly\ To the old man, miss, — not the young
one. \\Valks to the table, and begins to pour out liquor.]
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. II
Jovita {nngrilyiX. You would not dare to talk to me thus,
if John Oakhurst — ah ! \CliCLking }iC7-sclfi\
Sandy \cirops glass on tabic, hurries to cetitre, and seizes
Dona Jovita]. Eh ! Wot ! Wot name did you say ?
l^Looks at her amazed and bewildered?^
Jovita \terrified, aside\. Mother of God ! What have I
done ? Broken my sacred pledge to keep his name secret ?
No ! No ! Diego did not hear me ! Surely this wretched
drunkard does not know him. \_Aloudi\ Nothing. I said
nothing : I mentioned no name.
Sandy [still amazed, frightened, and bewildered, passing his
hand over his forehead slowly\ Ye mentioned no name ?
Surely. I am wild, crazed. Tell me, miss — ye didn't — I
know ye didn't, but I thought it sounded like it, — ye didn't
mention the name of — of — of — John Oakhurst ?
Jovita \]nirriedly\ No, of course not ! You terrify me,
Diego. You are wild.
Sandy [dropping her hand with a sigh of relief \ No, no I
In course ye didn't. I was wild, miss, wild ; this drink has
confused me yer. [Pointing to his head.] There are times
when I hear that name, miss, — times when I see his face.
[Sadly.] But it's when I've took too much — too much.
I'll drink no more — no more ! ^ to-night — to-night ! [Drops
his head slowly in his hajids.]
Jovita [looking at Diego — aside]. Really, I'm feeling
very uncomfortable. I'd like to ask a question of this maniac.
But nonsense ! Don Juan gave me to understand Oakhurst
wasn't his real name ; that is, he intimated there was some-
thing dreadful and mysterious about it that mustn't be told,
— something that would frighten people. Holy Virgin I it
has ! Why, this reckless vagabond here is pale and agitated.
Don Juan shall explain this mystery to-night. But then,
how shall I see him ? Ah, I have it. The night of the last
festa, when I could not leave the rancho, he begged me to
show a light from the flat roof of the upper corridor.
12 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
that he might know I was thinking of him, — dear fellow!
He will linger to-night at the Mission ; he will see the
light ; he will know that I have not forgotten. He will ap-
proach the rancho ; I shall manage to slip away at mid-
night to the ruined Mission. I shall — ah, it is my father !
Holy Virgin ! befriend me now with self-possession. [Stands
quietly at L., looking toward Sandy, who still remains buried
in thought, as —
Enter Don Jose ; regards his daughter and Diego with a
sarcastic smile.
Don yose' [aside]. Bueno! It is as I expected, — an ex-
planation, an explosion, a lover's quarrel, an end to romance.
From his looks I should say she has been teaching the ad-
venturer a lesson. Good ! I could embrace her. [Crosses
to Sandy — aloud.'] You still here !
Sandy [rising with a start]. Yes ! I — a — I was only
taking leave of Miss Jovita, that hez bin kind to me. She's
a good gal, ole man, and won't be any the worse when I'm
gone. — Good-bye, Miss Jovita [extending his hand] : I wish
ye luck.
Jovita [coldly]. Adios, friend Diego. [Aside, hurriedly^
^•'ou will not expose my secret?
Sandy [aside]. It ain't in me, miss. [7i? Don JoSE,^^/;/^.]
Adios, ole man. [Shouldering his _pac/c.]
Don Jose. Adios, friend Diego. [Formally^] May good
luck attend you ! [Aside.] You understand, on your word
as — as — as — a gentleman ! — you have no further com-
munication with this rancho, or aught that it contains.
Sandy [g7-avely]. I hear ye, ole man. Adios. [Goes to
gateway, but pauses at tabic, and begins to Jill a glass oj
aguardiente^
Don Jose [aside, looking at his daughter]. I could embrace
her now. She is truly a Castro. [Aloud to ]OWir\.] Hark
ve, little one! I have news that will nlcase vou, and — who
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 1 3
knows .'—perhaps break up the monotony of the dull life ot
the rancho. To-night come to me two famous caballcros,
Ainc7-ica)~ios, you understand : they will be here soon, even
now. Retire, and make ready, to receive them. \Exit
JOVITA.]
Don Jose\aside, looking at Sandy]. He lingers. I shall
not be satisfied until Concho has seen him safely beyond the
Mission wall.
Enter CONCHO.
Concho. Two caballcros have dismounted in the corral,
and seek the honour of Don Jose's presence.
Don Jose. Biieno ! [Aside.] Follow that fellow beyond
he Mission. [A/oud.] Admit the strangers. Did they give
.heir names ?
Concho. They did, Don Josd, — Col. Culpepper Starbottle
and the Don Alexandre Morton.
Sandy \dropping glass of aguardiente, and staggering
stupidly to the centre^ confi-onting DonJose tr;;*^ Concho,
still holding bottle\ Eh ! Wot ? Wot name did you say t
[Looks stupidly and aniazedly at CoNCHO and DON JOSE,
and then slowly passes his hand over his forehead. Then
slowly and apologetically.'] I axes your pardon, Don Jose,
and yours, sir [to CONCHo], but I thought ye called me.
No! — that ez — I mean — I mean — I'm a little off colour
here [pointing to his head]. I don't follow suit — I — eh —
eh ! Oh ! — ye'll pardon me, sir, but thar's names — perhaps
yer darter will remember that I was took a bit ago on a
name — thar's names sorter hangin' round me yer [pointing
to his head], that I thinks I hear — but bein' drunk — I hopes
ye'll excoos me. Adios. [Staggers to gateway, CONCHO
following?^
Concho [aside]. There is something more in this than Don
Jose would have known. I'll watch Diego, and keep an eye
on Miss Jovita too.
14 TWO I\rEN OK PA.VDY BAR.
Exit, following Sandv, who, in exit, jostles against COL.
Starbottle entering, wlio stot)s and leans exhaiistedlv at
the wall to get his breath; followi)ig hi;n closely, and
oblivious ^Z" Sandy Morton, Alexander Morton, sen.
Enter CoL. Starbottle rt;/^ Alexander Morton, sen.
Scene 2. — The same.
Col. Starbottle {entering, to DON Jose]. Overlooking the
insult of — er — inebriated individual, whose menial positk'
in this — er — er — household precludes a demand for personal
satisfaction, sir, I believe I have the honour of addressing
Don Josd Castro. Very good, sir. Permit me, sir, to intro-
duce myself as Col. Culpepper Starbottle — demn me ! the
legal adviser of Mr. Alexander Morton, sen., and I may
add, sir, the friend of that gentleman, and as such, sir — er
— er — personally — personally responsible.
Alexander Morton {puritanically and lugubrionsly'\. As a
God-fearing and forgiving Christian, Mr. Castro, I trust you
will overlook the habitual profanity of the erring but well-
meaning man, who, by the necessities of my situation, ac-
companies me. I am the person — a helpless sinner —
mentioned in the letters which I believe have preceded me.
As a professing member of the Cumberland Presbyterian
Church, I have ventured, in the interest of works rather
than faith, to overlook the plain doctrines of the church in
claiming sympathy of a superstitious Papist.
Starbottle {interrupting, aside to ALEXANDER Morton].
Ahem ! ahem ! {Aloud to Don Josil.] My friend's manner,
sir, reminds me of — er — er — Ram Bootgum Sing, first sec
retary of Turkish legation at Washington in '45 ; most
remarkable man — demn me — most remarkable — and warm
personal friend. Challenged Tod Robinson for putting him
next to Hebrew banker at dinner, with remark — demn me — •
that they were both believers in the profit ! he, he ! Amus-
ing, perhaps ; irreverent, certainly. Fought with cimeters.
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 1 5
Second pass, Ram divided Tod in two pieces — fact, sir - just
here [poiiiinig] in — er — er — regions of moral emotions.
Upper half called to me, — said to me warningly — last word;
—never forget it,— " Star,"— always called me Star,— " Re-
spect man's religious convictions." Legs dead ; emotior
confined to upper part of body — pathetic picture. Ged, sir
something to be remembered !
Don Jose [luiih grave Spanish courtesy]. You are wel-
come, gentlemen, to the rancho of the Blessed Fisherman.
Your letters, with their honourable report are here. Believe
me, senores, in your modesty you have forgotten to mention
your strongest claim to the hospitality of my house,— the
royal right of strangers.
Morton. Angels before this have been entertained as
strangers, says the Good Book ; and that, I take it, is your
authority for this ceremoniousness, which else were but lip-
service and Papist airs. But I am here in the performance
of a duty, Mr. Castro,— the duty of a Christian father. I am
seeking a prodigal son. I am seeking him in his wine-husks
and among his harl —
Starbottlc \internipting\. A single moment. \To Don
Jose.] Permit me to— er — er — explain. As my friend Mr.
Morton states, we are, in fact, at present engaged in — er —
er — quest — er — pilgrimage that possibly to some, unless
deterred by considerations of responsibility — personal re-
sponsibility — sir — Ged, sir, might be looked upon as vision-
ary, enthusiastic, sentimental, fanatical. We are seeking a
son, or, as my friend tersely and scripturally expresses it —
er — er — prodigal son. I say scripturally, sir, and tersely,
but not, you understand it, literally, nor I may add, sir,
legally. Ged, sir, as a precedent, I admit we are wrong. To
the best of my knowledge, sir, the — er ~ Prodigal Son
sought his own father. To be frank, sir,— and Ged, sir, if
Culpepper Starbottle has a fault, it is frankness, sir. As
Nelse Buckthorne said to me in Nashville, in '47, "You would
l6 TWO WEN OF SANDY BAR.
infer, Col. Starbottle, that I equivocate." I replied, " I do,
sir ; and permit me to add that equivocation has all the guilt
of a lie, with cowardice superadded." The next morning at
nine o'clock, Ged, sir, he gasped to me — he was lying on
the ground, hole through his left lung just here \illustrating
with Don Josh's coat\ — he gasped, " If you have a merit.
Star, above others, it is frankness ! " his last words, sir, —
demn me. . . . To be frank, sir, years ago, in the wild exu-
berance of youth, the son of this gentleman left his — er —
er — er • — boyhood's home, ovving to an innocent but natural
misunderstanding with the legal protector of his youth —
Morton \intej-rnpting gravely and dc)imrely\. Dri\en from
home by my own sinful and then unregenerate hand —
Starbottle \quickly\. One moment, a simple moment. We
will not weary you with — er — er — history, or the vagaries
of youth. He — er — came to California in '49. A year ago,
touched by — er — er — parental emotion and solicitude, my
friend resolved to seek him here. Believing that the — er —
er — lawlessness of — er — er — untrammelled youth and
boyish inexperience might have led him into some trifling in-
discretion, we have sought him successively in hospitals,
almshouses, reformatories, State's prisons, lunatic and ine-
briate asylums, and — er — er — even on the monumental
inscriptions of the — er — er — country churchyards. We
have thus far, I grieve to say, although acquiring much and
valuable information of a varied character and interest, as far
as the direct matter of our search, — we have been, I think I
may say, unsuccessful. Our search has been attended with
the — er — disbursement of some capital under my — er — er
— direction, which, though large, represents quite inade-
quately the -^ er — er ^ — • earnestness of our endeavours.
Enter Manuela.
Manuela \to Don Jose]. The Doaa Jovita is waiting to
receive you.
rWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 17
Don Josi\to Morton]. You shall tell me further of your
interesting- pilgrimage hereafter. At present my daughter
awaits us to place this humble roof at your disposal. I am a
widower, Don Alexandre, like yourself. When I say that,
like you, I have an only child, and that I love her, you will
understand how earnest is my sympathy. This way,
gentlemen. \Leading to door in corridor, and awaiting
them .]
Starbottle [aside]. Umph ! an interview with lovely woman
means — er — intoxication, but-^er — er — no liquor. It's evi-
dent that the Don doesn't drink. Eh ! \Catclies sight of
table in corridor, and dottie.'] Oh, he does, but some absurd
Spanish formality prevents his doing the polite thing before
dinner. [Aloud, to Don Jose.] One moment, sir, one
moment. If you will — er — er — pardon the — er — seeming
discourtesy, for which I am, I admit — er — personally re-
sponsible, I will for a few moments enjoy the — er — er —
delicious air of the courtyard, and the beauties of Nature as
displayed in the — er — sunset. I will — er — rejoin you and the
— er — er — ladies a moment later.
Do7t Jose. The house is your owP', senor: do as you will.
This way, Don Alexandre.
{Exit, in door L., DuN JoSE and MORTON, sen.
Starbottle. " Do as you will." Well, I don't understand
Spanish ceremony, but that's certainly good English. \Going
to table.] Eh ! {Smelling decanter.^ Robinson-County
whisky ! Umph ! I have observed that the spirit of
American institutions, sir, is already penetrating the — er — er
— superstitions of — er — foreign and effete civilizations.
[PoKJ's out glass of whisky, and drinks j pours again, and
observes Manuela watching him i'espectfully?\ What the
Devil is that girl looking at Eh ! {Puts down glass ^l
Manuela {aside]. He is fierce and warlike. Mother of
God ! But he is not so awful as that gray-haired caballero,
ivho looks like a fasting St. Anthony. And he loves aguar-
l8 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
diente : he will pity poor Diego the more. \^Aloud?^ Ahem
Scnor. [Courtesies coqiiettishly^
Col. Starbottle \aside\. Oh, I see. Ged ! not a bad-look-
ing girl, — a trifle dark, but Southern, and — er — tropical.
Ged, Star, Star, this won't do, sir ; no, sir. The filial affec-
tions of ^neas are not to be sacrificed through the blandish-
ments of — er — Dodo — I mean a Dido.
Maniiela. O seilor, you are kind, you are good ! You are
an Americaiio, one of a great nation. You will feel sympathy
for a poor young man, — a mere nuichaco, — one of your own
race, who was a vaquero here, seflor. He has been sent
away from us here, disgraced, alone, hungry, perhaps penni-
less. [ Wipes her ejes.]
Col. Starbottle. The Devil ! Another prodigal. [Aloiidl\
My dear, the case you have just stated would appear to be
the — er — er — normal condition of the — er — youth of America.
But why was he discharged } \Poiiring out liqnor?\
Mamcela {demurely glancing at the toloncl]. He was
drunk, senor.
Starbottle \potently\ Drunkenness, my child, which is — ■
er — weakness in the — er — er — gentleman, in the subordin-
ate is a crime. What — er — excites the social impulse and
exhilarates the fancy of the — er — master of the house, in the
performance of his duty, renders the servant unfit for his.
Legally it is a breach of contract. I should give it as my
opinion, — for which I am personally responsible, — that your
friend Diego could not recover. Ged I [Aside^ I wonder if
this scapegoat could be our black sheeo.
Manuela. But that was not all, scnor. It was an excuse
only. He was sent away for helping our young lady to a
cavalier. He was discharged because he would not be a
traitor to her. He was sent away because he was too
good, too honourable, — \.oo— [Bursts out eryi//g.]
Starbottle [aside]. Oh, the Devil ! t/iis is no Sandy Mor-
ton. [Coming forward gravely.] I have never yet analyzed
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 19
the — er — er — character of the young gentleiaan I have the
honour to assist in restoring to his family and society ; but
judging — er — cahnly — er — dispassionately, my knowledge ol
his own father— from what the old gentleman must have been
in his unregenerate state, and knowing what he is now in his
present reformed Christian condition, I should say calmly
and deliberately that the son must be tht; most infernal and
accomplished villain unhung. Ged, 1 have a thought, an
inspiration. [To Manuela, tapping tier under the chin.'] I
see, my dear ; a lover, ha, ha ! Ah, you rogue ! Well, well,
we will talk of this again. I will — er — er — interest myself in
this Diego. [Exit Manuela.]
Starbottle \soliis\. How would it do to get up a prodigal ?
Umph. Something must be done soon : the old man grows
languid in his search. My position as a sinecure is — er — in
peril. A prodigal ready-made ! But could I get a scoundrel
bad enough to satisfy the old man ? Ged, that's serious.
Let me see : he admits that he is unable to recognize his own
son in face, features, manner, or speech. Good ! If I could
pick up some rascal whose — er — irregularities didn't quite fill
thebill, and could say — Ged! — that he was reforming. Reform-
ing ! Ged, Star ! That very defect would show the hereditary
taint, demn me ! I must think of this seriously. Ged, Star!
the idea is — an inspiration of humanity and virtue. Who
knows ? it might be the saving of the vagabond, — a crown of
glory to the old man's age. Inspiration, did I say "i Ged,
Star, it's a duty, — a sacred, solemn duty, for which you are
responsible, — personally responsible.
Lights down half. Enter from corridor L., MORTON>
Don Jose, the Dona Jovita, and Manuela.
Dona Jovita {stepping forward with exaggerated Spanish
courtesy]. A thousand graces await your Excellency, Com-
mander Don — Don
Starbottle [bowing to the gromid with equal delight and
exaggerated courtesy] . Er — Coolpcpero !
t
20 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
Dona Jovita. Don Culpepero ! If we throw ourselves
unasked at your Excellency's feet \courtesy\ , if we appear
unsought before the light of your Excellency's eyes
\conrtesy\, if we err in maidenly decorum in thus seeking
unbidden your Excellency's presence \coic7-tesy\ , believe us,
it is the fear of some greater, some graver indecorum in our
conduct that has withdrawn your Excellency's person from
us since you have graced our roof with your company. We
know, Sefior Commander, how superior are the charms of
the American ladies. It is in no spirit of rivalry with them,
but to show — Mother of God ! — that we are not absolutely
ugly, that we intrude upon your Excellency's solitude.
[Aside.] I shall need the old fool, and shall use him.
Co/. Starbottle \who has been bowing and saluting with
equal extravagance, during this speech — aside] . Ged !
she is beautiful! [Aloud.] Permit me — er — er — Doiia
Jovita, to correct — Ged, I must say it! correct erroneous
statements. The man who should — er — utter in my presence
remarks disparaging those — er — charms it is my privilege to
behold, I should hold responsible, — Ged ! personally re-
sponsible. You — er — remind me of — er — incident, trifling
perhaps, l)ut pleasing, Charleston in '52, — a reception at
John C. Calhoun's. A lady, one of the demnedest beautiful
women you ever saw, said to me, " Star ! " — she always
called me Star, — " you've avoided me, you have, Star ! I
fear you are no longer my friend." — " Your friend, madam ? "
I said. "No, I've avoided you because I am your lover."
Ged, Miss Jovita, a fact — demn me ! Sensation. Husband
heard garbled report. He was old friend, but jealous, rash,
indiscreet. Fell at first fire — umph — January 5th. Lady —
beautiful woman -never forgave : went into convent. Sad
affair. And all a mistake— demn me, — all a mistake,
through perhaps extravagant gallantry and compliment. I
lingered here, obi" ious re-rhacs of — er — beauty, in the enjoy-
ment of Nature
TWO ^[EN OF SANDV BAR. 21
Dotia Jovita. Is there enough for your Excellency to
share with me, since it must be my rival ? See, the fog is
clearing away : we shall have moonlight. [Don Jose and
Morton seat themselves at table.^^ Shall we not let these
venerable caballeros enjoy their confidei:'"es and experiences
together? [Aside.] Don Jose watches me like a fox, does
not intend to lose sight of me. How shall I show the light
three times from the court>'ard roof? I have it ! [Ta^es
Starbottle's arm.] It is too pleasant to withdraw.
There is a view froin the courtyard wall your Excellency
should see. Will you accompany me? The ascent is
easy.
Starbottle [bowing]. I will ascend, although, permit me
to say, Dona Jovita, it would be — er — impossible for me to
be nearer — er — heaven, than — er — at present.
Dona Jovita. Flatterer ! Come, you shall tell me about
this sad lady who died. Ah, Don Culpcpero, let me hops all
your experiences will not be so fatal to us ! [Exeunt DONA
Jovita and Starbottle.]
Morton [aside]. A frowaid daughter of Baal, and, if I
mistake not, even now concocting mischief for this foolish,
indulgent, stiff-necked father. [Alot/d.] Your only dauglitcr,
I presume.
Don Jose. My darling, Don Alexandre. Motherless from
her infancy. A little v/ild, and inclined to gaiety, but I hope
not seeking for more than these walls afford. I have checked
her but seldom, Don Alexandre, and then I did not let her
see my hand on the rein that held her back. I do not ask
her confidence always : I only want her to know that when
the time comes it can be given to me without fear.
Morton. Umph !
Don Jose [leanittg forward conjidentially]. To show that
you have not intrusted your confidence regarding your way-
ward son — whom may the saints return to you ! — to un-
sympathetic or inexperienced ears, I will impart a secret
32 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR,
A few weeks ago I detected an innocent intimacy between
tiiis foolish girl and a vagabond vaqiiero in my employ.
You understand, it was on her part romantic, visionary ; on
his, calculating, shrewd, self-interested, for he expected to
become my heir. I did not lock her up. I did not tax her
with it. I humoured it. To-day 1 satisfied the lover that his
investment was not profitable, that a marriage without my
consent entailed the loss of the property, and then left them
together. They parted in tears, think you, Don Alexandro ?
No, but mutually hating each other. The romance was
over. An American would have opposed the girl, have
driven her to secrecy, to an elopement perhaps. Eh ?
Morfon \sco7')!fu/ly']. And you believe that they have
abandoned their plans ?
Don yost\ — I am sure — hush ! she is here !
Enter, on roof of corridor, Starbottle ««<f Jovita.
Col. Starbottle. Really, a superb landscape ! An admir-
able view of the — er — fog — rolling over the Mission Hills,
the plains below, and the — er — er — single figure of — er —
motionless horseman
Dona Jovita {gjackly]. Some belated vaqiiero. Do you
smoke, Seiior Commander?
Starbottle. At times.
Dofia Jovita. With me. I will light a cigarette for you
it is the custom.
Col. Starbottle draws match from his pocket, and is about
to light, but is stopped by Dona Jovita.
Doiia jfovita. Pardon, your Excellency, but we cannot en-
dure your American matches. There is a taper in the passage.
Col. Starbottle brings taper : Dona Jovita turns to light
cigarette, but manages to bhw out candle.
Doiia Jovita. I must try your gallantry again. That is
once I have failed, {Signijicantly.'l
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 23
Col. Starbottle relights candle, hisin- is, savie results.
Dotia Jovita. I am stupid and nervous !o-night. I have
failed twice. [IVitli emphasis^
Col. Starbottle repeats business with candle. Dona
Jovita lights cigarette, hands it to the colonel.
Dofia Jovita. Thrice, and I have succeeded. \^Blows
out candle^
Col. Starbottle. A thousand thanks ! There is a — er — er
— hght on the plain.
Dona Jovita [hastilj']. It is the vaqueros returning. My
father gives a.festa to peons in honour of your arrival. There
will be a dance. You have been patient, Senor Commander :
you shall have my hand for a w^altz.
Enter 7'aqueros, their wii'es and daughters. A dance,
during which the " sembi caiica " is danced by CoL.
Starbottle and Dona Jovita. Business, during which
the bell of Mission Church, faintly illuminated beyond
the wall, st7-ikes twelve. Dancers withdraw hurriedly,
leaving alone Manuela, Dona Jovita, Col. Star-
bottle, Don Jose, and Concho. Concho fo)-mally
hands keys to DON JOSE.
Don Jose [deliverittg keys to Morton with stately ini-
pressiveness\ Take them, Don Alexandre Morton, and
with them all that they unlock for bliss or bale. Take them,
noble guest, and with them the homage of this family, —
to-night, Don Alexandre, your humble servants. Good-night,
gentlemen. May a thousand angels attend you, O Don
Alexandre and Don Culpepero !
Dofia Jovita. Good-night, Don Alexandre. May your
dreams to-night see all your wishes fulfilled ! Good-night,
O Sefior Commander. May she you dream of be as happy
as you !
j\T-inuela and Concho \together\ Good-night, O sefiores
and illustrious gentlemen ! May the Blessed Fisherman
•^4- TWO MKN OF SANDY BAR.
watch over you ! i Botli parties retreat into opposite corridors',
bowing. "l
Manuela. Concho. Morton.
Don Jose. Jovita. Starbottle.
Scene 3. — The same. Stage darkened. Fog passing
beyond wall outside, and occasionally obscuring moonlit
landscape beyond. Enter JOVITA softly, from corridor L.
Her face is partly hidden ly Spanish mantilla.
y^vita. All quiet at last ; and, thanks to much aguardiente
my warlike admirer snores peacefully above. Yet I could
swear I heard the old Puritan's door creak as I descended !
Pshaw! What matters! \^Goes to gateway, and tries gate^^
Locked ! Carramba ! I see it now. Under the pretext of
reviving the old ceremony, Don Jose has locked the gates,
and placed me in the custody of his guest. Stay ! There
is a door leading to the corral from the passage by Concho'r
room. Bueno .' Don Jose shall see ! \_Exit R.]
Enter cautiously R. Old Morton.
Old Morton. I was not mistaken ! It was the skirt of
that Jezebel daughter that whisked past my door a moment
ago, and her figure that flitted down that corridor. So ! The
lover driven out of the house at four p.m., and at twelve
o'clock at night the young lady trying the gate secretly.
This may be Spanish resignation and filial submission, bu'
it looks very like Yankee disobedience and forwardness.
Perhaps it's well that the keys are in my pocket. This fond
confiding Papist may find the heretic American fathe>" of
some service. \Conccals himself behind pillar of corridor^
After a pause the head of John Oakhurst appears over the
wall of corridor : he climbs up to roof of coj-ridor, and
descends very quietly and deliberately to stage.
Oakhurst {dusting his clothing with his handkerchief y
I
I
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 2$
I never knew before why these Spaniards covered their adobe
if alls with whitewash. [Leans against pillar in shado%v!\
Re-enter ]oyyxK, hastily.
Jovita. All is lost ; the corral door is locked ; the key
s outside, and Concho is gone, — gone where ? Madre de
Dios ! to discover, perhaps to kill him.
Oakhtirst \approaclnng her\ No.
Jovita. Juan ! [Embracing him i\ But how did you get
lere ? This is madness !
Oakhierst. As you did not come to the Mission, I came
;o the rancho. I found the gate locked - - by the way, is not
hat a novelty here .'' — -I climbed the wall. But you. Miss
Castro, you are trembling ! Your little hands are cold !
Jovita [glancing around]. Nothing, nothing ! But you
ire running a terrible risk. At any moment we may be
discovered.
Oakhtirst. I understand you : it would be bad for the
discoverer. Never fear, I will be patient.
Jovita, But I feared that you might meet Concho.
Oakhurst. Concho — Concho — [meditatively]. Let me
5ee, — tall, dark, long in the arm, weighs about one hundred
md eighty, and active.
Jovita. Yes ; tell me ! You have met him ?
Oakhurst. Possibly, possibly. Was he a triend of yours .-•
Jovita. No !
Oakhurst. That's better. Are his pursuits here sedentary,
3r active .''
Jovita. He is my father's major-domo.
Oakhurst. I see : a sinecure. [Aside^ Well, if he has
;o lay up for a week or two, the rancho won't suffer.
Jovita. Well ?
Oakhurst. Well !
Jovita [passionately]. There, having scaled the wall, at
:he risk of being discovered — this is all you have to say !
Turning away!]
12
i6 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
Oaklmrst [qu/etfy]. Perhaps, Jovita [^takhtg her hand
with grave earnestness], to a clandestine intimacy like ours
there is but one end. It is not merely elopement, not merely
marriage, it is exposure ! Sooner or later you and I must
face the eyes we now shun. What matters if to-night or
later ?
Jovita \(jiiickly\. I am ready. It was j'ou who —
Oakhurst. It was I who first demanded secrecy ; but it
was I who told you when we last met that I would tell you
why to-night.
Jovita. I am ready ; but hear me, Juan, nothing can
change my faith in you !
Oakhurst \sadly\. You know not what you say. Listen,
jTiy child. I am a gambler. Not the man who lavishes his
fortune at the gaming-table for excitement's sake ; not the
fanatic who stakes his own earnings — perhaps the confided
earnings of others— on a single coup. No, he is the man
who loses, — whom the world deplores, pities, and forgives.
I am the man who wins — whom the world hates and
despises.
Jovita. I do not understand you, Juan.
Oakhurst. So much the better, perhaps. But you must
hear me. I make a profession — an occupation more exact-
ing, more wearying, more laborious, than that of your meanest
herdsman — of that which others make a dissipation of the
senses. And yet, Jovita, there is not the meanest vaqticro in
this ranch, who, playing against me, winning or losing, is
not held to be my superior. I have no friends — only con-
federates. Even the woman who dares to pity me must do ,
it in secret. '
Jovita. But you will abandon this dreadful trade. As the
son of the rich Don Jose, no one dare scorn you. My father]
will relent. I am his heiress.
Oakhurst. No more, Jovita, no more. If I were the man
who could purchase the world's respect through a woman's ^
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 27
weakness for him, I should not be here to-night. I am not
here to sue your father's daughter with hopes of forgiveness,
promises of reformation. Reformation, in a man hke me>
means cowardice or self-interest. [Old Morton, becoming
excited, leans slowly otitfrom the shadow of the pillar, listen-
ing intently^ I am here to take, by force if necessary, a
gambler's wife, — the woman who will share my fortunes, my
disgrace, my losses ; who is willing to leave her old life of
indulgence, of luxury, of respectability, for mine. You are
frightened, little dove : compose yourself [soothing her
tenderly and sadly"] ; you are frightened at the cruel hawk
who has chosen you for a mate.
Old Morton \aside\ God in heaven ! This is like HIM !
like me I — like me, before the blessed Lord lifted me into
regeneration. If it should be ! \_Leans forward anxiously
frotn pillar.']
Oakhurst \aside]. Still silent ! Poor dove, I can hear her
foolish heart flutter against mine. Another moment decides
our fate. Another moment : John Oakhurst and freedom, or
Red Gulch and — she is moving. \To JOVITA.] I am harsh,
little one, and cold. Perhaps I have had much to make me
so. But when [with feeling] I first met you ; when, lifting
my eyes to the church-porch, I saw your beautiful face ;
when, in sheer recklessness and bravado, I raised my hat to
you ; when you — you, Jovita — lifted your brave eyes to mine,
and there, there in the sanctuary, returned my salute, — the
salutation of the gambler, the outcast, the reprobate, — then,
then I swore that you should be mine, if I tore you from the
sanctuary. Speak now, Jovita : if it was coquetry, speak
now — I forgive you ; if it was sheer wantonness, speak now
— I shall spare you ; but if
Jovita [throwing herself in his arms]. Love, Juan ! I
am yours, now and forever. [Pause^ But you have not told
me all. I will go with you to-night — now. I '.eave behind
me all, — my home, my father, my — [pause] my name. You
■28 TWO IMEN OF SANDY BAR.
have forgotten, Juan, you have not told me what I change
thatiox : you have not told vhq yours.
Old Morton, in eager excitement, leans beyond shadow of
pillar.
Oakhurst \embracing her tenderly, with a smile]. If I
have not told you who I am, it was because, darling, it was
more important that you should know what I am. Now that
you know that — whj- — [embnrrassedly'] I have nothing more
to tell. I did not wish you to repeat the name of Oakhurst
— because — [aside] how the Devil shall I tell her that Oak-
hurst was my real name, after all, and that I only feared she
might divulge it? — [aloud] because — because— [determinedly]
I doubted your ability to keep a secret. My real name is —
[loolcs up, and sees MORTON leaning beyond pillar] is a secret.
[Pause, in which Oakhurst slowly recovers his coolness.] It
will be given to the good priest who to-night joins our fate
forever, Jovita, — forever, in spite of calumny, opposition, or
spies I the padre whom we shall reach, if enough life remains
in your pulse and mine to clasp these hands together. [A/ter
a pause.] Are you content ?
jovita. I am.
Oakhurst. Then there is not a moment to lose. Retire,
and prepare yourself for a journey. I will wait here.
Jovita. I am ready now.
Oakhurst [looking toward pillar]. Pardon, my darling :
there was a bracelet — a mere trifle — I once gave you. It is
not on your wrist. I am a trifle superstitious, perhaps : it was
my first gift. Bring it with you. I will wait. Go !
[Exit Jo VITA.
Oakhurst watches her exit, lounges indifferently toward
gate ; when opposite pillar, suddenly seises Morton by \
the throat, and drags hint noiselessly to centre.
Oaklnirst [hurriedly]. One outcry, — a single word, — and
it is your last. I care not who you may be ! — who I am, —
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 29
you have heard enough to know, at least, that you are in the
grip of a desperate man. \_Keys fall from Morton's hand.
Oakhurst seizes ihem?\ Silence ! on your life.
Moi-lon \struggling\. You would not dare ! I command
you—
Oakhurst [dragging him to gateway]. Out you must go.
Morton. Stop, I command you. / never turned my father
out of doors !
Oakhurst {gazing at Morton]. It is an old man ! I
release you. Do as you will, only remember that that girl is
mine forever, that there is no power on earth will keep me
from her.
Morton. On conditions.
Oakhurst. Who are you that make conditions ? You are
not — her father ?
Morton. No, but I am yours! Alexander Morton, I
charge you to hear me.
Oakhurst [starting in astonishment ; aside\. Sandy
Morton, my lost partner's father ! This is fate.
Morton. You are astonished ; but I thought so. Aye, you
will hear me now ! I am your father, Alexander Morton,
who drove you, a helpless boy, into disgrace and misery. I
know your shameless life : for twenty years it was mine, and
worse, until, by the grace of God, I reformed, as you shall.
I have stopped you in a disgraceful act. Your mother —
God forgive me ! — left her house, for my arms, as wickedly,
as wantonly, as shamelessly —
Oakhurst. Stop, old man ! Stop ! Another word [seiz-
ing hi)n\., and I may forget your years.
Morton. But not your blood. No, Alexander Morton, I
have come thousands of miles for one sacred purpose, — to
save you ; and 1 shall, with God's will, do it now. Be it so,
on one condition. You shall have this girl; but lawfully,
openly, with the sanction of Heaven and your parents.
Oakhurst ^ aside]. I see a ray of hope. This is Sandy's
3
30 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
father ; the cold, insensate brute, who drove him into exile,
the one bitter memory of his life. Sandy disappeared, irre-
claimable, or living alone, hating irrevocably the author of
his misery ; why should not I
Morton \co7itintiing\. On one condition. Hear me,
Alexander Morton. If within a year, you, abandoning your
evil practices, your waj'ward life, seek to reform beneath my
roof, I will make this proud Spanish Don glad to accept you
as the more than equal of his daughter.
Oakhtirst \aside\. It would be an easy deception. Sandy
has given me the details of his early life. At least, before
the imposition was discovered I shall be — \AUnid.\ I — I —
\_Asidc^ Perdition ! she is coming ! There is a light moving
in the upper chamber. Don Jose is awakened. \Aloud.\ I
- — I — accept.
Morton. It is well. Take these keys, open yonder gate,
and fly ! {^As Oakhurst hesitates.'] Obey me. I will meet
your sweetheart, and explain all. You will come here at
daylight in the morning, and claim admittance, not as a
vagabond, a housebreaker, but as my son. You hesitate
Alexander Morton, I, your father, command you. Go !
Oakhurst _o-d?^.y to the gate, opens it, as the sound of DiEGOi't
voice, singing in the fog, comes faintly in,
O yer's your Sandy Morton,
Drink him down !
O yer's your Sandy Morton,
Drink him down !
O j-er's your Sandy Morton,
l-"or he's drunk, and goin' a-courtin'.
O yer's your Sandy Morton,
Drink him down !
Oakhurst recoil: against gate, Morton hesitates, as win-
dow in corridor opens, and Don Jose calls from tipper
corridor.
Don Jose. Concho ! \_Pause.\ 'Tis that vagabond Diego,
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAiv. 3I
lost his way in the fog. Strange that Concho should have
overlooked him. I will descend.
Morto7i \to Oakhurst]. Do you hear ?
Exit Oakhurst throiegh gateway. Morton closes gate,
and retitrtis to cent7'e. Enter Jovita htirriedly.
Jovita. I have it here. Quick ! there is a light in Don
Jose's chamber ; my father is coming down. \Sees Morton,
and screams?^
Morton \seizing Jier\. Hush ! for your own sake ; for his ;
control yourself. He is gone, but he will return. \To Jovita,
still strtiggHttg.'] Hush, I beg, Miss Jovita. I beg, I com-
mand you, my daughter. Hush !
Jovita \whispering\. His voice has changed. What does
this mean ? \Aloiid^ Where has he gone? and why are
you here ?
Morton [slozvly and seriously']. He has left me here to
answer the unanswered question you asked him. {Enter
Don Jose and Col. Starbottle, r. andi.^ I am here to
tell you that I am his father, and that he is Alexander
Morton.
TABLEAUX.
Curtain.
1END OF ACT %
32 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
ACT II.
trw
Scene I. — Red Gulch. Canon of river, and distant vi
of Sierras, sjtow-ravined. Sclioolhouse of logs in right
middle distance. Ledge of rocks in cetitn'. On steps of
schoolhouse two large btmches of flowers. Enter Star-
BOTTLE, sloivly climbing rocks L., panting and exhausted.
Seats himself on rock, foreground, ana wipes his face with
h is pocket-h andkercJi ief.
Starbottle. This is evidently the — er — locality. Here are
the — er — groves of Academus — the heights of — er — Ida !
I should say that the unwillingness which the — er — divine
Shakespeare points out in the — er — " whining schoolboy"
is intensified in — er— climbing this height, and the — er —
alacrity of his departure must be in exact ratio to his gravi-
tation. Good idea. Ged ! say it to schoolma'am. Wonder
what she's like ? Humph ! the usual thin, weazened, hatchet-
faced Yankee spinster, with an indecent familiarity with
Webster's Dictionary ! And this is the woman. Star, you're
expected to discover, and bring back to affluence and plenty.
This is the new fanaticism of Mr. Alexander Morton, sen.
Ged ! not satisfied with dragging his prodigal son out of
merited obscurity, this miserable old lunatic commissions me
to hunt up another of his abused relatives ; some forty-fifth
cousin, whose mother he had frozen, beaten, or starved to
death ! And all this to please his prodigal ! Ged ! if that
prodigal hadn't presented himself that morning, I'd have
picked up — er — some — er — reduced gentleman — Ged
that knew how to spend the old man's money to better ad-
vantage. S^Musing^ If this schoolmistress were barely
good-looking, Star, — and she's sure to have fifty thousand
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 33
Tom the old man — Ged, you might get even with Alexander,
;en., for betrothing his prodigal to Dona Jovita, in spite of
;he — er — evident preference that the girl showed for you.
Zapital idea ! If she's not positively hideous I'll do it !
lied ! I'll reconnoitre first ! [M?/sm^.] I could stand one
;ye ; yes — er — single eye would not be positively objection-
ible in the — er — present experiments of science toward the
— er — the substitution of glass. Red hair, Star, is — er —
i^'enetian, — the beauty of Giorgione. [Goes up to schooUumse
'vindow, and looks i;i.] Too early ! Seven empty benches ;
leven desks splashed with ink. The — er — rostrum of the
iwful Minerva empty, but — er — adorned with flowers, nose-
gays — damn me ! And here, here on the — er — very
hreshold {lookifig dowti], floral tributes. The — er — conceit
)f these JNew England schoolma'ams, and their — er —
;vident Jesuitical influence over the young, is fraught, sir,
"raught with — er — darkly political significance. Eh, Ged I
here's a caricature on the blackboard. [Laui^hing^ Ha,
la ! Absurd chalk outline of ridiculous fat person. Evi-
iently the schoolma'am's admirer. Ged ! immensely funny!
\h ! boys will be boys. Like you, Star, just like you, —
ilways up to tricks like that. A sentence scrawled below
he figure seems to be — er — explanation. Hem! [Ta/ct's
-lilt eyeglass?\^ Let's see \j-eading\. " This is old " — old —
;r — • old — demme, sir ! — " Starbottle ! " This is infamous.
I haven't been forty-eight hours in the place, and to my
:ertain knowledge haven't spoken to a child. Ged, sir, it's
;he — er — posting of a libel! The woman, the — er —
"emale, who permits this kind of thing, should be made re-
sponsible — er — personally responsible. Eh, hush ! What
nave we here ? [Retires to ledge of roc/cs.]
Enter Miss Mary l., reading letter.
Miss Mary. Strange ! Is it all a dream ? No ! here ar(
.he familiar rocks, the distant snow-peaks, the schoolhouse
34 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
the spring below. An hour ago I was ihe poor schoolmistress
of Red Gulch, with no ambition nor hope beyond this moun-
tain wall ; and now — oh, it must be a dream ! But here is
the letter. Certainly this is no delusion : it is too plain,
formal, business-like. [I^eads-I
My dear Cousin, — I address the only surviving child of
my cousin Mary and her husband John Morris, both deceased.
It is my duty as a Christian relative to provide you with a
home, — to share with you that wealth and those blessings
that a kind Providence has vouchsafed me. I am aware that
my conduct to your father and mother, while in my sinful and
unregenerate state, is no warrantee for my present promise ;
but my legal adviser. Col. Starbottle, who is empowered to .
treat with you, will assure you of the sincerity of my inten-
tion, and my legal ability to perform it. He will conduct you
to my house ; you will share it's roof with me and my pro-
digal son Alexander, now by the grace of God restored, and
mindful of the error of his ways. I enclose a draft for one
thousand dollars : if you require more, draw upon me for the
same.
Your cousin,
Alexander Morton, Sen.
My mother's cousin — so ! Cousin Alexander ! a rich man,
and re-united to the son ne urove jnto shameful exile.
Well ! we will see this confidential lawyer ; and until then-lM
until then — why, we are the schoolmistress of Red Gulcn
and responsible for its youthful prodigals. \Gomg to schooi\
house door.^
Af/ss Maty \stoppittg to examine flowers\. Poor, poo
Sandy ! Another offering, and, as he fondly believes, un
known and anonymous ! As if he were not visible in every
petal and leaf ! The maj-iposa blossom of the plain. TheJp'''
spow-flower I longed for, from those cool snowdrifts beyond
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 35
the ridge. And I really believe he was sober when he
arranged them. Poor fellow ! I begin to think that the
dissipated portion of this community are the most interest-
ing. Ah ! some one behind the rock, — Sandy, I'll wager.
No ! a stranger !
Col. Star-bottle \aside, and advaticing\. If I could make
ler think I left those flowers ! {^Aloiid.'\ When I state
hat — er — I am perhaps — er — stranger —
Miss Mary \interrnpting him coldly]. You explain, sir,
r^our appearance on a spot which the rude courtesy of even
his rude miner's camp has preserved from intrusion.
Starbottle {slightly abashed., but recovering himself]. Yes
— Ged! — that is, I — er — saw you admiring — er — tribute
- er — humble tribute of flowers. I am myself passionately
levoted to flowers. Ged! I've spent hours — in— er —
)ending over the — er — graceful sunflower, in — er —
)lucking the timid violet from the overhanging but reluctant
)ough, in collecting the — er — er —fauna — I mean the —
r — flo}-a — of this — er — district.
Miss Alary [who has been regarding him intently]. Permi
fie to leave you in uninterrupted admiration of them
Handing himfloiuers.] You will have ample time in your
Durney down the gulch to indulge your curiosity !
lands SxARBOTTLEyZ^w^rj', enters schoolhouse, and quietly
closes door on Starbottle as Sandy Morton enters
cautiously and sheepishly from left. Sandy stops in
asto}iishment on observing Starbottle, and remains by
wing left.
Starbottle {smelling flowers, and not noticing Miss Mary's
bsence]. Beautiful — er — exquisite. {Looking 2ip at closed
oor.] Ged ! Most extraordinary disappearance ! {Looks
round, and discovers Sandy ; examines hitn for a motnent
'trough his eyeglass, and then, after a pause, inflates his
hest, turns his back on Sandy, afid advances to schoolhouse
36 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
door, Sandy comes quickly, and, as Starbottle raises his
cane to rap on door, seizes his arm. Both men, regarding
each other fixedly, holding each other, retreat slowly and
cautiously to centre. Then Starbottle disengages his arm.']
Sandy \embarrassedly but determinedly^ Look jer,
stranger. By the rules of this camp, this place is sacred to
the schoolma'am and her children.
Starbottle \with lofty severity]. It is ! Then — er — permit
me to ask, sir, whatjjv// are doing here.
Sandy [embarrassed, and dropping his head in confusion],
I was — passing. There is no school to-day.
Starbottle, Then, sir, Ged ! permit me to— er — demand
— demand, sir — an apology. You have laid, sir, your hand
upon my person — demn me ! Not the first time, sir, either ;
for, if I am not mistaken, you are the — er — inebriated menial,
sir, who two months ago jostled me, sir, — demn me, — as I
entered the rancho of my friend Don Jose Castro.
Sandy [starting, aside]., Don Jose ! [Aloud.] Hush,
hush ! She will hear you. No — that is — [stops, coj fused
and embarrassed. Aside,] She will hear of my disgrace.
He will tell her the whole story.
Starbottle. I shall await your apology one hour. At the
end of that time, if it is not forthcoming, 1 shall — er — er —
waive your menial antecedents, and expect the — er — satis-
faction of a gentleman. Good-morning, sir. [Turns to
schoolhouse,]
Sandy, No, no : you shall not go !
Starbottle, Who will prevent me ?
Sandy [i^>'i^ppli>ig, him]. I will. [Appealingly.] Look
yer, stranger, don't provoke me, 1, a dc^>pcrate man, despe-
rate and crazed with drink, — don't ye, don't ye do
it ! For God's sake, take your hands off me ! Ye don't
know what ye do. Ah ! [Wildly, holding Starbottlr
firmly, and forcing him backward to precipice beyond ledgA
of rocks.] Hear me. Three years ago, in a moment like'
for(
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 37
lis, I dragged a man — my friend — to this precipice. I —
— no! no! — don't anger me now! [Sandy's grip on
1 TAR BOTTLE relaxes slightly, and his head droops.']
Starbottle {coolly]. Permit me to remark, sir, that any
eminiscence of your — er — friend — or any other man is —
r — at this moment, irrelevant and impertinent. Permit me
D point out the — er — fact, sir, that your hand is pressing
eavily, demned heavily, on my shoulder.
Sandy {fiercely]. You shall not go !
Starbottle {fiercely]. Shall not ?
struggle. Starbottle draws derringer from his breast-
pocket, and Sandy seizes his arm. In this position both
parties struggle to ledge of rocks, and COL. Starbottle is
forced partly over.
Miss Mary {opening schoolhouse door]. I thought I heard
'oices. {Looking toward ledge of rocks, where COL. Star-
SOTTLE and Sandy are partly hidden by trees. Both men
■e lax grasp of each other at MiSS Mary'S voice.]
Col. Starbottle {aloud and with voice slightly raised, to
>andy]. By — er — leaning over this way a moment, a
ingle moment, you will — er — perceive the trail I speak of
t follows the caiion to the right. It will bring you to — er
— the settlement in an hour. {To Mlss Mary, as if observ-
7tg her for the first time!] 1 believe I am — er — right ; but,
)eing — er — more familiar with the locality, you can direct
he gentleman better.
sandy slowly sinks on his knees beside rock, with his face
averted from schoolhouse, as CoL. Starbottle disengages
himself, and advances jauntily and gallantly to scIiooHiousc.
Col. Starbottle. In — er — er — showing the stranger the
— er — way, I perhaps interrupted our interview. The — er
— observances of — er — civility and humanity must not be
oregone, even for — er — the ladies. I — er — believe I
38 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
address Miss Mary Morris. When I — er — state that my
name is Col. Starbottle, charged on mission of — er — delicate
nature, I believe I — er — explain my intrusion.
Miss Mary bows, and motions to schoolhouse door; CoL.
Starbottle, bowing deeply, enters j but Miss Mary re-
mains standing by door, looking toward trees that hide
Sandy.
Miss Mary [asidel . I am sure it was Sandy's voice ! But
why does he conceal himself.''
Sandy [aside, rising slowly to his feet, with his back to
schoolhouse door]. Even this conceited bully overcomes me,
and shames me with his readiness and tact. He was quick
to spare her — a stranger — the spectacle of two angry men.
I — I — - must needs wrangle before her very door ! Well,
veil ! better out of her sight forever, than an object of pity
T terror. [Exit slozaly, and with downcast eyes, right?\
Miss Mary [watching-the traH\ It was Sandy ! and this
concealment means something more than bashfulness. Per-
haps the stranger can explain. [E)iters 9choolJwHse, and
closes door."]
Scene 2. — The same Enter Co^cno, lame, cautiously,
from R. Pauses at K., and then beckons to Hop Sing, who
follows R.
Concho [i)npafiently\ Well ! you saw him .''
Hop Sing. Me see him.
Concho. And you recognized him ?
Hop Sing. No shabe likoquize.
Coficho [furiously']. You knew him, eh ? Carramba ! You
k}iew him ?
Hop Sing [slowly and sententiously\ Me shabe man you
callee Diego. Me shabbee Led Gulchee callee Sandy. Me
shabbee man Poker Flat callee Alc.xandlee Molton. Allee
same, John ! Allee same !
Concho [rubbing his hands]. Bueno ! Good John ! good
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 39
John ! And you knew he was called Alexander Morton ?
And go on — good John — go on !
Hop Sing. Me plentee washee shirtee — Melican man
Poker Flat. Me plentee washee shirt Alexandlee Molton.
Always litee, litee on shirt alles time. {Pointing to tail of
his blouse, and imitating writing with fingeri] Alexandlee
Molton. Melican man tellee me — shirt say Alexandlee Molton
— shabbee .''
Concho. Bueno ! Excellent John. Good John. His linen
marked Alexander Morton. The proofs are gathering !
\crosscs to c] — the letter 1 found in his pack, addressed to
Alexander Morton, Poker Flat, which first put me on his
track ; the story of his wife's infidelity, and her flight with his
partner to Red Gulch, the quarrel and fight that separated
them, his flight to San Jose, his wanderings to the Mission of
San Carmel, to the rancho of the Holy Fisherman. The
record is complete !
Hop Sing. Alexandlee Molton
Concho {hurriedly returning to HOP Sing]. Yes ! good
John ; yes, good John — go on. Alexander Morton
Hop Sing. Alexandlee Molton. Me washee shirt, Alex-
andlee Molton ; he no pay washee. Me washee flowty dozen
hep — four bittie dozen — twenty dollar hep. Alexandlee
Molton no payee. He say, " Go to hellee ! " You pay me
[extending his hand\
Concho. Car — ! [checking himself^ Poco tiempo, John !
In good time, John. Forty dollar — yes. Fifty dollar ! To-
morrow, John.
Hop Sing. Me no likee " to-mollow ! " Me no likee " nex
time, John ! " Alice time Melican man say, " Chalkee up,
John," " No smallee change, John," — umph. Plenty foolee
me !
Concho. You shall have your money, John ; but go now
— you comprehend. Carratnba ! go ! [Pushes Hop Sing
to wing.]
<|.0 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
Hop Sing \expostulatins,\ Flowty dozen, hep, John !
twenty dollar, John. Sabe. Flowty — twenty — [gesticulating
with fingers^
[Exit Hop Sing, pushed off by Concho.
Concho. The pagan dolt ! But he is important. Ah, if
he were wiser, I should not rid myself of him so quickly !
And now for the schoolmistress, — the sweetheart of Sandy.
If these men have not lied, he is in love with her ; and, if he
is, he has told her his secret before now ; and she will be
switt to urge him to his rights. If he has not told her —
umph ! [laughing'] it will not be a day — an hour — before she jc:
will find out if her lover is Alexander Morton, the rich man's
son, or " Sandy," the unknown vagabond. Eh, friend Sandy ! -
It was a woman that locked up your secret ; it shall be a
woman, Madre di Dies I who shall imlock it. Ha ! [Goes to
door of sclwolhouse as door opens, and appears COL. Star-
BOTTLE.]
Concho [aside]. A thousand devils ! the lawyer of the old
man Morton. [Aloudi] Pardon, pardon ! I am a stranger.
I have lost my way on the mountain. I am seeking a trail.
Senor, pardon !
Starbottle [aside]. Another man seeking the road ! Ged,
I believe he's lying too. [Aloud.] It is before you sir, down,
— down the mountain.
Concho. A thousand thanks, senor. [Aside.] Perdition
catch him ! [Aloud.] Thanks, senor. [Exit R.
Starbottle. Ged, I've seen tliat face before. Ged, it's Cas-
tro's major-domo. Demn me, but I believe all his domestics
have fallen in love with the pretty schoolma'am.
Enter Miss Vl.wi^ from ichoolhouse.
Miss Mary [slowly refolding letter]. You arc aware, then,
of the contents of this note ; and you are the friend of Alex-
ander Morton, sen. ?
CoJ Starbottle. Permit me a moment, a single moment.
ir,
on
on
lai
S
\
■e-
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 4I
to — er- er — explain. I am Mr. Morton's legal adviser.
There is — ^ er — sense of — er — responsibility, — er — per-
sonal responsibility, about the term " friend,'' that at the —
er — er — present moment I am not — er — prepared to as-
sume. The substance of the letter is before you. I am here
o — er — express its spirit. I am here \with great gallantry]
o express the — er — yearnings of cousinly affection. I am
iware — er — that ottr conduct, — if I may use the — er — the
)lural of advocacy, — I am aware that — • er — our conduct
las not in the past years been of — er — er — exemplary
haracter. I am aware that the — er — death of our lamented
ousin, your sainted mother, was — er — hastened — I may
- er —say — pre — cip — itated — by our — er — indiscretion,
kit we are here to — er — confess judgment — witti — er —
r — costs.
Miss Mary {interrupting]. In other words, your client, my
ousin, having ruined my father, having turned his own
idowed relation out of doors, and sent me, her daughter,
mong strangers to earn her bread ; having seen my mother
nk and die in her struggle to keep her family from want, —
lis man now seeks to condone his offences — pardon me.
r, if I use your own legal phraseology — by offering me a
3me; by giving me part of his ill-gotten wealth, the associa-
on of his own hypocritical self, and the company of his
lameless, profligate son
Starbottle {interrupting]. A moment, Miss Morris, — a
ngle moment ! The epithets you have used, the — er — •
gorous characterisation of our — er — conduct, is — er —
thin the — er — strict rules of legal advocacy, correct. We
e — er — rascals ! we are — er — scoundrels ! we are — er
well I am not — er — prepared to say that we are not —
— demn me — hypocrites ! But the young man you speak
— our son, whose past life (speaking as Col. Starbottle) no
e more sincerely deprecates than myself, — that young
m has reformed ; has been for the past few months z,
_■ : ■'
42 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
miracle of sobriet)-, decorum, and industry ; has takei
thanks to the example of — er — friends, a position of int
grity in his father's business, of filial obedience in his father
household ; is, in short, a paragon ; and, demn me, I dou
if he's his father's son.
Miss Mary. Enough, sir ! You are waiting for my answe
There is no reason why it should not be as precise, as brie
and as formal as your message. Go to my cousin ; say th
you saw the person he claims as his relation ; say that y(
found her, a poor school-mistress, in a rude mining-cam
dependent for her bread on the scant earnings of alreac
impoverished men, dependent for her honour on the ru<
chivalry of outcasts and vagabonds ; and say that then ai
there she repudiated your kinship, and respectfully declin<
your invitation.
Starbottle \aside\ Ged ! Star ! this is the — er — fema
of your species! This is the woman — the — er — oi
woman — for whom you are responsible, sir ! — personal
responsible !
Miss Mary \coldly!\ You have my answer, sir.
Col. Starbottle. Permit me — er— single moment,—
single moment ! Between the — er — present moment, ai
that of my departure — there is an — er — interval of twel
hours. May I, at the close of that interval — again prese
myself — without prejudice, for your final answer ?
Miss Mary \indifferently\ As you will, sir. I shall
here.
Col. Starbottle. Permit me. {Takes her hand gal la7it I
Your conduct and manner. Miss Morris, remind me — er-
singularly — of — er — beautiful creature — one of the —
— first families. [^Observing MiSS Mary regarding h\
amusedly , becomes embarrassed.'] That is — er — I mean
er — er — good morning, Miss Morris! {Passes by schoi
house door retreating and boiving, and picks up flowers fri
door-step^ Good morning !
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 43
Miss Mary. Excuse me, Col. Starbottle \T.vith winning
liteness], but I fear I must rob you of those flowers. I
:ognize them now as the offcrin.s; of one of my pupils. I
ir I must revoke my gift {taking floivers from astonished
loneVs hand], all except a single one for your buttonhole,
ave you any choice, or shall 1 [archly'] choose for you ?
len it shall be this. {Begins to place flowers in buttonhole,
)L. Starbottle exhibiting extravagant gj-atitude in dtanb
ow. Business prolonged through MiSS Mary's speech].
I am not wrong, colonel, the gentleman to whom you so
ndly pointed out the road this morning was not a stranger
you. Ah ! I am right. There, — one moment, — a
rig of green, a single leaf, would set off the pink nicely.
ere he is known only as " Sandy : " you know the absurd
ibits of this camp. Of course he has another name. There!
eleasing the coloftel] it is much prettier now.
Col. Starbottle. Ged, madam ! The rarest exotic — the
ictoria Regina — is not as — er — graceful — er — tribute !
Miss Mary. And yet you refuse to sat^isfy my curiosity?
Col. Starbottle \_with great e)nbarrassnie7it, which at last re-
ives itself into increased dignity of manner?^ What you
.k is — er — er — impossible! You are right: the — er —
;ntleman you allude to is known to me under — er — er
-another name. But honour — Miss Morris, honour ! — seals
e lips of Col. Starbottle. \Aside^^ If she should know he
as a menial ! No ! The position of the man you have
lallenged, Star, must be equal to your own. [Aloud.] Any
ling. Miss Morris, but — er — that !
Miss Mary [smiling]. Be it so. Adios, Col. Starbottle.
Col. Starbottle [gallantly]. Au revoir. Miss Morris.
[Exit, impressively, left.
Miss Mary. So ! Sandy conceals another name, which he
thholds from Red Gulch. Well ! Pshaw ! What is that to
; ? The camp is made up of refugees, — men who perhaps
ve good reason to hide a name that may be infamous, iho
44 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
name that would publish a crime. Nonsense ! Crime ai
Sandy ! No ! shame and guilt do not hide themselves
those honest but occasionally somewhat bloodshot eye
Besides, goodness knows ! the poor fellow's weakness
palpable enough. No, that is not the reason. It is no gu
that keeps his name hidden, — at least, not his. [Seati,
herself, and arf'anging flowers in her lap^ Poor Sandy ! '.
must have climbed the eastern summit to get this. See, t
rosy sunrise still lingers in its very petals ; the dew is fre
upon it. Dear little mountain baby ! I really believe th
fellow got up before daylight, to climb that giddy height ai
secure its virgin freshnc-ss. And to think, in a moment
spite, I'd have given it to that bombastic warrior ! \_Pmts
That was a fine offer you refused just now, Miss Mai
Think of it : a home of luxury, a position of assured respe
and homage ; the life I once led, with all its difficult!
smoothed away, its uncertainty dispelled, — think of it ! A
poor mother's dream fulfilled, — I, her daughter, the mistre
of affluence, the queen of social power ! What a tempt
tion ! Ah, Miss Mary, tons it a temptation ? Was the
nothing in your free life here that stiffened your couras
that steeled the adamant of your refusal 1 or was it only t
memory of your mother's wrongs .' Luxury and weak!
Could you command a dwelling more charming than thi
Position and respect ! Is not the aweful admiration of the
lawless men more fascinating than the perilous flattery
gentlemen like Col. Starbottle ? is not the devotion of the
outcasts more complimentary than the lip-service of pc
fumed gallantry "i \_Pa7ise?\^ It's very odd he doesn't coirj
I wonder if that conceited old fool said anything to hiij
\R.ises, a7id then seats herself stnilingA^ W^ has come. I
is dodging in and out of the manganita bushes below t
spring. I suppose he imagines my visitor still here. T
bashful fool ! If anybody should see him, it would be enou,
to make a pelty scandal ! I'll give him a talking to. {fans
TWO MRN of SANt)Y 6AR. 4^
wonder if the ridiculous fool has gone to sleep in those
ishes. [Rise's.] Well, let him : it will help him to recover
5 senses from last night's dissipation ; and you, Miss Mary,
is high time you were preparing the lessons for to-morrow.
'ors to schooI/iouse, enters door, and slams it beltind her;
'tcr a vwincnt re-appears with empty bucket^ Of course
ere's no water, and I am dying of thirst. \Goes slowly to
7, ajid pauses embarrassedly and bashfully ., presently laughs,
then suddenly frowns, and assumes an appearance of indig-
'tion.l Miss Mary Morris, have you become such an egre-
Dus fool that you dare not satisfy the ordinary cravings of
man nature, just because an idle, dissipated, bashful block-
ad — nonsense ! [£.rit, brandishing pail.
Scene 3. — The Same.
[A pause. Sandy's voice, without.] This way, miss ; the
lil is easier.
[Miss Mary's voice, without.] Never mind me: look
er the bucket.
nter Sandy, carrying bucket with water, followed by Miss
Mary. Sandy sets bucket down.
Miss Ma^y. There, you've spilt half of it. If it had beei
lisky, you'd have been more careful.
Sandy \stibvnssively]. Yes, miss.
Miss Mary \aside]. " Yes, miss ! " The man will drive
5 crazy with his saccharine imbecility. [Aloud^ I believe
u would assent to anything, even if I said you were — an
ipostor !
Sandy \amasedly]. An impostor. Miss Mary ?
Miss Mary. Well, I don't know what other term you use in
;d Gulch to express a man who conceals his real name
ider another.
Sandy \cmbarrassed, but facing MisS Mary]. Has anybody
4
46 TWO MEN OP SANDY BAR.
been tellin' ye I was an impostor, miss ? Has that derne
old fool that I saw ye with
Miss Alary. " That old fool," as you call him, was to
honourable a gentleman to disclose your secret, and tooloy^
a friend to traduce you by an epithet. Fear nothing, M;
" Sandy :" if you have limited your confidence to one frienc
it has not been misplaced. But, dear me, don't think/ wis
to penetrate your secret. No. The little 1 learned was ac
cidental. Besides, his business was with me : perhaps, as hi
friend, you already know it.
Sandy \jneekly\ Perhaps, miss, he was too honourable
gentleman to disclose your secret. His business was wit
me.
aMiss Mary [aside]. He has taken a leaf out of my book
He is not so stupid, after all. [A/oud.] /havenosecre
Col. Starbottle came here to make me an offer.
Sandy [recoiling]. An offer !
Miss Mary. Of a home and independence. [Aside.] Poc
fellow! how pale he looks ! [Aloud.] Well, you see, I ar
more trustful than you. I will tell you viy secret ; and yo
shall aid me with your counsel. [T/iey sit on ledge of rocks
Listen ! My mother had acousin once, — a cousin cruel,cowardl3
selfish, and dissolute. She loved him, as women are apt t
love such men, — loved him so that she beguiled her ow:
husband to trust his fortunes in the hands of this wretche
profligate. The husband was ruined, disgraced. The wif
sought her cousin for help for her necessities. He met he
with insult, and proposed that she should fly with him.
Sandy. One moment, miss : it wasn't his pardner — hi
pardner's wife — eh 1
Miss Mary [inipa/icnily']. It was the helpless wife of hi
own blood, I tell you. The husband died broken-hearted
The wife, my mother, struggled in povert)', under the shadox
of a proud name, to give me an education, and died while
was still a girl. To-day this cousin, — this more than mui
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 47
rerof my parents, — old, rich, self-satisfied, reformed, invites
;, by virtue of that kinship he violated and despised, to his
me, his wealth, his — his family roof-tree ! The man you
w was his agent.
Sandy. And you
Miss Mary. Refused.
Sandy \^passi/ig his liand over his forehead\ You did wrong,
iss Mary.
Miss Mary. Wrong, sir ? \Rising^
Satidy \Jitiinbly but Jiri)ily\ Sit ye down. Miss Mary. It
I't for ye to throw your bright young life away yer in this
ice. It ain't for such as ye to soil your fair young hands
raking in the ashes to stir up the dead embers of a family
ong. It ain't for ye — ye'U pardon me, Miss Mary, for
yin' it — it ain't for ye to allow when it's too late fur a man
reform, or to go back of his reformation. Don't ye do it.
iss, fur God's sake, — don't ye do it ! Harkin, Miss Mary.
ye'U take my advice — a fool's advice, maybe — ye'll go.
id when I tell ye that that advice, if ye take it, will take the
nshine out of these hills, the colour off them trees, the
^shness outer them flowers, the heart's blood outer me, —
;'ll know that I ain't thinkin' o' myself, but of ye. And 1
Duldn't say this much to ye. Miss Mary, but you're goin'
v'ay. There's a flower, miss, you're wearin' in your bosom,
a flower I picked at daybreak this morning, five miles away
the snow. The wind was blowing chill around it, so that
y hands that dug for it were stiff and cold ; but the roots
ere warm, Miss Mary, as they are now in your bosom. Ye'll
;ep that flower. Miss Mary, in remembrance of my love for
% that kept warm and blossomed through the snow. And,
)n't start. Miss Mary, — for ye'll leave behind ye, as I did,
e snow and rocks through which it bloomed. I axes your
irding, miss : I'm hurtin' yer feelin's, sure.
Miss Mary [risi/ii^ with agitatioi{\. Nothing, — nothing;
It climbing these stupid rocks has made me giddy : that's
48 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
all. Your arm. [To Sandy i)npatientlyi\ Can't you gi^
me your arm ? [Sandy supports Miss Mary awkward
toward schoolhoiise. At door MiSS Mary pauses^ But
this reformation is so easy, so acceptable, why have you n
profited by it ? Why have you not reformed ? Why have
found you here, a disgraced, dissipated, anonymous outcas
whom an honest girl dare not know? Why do you presun
to preach to me.'* Have you a father ?
Sandy. Hush, Miss Mary, hush ! 1 had a father. Harki
All that you have suffered from a kinship even so far remove
I have known from the hands of one who should have pr
tected me. My father was — but no matter. You, Mi
Mary, came out of your trials like gold from the washin
I was only the dirt and gravel to be thrown away. It
too late, Miss Mary, too late. My father has never sougl
me, would turn me from his doors had I sought him. Perhaj
he is only right.
Miss Maty. But why should he be so different from other:
Listen. This very cousin whose offer I refused had a son,-
wild, wayward, by all report the most degraded of men.
was part of my cousin's reformation to save this son, and,
it were possible, snatch him from that terrible fate whic
seemed to be his only inheritance.
Sandy \cagei-l}'\. Yes, miss.
Miss Mary. To restore him to a regenerated home. Wil
this idea he followed his prodigal to California. I, you unde
stand, was only an after-thought consequent upon his su
cess. He came to California upon this pilgrimage two yea
ago. He had no recollection, so they tell me, by which 1
could recognize this erring son ; and at fiist his search w;
wild, profitless, and almost hopeless. But by degrees, ar
with a persistency that seemed to increase with his hopeles
ness, he was rewarded by fniding some clue to him at — ;
— at
Sandy \excitcdly\ At Poker Flat .?
TWO ]\IEN OF SANDY BAR. 49
Miss Mary. Ah, perhaps you know the story, — at Poker
'lat. He traced him to the Mission of San Carniel.
Sandy. Yes, miss : go on.
Miss Mary. He was more successlul than he deserved,
erhaps. He found him. I see you know the story.
Sandy. Found him ! Found him ! Miss, did you say
)und liim ?
Afiss Mary. Yes, found him. And to-day Alexander
lorton, the reclaimed prodigal, is part of the household 1
m invited to join. So you see, Mr. Sandy, there is still hope,
k^hat has happened to him is only a promise to you. Eh !
Ir. Sandy — what is the matter ? Are you ill ? Your exer-
on this morning, perhaps. Speak to me ! Gracious heavCiiS,
2 is going mad! No! No! Yes — it cannot be — it is —
2 has broken his promise : he is drunk again.
Sandy \_rising, excited mid confiiscd\ Excuse me, miss, I
n a little onsartain here \_poiniing to his ]iead\ I can't — I
sremember — what you said jus' now : ye mentioned the
ime o' that prodigal that was found.
Miss Mary. Certainly : compose yourself, — my cousin's
m, Alexander Morton. Listen, Sandy : you promised ine^
)u know, you said for my sake you would not touch a drop.
Inter cautiously toward schoolhouse the DuCHESS, stops on
observing Sandy, and hides behind rocL}
Sandy \still bewildered and incoherent\ I reckon. Harkin,
iss, is that thar thing Ypoiniing toward rock where
UCHESS is concealed'] — is that a tree, or - — or — a. woman .''
it sorter movin' this way ?
Miss Mary [laying her hand on Sandy's]. Recover your
uses, for Heaven's sake, Sandy, — for 7ny sake ! It is only
:ree.
Sandy [rising"]. Then, miss, I've broke my word with ye :
n drunk. P'r'aps I'd better be a-goin' [looking round con-
iedly] till I'm sober. [Going toward L.]
50 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
Miss Mary [seizing his hand.'] I5ut you'll see me aga
Sandy : you'll come here — ■ before — before — I go ?
Sandy. Yes, miss, — before ye go. [Staggers stupi
toward L. Aside^ Found him ! found Alexander Mortc
It's a third time, Sandy, the third time : it means — it me£
— you're mad ! [Laughs wildly, and exit L.]
Miss Mary [springing to her feet]. There is a myst(
behind all this, Mary Morris, that you — you — must c
cover. That man was not drunk : he had not broken
promise to me. What does it all mean t I have it. I \
accept the offer of this Alexander Morton. I will tell him
story of this helpless man, this poor, poor, reckless Sani
With the story of his own son before his eyes, he cannot 1
interest himself in his fate. He is rich : he will aid me in :
search for Sandy's father, for Sandy's secret. At the wo;
I can only follow the advice of this wretched man, —
advice so generous, so kind, so self-sacrificing. Ah
Scene 4. — The same. Enter the Duchess, showily c
extravagantly dressed. Her matiner at fast is a mixt,
of alternate shyness and bravado.
The Duchess. I heerd tell that you was goin' down
'Frisco to-morrow, for your vacation ; and I couldn't let
go till I came to thank ye for your kindness to my boy,
little Tommy.
Miss Mary [aside. Rising abstractedly, and recalling h
self with an effort!] I see, — a poor outcast, the mother
my anonymous pupil. [Alond^ Tommy! a good boy, -
dear, good little boy.
Duchess. Thankee, miss, thankee. If I am his motl
thar ain't a sweeter, dearer, better boy lives than him. A
if I ain't much as says it, thar ain't a sweeter, dearer, ange
teacher than he's got. It ain't for you to be complimented
me, miss ; it ain't for such as me to be comin' here in brr
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 5 1
-Ay to do it, neither ; but I come to ask a favour, — not for
me, miss, but for the darling boy.
Miss Mary \aside — abstr-actedly\. This poor, degraded
creature will kill me with her wearying gratitude. Sandy
will not return, of course, while she is here. \Aloudi\ Go
on. If I can help you or yours, be assured I will.
The Duchess. Thankee, miss. You see, thar's no one the
boy has any claim on but me, and I ain't the proper person
to bring him up. I did allow to send him to 'Frisco, last
year ; but when I heerd talk that a schoolma'am was comin
up, and you did, and he sorter tuk to ye natril from the first, I
guess I did well to keep him yen For, oh, miss, he loves ye
so much ; and, if you could hear him talk in his party way,
ye wouldn't refuse hint anything.
Miss Mary \with fatigued politeness, and increasing itn-
patience!\ I see, I see : pray go on.
The Duchess [luith quiet per dstcncy^ It's natril he should
take to ye, miss ; for his fathr ;, when I first knowed him,
miss, was a gentleman like yourself ; and the boy must forget
me sooner or later — and I ain't goin' to cry about that.
Miss Mary \inipatie7itly\ Pray tell me how I can serve you.
The Ducliess, Yes, miss ; you see, I came to ask you to
take my Tommy, — God bless him for the sweetest, bestest
boy that lives ! — to take him with you. I've money, plenty ;
and it's all yours and his. Put him in some good school,
whar ye can go and see, and sorter help him to — forget —
liis mother. Do with him what you like. The worst you
can do will be kindness to what he would learn with me.
You will : I know you will ; won't you? You will make him
IS pure and as good as yourself; and when he has grown up,
ind is a gentleman, you will tell him his father's name, — the
lame that hasn't passed my lips for years, — the name of
'Vlexander Morton.
Miss Mary \aside\ Alexander Morton ! The prodigal !
\h, I see, — the ungathered husks of his idle harvest.
52 TWO MEN or SANDY BAR.
The Duchess. You hesitate, Miss Mary. \Seizing ht
Do not take your hand away. You are smiling. God bl
you ! I know you will take my boy. Speak to me, Miss Ma
Miss Maty [a/oud]. I will take your child. More tl:
that, I will take him to his father.
The Duchess. No, no ! for God's sake, no, Miss Mai
He has never seen him from his birth : he does not know h
He will disown him. He will curse him, — will curse me
Miss Mary. Why should he ? Surely his crime is wo
than yours.
The Duchess. Hear me, Miss Mary. [Aside.] How (
I tell her? [A/oud.] One moment, miss. I was once —
may not believe it, miss — as good, as pure, as you. I I
a husband, the father of this child. He was kind, good, ea
forgiving, — too good for me, miss, too simple and uns
pecting. He was what the world calls a fool, miss : he loi
me too well, — the kind o' crime, miss, — beggin' your p
don, and all precepts to the c ontrairy, — the one thing t
women like me never forgi /es. He had a pardner, m
that governed him as he never governed me ; that held I
with the stronger will, and maybe 7ne too. I was young, m
— no older than yourself then ; and I ran away with h
— left all, and ran away with my husband's pardner.
husband — nat'rally — took to drink. I axes your pare
miss ; but ye'll see now. allowin' your larnin', that Alexan
Morton ain't the man as will take my child.
Afiss Mary. Nonsense. You are wrong. He has
formed ; he has been restored to his home, — your chi'
home, your home if you will but claim it. Do not fear
will make that right.
Etiter Sandy sloivly and sheepishly, R. ; stops on observ
the Duchess, and stands amazed and motionless.
Miss Mary {obscrvin;:; Sandy — asidt\ He has return
Poor fellow ! How shall I get rid of this woman.'' \_AIol
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 53
Enough. If you are sincere, I will take your child, and, God
help me ! bring him to his home and yours. Are you satisfied ?
The DiicJu-ss. Thank ye! Thank ye, miss; but — but
ihar's a mistake somewhar. In course — it's natural — yc
don't know the father of that child, my boy Tommy, under
the name o' Alexander Morton. Ye're thinking, like as not,
of another man. The man I mean lives yer, in this camp :
they calls him Sandy, miss, — Sandy !
Miss Mary {after a pause, coming forward passionately\
Hush ! I have given you my answer, be it Alexander Mor-
ton or Sandy. Go now : bring me the child this evening at
my house. I will meet you there. {Leads the Duchess to
wins;: The DuCHESS endeavottrs to fall at her feet^
Duchess. God bless you, miss !
Miss Mary \Juirriedly embracing her^ No more, no more
— but go ! [if. r// Duchess. Miss WKYCi returns hurriedly
to certt?'e, confronting Sandy.]
Miss Alary [to Sandy, hurriedly and excitedly']. You have
heard what that woman said. I do not ask you under what
alias you are known here : I only ask a single cjuestion, —
Is she your wife ? are you the father of her child ?
Sandy [sinking Jipon his kiiees before her, and covering his
face with his hands]. I am !
Miss Mary. Enough! [Taking floruer from her bosom^
Here, I give you back the flower you gave me this morning.
It has faded and died here upon my breast. But I shall
replace it with your foundling, — the child of that woman,
born hke that flower in the snow ! And I go now, Sandy,
and leave behind me, as you said this morning, the snow
and rocks in which it bloomed. Good-bye ! Farewell, fare-
well — forever 1 [Goes toward schoolhouse as —
Enter CoL. Starbottle.
Miss Mary [to Starbottle]. You are here in season,
sir. You must have come for an answer to your question.
54 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
You must first give me one to mine. Who is this
\^ppi}iting to Sandy], the man you met upon the rocki
morning?
Col. Starbottlc. Ahem ! I am — er — now fully pre]
and responsible, I may say, miss — er — personally re:
sible, to answer that question. When you asked it
morning, the ordinary courtesy of the — er — code of he
threw a — er — cloak around the — er — antecedents of 1
er — man whom I had — er — elected by a demand for
sonal satisfaction, to the equality of myself, an — er — gc
man! That — er — cloak is now removed. I have w
six hours for an apology or a — er — reply to my den
I am now free to confess that the — er — person you a
to was first known by me, three months ago, as an inebr
menial, — a groom in the household of my friend Don
Castro, — by the — er — simple name of " Diego."
Miss Mary [s/owfy]. I am satisfied. I accept my coi
invitation.
[Exit slowly, supported by CoL. Starbottl
/?.r Starbottle ai^d Miss Mary exeunt r., Concho
Hop Sing enter cautiously L. Sandy slowly rises /(
feet, passes Jiis hand across Jiis forehead, looks aroun
«/«;?/ ^.17/ ^ Star BOTTLE and Miss Mary.
Sandy \slo7vly, but with more calmness of demean
Gone, gone — forever ! No : I am not mad, nor crazed
drink. My hands no longer tremble. There is no confi
here. [Feelittg his forehead.^ I heard them all. It wa
dream. I heard her every word. Alexander Morton,
they spoke of Alexander Morton. She is going to hii
my father. She is going — she, Mary, my cousin — si
going to my father. He has been seeking me — has f(
— ah! {Groans?^ No, no, Sandy ! Be patient, be cj
you are not crazy — no, no, good Sandy, good old boy !
patient, be patient : it is coming, it is coming. Yes, I :
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 55
some one has leaped into my place ; some one has leaped
into the old man's arms. Some one will creep into her
heart! No! by God ! No! I am Alexander Morton. Yes,
yes ! But how, how shall I prove it ? — how ? Who [CONCHO
steps cautiously forzuard toward Sandy iinobserved'\ will
believe the vagabond, the outcast — my God! — the crazy
drunkard ?
. Concho [advattcing, and laying his hand on Sandy]. I
vill !
Sandy \staggering back amazedly\ You !
Concho. Yes, — I, I, — Concho! You know me, Diego,
you know me, — Concho, the major-domo of the Blessed
Fisherman. Ha ! You know me now. Yes, I have come to save
you. I have come to make you strong. So — I have come
to help you strip the Judas that has stepped into your place,
— the sham prodigal that has had the fatted calf and the
.ring, — ah ! ah !
Sandy. You ? You do not know me !
I Concho. Ah ! you think, you think, eh 1 Listen : Since
^ou left I have tracked him — the ii.-tpostor, this Judas, this
j:oyote — step by step, until his tracks crossed yours ; and
hen I sought you out. I know all. I found a letter you
■,iad dropped ; that brought me to Poker Flat. Ah, you
start ! I have seen those who knew you as Alexander
iVIorton. You see ! Ah, I am wise.
J, Sandy \aside\ It is true. \Aloiid^ But \_suspiciottsly'\
r,vhy have you done this ? You, Concho t — you were not
Qny friend.
; Coftcho. No, but he is my enemy. Ah, you start ! Look
^.t me, Alexander Morton, Sandy, Diego ! You knew a man,
j,trong, active, like yourself. Eh ! Look at me now '. Look
^it me, a cripple ! Eh ! lame and crushed here [pointing to
lis leg], broken and crushed here [pointing to his heart], by
,'im,— the impostor ! Listen, Diego. The night I was sent
.0 track you from the rancho, he — this man — struck me
56 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
from the wall, dashed me to the earth, and made my body,
broken and bruised, a stepping-stone to leap the wall into
your place, Diego, — into your father's heart, — into my
master's home. They found me dead, they thought, — no.
not dead, Diego ! It was sad, they said, — unfortunate.
They nursed me; they talked of money- — eh, Diego! —
money ! They would have pensioned me to hush scandal —
eh ! I was a dog, a foreigner, a Greaser ! Eh ! That is
why I am here. No ! I love you not, Diego ; you are of his
race ; but I hate — Mother of God ! ■ — I hate him !
Sandy [rising to his feet, aside"]. Good ! I begin to feel
my courage return : my nerves are stronger. Courage,
Sandy! \Alo2/d.'\ Be it so, Concho : there is my hand ! We
will help each other, — you to my birthright, I to your
revenge ! Hark ye ! [Sandy's manner becomes jnore cairn
and seriot/sJ] This impostor is no craven, no coyote. Who-
ever he is, he must be strong. He has most plausible
evidences. We must have rigid proofs. I will go with you
to Poker Flat. There is one man, if he be living, knows
me better than any man who lives. He has done me wrong,
— a great wrong, Concho, — but I will forgive him. I will
do more, — I will ask his forgiveness. He will be a witness
no man dare gainsay — my partner — God help him and
forgive him as I do ! — John Oakhurst.
Concho. Oakhurst your partner !
Sandy \angrily\ Yes. Look ye, Concho, he has wronged
me in a private way : that is my business, no\.yo7crs; but he
was 7ny partner, no one shall abuse him before me.
Concho. Be it so. Then sink here ! Rot here ! Go back
to your husks, O prodigal ! wallow in the ditches of this
camp, and see your birthright sold for a dram of aguardiente !
Lie here, dog and coyote that you are, with your mistress
under the protection of your destroyer ! For I tell you —
1, Concho, the cripple — that the man who struck me dowr
the man who stepped into your birthright, the man wb-»
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 57
morrow welcomes your sweetheart in his arms, who holds
; custody of your child, is your partner, — John Oakhurst!
Sandy \j.uho has been sinking under CONCHO'S wofdsy
ing convulsively to his fee t\ God be merciful to me a
ner ! [^Fainis.']
'Concho {standing over his prostrate body exnltingly\ I
. right. You are wise, Concho, you are wise ! You have
nd Alexander Morton !
Hop Sing [advancing slowly to Sandy's side, and extend-
<; open pal ni\. Me washee shirt flo you, flowty dozen hab.
u no payee me. Me wantee twenty dollar hep. Sabe !
\Ctirtain^
END OF ACT II.
^4
■ SS TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
ACT III.
Scene i. — The bank parlour of Morion &= Son, San Fra
Cisco. Room richly furnished ; hvo square lib?'ary desi
lefl and right. At right, safe in luallj at left, same wi
practicable doors. Folding-door itiflat C, leading to coio
ing-7-oom. Door in left to private room of Alexander Mortc
sen. ; door in right to private room of Morton, jun. Ale
ANDER Morton, sen., discovered at desk R., opening a,
reading letters.
Morton, sen. [laying d^u'n letter']. Well, well, the usi
story ; letters from all sorts of people, who have done
intend to do all sorts of things for my reclaimed prodig
[^Reads.'] " Dear Sir : five years ago I loaned some mon
to a stranger who answers the description of your recover
son. He will remember Jim Parker,- — Limping Jim,
Poker Flat. Being at present short of funds, please sei
twenty dollars, amount loaned, by return mail. If not co
venient, five dollars will do as instalment." Pshaw ! \Tliro',
letter aside, and takes tip another.] " Dear Sir : I invi
your attention to inclosed circular for a proposed Home i
Dissipated and Anonymous Gold-Miners. Your well-kno\
reputation for liberality, and your late valuable experience
the reformation of your son, will naturally enlist your broade
sympathies. We enclose a draft for five thousand doUa:
for your signature." We shall see ! Another : " Dear Si
the Society for the Formation of Bible Classes in the Upp
Stanislaus acknowledge your recent munificent gift of fi
hundred dollars to the cause. Last Sabbath brother Ha
kins of Poker Flat related with touching effect the story
your prodigal to an assemblage of over two hundred minei
Owing to unusv.'«l expenses, we regret to be compelled
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 59
w upon you for five hundred dollars more."' So ! \Puttmg
m letter.'] If we were given to pride and vain glory, v.p
;ht well be puffed up with the fame of our workj ana the
tagion of our example : yet I fear that, with the worldly-
ided, this praise of charity to others is «nly the prayerful
ectation of some personal application to the praiser
ngs hand-be ll.l
Enter Jackson.
To Jackson.] File these letters \Jtanding letters] with
others. There is no answer. Has young Mr. Alexander
le in yet .''
^ackson. He only left here an hour ago. It was steamer
■ yesterday : he was up all night, sir.
lid Morton \aside\ True. And the night before he tra-
ed all night, riding two hours ahead of one of our default-
agents, and sav'ed the bank a hundred thousand dollars,
•tainly, his devotion to business is unremitting. \_Alond^
y news from Col. Starbottle ?
Jackson. He left this note, sir, early this morning.
lid Morton \takes it, and reads]. " I think I may say, on
own personal responsibility, that the mission is successful.
58 Morris will arrive to-night with a female attendant and
Id." \l^o Jackson.] That is all, sir. Stop ! Has any
; been smoking here ?
tatkson. Not to my knowledge, sir.
lid Morton. There was a flavour of stale tobacco-smoke
the room this morning when I entered, and ashes on the
pet. I k)io%u that young Mr Alexander has abandoned
; pernicious habit. See that it does not occur again.
Jackson. Yes, sir. [Aside.] I must warn Ivlr. Alexander
.t his friends must be more careful ; and yet those ashes
re good for a deposit of fifty thousand.
Old Morton. Is any one waiting.''
Jackson. Yes. sir, — Don Jose Castro and Mr. Capper.
6o TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
Old Morton. Show in the Don : the pohceman can wait.
Jackson. Yes, sir. \^Exit.
Old Mortoit \takmg tip Starbottle's fiote\ " Miss
Morris will arrive to-night." And yet he saw her only
yesterday. This is not like her mother : no. She would
I; ever have forgiven and forgotten so quickly. Perhaps she
knew not my sm and her mother's wrongs ; perhaps she has
— has — Christian forgiveness \_sarcasticall}>\ ; perhaps, like
my prodigal, she will be immaculately perfect. Well, well :
at least her presence will make my home less lonely. "An
attendant and child." A child ! Ah, if /z^, my boy, my Alex-
ander, were still a child, I might warm this cold, cold heart
in his sunshine ! Strange that I cannot reconstruct from this
dutiful, submissive, obedient, industrious Alexander, — this re-
deemed outcast, this son who shares my life, my fortunes, my
heart, — the foolish, wilful, thoughtless, idle boy, that once
defied me. I remember \_tmisitig, with a smile] how the little
rascal, ha, ha ! once struck me, — struck me! — when I cor-
rected him : ha, ha ! \^Riibbi7ig his hands with ajnuscment^
and then suddenly becoming grave and lugubrious.'] No, no.':
These are the whisperings of the flesh. Why should I find'
fault with him for being all that a righteous conversiori
demands, — all that I asked and prayed for? No, Alexander
Morton : it is you, you, who are not yet regenerate. It is you
who are ungrateful to Him who blessed you, to Him whose
guiding hand led you to
Enter Jackson.
jfackson. Don Josd Castro.
Enter Don ]ost.
Don Josd. A thousand pardons, sefior, for interrupting you
in the hours of business ; but it is — it is of business I would
speak. S^Looking around.]
Old Morton [to Jackson]. You can retire. [Exit JACK-
SON.] Be seated, Mr. Castro : I am at your service.
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 6l
Don yose. It is of your — your son
Old Morton. Our firm is Morton & Son : in business we
; one, Mr.. Castro.
Don Jose. Bueno ! Then to you as to him I will speak.
2re is a letter I received yesterday. It has significance,
portance, perhaps. But, whatever it is, it is something for
u, not me, to know. If I am wronged much, Don Alex-
dro,y(?z/, you, are wronged still more. Shall I read it ? Good.
eads?^ " The man to whom you have affianced your
ughter is not the son of Alexander Morton. Have a care.
I do not prove him an impostor at the end of six days,
lieve me one, and not your true friend and servant, Concho."
six days, Don Alexandro, the year of probation is over,
d I have promised my daughter's hand to your son. \_Hands
'ter to Morton.]
Old Mo7'toti\ringing beU\ Is that all, Mr. Castro?
Don Jose. All, Mr. Castro ? Carrainlm ! is it not
ough ?
Enter Jackson.
Old Morton [to Jackson]. You have kept a record of
is business during the last eighteen months. Look at this
:ter. [Handing letter.'} Is the handwriting familiar.''
Jackson [taking letter^. Can't say, sir. The form is the
d one.
Old Morton. How many such letters have you received?
Jackso7i. Four hundred and forty-one, sir. This is the
ur hundred and forty-second application for your son's
)sition, sir.
Don Jose. Pardon. This is not an application : it is only
formation or caution.
Old Aforton [to Jackson]. How many letters of informa-
Dn or caution have we received ?
Jackson. This makes seven hundred and eighty-one, sir.
Old Morton. How, sir ! [Qinckly.'] There were but seven
indredand sevent>-nine last night.
5
62 TWO MEN OF SANDY RAK.
yackson. Beg pardon, sir ! The gentleman who carried
Mr. Alexander's valise from the boat was the Feven hundred
and eightieth.
Old MorioJt. Explain yourself, sir.
Jackso7i. He imparted to me, while receiving his stipend,
the fact that he did not believe young Mr. Alexander was
your son. An hour later, sir, he also imparted to me confi-
dentially that he believed you were his father, and requested
the loan of five dollars, to be repaid by you, to enable him
to purchase a clean shirt, and appear before you in respect-
able condition. He waited for you an hour, and expressed
some indignation that he had not an equal show with others,
to throw himself into your arms.
Do7i Jose \rising, aside, and icplifting Ids hands]. Caf-
rainba ! These Americanos are of the Devil! \Aloiid^
Enough, Don Alexandre ! Then you think this letter is only
worth
Old Morion. One moment. I can perhaps tell you exactly
its market value. \To Jackson.] Go on, sir.
Jackson. At half-past ten, sir, then being slightly under
the influence of liquor, he accepted the price of a deck
passage to Stockton.
Old Morton. How much was that, sir?
yackson. Fifty cents.
Old Morton. Exactly so ! There you have, sir [to Don
J0s6], the market value of the information you have received
1 would advise you, as a business matter, not to pay more.
As a business matter, you can at any time draw upon us for
the amount. [To JACKSON.] Admit Mr. Capper. [Exi/
Jackson.]
Don yose [rising 'ivith dignitj']. This is an insult, Don
Alexandre.
Old Morton. You are wrong, Mr. Castro : it is business;
sought, 1 believe, by yourself. Now that it is transacted, I
beg you to dine with me to-morrow to meet my niece. No
i
i
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 63
fence, sir, no ofifence. Come, come ! Business, you know,
isiness.
Don Josd \relaxmg\ Be it so ! I will come. [Aside.]
hese Americaiios, these Americaiios, are of the Devil !
Uoiid.] Adios. [Go/no-.] I hear, by report, that you have
at with the misfortune of a serious loss by robbery ?
Old Morton \(xside\. So our mishap is known everywhere !
\loud^^ No serious misfortune, Mr. Castro, even if we do
)t recover the money. Adios. [Exit Don Jose.
Old Morton. The stiffnccked Papist ! That he should
ire, for the sake of his black-browed, froward daughter, to
lestion the faith on which I have pinned my future ! Well,
ith God's blessing, I gave him some wholesome discipline,
it were not for my covenant with Alexander, — and nobly
; has fulfilled his part, — I should forbid his alliance with
e blood of this spying Jesuit.
Enter Mr. Jackson, leading in Capper.
Jackson. Policeman, sir. [Exit.
Capper [turning sliarply\. Who's that man .?
Old Morton. Jackson, clerk.
Capper. Umph ! Been here long?
Old Morton. A year. He was appointed by my son.
Capper. Know anything of his previous life .''
Old Morton [stiffly]. I have already told you he is an
)pointee of my son's.
Capper. Yes ! [Aside.] " Like master, like man." [Aloud.]
^t\\, to business. We have worked up the robbery. We have
ached two conclusions, — one, that the work was not done
f professionals ; the other, consequent upon this, that you
in't recover the money.
Old Morton. Excuse me, sir, but I do not see the last
)nclusion.
Capper. Then listen . The professional thief has only one
■ two ways of disposing of his plunder, and these ways are
64 TWO MEN OF SAXDV BAR.
always well known to us. Good ! Your stolen coin has not
been disposed of in the regular way, through the usual hands
which we could at any time seize. Of this we are satisfied.
Old Morton. How do you know it ?
Capper. In this way. The only clue wc have to the iden-
tification of the missing money were two boxes of Mexican
doubloons.
Old Morton \aside\. Mr. Castro's special deposit ! He
may have reason for his interest. \Aloud?^ Goon.
Capper. It is a coin rare in circulation in the interior.
The night after the robbery, the dealer of a monte-table in
Sacramento paid out five thousand dollars in doubloons. He
declared it was taken in at the table, and could not identify
the players. Of course, of course ! So far, you see, you are
helpless. We have only established one fact, that the robber
is — is — \signijicaiitly\ a gambler.
Old Morton [qiiietl}']. The regular trade of the thief seems
to me to be of little importance if you cannot identify him,
or recover my money. But go on, sir, go on : or is this all ?
Capper [asidel. The old fool is blind. That is natural.
[Aloud.'] It is not all. The crime will doubtless be repeated.
The man who has access to your vaults, who has taken only
thirty thousand dollars when he could have secured half a
million, — this man, who has already gambled that thirty
thousand away, — will not stop there. He will in a day or
two, perhaps to-day, try to retrieve his losses out oi your
capital, /am here to prevent it.
Old Morton \_l'eeoi/iino interested]. How?
Capper, (live me, for forty-eight hours, free access to this
building, ket me conceal myself somewhere, anywhere,
within these walls. Let it be without the knowledge of your
clerks, even oiyoiir son !
Old Morton [proi/dlv\ Mr. Alexander Morton is absent
to-day. There is no other reason why he should not be here
to consent to the acts of his partner and father.
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 65
Capper \£uickiy\. Very good. It is only to insure absolute
ecrccy.
Old Morton\aside\. Another robbery might excite a sus-
licion, worse for our credit than our actual loss. There is
significant earnestness about this man, that awakens my
;ars. If Alexander were only hci'e ! \_Alotid^ I accept.
Capper has been trying doors R. and L.]
Capper. What room is this ? \_At R.]
Old Morton. My son's : I would prefer
Capper. And this ? [At L.]
Old Morton. Mine, sir ; if you choose •
Capper [locking door, and putting key in his pocket\ This
nil do. Oblige me by making the necessary arrangements
1 your counting-room.
Old Morton [hesitating and aside\ He is right : perhaps
: is only prudence, and I am saving Alexander additional
are and annoyance. [Exit.
Enter MR. Shadow cautiously, c.
Shadow [in a lisping whisper to Capper]. I've got the
tht of the clerkth complete.
Capper [triumphantly^ Put it in your pocket, Shadow.
V'e don't care for the lackeys now : we are after the master.
Shadow. Eh ! the mathter.''
Capper. Yes : the master, — the young master, the re-
laimed son, the reformed prodigal! ha, ha ! — the young
lan who compensates himself for all this austere devotion to
usiness and principle by dipping into the old man's vaults
'hen he wants ^pasear : eh, Shadow? That's the man we're
fter. Look here ! / never took any stock in that young
lan's reformation. Ye don't teach old sports like him new
•icks. They're a bad lot, father and son, — eh, Shadow ? —
nd he's a chip of the old block. I spotted him before this
obbery, before we were ever called in here professionally,
've had my eye on Alexander Morion, alias John Oakhurst ;
nd, when I found the old man's doubloons raked over a
66 TWO MEN OF SANDV BAR.
monte-table at Sacramento, I knew where to look for the
thief. Eh, Shadow ?
Shadow \_aside\. He ith enormouth, thith Mithter Capper.
Enter Old Morton.
Old Morton. I have arranged everything. You will not
be disturbed or suspected here in my private office. Eh !
\Looking at Shadow.] Who has slipped in here ?
Capper. Only my Shadow, Mr. Morton ; but I can rid
myself even of that. \Crosses to Shadow.] Take tliis card
to the office, and wait for further orders. Vanish, Shadow !
\Exit Shadow.
Enter Jackson.
Jackson. Mr. Alexander has come in, sir. [OLD MoRTON
and Capper j'/ar/.]
Old Morton. Where is he ?
Jackson. In his private room, sir.
Old Morton. Enough: you can go. [£';r//' Jackson.
Capper [crossing to Morton]. Remember, you have given
your pledge of secrecy. Beware ! Your honour, your pro-
perty, the credit and reputation of your bank, are at stake.
Old Morton [after a pause of hesitatioft, with dignity\ I
gave you my word, sir, while my son was not present. I
shall save myself from breaking my word with you, or
concealing anything from him, by withdrawing myself. For
the next twenty-four hours, this room [pointing to private
room R.] is yours.
Each regards the other. Exit Old MORTON c, as Capper
exit in private room R. After a pause, door of room L.
opens, and Harry York appears, slightly intoxicated,
followed by John Oakhurst.
Harry York [looking arou}id\ By Jove ! Morton, but
you've got things in style here. And this yer's the gov'nor's
desk ; and here old Praise God Barebones sits opposite ye.
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 67
^ook yer, old boy \thro%uing himself in cliai)\ I kin allow
low it comes easy for ye to run this bank, for it's about as
xciting, these times, as faro was to ye in '49, when I first
:new ye as Jack Oakhurst ; but how the Devil you can sit
ipposite that stiff embodiment of all the Ten Commandments,
lay by day, damn it ! that's wot gets me ! Why, the first
lay I came here on business, the old man froze me so that I
ouldn't thaw a deposit out of my pocket. It chills me to
hink of it.
Oaklntrst \Jiastily\. I suppose I am accustomed to him.
Jut come, Harry : let me warm you. \Opetis door of safe L.,
nd discovers cupboard, decanter, and glasses.^
York \laiighing\. By Jove ! under the old man's very nose,
ack, this is like you. \Takes a drink.'\ Well, old boy, this
3 like old times. But you don't drink .''
Oakhurst. No, nor smoke. The fact is. Harry, I've taken
year's pledge. I've six days still to run; after thai
glootnily], why \with a reckless lattgh\ I shall be Jack
)akhurst again.
York. Lord! to think of your turning out to be anybody's
on, Jack ! — least of all, his ! \P0inti71g to chair."]
Oakhnrst {laughing recklessly]. Not more strange than
liat I should find Harry York, the spendthrift of Poker Flat,
lie rich and respected Mr. York, produce-merchant, of San
'rancisco.
York. Yes ; but, my boy, you see I didn't strike it — in a
ich father. I gave up gambling, married, and settled down,
aved my money, invested a little here and there, and —
worked for it. Jack, damn me, — worked for it like a damned
orse !
Oakhurst [aside]. True, this is not work.
York. But that ain't my business with ye now, old boy :
;'s this. You've had some trials and troubles in the bank
itely, — a defalcation of agents one day, a robbery next. It's
ick, my boy, luck ! but ye know people will talk. You don't
68 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAB.
mind my say in' that there's rumours 'round. The old man's
mighty unpopular because he's a saint ; and folks don't en-
tirely fancy you because you used to be the reverse. Well,
Jack, it amounts to 'bout this : I've withdrawn my account
from Parkinson's, in Sacramento, and I've got a pretty heavy
balance on hand — nigh on two hundred thousand — in bonds
and certificates here ; and if it will help you over the rough
places, old boy, as a deposit, yer it is \iirawing pockct-book\
Oakhurst \_greatly affected, hit endeavouring to concealit\
Thank you, Harry, old fellow — but •
York [quick /y\ I know : I'll take the risk, a business risk.
You'll stand by me all you can, old boy ; you'll make it pay
all you can ; and if you lose it — why — all right !
Oakhurst [embarrassed^ As a deposit with Morton &
Son, drawing two per cent, monthly interest
York. Damn Morton & Son ! I'll back it with Jack
Oakhurst, the man I know.
Oakhurst [advaiicing siowij]. I'll take it, Harry.
}^ork [extending his hand]. It's a square game. Jack !
Oakhurst [seiaino- his hand ivith repressed emotion]. It's
a square game, Harry York, if I live.
York. Then I'll travel. Good-night, old boy. I'll send
my clerk around in the morning to put things right. Good-
night [s,oing\.
Oakhurst [grasping YORK'S hand\ One moment - no —
nothing ! Good-night. [Exit ^'ORK.
Oakhurst follows him to door, and then returns to desk,
throwing himself in chair, and burying his face in his
hands.
Oakhurst [with deep feeling]. It needed but this to fill the
measure of my degradation. I have borne the suspicions
of the old man's enemies, the half-pitying, half-contemptuous
sympathy of his friends, even his own cold, heartless, fanati-
cal fulhlmcnt of his sense of duty ; but this — this confidence
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 69
Tom one who had most reason to scorn me, this trust from
Dne who knew me as I was,— this is the hardest burden.
\nd he, too, in time will know me to be an impostor. Ho
:oo — a reformed man ; but he has honourably retraced his
steps, and won the position I hold by a trick, an imposture.
■Xnd what is all my labour beside his honest sincerity ? I
lave fought against the chances that might discover my de-
:eption, against the enemies who would overthrow me, against
;he fate that put me here ; and I have been successful — yes,
I successful impostor ! I have even fought against the human
nstinct that told this fierce, foolish old man that /was an alien
o his house, to his blood ; I have even felt him scan my face
eagerly for some reflection of his long-lost boy, for some
•ealization of his dream ; and I have seen him turn away,
:old, heartsick, and despairing. What matters that I have
3cen to him devoted, untiring, submissive, aye, a better son to
lim than his own weak flesh and blood would have been ?
He would to-morrow cast me forth to welcome the outcast,
Sandy Morton. Well, what matters ? [RecAkssfy.] Nothing.
in six days it will be over ; in six days the year of my pro-
bation will have passed ; in six days I will disclose to him
he deceit I have practised, and will face the world again as
iohn Oakhurst, the gambler, who staked and lost a// on a
;ingle cast. And Jovita ! Well, well ! — the game is made :
t is too late to draw out now. [Riu^s bell. Enter Jackson.]
kVho has been here ?
Jackson. Only Don jose, and Mr. Capper the detective.
Oakhurst. The detective ? What for?
yackson. To work up the robbery, sir.
Oakhtirst. True ! Capper, Capper, yes ! A man of wild
ind ridiculous theories, but well-meaning, brave, and honest.
Aside?^ This is the old man's idea. He does not know that
: was on the trail of the thieves an hour before the police
vere notified. \^Aloud^ Well, sir?
Jackson. He told your father he thought the recovery of
70 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
the money hopeless, but he came to caution us against a
second attempt.
Oakhurst [aside, starling]. True ! I had not thought
of that. [Ex-titedly]. The success of their first attempt will
incite them to another ; the money they have stolen is gone
by this time. [Aloted\ Jackson, I will stay here to-nighl
and to-morrow night, and relieve your regular watchman.
You will, of course, say nothing of my intention.
Jackson. Yes, sir. \_7Jngcring.']
Oakhurst [after a pause]. That is all, Mr. Jackson.
Jackson. Beg your pardon, Mr. Morton ; but Col. Star-
bottle, with two ladies, was here half an hour ago, and said
they would come again when you were alone.
Oakhurst. Very well : admit them.
Jackson. Beg pardon, sir ; but they seemed to avoid
seeing your father until they had seen you. It looked
mysterious, and I thought I would tell you first.
OakJiurst [laughing]. Admit them, Mr. Jackson. [Exit
Jackson.] This poor fellow's devotion is increasing. He,
too, believes that his old associate in dissipation, John Oak-
hurst, is the son of Alexander Morton. He, too, will have to
share in the disgrace of the impostor. Ladies ! umph !
[Looking down at his clothes.] I'm afraid the reform ot
Alexander Morton hasn't improved the usual neatness of John
Oakhurst. I haven't slept, nor changed my clothes, for three
days. [Goes to door of MoRTON, sen.'s, room.] Locked, and
the key on the inside ! That's strange. Nonsense ! the old
man has locked his door, and gone out though the private
entrance. Well, I'll find means of making my toilet here.
[Exit into private room L.
Enter Jackson, leading in CoL. Starbottle, Miss Mary
tJie Duchess, aiid child of three years.
Jackson. Mr. Alexander Morton, jun., is in his private
room. He will be here in a moment. [Exit Jackson.
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 71
Starbottle. One moment, a single moment, Miss Mary,
'ermit me to — er — if I may so express myself, to — er —
:roup the party, to — er— place the — er — ^ present com-
lany into position. I have — er — observed as part of
ny — er — legal experience, that in cases of moral illiis-
ration a great, I may say — er — tremendous, effect on the
-er — jury, I mean the — er — guilty party, has been pro-
duced by the attitude of the — er — victim and martyr. You,
ladam, as the — er — injured wife {^placing her\ shall stand
ere, firm yet expectant, protecting your child, yet looking
opefully for assistance toward its natural protector. You,
4iss Mary, shall stand here \J)lacwg her], as Moral Retribu-
ion, leaning toward and slightly appealing to me, the image
f — er — er — Inflexible Justice ! {^Inflates his chest, puts his
and in his bosom, and strikes an attitude^
loor of young Morton's room opens, and discloses Mr.
Oakhurst gazing at the group. He starts slightly on
observing the DuCHESS, but instantly recovers himself, and
faces the company coldly. The DuCHESS starts on observ-
ing Oakhurst, and struggles in confusion totuard the
door, draggitig with her the child and Miss Mary, who
endeavours to reassure her. CoL. Starbottle looks in
astonishment from one to the other, and advances to front.
Col. Starbottle [aside]. The — er — tableau, although
triking in moral force, is apparently — er — deficient in
loral stamina.
A/iss Mary {angrily to the DuCHESs]. I'm ashamed of
ou ! \To Oakhurst, advancing^ I don't ask pardon for
ly intrusion. If you are Alexander Morton, you are my
insman, and you will know that I cannot introduce myself
etter than as the protector of an injured woman. Come
ere! \To the Bvchess, dragging her toward Oakhvrst.
"o Oakhurst.] Look upon this woman : she claims «n
e
72 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
Starbottle {stepping; betzveen Mrss MXKY and the DuCHESS].
A moment, Miss Mary, a single moment ! Permit me to —
er — explain. The whole thing, the — er — situation re-
minds me, demn me, of most amusing incident at Sacra-
mento in '52. Large party at Hank Suedecois : know
Hank ? Confirmed old bach of sixty. Dinner for forty.
Everything in style, first families, Ged, — Judge Beeswinger,
Mat Boompointer, and Maje Blodgett of Ahlabam : know
old Maje Blodgett ? Well, Maje was there. Ged, sir, delay,
— everybody waiting. I went to Hank. "Hank," I says,
" what's matter ? why delay ? ' — " Star," he says, — always
called me Star, — " Star, — it's cook ! " — " Denin cook," I
says : " discharge cook, — only a black mulatto any way ! "
— "Can't, Star," he says: "impossible !" — " Can't ?" says
I. " No," says he. " Listen, Star," he says, " family secret !
Honour! Can't discharge cook, because cook — demn it — 's
viy wife / " Fact, sir, fact — showed marriage certificate — •
married privately seven years I Fact, sir
The Duchess \to Miss Mary]. Some other time, miss.
Let us go now. There's a mistake, miss, I can't explain.
Some other time, miss ! See, miss, how cold and stern he
looks ! another time, miss ! {Sinni-gliiig.'] For God's sake,
miss, let me go !
Miss Mary. No ! This mystery must be cleared up now,
before I enter his house, — before I accept the charge of
this
Starbottle {interrupting, and crossing before MlSS Mary].
A moment — a single moment, miss. \To Oakhurst.] Mr.
Morton, you will pardon the exuberance, and perhaps, under
the circumstances, somewhat natural impulsiseness, of the
— er — sex, for which I am perhaps responsible ; I may say
— er — personally, sir, — personally responsible
Oakhurst {coldly^ Go on, sir.
Starbottle. The lady on my right is — er — the niece ot
your father, — your cousin. The lady on my left, engaged in
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 73
soothing the — er — bashful thnidity of infancy, is — er —
that is — er — claims to be, the mother of the child of
Alexander Morton.
OakJmrst [calmly]. She is right.
Miss Mary [ritshing forward}. Then you are
Oakhurst {gently restraining her']. You have another
question to ask : you hesitate : let me ask it. [Crossing to
the Duchess.] You have heard my answer. Madame, are
you the legal wife of Alexander Morton ?
The Duchess [sinking upon her knees, and dropping her
face in her hands]. No !
Oakhurst. Enough : I will take the child. Pardon me,
Miss Morris, but you have heard enough to know that your
mission is accomplished, but that what else passes between
this woman and myself becomes no stranger to hear.
[Motions toward room L.]
Miss Mary [aside]. It is his son. I am satisfied [going].
Come, colonel. [Exeunt into 7-oom L., Starbottle and Miss
Mary.]
The Duchess [crossing to Oakhurst, and falling at his
feet.] Forgive me. Jack, forgive me ! It was no fault of
mine. I did not know that you were here. I did not know
that you had taken his name !
Oakhurst. Hush — on your life !
The Duchess. Hear me. Jack ! I was anxious only for a
home for my child. I came to her — the school-mistress of
Red Gulch — for aid. I told her the name of my boy's
father. She — she brought me here. Oh, forgive me, Jack !
I have offended you !
Oakhurst. How can 1 believe you } You have deceived
him. You have deceived me. Listen! When I said, a
moment ago, you were not the wife of Alexander Morton, it
was because I knew that your first husband — the Australian
convict Pritchard — was still living ; that you had deceived
Sandy Morton as you had deceived me. That was why I
15
74 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
left you. Tell me, have you deceived me also about him, as
you did about the other .'' Is he living, and with you ; or
dead, as you declared ?
The Duchess [asidel. He will kill me if I tell him. [^Aloud.'\
No, no. He is gone — is dead these three years.
Oakhiirst. You swear !
The Duchess [Iiesi tales, gasps, and looks arou7id for her
child; then seiztjig it, and drawing it toward her\ I —
swear.
Oakhurst. Enough. Seek not to know why / am here,
and under his name. Enough for you that it has saved your
child's future, and secured him his heritage past all revoca-
tion. Yet remember ! a word from you within the next few
days destroys it all. After that, I care not what you say.
The Duchess. Jack ! One word, Jack, before I go. I
never thought to bring my shame to you ! — to hitn /
Oakhurst. It was no trick, then, no contrivance, that
brought her here. No : it was fate. And at least I shall
save his child.
Re-enter Starbottle and Miss Mary Duchess.
Col. Starbottle \impressively\. Permit me, Mr. Alexander
Morton, as the friend of my — er — principal, to declare that
we have received — honourable — honourable — satisfaction.
Allow me, sir, to grasp the hand, the — er — cherished hand
of a gentleman who, demn me ! has fulfilled all his duties to
— er — society and gentlemen. And allow me to add, sir,
should any invidious criticism of the present — er — settle-
ment be uttered in my presence, I shall hold that critic re-
sponsible, sir, — er — personally responsible !
Miss Mary {sweeping truculently and aggressively np to
John Oakhurst]. And permit me to add, sir, that, if you
can see your way clearly out of this wretched muddle, it's
more than I can . This arrangement may be according to
the Californiao code of morality, but it doesn't accord with
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 75
my Eastern ideas of right and wrong. If this foolish,
wretched creature chooses to abandon all claim upon you,
chooses to run away from you, — why, I suppose, as 7>l gentle-
man, according to your laws of honour, you are absolved.
Good-night, Mr. Alexander Morton. {Goes to door c, atui
exit, pushing out Starbottle, the Duchess, and child.
• Mr. Oakhurst sinks into chair at desk, burying his face in
his hands. Re-enter slowly and enibarrassedly, Miss Mary:
looks toward Oakhurst, atid comes slowly down stage.]
Miss Mary [aside']. I was too hard on him. I was not
so hard on Sandy, when I thought that he — he — was the
father of her child. And he's my own flesh and blood, too ;
and — he's crying. [Aloud.] Mr. Morton.
Oakhurst [slowly lifting his head]. Yes, Miss Mary.
Miss Mary. I spoke hastily just then. I — I — thought
— you see — I — [ang7:ily and passiottately] I mean this.
I'm a stranger. I don't understand your Californian ways,
and I don't want to. But I believe you've done what you
thought was right, according to a man's idea of right ; and
— there's my hand. Take it, take it ; for it's a novelty, Mr,
Morton : it's the hand of an honest girl !
Oakhurst [hesitates, then rises, sinks on 07te kftee, and raises
Miss M\^\'s fingers to his lips]. God bless you, miss ! God
bless you !
Miss Mary [retreating to centre door.] Good-night, good-
night [slowly], — cousin — Alexander. [Exit. Dark stage.
Oakhurst [rising swtftly.] No, no : it is false ! Ah !
She's gone. Another moment, and I would have told her
all. Pshaw ! courage, man ! It is only six days more, and
you are free, and this year's shame and agony forever
ended.
Enter Jackson.
Jackson. As you ordered, sir, the night watchman has
been relieved, and has just gone.
76 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
Oakhufst. Very good, sir ; and you ?
Jackson. I relieved the porter, sir ; and I shall bunk on
two chairs in the counting-room. You'll find me handy, if
you want me, sir. Good-night, sir. \Exit C.
Oakhiirst. I fear these rascals will not dare to make their
second attempt to-night. A quiet scrimmage with them
enough to keep me awake or from thinking, would be a good
fortune. No, no ! no such luck for you to-night, John Oak-
hurst ! You are playing a losing game. . . . Yet the robbery
was a bold one. At e]e^"en o'clock, while the bank was yet
lighted, and Mr. Jackson and another clerk were at work
here, three well-dressed men pick the lock of the counting-
house door, enter, and turn the key on the clerks in this
parlour, and carry away a box of doubloons not yet placed in
the vaults by the porter ; and all this done so cautiously that
the clerks within knew nothing of it until notified of the open
street-door by the private watchman, and so boldly that the
watchman, seeing them here, believed them clerks of the
bank, and let them go unmolested. No : this was the coin-
cidence of good luck, not of bold premeditation. There will
be no second attempt. [Varans.] If they don't come soon
I shall fall asleep. Four nights without rest will tell on a
man, unless he has some excitement to back him. [A'<9<fj'.]
Hallo ! What was that ? Oh ! Jackson in the counting-
room getting to bed. I'll look at that front-door myself.
[Takes revolver from desk, and goes to door C, tries lock,
cojties down stage with revolver, exainifies it, and lays it
down.]
OakJmrst [slowly and qnictly\ The door is locked on the
outside : that may have been an accident. The caps are
taken from my pistol : that was not ! Well, here is the
vault, and here is John Oakhurst : to reach the one, they must
pass the other. [Takes off his coat, seizes poker from grate,
and approaches safe^ Ha ! some one is moving in the old
man's room. [Approaches door of room R. as —
two !\fF.N OF SANDY BAR. ■ ^?
Enter jioiselessly and cmiiiously from room L., Pritchard,
Silky, and Soapy. Pritchard a7td his confederates
approach OakhURST_/>-(?;« behind, carrying lariat, or slip-
noose.
Oakhurst {listening at door R.]. Good. At least I know
from what quarter to expect the attack. Ah !
Pritchard throivs slip-twose over OAKHURSTyr^;/^ behind;
Oakhurst ^.v/j his Jiand in his breast as the slip-noose is
drawn across his bosom., pinionitig one arm over his breast,
and the other at his side. Silky and SOAPY, directed by
Pritchard, ^m^ Oakhurst to chair facing front, and
pinion his legs. Pritchard c, regarding him.
Oakhurst [very coolly]. You have left me my voice, I
suppose, because it is useless.
Pritchard. That's so, pard. 'Twon't be no help to ye.
Oakhurst. Then you have killed Jackson.
Pritchard. Lord love ye, no ! That ain't like us, pard I
Jackson's tendin' door for us, and kinder lookin' out ginVally
for the boys. Thar's nothin' mean about Jackson.
Soapy. No ! Jackson's a squar man. Eh, Silky.?
Silky. £z white a man ez they is, pard !
Oakhjirst\aside\ The traitor ! [Aloud^, Well!
Pritchard. Well, you want ter know our business. Call
upon a business man in business hours. Our little game is
this, Mr. Jack Morton Alexander Oakhurst. When we was
here the other night, we was wantin' a key to that theer lock
[pointing to vault\ and we sorter dropped in passin' to
get it.
Oakhurst. And suppose I refuse to give it up ?
Pritchard. We were kalkilatin' on yer bein' even that
impolite : wasn't we, boys ?
Silky and Soapy. We was that.
Pritchard. And so we got Mr. Jackson to take an impres-
sion of it in wax. Oh, he's a squar man— is Mr. Jackson !
78 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
Silky. Jackson is a white man, Soapy !
Soapy. They don't make no better men nor Jackson
Silky.
Pritchard. And we've got a duplicate key here. But we
don't want any differences, pard : we only want a squai
game. It seemed to us — some of your old pards as knew ye,
Jack — that ye had a rather soft thing here, reformin' ; and
we thought ye was kinder throArin' off on the boys, not
givin' 'em any hand in the game. 3ut thar ain't any thin'
mean about us. Eh, boys ?
Soapy. We is allers ready to chip in ekal in the game.
Eh, Silky ?
Silky. That's me, Soapy.
Pritchard. Ye see, the boys is free and open-handed,
Jack. And sa the proposition we wanter make to ye, Jack,
is this. It's reg'lar on the squar. We reckon, takin' Mr.
Jackson's word, — and thar ain't no man's word ez is better
nor Jackson's," — that there's nigh on to two millions in that
vault, not to speak of a little speshil de-posit o' York's, ez we
learn from that accommodatin' friend, Mr. Jackson. We pro-
pose to share it with ye, on ekil terms — us five — countin'
Jackson, a square man. In course, we takes the risk o*
packin' it away to-night comfortable. Ez your friends, Jack,
we allow this yer little arrangement to be a deuced sight
easier for you than playin' Sandy Morton on a riglar salary,
with the chance o' the real Sandy poppin' in upon ye any
night.
Oakhurst. It's a lie. Sandy is dead.
Pritchard. In course, in course ! that is your little game !
But we kalkilated, Jack, even on that, on yer bein' ram
bunktious and contrary ; and so we went ter Red Gulch, and
found Sandy. Ye know I take a kind o' interest in Sandy :
he's the second husband of my wife, the woman you run
away with, pard. But thar's nothin' mean about me 1 eh,
boys 1
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 79
Silky. No ! he's the forgivingest kind of a man, is
Pritchard.
Soapy. That's so, Silky,
Pritchard. And, thinkin' ye might be dubious, we filled
Sandy about full o' rye-whisky, and brought him along ; and
one of our pards is preambulating the streets with him, ready
to bring him on call.
Oakhurst. It's a lie, Pritchard, — a cowardly lie !
Pritchard. Is it ? Hush !
Sandy [without, singing], —
Oh, yer's yer Sandy Morton,
Drink him down !
Oh, yer's yer Sandy Morion,
Drink him down !
Oh, yer's yer Sandy Morton,
All alive and just a-snortin' I
Oh, yer's yer Sandy Morton,
Drink him down !
Pritchard. We don't propose to run him in yer, 'cept
we're took, or yer unaccommodatin' to the boys.
Oakhurst. And if I refuse ?
Pritchard. Why, we'll take what we can get ; and we'll
leave Sandy Morton with you yer, to sorter alleviate the old
man's feelin's over the loss of his money. There's nothin'
mean about us ; no ! eh, boys .? [Going toivard safe!\
Oakhurst. Hear me a moment, Henry Pritchard.
[Pritchard stops abreast of OhYM.ViK'&T?^ Four years ago
you were assaulted in the Arcade Saloon in Sacramento.
Vou would have been killed, but your assailant suddenly fell
dead by a pistol-shot fired from some unknown hand. I
stood twenty feet from you with folded arms ; but that shot
was fired by me, — me, Henry Pritchard, — through my clotl.es,
from a derringer hidden in my waistcoat ! Understand me, I
do not ask your gratitude now. But that pistol is in my righl
hand, and now covers you. Make a single motion, — of a
muscle, — and it is your last-
So , TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
PritcJiard \inotionless, but excitedly'\. You dare not fire \ .
No, dare not ! A shot here will bring my pal and Sandy-
Morton to confront you. You will have killed me to save
exiposure, have added murder to imposture ! You have no
witness to this attempt !
Capper \openmg door of room L., at the same moment
that two policemen appear at door C, and two at room R.]
You are wrong : he has five {crossing to Silky (t:«^/ Soapy,
and laying his hands on their shotilders'\ ; and, if I mistake
not, he has two more in these gentlemen, whom I know, and
who will be quite as willing to furnish the necessary State's
evidence of the robbery, as of the fact that they never knew
any other Alexander Morton than the gentleman who sits in
that chair.
Soapy. That's so, Silky.
Silky. That's so. Soapy.
Capper \to policemei{\. Take them away.
\Exit policemen with Pritchard, Soapy, and SiLKY.
Capper unbifids Oakhurst.
Oakhurst. Then I have to thank you, Mr. C.
Capper. Yes ! " A man of ridiculous theories, but well-
meaning, brave, and honest." No, sir ; don't apologise : you
were right, Mr. Oakhurst. It is I who owe you an apology.
I came here, believing yoic were the robber, having no faith
in you or your reformation, expecting, — yes, sir, — hoping, to
detect you in the act. Hear me ! From the hour you first
entered the bank, I have shadowed your every movement, I
have been the silent witness of all that has passed in this
room. You have played a desperate game, Mr. Oakhurst ;
but I'll see you through it. If you are true to your resolve,
for the next six days, I will hold these wretches silent.
I will protect your imposture with the strong arm of the law.
I don't like your theories, sir ; but I believe you to be well-
meaning, and I knav you to be brave and honest.
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 8 1
Oahhitrsi [grasping his hand]. I shall not forget this.
But Sandy
Capper. I will put my men on his track, and have him
brought quietly here. I can give you no aid beyond that
As an honourable man, I need not tell you your duty. Settle
it with hi7n as best you can.
Oakliurst. You are right ; I will see him ! [Aside.] Un-
less he has changed, he will listen to me, he will obey me.
Capper. Hush ! [Blows out candle.] Stand here !
[Capper and Oakhurst retreat to loing L., as enter Mor-
ton, sen., from room R.
Morton. The private door open, the room dark, and Cap-
per gone. I don't like this. The more I think of the mys-
tery of that man's manner this morning, the more it seems to
hide smoe terrible secret I must fathom ! There are watches
here. [Strikes a light, as CAPPER draws Oakhurst, strug-
gling, back into shadow.] What's this ? [Picking up key.]
The key of the vault. A chair overturned. [Touches bell.]
No answer ! Jackson gone ! My God I A terrible sus-
picion haunts me ! No. Hush! [Retreats to private room
R., as door of L. opens and
Enter SANDY.
Sandy [drunkenly]. Shoo ! Shoo ! boys, whar are ye,
boys, eh ? Pritchard, Silky, Soapy ! Whar ar ye, boys .'*
Morton [aside]. A crime has been committed, and here is
one of the gang. God has delivered him in my hands.
[Draws revolver, and fires, as Oakhurst breaks from CAP-
PER, and st7'ikes up MORTON'S pistol. CAPPER at same
moment seizes Sandy, and drags him in room L. Morton
and Oakhurst struggle to centre.
Morton [relaxing hold of Oakhurst]. Alexander ! Good
God ! Why are you here ? Why have you stepped between
me and retribution ? You hesitate. God in heaven ! Speak,
82 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
Alexanuer, my son, speak, for God's sake ! Tell me-- tell me
that this detective's suspicions are not true. Tell me that
you are not — not — no, I cannot say it. Speak, Alexander
Morton, I command you ! Who is this man you have saved .''
Is it — is it — your accomplice ?
Oakhurst \stnking at his feet\ Don't ask me ! You know
not what you ask ! I implore you
Capper {appearing quietly from room L., and locking the
door behiiid him']. Your son has acted under my orders.
The man he has saved, as he has saved you, was a decoy, —
one of my policemen.
TABLEAU.
Capper, Morton, Oakhursi,
\Cnrtain."\
SMM OF ACT IIL
rWO MEN OF SANDY BAR- %2
ACT IV.
Scene i. — Mr. Morton's vt//a, Russian Hill. Night.
Oakhurst's bedrooju. Sofa in alcove c, door in flat left
of c. Sandy Morton discovered., unconscious, lying on
sofa; Oakhurst standing at his head, two policemen at
his feet. Candles on table L.
Oakhurst. That will do. You are sure he was unconscious
as you brought him in ?
\st Policeman. Sure, sir. He hasn't known anything
since we picked him up on the sidewalk outside the bank.
Oakhurst. Good ! You have fulfilled your orders well,
and your chief shall know it. Go now. Be as cautious in
going out as you were on entering. Here is the private stair-
case. \Opens door L.] \_Exit policemen.
Oakhurst \liste7ii)ig\ Gone ! and without disturbing any
one. So far, luck has befriended me. He will sleep to-night
beneath his father's roof His father ! umph ! would the old
man recognize him here ? Would he take to his heart this
drunken outcast, picked from the gutters of the street, and
brought here by the strong arm of the law .'' Hush ! \^A
knock without^ Ah, it is the colonel : he is prompt to the
hour, \0pe7ts door cautiously, and admits COL. Star-
BOTTLE.]
Starbottle {looking around, and overlooking S ANDy] . I pre-
sume the other — er — principal is not yet on the ground ?
Oakhurst [tnotioning to sofa]. He is !
Starbottle \starting as he looks toward sofd\. Ged ! you
don't mean to say it's all over, without witnesses, without my
— er — presence ?
84 TWO MEN OF SANDV EAR.
Oakhurst. Pardon me, Col. Starbottle ; but, if you look
again, you will perceive that the gentleman is only drunk.
Starbottle. Eh? Ged ! not uncommon, sir, not uncommon!
I remember singular incident at — er — Louisville in '47.
Old Judge Tollim — know old Judge Tolly.? — Ged! he
came to ground drunk, sir ; couldn't stand ! Demn me, sir,
had to put him into position with kitchen poker down his
back, and two sections of lightning-rod in his — er — trousers?
demn me ! Firm, sir, firm, you understand, here [striking
his breast\ but — here [striking his legs] — er — er — wobbly !
No, sir ! Intoxication of principal not a bar, sir, to personal
satisfaction ! [Goes totuard sofa with eyeglnss?[ Good Ged !
why, it's Diego ! [Returning stiffly to Oakhurst.] Excuse
me, sir, but this is a case in which I cannot act. Cannot,
sir, — ■ impossible ! absurd ! pre — post — er — ous ! I recog-
nise in the — er — inebriated menial on yonder sofa, a person,
sir, who, having already declined my personal challenge, is
— er — excluded from the consideration of gentlemen. The
person who lies there, sir, is Uiego, - — a menial of Don Jose
Castro, — alias " Sandy," the vagabond of Red Gulch.
OakJnirst. You have omitted one title, his true one. He
is Alexander Morton, the son of the master of this house.
Starbottle [starting in bewilderment^ Alexander Morton !
[Aside.l Ged ! my first suspicions were correct. Star, you
have lost the opportunity of m.aking your fortune as a scoun-
drel ; but you have, at a pecuniary sacrifice, preserved your
honour.
Oakhurst. Yes. Hear me, Col. Starbottle. I have sum-
moned you here to-night, as I have already intimated, on an
affair of honour. I have sought you as my father's legal
counsel, as a disinterested witness, as a gentleman of honour.
The man who lies before you was once my friend and partner.
I have wronged him doubly. As his partner, I ran away with
the woman he believed, and still believes, to be his wife ; as
his friend, I have for a twelvemonth kept himfrom the enjoy-
TWO ^[EN OF SANDY BAR. 85
ment of his home, his patrimony, by a shameful deception. I
have summoned you to-night to witness my confession ; as a
lawyer, to arrange those details necessary to restore to him
his property ; as a man of honour, to receive from me what-
ever retribution he demands. You will be a witness to our
interview. Whatever befalls me here, you will explain to
Mr. Morton — to Jovita — that I accepted it as a man, and
did not avoid, here or elsewhere, the penalty of my crime.
\Folding his arins.l
Starbottle. Umph ! The case is, as you say, a delicate
one, but not — not — peculiar. No, sir ! Ged, sir, I remember
Tom Marshall — know Tom Marshall of Kentucky .'' — said to
me, " Star ! '' — always calls me Star, — " how in blank, sir, can
you remember the real names of your clients?" — "Why,''
says I, " Tom," — always called him Tom, — " yesterday \ v/as
called to make will — most distinguished family of Virginia —
as lawyer and gentleman, you understand : can't mention
name. Waited for signature — most distinguished name :
Ged, sir, man signed Bloggins, — Peter Bloggins ! Fact,
demme ! ' Mistake,' I said, — ' excitement ; exaltation of
ifever. Non compos. Compose yourself. Bob.' — ' Star,' he
said, — always called me Star, — ' for forty-seven years I have
been an impostor ! ' — his very words, sir. ' I am not ' — you
understand : ' I am Peter Bloggins ! ' "
Oakhitrsf. But, my dear colonel, I \
Starbottle \loftily\. Say no more, sir ! I accept the — er —
position. Let us see ! The gentleman will, on recognition,
probably make a personal attack. You are armed. Ah, no .''
Umph ! On reflection, I would not permit him to strike
a single blow: I would anticipate it. it will provoke the
challenge from him, leaving you^ sir, the — er — choice of
A'eapons.
Oaklnirst. Hush ! he is moving ! Take your stand here,
n this alcove. Remember, as a gentleman, and a man of
lonour, Col. Starbottle, I trust you not to interfere between
S6 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
the injured man and— justice ! [Ptis/ies COL. Starbottle
tnio alcove behind couch, and approaches Sandy.]
Sandy ^waking slowly — and incoherentiy\ Hush! Silky!
Hush ! Eh ? Oh, hush yourself ! {Sings.']
Oh, yer's yer Sandy Morton,
Drink him down !
Eh ! Oh ! {Half sits tip on couch-l Eh ! {Looking around
him.'] Where the devil am I ?
Oakhurst {advancing and leaning over Sandy's cotich\
In the house of your father, Alexander Morton.
S-^ndy {recoiling in astonishment]. His voice, John Oak-
hurst ! What— ah ! {Rises, and rushes toward Oakhurst
with uplifted hand.]
Starbottle {gesticulating in whisper]. A blow! a single
blow would be sufficient.
Sandy {looking at Oakhurst, who regards hint calmly],
I— eh ! I — eh ! Ha, ha ! I'm glad to see— old pard ! I'm
glad to see ye ! [Col. Starbottle lifts his hatid in amaze-
ment.]
Oakhurst {declining his hand]. Do you understand me,
Sandy Morton ? Listen. I am John Oakhurst, — the man
who has deceived your father, who has deceived you.
Sandy {withotit heeding his words, btit regarding him affec-
tionately]. To think of it — Jack Oakhurst ! It's like him,
like Jack. He was allers onsartain, the darned little cuss !
Jack ! Look at him, will ye, boys .' look at him ! Growed
too, and dressed to kill, and sittin' in this yer house as natril
as a jaybird ! {Looking arotind.] Nasty, ain't it, Jack? and
this yer's your house — the old man's house — eh ? Why, this
is — this is where she came. Jack, Jack ! {Eagerly P\ Tell
me, pard, — where is she ?
Starbottle {aside, rttbbing his hands]. We shall have it
now
I
Oakhurst. She has gone — gone ! But hear me ! She
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. Ey
had deceived you as she has me. She has gone, — gone with
her first husband, Henry Pritchard.
Sandy \stupejied\ Gone ! Her first husband ! Pritchard !
Oakhurst. Aye, your wife !
Sandy. Oh, damn my wife ! Pm talking of Mary — Miss
Mary,— the Httle schoolma'am, Jack ; the little rose of Poker
Flat. Oh ! I see— ye didn't know her, Jack,— the pertiest,
sweetest little
Oakhurst \iurning away coldly']. Aye, aye ! She is here !
Sajidy {looking after hijn affectionately]. Look at him,
boys! Allers the same, —high-toned, cold, even to his
pardner ! That's him,— Jack Oakhurst ! But Jack, Jack,
you're goin' to shake hands, ain't ye ? [Extends his hand,
after a pause. O AKHURST takes it gloomily.']
Col. Starbottie [who has been regarding interview with
visible scorn and disgust, advaiicing to Oakhurst.] \'ou
will — er — pardon me if, under the — er — circumstances, I with-
draw from this — er — disgraceful proceeding. The condona-
tion, by that man, of two of the most tremendous offences to
society and to the code, without apology or satisfaction, Ged,
sir, is — er — er — of itself an insult to the spectator. I go, sir —
Oakhurst. But, Col. Starbottie
Starbottie. Permit me to say, sir, that I hold myself foi
this, sir, responsible, sir, — personally responsible
[Exit Starbottle, glancing furiously at SANDY, who sinks
on sofa laughing.]
Oakhurst [aside]. He will change his mind in half an
hour. But, in the mean time, time is precious. [Alot{d?\^
Sandy, come !
Sandy [rising with alacrity]. Yes, Jack, Pm ready.
Oakhurst. We are going [slowly and solemnly] — we are
going to see your father.
Sandy [dropping back with bashful embarrassment, atid
struggling to release his arm from Oakhurst'1. No, Jack !
88 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
Not just yet, Jack ; in a little while, ole boy ! in about six
months, or mebbe — a year, Jack ! not now, not now ! I
ain't feelin' exactly well, Jack, — I ain't.
Oakhurst. Nonsense, Sandy ! Consider your duty and
my honour.
Sandy [regaining his seai"]. That's all very well, Jack;
but ye see, pard, you've known the old man for nigh on a
year, and it's twenty-five since I met him. No, Jack ; you
don't play any ole man on to me to-night. Jack. No, you
and me'll just drop out for a pascar. Jack, eh? [Taknio
Oakhurst's «;-;;;.] Come !
Oakhurst. Impossible ! Hush ! \_Lisiening.'\ It is he
passing through the corridor. [Goes to iving R., ajid
listens^
Sandy [crowding hastily behind Oakhurst in a/arm].
^ut, I say. Jack ! he won't come in here ? He's goin' to bed,
;r-ou know. Eh ? It ain't right for a man o' his years — and
he must be goin' on ninety, Jack — to be up like this. It
ain't healthy.
Oakhurst. You know him not. He seems to need no rest
[sadly\. Night after night, long after the servants are abed,
and the house is still, I hear that step slowly pacing the
corridor. It is the last sound as I close my eyes, the first
challenge of the morning.
Sandy. The ol' scound — [checking hiijisetf'\ — I mean,
Jacl:, the ol' man has suthin' on his mind. But, Jack [/«
great alarin\ he don't waltz in upon ye, Jack ? He don't
p'int them feet in yer. Jack ? Ye ain't got to put up with
that, Jack, along o' yer other trials ?
Oakhurst. He often seeks me here. Ah — yes — he is
coming this way now.
Sandy [in ludicrous terror]. Jack, pard, quick ! hide me
somewhere, Jack !
Oakhurst [opening door R.]. In there, quick! hot a
5ound, as you value your future ! [Exit Sandv hurriedly R.
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 89
Scene 2. — The Same. Enter door R., Old Morton, in
dressing-gown, imth candle.
Old Morton. Not abed yet, Alexander? Well, well, 1
don't blame you, my son : it has been for you a trying, trying
night. Yes, I see : like me, you are a little nervous and
\vakeful. \Slo'wiy takes chair, and comfortably composes
himself.]
Oakhurst \aside\ He is in for a midnight gossip. How
shall I dispose of Sandy .''
Old Morton. Yes \ineditatively\, — yos, you have over-
worked lately. T^ever mind. In a day or two more you
shall have a vacation, sir, — a vacation !
Oakhurst \aside\ He knows not how truly he speaks.
[Alond.] Yes, sir, I was still up. I have only just now dis-
missed the policemen.
Old Morton. Ay. I heard voices, and saw a liglit in your
window. I came to tell you, Ale.xander, Capper has ex-
plained all about — about the decoy! More; he has told
me of your courage and your invaluable assistance. For a
moment, sir, — I don't mind telling you now in confidence, —
I doubted ^'^«
Oakhurst [in feigned deprecation\ Oh, sir !
Old Morton. Only for a moment. You will find, Alex-
ander, that even that doubt shall have full apology when the
year of your probation has expired. Besides, sir, I know all.
Oakhurst [starting]. All !
Old Morton. Yes, the story about the Duchess and your
child. You are surprised. Col. Starbottle told me all. I
forgive you, Alexander, for the sake of your boy.
Oakhurst. My boy, sir !
Old Morton. Yes, your boy. And let me tell you, sir, he's
a fine young fellow. Looks like you, — looks as you did
when jou were a boy. He's a Morton, too, every inch of
him, there's no denying that. No, sir. Vou may have
changed; but he — he — is the living image of my little
t6
QO TWO MEN OF SANDY CAR.
Alexander. He took to me, too, — lifted his little arms —
and- — and — \_Beco)nes affeiced, and leans his head in his
hands."]
Oakhurst \rising\. You are not well, sir. Let me lead
you to your room.
Old Morton. No ! It is nothing : a glass of water,
Alexander !
Oakhurst [aside\ He is very pale. The agitation of the
night has overcome him. [Goes to table R.] A little spirits
will revive him. \P ours from decanter in glass, and rettirns
to Morton."]
Old Morton [after drinking]. There was spirits in that
water, Alexander. Five years ago, I vowed at your mother's
grave to abandon the use of intoxicating liquors.
Oakhurst. Believe me, sir, my mother will forgive you.
Old Morton. Doubtless. It has revived me. I am get-
ting to be an old man, Aleck. [Holds out his glass half
unconsciously, a«^ Oakhurst replenishes it frojn decanter!]
Yes, an old man, Aleck ; but the boy, — ah, I live again in
him. The little rascal ! He asked me, Aleck, for a "chaw
tobacker ! " and wanted to know if I was the " ol' duffer.''
Ha, ha ! He did. Ha, ha ! Come, come, don't be de-
spondent. I was like you once, damn it, — ahem — it's all
for the best, my boy, all for the best. I'll take the young
rascal — [czj-Z^e-] damn it, he's already taken me — [aloud] on
equal terms. There, Aleck, what do you say .''
Oakhurst. Really, sir, this forbearance, — this kindness —
[aside] I see a ray of light.
Old Morton. Nonsense ! I'll take the boy, I tell you>
and do well for him, - - the little rascal ! — as if he were the
legal heir. But, I say, Aleck [laughitig], ha, ha! — what
about — ha, ha ! — what about Doiia Jovita, eh.'' and what
about Don Jose Castro, eh ? How will the lady like a ready-
made family, eh? [Poking Oakuvrsi in the ribs.] What
will the Don say to the family succession ? Hja, ha !
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 9I
Oakhinst \prottdly\. Really, sir, I care but little.
Old Mortojt [aside]. Oh, ho ! I'll sound him. [Aloud.]
Look ye, Alexander, I have given my word to you and Don
Jos^ Castro, and I'll keep it. But if you can do any better,
eh — if — eh ? — the schoolma'am's a mighty pretty girl and
a bright one, eh, Aleck ? And it's all in the family — eh ?
And she thinks well of you ; and I will say, for a girl brought
up as she's been, and knowin' your relations with the Duchess
and the boy, to say a kind word for ye, Aleck, is a good sign,
— you follow me, Aleck, — if you think — why, old Don ]os6
might whistle for a son-in-law, eh ?
Oakhurst [interrupting indignantly]. Sir ! [Aside.]
Stop ! [Aloud.] Do you mean to say, sir, that if I should
consent to this — suggestion — that, if the lady were willing,
yoti would offer no impediment .''
Old Morton. Impediment, my dear boy ! you should
have my blessing.
Oakhurst. Pardon me a moment. You have in the last
year, sir, taught me the importance of business formality in
all the relations of life. Following that idea, the conditions
of my engagement with Jovita Castro were drawn up with
your hand. Are you willing to make this recantation as for-
mal, this new contract as business-like and valid ?
Old Morton [eagerly]. I am.
Oakhurst. Then sit here, and write at my dictation.
[Pointing to table L. Old Morton takes seat at table.] "In
view of the evident preferences of my son Alexander Morton,
and of certain family interests, I hereby revoke my consent
to his marriage with the Dona Jovita Castro, and accord him
full permission to woo and win his cousin. Miss Mary Morris,
promising him the same aid and assistance previously
offered in his suit with Miss Castro."
Old Morton, [signing]. Alexander Morton, sen. There,
Aleck ! You have forgotten one legal formality. We have
no witness. Ha, ha !
Q2 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
Oakhurst {significantly]. I will be a sufficient witness.
Old Morion. Ha, ha ! \_Fills glass from decanter., after
which Oakhurst qtiictly removes decanter beyond his reach.']
Very good ! Aleck, I've been thinking of a plan, — I've been
thinking of retiring from the bank. I'm getting old, and my
ways are not the popular ways of business here. I've been
thinking of you, you dog, — of leaving the bank to you, — to
you, sir, — eh — the day — the day you marry the school-
ma'am — eh. I'll stay home, and take care of the boy — eh
— hie! The little rascal!-^ — lifted his arms to me — did,
Aleck ! by God ! [Incoherently.] Eh !
Oakhurst. Hush! [Aside.] Sandy will overhear him,
and appear.
Old Morton [greatly affected by liquor]. Hush ! eh ! — of
course ■ — shoo ! shoo ! [The actor will here endeavour to
reproduce in Old Morton's drttJiken behaviour, without
exactly imitating him, the general characteristics of his son's
intoxication?^ Eh — I say, Aleck, old boy ! what will the
Don say? eh? Ha, ha, ha! And Jovita, that firebrand,
how will she — hie — like it, eh ? [Laughs immoderately].
Oakhurst. Hush ! We will be overheard ! The servants,
sir !
OldMo7-ton. Damn the servants ! Don't I — hie — pay
theP* .^ges — eh ?
Oakhurst. Let me lead you to your own room. You are
nervously excited. A little rest, sir, will do you good. [Taking
his arm.]
Old Morton. No shir, no shir, 'm nerrer goin' to bed any
more. Bed's bad habit ! — hie — drunken habit. Lesh stay
up all ni, Aleck ! You and me ! Lesh ncv'r — go — bed any
more ! Whar's whisky — eh ?
[Staggers to the tavle for decanter as Oakhurst seizes him,
struggle tip stage, ajid then Old Morton, in struggle,
falls helplessly on sofa, in same attitude as Sandy was
discovered?]
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 93
Enter Sandy cautioiisly from door L.
Sandy [to Oakhurst]. Jack ! Eh, Jack
Oak]iiirst. Hush ! Go ! I will follow you in a moment.
\PHshcs him back to door L.]
Sandy \catcJting sight of OlJQyiOWXO^^. Hallo! What's
up ?
Oakhtcrst. Nothing. He was overtaken with a sudden
faintness. He will revive presently : go !
Sandy \liesitaiing\. I say, Jack, he wasn't taken sick
along o' me, eh, Jack ?
Oakhurst. No ! No ! But go \^pitshing him toward door].
Sandy. Hold on : I'm going. But, Jack, I've got a kind
of faintness yer, too. {^Goes to side-table, and takes tip de-
canter?}^ And thar's nothing reaches that faintness like
whisky. \_Fills glass?\
Old Morton \_drunkenly and half-conscioztsly from couch."]
Whisky — who shed — whisky — eh ? Eh — O — gimme
some, Aleck — Aleck, my son, — my son ! — my old prodigal
- - Old Proddy, my boy — gimme — whisky — [^i'i^^] —
Oh, yer's yer good old wliisky,
Drink it down !
Eh ? I com — mand you — pass the whisky !
Sandy, at first panic-stricken, a/id tiien remorsefully con-
scious, throws glass down, with gesture of fear and loathing.
Oakhurst advances to his side hurriedly.
Oakhurst [in hurried whisper]. Give him the whisky,
quick ! It will keep him quiet, [/y about to take decanter
when Sandy seizes it : struggle with OAKHURST.]
Sandy {with feeling]. No, no, Jack, no ! [Suddenly, with
great strength and determination, breaks frotn him, and
throws decanter from window.] No, never /
Old Mortm [struggling drunkenly to his feet]. Eh —
who sh'd never.? [Oakhurst shoves Sandy in room L.,
94 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
and follows htm, closing doorJ] Eh, Aleck ? {^Groping."]
Eh, where'sh hght ? All gone. [^Lapses on so/a again, after
an ineffectual struggle to get vp, and then resumes his olct
attitude^
\Change scene quickly^
Scene 3. — Ante-room in Mr. Morton's villa. Front scene.
Enter Don Jose Castro and Concho, preceded by
Servant, l.
Servant. This way, gentlemen.
Don Jose. Carry this card to Alexander Morton, sen.
Servant. Beg pardon, sir, but there's only one name here,
sir {looking at CONCHO].
Don fose [p/vudly]. That is my servant, sir.
[Exit Servant.
Don Jose \aside\. I don't half like this business. But my
money locked up in his bank, and my daughter's hand bound
to his son, demand it. \Aloud^ This is no child's play,
Concho, you understand.
Concho. Ah ! I am wise. Believe me, if I have not proofs
which shall blanch the cheek of this old man, I am a fool,
Don Josd.
Re-enter Servant.
Servant Mr. Morton, sen., passed a bad night, and has
left word not to be disturbed this morning. But Mr. Morton,
jun., will attend you, sir.
Concho [aside\ So the impostor will face it out. Well,
let him come.
Do)i Jost? [to Servant]. I wait his pleasure.
{Exit Servant.
Don Jos^. You hear, Concho ? You shall face this man.
I shall repeat to him all you have told me. If you fail to
make good your charge, on your head rest the con-
sequences.
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 95
Concho. He will of course deny. He is a desperate man:
he will perhaps attack me. Eh ! Ah ! [Drawing revolver^
Don Jose. Put up your foolish weapon. The sight of the
father he has deceived will be more terrible to him than the
pistol of the spy.
Enter CoL. Starbottle, c.
Starbottle. Mr. Alexander Morton, jun., will be with you
in a moment. \Takes attitude by door, puts his hand in his
breast, and inflates himself \
Concho [to Don Jose, aside\ It is the bullying lawyer.
They will try to outface us, my patron ; but we shall triumph.
[Aloud.'] He comes, eh ! — Mr. Alexander Morton, gentle-
men ! I will show you a cheat, an impostor !
Enter, in correct, precise morning dress, Sandy Morton.
There is in his make-up and manner a suggestion of the
father.
Concho [recoiling, aside]. Diego ! The real son ! [Aloud,
furiously.'] It is a trick to defeat justice, — eh ! — a miserable
trick ! But it shall fail, it shall fail !
Col. Starbottle. Permit me, a moment, — a single moment.
[To Concho.] You have — er — er — characterised my
introduction of this — er — gentleman as a "cheat" and an
" imposture." Are you prepared to deny that this is Alex-
ander Morton ?
Don Jos^ [astonished, aside]. These Americailos are of
the Devil ! [Aloud and sternly?^ Answer him, Concho, I
command you.
Coficho [in half-insane rage]. It is Alexander Morton ;
but it is a trick, — a cowardly trick ! Where is the other
impostor, this Mr. John Oakhurst?
Sandy [advancing with dignity and something of his father's
cold manner]. He will answer for himself, when called for.
[To Don Jos^.] You have asked for me, sir : may I inquire
your business .''
96 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
Concho. Eh! It is a trick, — a trick !
Don Josd\to <Zov.Q,YLO\ Silence, sir! \To Sa'SDV, 7i///k
dignity?^ I know not the meaning of this masquerade. I
only know that you are not the gentleman hitherto known to
me as the son of Alexander Morton. I am here, sir, to
demand my rights as a man of property and a father. I
have received this morning a cheque from the house of Mor-
ton & Son, for the amount of my deposit with them. So far
— in view of this complication — it is well. Who knows?
Bueno ! But the signature of Morton & Son to the cheque is
not in the handwriting I have known. Look at it, sir. \To
Sandy [/mnding cheque].
Sandy [examining cheque]. It is my handwriting, sir, and
was signed this morning. Has it been refused 1
Don Josd. Pardon me, sir. It has not been presented.
With this doubt in my mind, I preferred to submit it first to
you.
Starbottle. A moment, a single moment, sir. While as
a — er — gentleman and a man of honour, 1 — er — appre-
ciate your motives, permit me to say, sir, as a lawyer, that
your visit is premature. On the testimony of your own
witness, the identification of Mr. Alexander Morton, jun., is
— er — complete ; he has admitted the signature as his own ;
you have not yet presented the cheque to the bank.
Don Jose. Pardon me, Col. Starbottle. It is not all.
\To Sandy.] By a written agreement with Alexander
Morton, sen., the hnnd of my daughter is promised to his
son, who now stands before me as my former servant, di3=
missed from my service for drunkenness.
Sajidy. That agreement is revoked.
Don JosL Revoked !
Sandy \Jianding paper-]. Cast your eyes over that paper.
At least you will recognize that signature.
Don Jose \7'eads]. " In view of the evident preferences of
my son Alexander Morton, and of certain family interests, I
Two MEN OF SAXDV BAR. 97
hereby revoke my consent to his marriage with the Doiia
Jovita Castro, and accord him iull permission to woo and
win his cousin, Miss Mary Morris ; promising him the same
aid and assistance previously offered in his suit with Miss
Castro. — Alexander Morton, sen."
Concho. Ah ! Carramba .' Do you not see the trick, — eh,
the conspiracy ? It was this man, as Diego, your daughter's
groom, helped his friend Mr. Oakhurst to the heiress. Ah,
you comprehend ! It was an old trick ! You shall see, you
shall see ! Ah ! I am wise, I am wise !
Do}i yosd\aside\. Could I have been deceived.? But no !
This paper that releases him gives the impostor no claim.
Sandy {resuming- his old easy manner, dropping Ids /or-
inalify, and placing his hand on Don Jose's shoulder'].
Look yar, ole man ; I didn't allow to ever see ye agin, and
this yer ain't none o' ;;// seekin'. But, since yer here, I don't
mind tellin' ye that but for me that gal of yours would have
run away a year ago, and married an unknown lover. And
I don't mind adding, that, hed I known that unknown lover
was my friend John Oakhurst, I'd have helped her do it.
{Goitig.'] Good-morning, Don Josd.
Don Josi. Insolent ! I shall expect an account for this
from your — father, sir.
Sandy. Adios, Don Josd. [Exit c.
Concho. It is a trick — I told you. Ah, I am wise ! [Going
to Don Josl]
Dofi Jose {throwing him off\ Fool ! {Exit Don Jos^.
Concho {infuriated]. Eh! Fool yourself — dotard! No
matter: I will expose all — ah I I will see Jovita ; — I will re-
venge myself on this impostor! {Is about to follow, when
Col. Starbottle leaves his position by the door, and touches
Concho on the shoulder.]
Starbottle. Excuse me.
Concho. Eh ?
Starbottle. You have forgotten something.
98 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
Concho. Something ?
Starbottle. An apology, sir. You were good enough to
express — er — incredulity — when I presented Mr. Morton :
you were kyind enough to characterize the conduct of my —
er — principal by — an epithet. You have alluded to me,
sir, — ME ■
Concho \wrathfiilly\. Bully ! {^Aside^ I have heard that
\!i\\% poinposo, this braggart, is a Yankee trick too ; that he
has the front of a lion, the liver of the chicken. \^Aloud^
Yes, I have said, you hear I have said, I, Concho {striking
his breast\ , have said you are a — bully !
Starbottle \coolly\. Then you are prepared to give me
satisfaction, sir, — personal satisfaction.
Cojicho \raging\. Yes, sir, now — you understand, now
\taklng out pistol\ anywhere, here! Yes, here ! Ah I you
start, — yes, here and now ! Face to face, you understand,
without seconds, — face to face. So ! \^Pfese?iting pistol.']
Starbottle \guietly]. Permit me to — er — apologize.
Concho. Ah ! It is too late !
Starbottle \i)itei-rupting\. Excuse me, but I feared you would
not honour me so completely and satisfactorily. Ged, sir, I
begin to respect you ! I accede to all your propositions of
time and position. The pistol you hold in'yourhand is a
derringer, I presume, loaded. Ah — er — lam right. The
one I now produce [shoiving pistoiyis — er — as you will per-
ceive, the same size and pattern, and — er — unloaded. We
will place them both, so, under the cloth of this table. You
shall draw one pistol, I will take the other. I will put that
clock at ten minutes to nine, when we will take our positions
across this table ; as you — er — happily express it, '* face to
face." As the clock strikes the hour, we will fire on the second
stroke.
Concho [aside']. It is a trick, a Yankee trick ! [Aloud.] I
am ready. Now — at once !
Starbottle [gravely]. Permit me, sir, to thank you. Your
conduct, sir, reminds me of singular incident
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. 99
Concho \_a}i<^rily intemcpting]. Come, come ! It is no
thild's play. We have much of this talk, eh ! It is action —
eh, you comprehend ? — action.
\Stakbott:i.^ places pistols under the cloth, and sets clock.
Concho draws pistol from cloth; Starbottle takes re-
maining pistol. Both men assume position, presentijig their
weapons; Starbottle pompously but seriously, Concho
angrily and nervously?^
Starbottle [after a pause^. One moment, a single mo-
ment
Concho- Ah, a trick ! Coward ! you cannot destroy my aim.
Starbottle. I overlook the — er — epithet. I wished only
to ask, if you should be — er — unfortunate, if there was any-
thing I could say to your — er — friends.
Concho. You cannot make the fool of me, coward. No !
Starbottle. My object was only precautionary. Owing to
the position in which you — er — persist in holding your
weapon, in a line with my right eye, I perceive that a ray of
light enters the nipple, and — er — illuminates the barrel. I
judge from this, that you have been unfortunate enough to
draw the — er — er — unloaded pistol.
Concho [tremulously lowering weapo}i\. Eh ! Ah ! This is
murder ! [Drops pistol?^ Murder ! — eh — help [retreating^
help ! [Exit hurriedly door c, as clock strikes . CoL. Star-
bottle lowers his pistol, and inoves with great pomposity to
the other side of the table, taking up pistol^
Starbottle [examifiing pistof]. Ah I [Lifts it, and discharges
it.} It seems that I am mistaken. [Goifig.^ The pistol was
— er — loaded I [Exit.
Scene 4. — Front scene. Room in villa. Enter Miss Mary
and]ONYVX.
Miss Mary. I tell you, you are wrong. You are not only
misunderstanding your lover, which is a woman's privilege ;
lOO TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
but you are abusing my cousin, which, as his relative, I won't
put up with.
Jovita \_passionateIy\. But hear me, Miss Mary. It is a
year since we were betrothed ; and such a betrothal ! Why,
I was signed, sealed, and delivered to him, on conditions, as
if I were a part of the rancho ; and the very night, too, I
had engaged to runaway with him ! And during that year
I have seen the gentleman twice, — yes, twice !
Miss Mary. But he has written ?
Jovita. Mother of God ! Yes, — letters delivered by my
father, sent to Jiis care, read by him first, of course ; letters
hoping that I was well, and obeying my father's commands ;
letters assuring me of his unaltered devotion ; letters that.,
compared with the ones he used to hide in the confessional
of the ruined Mission church, were as ice to fire, were as that
snow-flower you value so much, Mary, to this mariposa blos-
som I wear in my hair. And then to think that this man —
this John Oakhurst, as I knew him; this man who used to
ride twenty miles for a smile from me on the church porch;
this Don Juan who leaped that garden wall (fifteen feet, Mary,
if it is an inch), and made old Concho his stepping-stone,
this man, who daily perilled death for my sake — is changed
into this formal, methodical man of business — is — is — I
tell you there's a woman at the bottom of it ! I knov.' it
sure!
Miss Mary \aside\. How can I tell her about the Duchess ?
I won't I \Alotid?^ But listen, my dear Jovita. You know
he is under probation for you, Jovita. All this is for you.
His father is cold, methodical, unsvm[)athetic. He looks
only to his bond with this son, — this son that he treats, even
in matters of the heart, as a business partner. Remember,
on his complete reformation, and subjection to his father's
will, depends your hand. Remember the agreement !
Jovita. The agreement ; yes ! It is the agreement,
alway= the agreement. May the Devil fly away with the
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. lOI
agreement ! Look you, Miss Mary, I, Dona Jovita, didn't
fall in love with an agreement : it was with a man ! Why, I
might have married a dozen agreements — yes, of a shorter
hmitation than this ! [Crossi^io.'j
A11.SS Mary. Yes. But what if your lover had failed to
keep those promises by which he was to gain your hand.?
what if he were a man incapable of self-control ? what if he
were — a — a — drunkard !
Jovita [7m(smg\. A drunkard ! [Aside.] There w/is
Diego, he was a drunkard ; but he was faithless. [A/ou.t.'\
You mean a weak, faithless drunkard .''
Miss Mary. No ! [Sadly.'] Faithless only to himself,
bur devoted — yes, devoted to you.
Jovita. Miss Mary, I have found that one big vice in a
man is apt to keep out a great many smaller ones.
Miss Mary. Yes ; but if he were a slave to liqu r?
Jovita. My dear, I should try to change his mistre.^s.
Oh, give me a man that is capable of a devotion to asjy
thing, rather than a cold, calculating average of all the
virtues !
Miss Mary [aside]. I, who aspire to be her teacher, am
only her pupil. [Aloud?\^ But what if, in this very drunken-
ness, this recklessness, he had once loved and worshipped
another woman.? What if you discovered all this after —
after — he had won jour heart ?
Jovita. I should adore him ! Ah, Miss Mary ! Love
differs from all the other contagious diseases : the last time
a man is exposed to it, he takes it most readily, and has it the
worst! But you, jc/^, you cannot sympathise with me. You
have some lover, the ideal of the virtues ; some man as cor-
rect, as well regulated, as calm as — yourself; some one who
addresses you in the fixed morality and severe penmanship
of the copy-books. He will never precipitate himself over a
garden wall or through a window. Your Jacob will wait for
you through seven years, and receive you from the hands
I02 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
of your cousin and guardian — as a reward of merit ! No,
you could not love a vagabond.
Miss Mary [very slowly and quiet ly\ No ?
Jovita. No ! {Passionately^ No, it is impossible ! For-
give me, Miss Mary : you are good ; a better girl than I am.
But think of me ! A year ago my lover leaped a wall at mid-
night to fly with me : to-day, the day that gives me to him,
he writes a few cold lines, saying that he has business, busi-
ness — you understand — business, and that he shall not see
me until we meet in the presence of — of — of — our fathers.
Miss Mary. Yes ; but you will see him, at least, perhaps
alone. Listen : it is no formal meeting, but one of festivity.
My guardian has told me, in his quaint scriptural way, it is
the killing of the fatted calf over his long-lost prodigal.
Have patience, little one. Ah ! Jovita, we are of a different
race, but we are of one sex ; and as a woman I know how to
accept another woman's abuse of her lover. Come, come !
\_Exeunt Miss Mary ana Jovita.
Scene 5. — The drawing-room of Mr. Morton's villa.
Large open arch in centre., leading^ to veranda, looking on
distant view 0/ San Francisco; richly furnished, — sofas,
arm-chairs, and tete-a-tetes. Enter COL. Starbottle, C,
carry ittg bouquet, preceded by Servant, bowing.
Starbottle. Take my kyard to Miss Morris.
\Exit Servant.
Starbottle. Star ! This is the momentous epoch of your
life ! It is a moment for which you — are — I may say alone
responsible, — personally responsible ! She will be naturally
gratified by the — er — flowers. She will at once recognise
this bouquet as a delicate souvenir of Red Gulch, and will
appreciate your recollection. And the fact, the crushing fact,
that you have overlooked the — er — ungentlemanly conduct
of her own cousin Sandy, the real Alexander Morton, that
TWO MEN OK SANDY BAR. I03
you have — er — assisted to restore the ex-vaqtiero to his
rights, will — er — er — at once open the door to — er —
mutual confidence and — er — a continuance of that — er —
prepossession I have already noticed. Ahem ! here she. is.
Enter Miss Mary in full dress.
Miss Mary. You are early, Col. Starbottle. This promp-
titude does honour to our poor occasion.
Col. Starbottle. Ged, Miss Mary, promptness with a lady
and an adversary is the first duty of — er — gentlemen. I
wished that — er — the morning dew might still be — er —
fresh in these flowers. I gathered them myself {/r^j'^«//;/^
boiiquet'\ at — er — er — flower-stand in the — er — California
market.
Miss Mary \aside\ Flowers ! I needed no such reminder
of poor Sandy. \^Aloud!\ I thank you, colonel.
Starbottle. Ged, ma'am, I am repaid doubly. Your con-
duct, Miss Mary, reminds me of little incident that occurred
at Richmond, in '53. Dinner-party — came early — but
obliged to go — as now — on important business, before des-
sert — before dessert. Lady sat next to me — beautiful
woman — excuse me if I don't mention names — ■ said to me,
" Star," — always called me Star, — " Star, you remind me of
the month of May." — " Ged, madam," — I said, "delighted,
proud; but why?" — "Because," she said, "you come in
with the — er — oysters " — No ! Ged, pardon me — ridiculous
mistake! I mean — er — "you come in with the — er —
flowers^ and go before the — er — fruits."
Miss Mary. Ah ! colonel ! I appreciate her disappoint-
ment. Let us hope, however, that some day you may find
that happy woman who will be able to keep you through the
whole dinner and the whole season, until December and the
ices !
Starbottle. Ged ! excellent ! Capital ! [^Seriously.'] Miss
Mary ! [Suddenly inflating his chest, striking attitude, and
t04 TWO MEN OP SANDY DAR.
gazini^ on Miss Mary with lam^uts/iwg eyes."] There is —
er — such a woman !
Miss Mary \aside]. What can he mean ?
Starbottk \takin<^ scat beside her\. Allow me, Miss Mary,
a few moments of confidential — er — confidential disclosure.
To-day is, as you are aware — the day on which, according
to — er — agreement between parties, my friend and client
Mr. Morton, sen., — formally accepts his prodigal son. It is
my — er — duty to state that — er — the gentleman who has
for the past year occupied that position has behaved with
great discretion, and — er — fulfilled his part of the — er —
agreement. But it would — er — appear that there has been
a — er — slight delusion regarding the identity of that prodi-
gal, — a delusion shared by all the parties except, perhaps,
myself. I have to prepare you for a shock. The gentleman
whom you have recently known as Alexander Morton, jun.
is not the prodigal son; is not your — er — cousin; is, in
fact, no relation to you. Prepare yourself, Miss Mary, for a
little disappointment, — for — er — degradation. The genuine
son has been — er — discovered in the person of — er — low
menial — er — vagabond, — "Sandy," the — er — outcast of
Red Gulch !
Miss Mary [rising in astonishment\ Sandy ! Then he
was right. [Aside.] The child is his ! and that woman
Starbottle. Compose yourself. Miss Mary. I know the —
er — effect of — er — revelation like this upon — er — proud
and aristocratic nature Ged ' My ( vvn, I assure you, beats
in — er — responsive indignation. You can never consent to
remain beneath this roof, and — er — receive a — er — vaga-
bond and — er — menial on equal terms. The — er — neces-
sities of my — er — profession may — er — compel me ; but
you — er — never! Holding myself — er — er — responsible
for having introduced you here, it is my — er — duty to pro-
vide you with — another home! It is my — er — duty to
protect
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. IO5
Miss Mary \aside\. Sandy here, and beneath this roof !
Why has he not sought me ? Ah, I know too well : he dare
not face me with his child !
Starbottle \aside\. She turns away ! it is maiden coyness.
\AloitdI\ If, Miss Mary, the — er — devotion of a life-time ;
if the — er — chivalrous and respectful adoration of a man —
er — whose record is — er — not unknown in the Court of
Honour \dropping on one knee with excessive gallantry\ ; if
the — er — measure
Miss Mary {oblivious of CoL. Starbottle]. I wiH — I
}mist see him ! Ah ! {looking L.] he is coming !
Enter Sandy.
Starbottle [rising with great readiness and tact^ I have
found it {presenting flowei-\. It had fallen beneath the sofa.
Sandy {to Miss Mary, stopping short in embarrassment\.
I did not know you — I — I — thought there was no one here.
Miss Mary {to StarbottleJ. May I ask you to excuse
me for a moment? I have a few words to say to — to my
cousin !
Starbottle bows gallantly to Miss Mary, atid stiffly to
Sandy, and exit v.. A lotig pause; Miss Mary remains
seated, pulling flowers, Sandy remains standing by wing,
foolish and ejnbarrassed. Business.
Miss Mary, {impatiently}. Well .?
Sandy {slowly}. I axes your pardon, miss; but you told
that gentleman you had a few words — to say to me.
Miss Mary [passionately, aside}. Fool ! [Aloud.} I had;
but I am waiting to first answer your inquiries about your —
your— child. I have fulfilled my trust, sir.
Sandy. You have, Miss Mary, and I thank you.
Miss Mary. I might perhaps have expected that this re
velation of our kinship would have come from other lips than
a stranger's ; but — no matter! I wish you joy, sir, of your
17
Io6 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
heritage. [Go/n^.] You have found a home, sir, at last, for
yourself and — and — your child. Good-day, sir.
Sandy. Miss Mary !
Mt'ss Mary. I must make ready to receive your father's
guests. It is his orders : I am only his poor relation. Good-
bye, sir. \^Exit L,
Sandy \watchitig her\. She is gone ! — gone ! No ! She
has dropped on the sofa in the ante-room, and is crying
Crying ! I promised Jack I wouldn't speak until the time
came. I'll go back. \Hesitating, and looking toward L.] Pooi
girl ! How she must hate me ! I might just say a word
one word to thank her for her kindness to Johnny, — onlj
one word, and then go away. I — I — can keep from liquor
I swore I would to Jack, that night I saw the old man —
drunk, — and I have. But — I can't keep — from — her
No — damn it ! [Going toward L.] No ! — I'll go !
{Exit L
Enter hurriedly and excitedly Jovita r., followed by
Manuela.
Jovita. Where is she ? Where is he ? — the traitor !
Manuela \entreatingly\ Compose yourself, Doiia Jovita
for the love of God ! This is madness : believe me, there is
some mistake. It is some trick of an enemy, — of that in
grate, that coyote, Concho, who hates the Don Alexandre.
Jovita. A trick ! Call you this a trick ? Look at thii
paper, put into my hands by my father a moment ago. Reac
it. Ah ! listen. \Reads^ " In view of the evident pre
ferences of my son Alexander Morton, I hereby revoke m;
consent to his marriage with the Doiia Jovita Castro, anc
accord him full permission to woo and win his cousin. Mis;
Mary Morris ! " Call you this a trick, eh ? No, it is thei
perfidy ! This is why she was brought here on the eve o
my betrothal. This accounts for his silence, his absence
Oh, I shall go mad !
TWO MEN OK SANDY BAR. I07
Manuela. Compose yourself, miss. If I am not deceived,
there is one here who will aid us, — who will expose this
deceit. Listen : an hour ago, as I passed through the hall,
I saw Diego, our old Diego, —your friend and confident,
Diego.
Jovita. The drunkard— the faithless Diego !
Manuela. Never, Miss Jovita ; not drunken ! For, as he
passed before me, he was as straight, as upright, as fine as
your lover. Come, miss, we will seek him.
Jovita. Never ! He, too, is a traitor.
Manuela. Believe me, no ! Come, Miss Jovita. \Looking
toward L.] See, he is there. Some one is with him.
Jovita \looking\ You are right ; and it is she — she, Miss
Mary! What? he is kissing her hand! and she— .r/z^, the
double traitress — drops her head upon his shoulder ! Oh.
this is infamy !
Manuela. Hush ! Some one is coming. The guests are
arriving. They must not see )ou thus. This way, Miss
Jovita,— this way. After a little, a little, the mystery will be
explained. [ Taking Jovita'S hand, atid leading her R.]
Jovita [going]. And this was the correct schoolmistress,
the preceptress and example of all the virtues ! ha ! [laughing
hysterically] ha ! [Exei^nt JoviTA and Manuela.
Scene 6. — The same. Enter Servant ; opens foldiitg-
doors C, revealing veranda, and view of distant city
beyond. Stage, fog effect from without. Enter Star-
BOTTLE a«^OAKHURST, R., in full evening dress.
Starbottle [walking towards veraiida], A foggy evening
for our anniversary.
Oakhurst. Yes. [Aside.] It was such a night as this I
first stepped into Sandy's place, I first met the old man.
Well, it will be soon over. [Aloud.] You have the papers
and transfers all ready 1
I08 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
StarbottU. In my — ci — pocket. Mr. Morton, sen.,
should be here to receive his guests.
Oakhurst. He will be here presently : until then the dutj
devolves on me ! He has secluded himself even from me
\Aside^ Perhaps it is in very shame for his recent weakness.
Enter Servant.
Servant. Don Josd Castro, Miss Castro, and Miss Morris.
«
Enter DON ]ost'with JOVITA ««^MISS Mary^« either arm
All fortnally salute Mr. Oakhurst, except Miss Jovita,
who turns coldly away, taking seat remotely on sofa. CoL.
Starbottle j^a//<3«//y approaches Miss Mary, and takes
seat beside her.
Oakhurst [aside]. They are here to see my punishment.
There is no sympathy even in her eyes.
Enter SERVANT.
Seniant. Mr. Concepcion Garcia and Mr. Capper.
Concho [approaching OAKHURST, rubbing his hands]. 1
wish you joy, Mr. Alexander Morton !
Oakhurst [excitedly, aside]. Sliall I throw him from the
window ! The dog ! — even he !
Capper [approaching Mr. Oakhurst]. You have done
well. Be bold. / will see you through. As for that man
[pointing to Concho], leave him to me! [Lays his hand on
Concho's shoulder, and leads him to sofa R. Oakhurst
takes seat in chair L. as Sandy enters qidetly from door L.,
and stands leaning upon his chair.
Starbottle [risitig]. Ladies and gentlemen, we are waiting
only for the presence of Mr. Alexander Morton, sen. I
regret to say that for the last twenty-four hours — he has
been — er — exceedingly preoccupied with the momentous
cares of the — er — occasion. You who know the austere
habits 0 '^ my friend and — er — clieot will probably under-
TWO MEM Of SANt>V SAft. IO9
Stand that he may be at this very moment engaged in prayer-
ful and Christian meditation, invoking the Throne of Grace,
previous to the solemn duties of — er — er — to-night.
Enter Servant.
Servant. Mr. Alexander Morton, sen.
Enter Old Morton, ^r««-^, in evening costume, cravat awry,
coat half buttoned up, and half surly, half idiotic manner.
All rise in astonishment. SkliH\ starts forward. Oak-
nXJKSi: pulls him back.
Morton {thickly']. Don't rish ! Don't rish ! We'll all sit
down ! How do you do, sir .'' I wish ye well, miss. [Goes
around and laboriously shakes hands with everybody."] Now
lesh all take a drink ! lesh you take a drink, and you take a
drink, and you take a drink !
Starbottle. Permit me, ladies and gentlemen, to — er —
explain : our friend is — er — evidently labouring under — er
— er — accident of hospitality! In a moment he will be
himself.
Old Morton. Hush up ! Dry up — yourself — old turkey-
cock ! Eh !
Sandy \despairitigly]. He will not understand us ! [To
Starbottle.] He will not know me ! What is to be done ?
Old Morton. Give me some whishky. Lesh all take a
drink ! [Enter Servant with decanter and glasses.]
Old Morton [starting forward]. Lesh all take a drink !
Sandy. Stop !
Old Morton [recovering himself slightly]. Who says
stop ? Who dares countermand my ordersh ?
Concho [coming forward]. Who? I will tell you: eh!
eh ! Diego — dismissed from the rancho of Don Jose for
drunkenness ! Sandy — the vagabond of Red Gulch !
Sandy [passionately seizing Old Morton's arm]. Yes,
Diego — Sandy — the outcast — but, God help me ! no longer
rtO TWO MEN OF SANDY BAft.
the drunkard. I forbid you to touch that glass ! — I, your
son, Alexander Morton ! Yes, look at me, father : I,
with drunkenness in my blood, planted by you, fostered by
you — I whom you sought to save — I — I, stand here
to save you ! Go ! [To Servant.] Go ! While he is
thus, I — /, am master here !
0/d Mof'ton {cowed and frightened^. That voice ! [Pass-
ing his hand over his forehead.'] Am I dreaming ? Aleck)
where are you ? Alexander, speak, I command you : is this
the truth ?
Oakhurst [slowly']. It is !
Starbottle. One moment — a single moment: permit me
to — er — er — explain. The gentleman who has just — er
— dismissed the refreshment is, to the best of my lega\
knowledge, your son. The gentleman who for the past yeai
has so admirably filled the functions of that office is — er —
prepared to admit this. The proofs are — er — conclusive.
It is with the — er — intention of offering them, and — er —
returning your lawful heir, that we — er — are here to-night.
Old Morton [rising to his feet]. And I renounce you both !
Out of my house, out of my sight, out of my heart, forever !
Go ! liars, swindlers, confederates ! Drunk
Oakhurst [retiring slowly with Sandy]. We are going,
sir !
Old Morton. Go ! open the doors there wide, wide enough
for such a breadth of infamy ! Do you hear me .'' / am
master here !
Stands erect, as OAKHURST and Sandy, hand in hand,
slowly retreat backward to centre, — then suddenly utters
a cry, and falls heavily on sofa. Both pause: OAK-
HURST remains quiet and motionless ; Sandy, after a
moments hesitation, rushes forward, and falls at his feet.
Sandy. Father, forgive me ! fl
Old Morton [putting his hand round Sandy'S nerh, ana
I
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. Ill
motionine^ him to door]. Go ! both of you, both of you !
{Resisting Sandy's attempt to rise]. Did you hear me ? Go !
Starbottle. Permit me to — explain. Your conduct, Mr.
Morton, reminds me of sing'Iar incident in '47
Old Morton. Silence !
Oakhurst. One word, Mr. Morton ! Shamed and dis-
j^raced as I am, I leave this roof more gladly than I entered
it. How I came here, you best know. How I yielded madly
to the temptation, the promise of a better life ; how I fell,
through the hope of i-eformation, — no one should know
better than you, sir, the reformer. I do not ask your pardon.
You know that I did my duty to you as your presumed son.
Your real son will bear witness, that, from the hour I knew
of his existence, I did my duty equally to him. Col. Star-
bottle has all the legal transfers and papers necessary to
make the restoration of your son — the integrity of your
business name-- complete. I take nothing out of this hfe
that I did not bring in it, — except my self-respect ! I go —
as I came — alone !
Jovita [rushing towards Htm]. No ! no ! You shall take
me/ I have wronged you, Jack, cruelly ; I have doubted
you ; but you shall not go alone. I care not for this con-
tract ! You are more to me, by your own right. Jack, than
by any kinship with such as these !
Oakhurst [raising her gentiy]. I thank you, darling. But
it is too late now. To be more worthy of you, to win_>'^«, I
waived the title I had to you in my own manhood, to borrow
another's more legal claim. I, who would not win you as a
gambler, cannot make you now the wife of a convicted im-
postor. No ! Hear me, darling ! do not make my disgrace
greater than it is. In the years to come, Jovita, think of me
as one who loved you well enough to go through shame to
win you, but too well to ask you to share with him that shame.
Farewell, darling, farev/ell ! [Releases himself from Jovita's
arms, who falls brnde him^
112 TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR.
ConJio \f'ubbing his hands, and standing; before htm\ Oho !
Mr. John Oakhurst — eh — was it for this, eh — you leaped
the garden wall, eh ? was it for this you struck me down, eh .'
You are not wise, eh ? You should have run away with the
Doila when you could — ah, ah, impostor !
Sandy {leaping to his feet']. Jack, you shall not go ! I
will go with you !
Oakhurst. No ! Your place is there. {Pointing to Old
Morton, whose head has sunk drunkenly on his breast.']
Heed not this man ; his tongue carries only the borrowed
lash of his master.
Concho. Eh ! you are bold now — bold ; but I said I
"Would have revenge — ah, revenge !
Sandy {rushing towards him]. Coward?
Don Jose. Hold your hand, sir ! Hold! I allow no one
to correct my menials but myself. Concho, order my
carriage !
Concho. It is ready, sir.
Don Jose. Then lead the way to it, for my daughter and
her husband, John Oakhurst.— Good night, Mr. Morton-
I can sympathise with you ; for we have both found a son.
I am willing to exchange my dismissed servant for your
dismissed partner.
Starbottle {advancing]. Ged, sir, I respect you ! Ged, sir,
permit me, sir, to grasp that honourable hand !
Old Morton {excitedly]. He is right, my partner ! What
have I done ! The house of Morton & Son dissolved. The
man known as my partner — a fugitive ! No, Alexander !
Starbottle. One moment — a single moment! As a
lawyer, permit me to say, sir, that the whole complication
may be settled, sir, by the— er — addition of — er— single
letter ! The house of Morton & Son shall hereafter read
Morton & Sons. The papers for the legal adoption of Mr.
Oakhurst are— er — in my pocket.
Old Morton {more soberly]. Have it your own v/xi'' "^
TWO MEN OF SANDY BAR. II3
VIorton & Sons be it. Hark ye, Don ]os6 ! We are equal
It last. But — hark ye, Aleck ! How about the boy, eh ? —
ny grandson, eh ? Is this one of the sons by adoption ?
Sandy \_embarrassedly\. It is my own, sir.
Capper \advancmg\. He can with safety claim it, for the
nother is on her way to Australia with her husband.
Old Morton. And the schoolma'am, eh ?
Miss Mary. She will claim the usual year of probation
or your prodigal, and then
Sandy. God bless ye, Miss Mary !
Old Morton. I am in a dream ! But the world — my
riends — my patrons — how can I explain?
Starbottle. I will — er — e'"^i*in. {Advancing slowly to
ront — to audience^ One moment — er — a single moment !
f anything that has — er — transpired this evening — might
eem to you, ladies and gentlemen — er — morally or — er —
;gally — or honourably to require — er — apology or — er
- explanation ! — permit me to say — that I — Col. Culpepper
itarbottle, hold myself responsible — er — personally respon.
ible.
Capper. Concho.
Vd Merton. .Sandy. Miss Mary. Don Josi. Joi ita. Oahkunt.
Col. Starbottle.
[Ci/rtain.]
THE END.
POEMS
By BRET HARTE.
RAMON.
REFUGIO MINE, NORTHERN MEXICO.
Drunk and senseless in his place,
Prone and sprawling on his face,
More like brute than any man
Alive or dead, —
By his great pump out of gear.
Lay the peon engineer,
Waking only just to hear,
Overhead,
Angry tones that called his name,
Oaths and cries of bitter blame —
Woke to hear all this, and waking, turned and fled !
" To the man who'll bring to me,"
Cried Intendant Harry Lee, —
Harry Lee, the English foreman of the mine, —
" Bring the sot alive or dead,
I will give to him," he said,
"Fifteen hundred pesos down.
Just to set the rascal's crown
Underneath this heel of mine :
Since but death
Deserves the man whose deed,
Be it vice or want of heed.
Stops the pumps that give us breath, —
Stops the pumps that suck the death
From the poisoned lower levels of the mine ! "
Il8 RAMON.
No one answered, for a cry
From the shaft rose up on high ;
And shuffling, scrambling, tumbling from beJow,
Came the miners, each the bolder
Mounting on the weaker's shoulder.
Grappling, clinging to their hold or
Letting go,
As the weaker gasped and fell
From the ladder to the weJl."-'
To the poisoned pit of heU
Down bcHi« '
*' To the man who sets them free,"
Cried the foreman, Harry Lee, —
Harry Lee, the English foreman of the mine, —
" Brings them out and sets them free,
I will give that man," said he,
*' Twice that sum, who with a rope
Face to face with death shall cope.
Let him come who dares to hope ! "
" Hold your peace !" some one replied,
Standing by the foreman's side ;
" There has one already gone, whoe'er he be ! "
Then they held their breath with awe,
Pulling on the rope, and saw
Fainting figures reappear,
On the black rope swinging clear,
Fastened by some skilful hand from below ;
Till a score the level gained.
And but one alone remained, —
He the hero and the last.
He whose skilful hand made fast
The long line that brought them back to hope and
cheer !
RAMON. 119
Ha.?gard, gasping, down dropped he
At the feet of Harry Lee, —
Harry Lee, the English foreman of the mine «
" I have come," he gasped, " to claim
Both rewards. Seiior, my name
Is Ramon !
Vm the drunicen engineer, —
I'm the cowan'r. Seiior — *• Her?
He fell over, b) w.az sift:
Dead as stone :
!< OR THE KING
NORTHERN MEXICO.
1640.
As you look from the plaza at Leon, west
You can see her house, but the view is best
From the porch of the church where she lies at rest.
Where much of her past still lives, I think,
In the scowling brows and sidelong blink
Of the worshipping throng that rise or sink
To the waxen saints that, yellow and lank,
Lean out from their niches, rank on rank,
With a bloodless Saviour on either flank ;
In the gouty pillars, whose cracks begin
To show the adobe core within, —
A soul of earth in a whitewashed skin.
Ana I think that the moral of all, you'll say,
Is the sculptured legend that moulds away
On a tomb in the choir : " Por el Rey."
** Por el Rey.' Well, the king is gone,
Ages ago, and the Hapsburg one
Shot — but the lock of the church Uves on.
FOR THE KING. 121
" Por el Rey." What matters, indeed,
If king or president succeed
To a country haggard with sloth and greed,
As long as one granary is fat,
And yonder priest, in a shovel hat.
Peeps out from the bin like a sleek brown rat !
What matters? Naught, if it serves to bring
The legend nearer, — no other thing, —
We'll spare the moral, " Live the King ! "
Two hundred years ago, they say,
The viceroy. Marquis of Monte- Rey,
Rode, with his retinue, that way.
Grave as befitted Spain's grandee,
Grave as the substitute should be
Of His Most Catholic Majesty,
Yet, from his black plume's curving grace
To his slim, black gauntlet's smaller space,
Exquisite as a piece of lace !
Two hundred years ago — e'en so —
The marquis stopped where the lime-trees blow,
While Leon's seneschal bent him low
And begged that the marquis would that night take'
His humble roof for the royal sake,
And then, as the custom demanded, spake
The usual wish that his guest would hold
The house, and all that it might infold.
As his — with the bride scarce three days old.
18
I2i FOR THE KING.
Be sure that the marquis, in his place,
RepUed to all with the measured grace
Of chosen speech and unmoved face,
Nor raised his head till his black plume swept
The hem of the lady's robe, who kept
Her place, as her husband backward stept.
And then (I know not how nor why)
A subtle flame in the lady's eye —
Unseen by the courtiers standing by —
Burned through his lace and titled wreath,
Burned through his body's jeweled sheath,
Till it touched the steel of the man beneath !
(And yet, mayhap, no more was meant
Than to point a well-worn compliment.,
And the lady's beauty, her worst intent.)
Howbeit, the marquis bowed again :
"Who rules with awe well serveth Spam,
But best whose law is love made plain."
Be sure that night no pillow prest
The seneschal, but with the resi
Watched, — as was due a royal guest,—
Watched from the wall till he saw the square
Fill with the moonlight, white and bare, —
Watched till he saw two shadows fare
Out from his garden, where the shade
That the old church-tower and belfry made.
Like a benedictory hand was laid.
FOR THE KING. 123
Few words spoke the seneschal as he turned
To his nearest sentry : " These monks have learned
That stolen fruit is sweetly earned.
" Myself shall punish yon acolyte
Who gathers my garden grapes by night ;
Meanwhile, wait thou till the morning light."
Yet not till the sun was riding high
Did the sentry meet his commander's eye,
Nor then — till the viceroy stood by.
To the lovers of grave formalities
No greeting was ever so fine, I wis,.
As this host's and guest's high courtesies !
The seneschal feared, as the wind was west,
A blast from Morena had chilled his rest.-*
The viceroy languidly confest
That cares of state, and — he dared to say —
Some fears that the king could not repay
The thoughtful zeal of his host, some way
Had marred his rest. Yet he trusted much
None shared his wakefulness ! Thoutrh such
'&'
Indeed might be ! If he dared to touch
'&
A theme so fine — the bride, perchance,
Still slept ? At least, they missed her glanct
To give this greeting countenance.
Be sure that the seneschal, in turn,
Was deeply bowed with the grave concern
Of the painful news his truest should learn :
134 FOR THE KING.
" Last night to her father's dying bed
By a. priest was the lady summoned ;
^Jor know we yet how well she sped,
" But hope for the best." The grave viceroy
(Though grieved his visit had such alloy)
Must still wish the seneschal great joy
Of a bride so true to her filial trust !
Yet now as the day waxed on, they must
To horse, if they'd 'scape the noonday dust
" Nay," said the seneschal, " at least,
To mend the news of this funeral priest
Myself shall ride as your escort, east."
The viceroy bowed. Then turned aside
To his nearest follower : " With me ride —
You and Felipe — on either side.
" And hst ! Should anything me befall,
Mischance of ambush or musket-ball.
Cleave to his saddle yon seneschal !
" No more." Then gravely in accents clear
Took formal leave of his late good cheer :
Whiles the seneschal whispered a musketeer.
Carelessly stroking his pommel top,
" If from the saddle ye see me drop,
Riddle me quickly yon solemn fop ] "
So these, with many a compliment.
Each on his one dark thought intent, ,
With grave politeness onward wen^i
FOR THE KING. I35
Riding high, and in sight of all,
Viceroy, escort, and seneschal.
Under the shade of the Almandrai
Holding their secret, hard and fast,
Silent and grave, they ride at last
, Into the dustv travelled Past ;
Even like this they passed away
Two hundred years ago to-day.
What of the lady? Who shall say?
Do the souls of the dying ever yearn
To some favoured spot for the dust's return—
For the homely peace of the family urn ?
I know not. Yet did the seneschal,
Chancing in after years to fall
Pierced by a Flemish musket-ball,
Call to his side a trusty friar
And bid him swear, as his last desire.
To bear his corse to San Pedro's choir
At Leon, where 'neath a shield azure
Should his mortal frame find sepulture ;
This much, for the pains Christ did endure.
Be sure that the friar loyally
Fulfilled his trust by land and sea,
Till the spires of Leon silently
Rose through the green of the Almandrai,
As if to beckon the seneschal
To his kindred dusr 'neath the choir wall.
126 FOR THE KING.
I wot that the saints on either side
Leaned from their niches open-eyed,
To see the doors of the church swing wide —
That the wounds of the Saviour on either flank
Bled fresh, as the mourners, rank by rank,
Went by with the coffin, clank on clank.
For why ? when they raised the marble door
Of the tomb untouched for years before,
The friar swooned on the choir floor ;
For there, in her laces and festal dress,
Lay the dead man's wife, her loveliness
Scarcely changed by her long duress ;
As on the riight she had passed away —
Only that near her a dagger lay,
Witli the written legend, " For el Rey."
What was their greeting — the groom and bride,
They whom that steel and the years divide .''
1 know not. Here they lie side by side.
Side by side. Though the king has his way,
Even the dead at last have their da}'.
Make you the moral. " Por el Rey."
DON DIEGO OF THE SOUTH.
REFECTORY-MISSION SAN GABRIEL.
1869.
" Good," said the Padre, " believe me still,
Don Giovanni, or what you will, —
The type's eternal ! We knew him here
As Don Diego del Sud. I fear
The story's no new one. Will you hear ?
One of those spirits you can't tell why
God has permitted. Therein I
Have the advantage, for I hold
That wolves are sent to the purest fold.
And we save the wolf, if we'd get the lamb.
You're no believer ! Good ! 1 am.
Well, for some purpose, I grant you dim.
The Don loved women, and they loved him.
Each thought herself his last love ! Worse,
Many believed that they were \\\% first .'
And such are those creatures, since the Fall,
The very doubt had a charm for all !
You laugh ! You are young — but I — indeed
I have no patience.
To proceed.
128 DON DIEGO OF THE SOUTH.
You saw, as you passed through the upper town,
The Encinal, where the road goes down
To San Fehpe. There one morn
They found Diego, his mantle torn.
And as many stabs through his doublet's band
As there were wronged husbands — you understand ?
' Dying,' — so said the gossips. ' Dead,'
Was what the friars who found him said.
Good ! Quien sabe f Who else should know r —
It was a hundred years ago.
There was a funeral. Small indeed —
Private. What would you ?
To proceed.
Scarcely the year had flown. One night
The comandatite awoke in fright, —
Hearing below his casement's bar
The well-known twang of the Don's guitar —
And rushed to the window — just to see
His wife a-swoon on the balcony.
One week later Don Juan Ramirez
Found his own daughter, the Doiia Inez,
Pale as a ghost, leaning out to hear
The song of that phantom cavalier.
Even Alcalde Pedro Bias
Saw, it was said, through his niece's glass
The shade of Diego twice repass.
What the gentlemen each confessed
Heaven and the Church only knows. At beat
The case was a bad one. How to deal
With Sin as a ghost they couldn't but feel
DON DIEGO OF THE SOUTH. I29
Was an awful thing. Till a certain Fray
Humbly offered to show the way.
And the way was this : Did I say before
That the Fray was a stranger ? No,- Seiior?
Strange ! Very strange ! I should have said
That the very week that the Don lay dead
He came among us ! Bread he broke
Silent ; nor ever to one he spoke.
So had he vowed it. Below his brows
His face was hidden. There are such vows.
Strange, are they not ? You do not use
Snuff? A bad habit !
Well, the views
Of the Fray were this : that the penance done
By the caballeros was right ; but one
Was due from the cause, and that in brief,
Was Donna Dolores Gomez, chief,
And Inez, Sanchicha, Concepcion,
And Carmen. Well, half the girls in town
On his tablets the Friar had written down.
These were to come on a certain day
And ask at the hands of this pious Fray
For absolution. That done, small fear
But the shade of Diego would disappear.
They came, each knelt in her turn and place
To the pious Fray with his hidden face
And voiceless lips, and each again
Took back her soul freed from spot or stain,
Till the Doiia Inez, with eyes downcast
And a tear on their fringes, knelt her last.
130 DON DIEGO OF THE SOUTH.
And then — perhaps that her voice was low
From fear or from shame — the monks said so —
But the Fray leaned forward, when swiftly all
Were thrilled by a scream, and saw her fall
Fainting beside the confessional.
And so was the j^host of Diego laid
As the Fray had said. No more his shade
Was seen at San Gabriel's Mission. Eh?
The girl interests you ? I dare say !
' Nothing,' she said, when they brought her to ;
' Nothing, — a faintness.' They spake more true
Who said 'twas a stubborn soul. But then
Women are women, and men are men.
So to return. As I said before,
Having got the wolf, by the same high law
We saved the lamb in the wolf's own jaw ;
And that's my story. The tale, I fear,
But poorly told. Yet, it strikes me, here
Is stuff for a moral. What's your view ?
You smile, Don Pancho ; ah ! that's like you ! "
FRIAR PEDRO'S RIDE.
«T was the morning season of the year ;
It was the morning era of the land ;
The watercourses rang full loud and clear ;
Portala's cross stood where Portala's hand
Had planted it when Faith was taught by Fear ;
When Monks and Missions held the sole command
Of all that shore beside the peaceful sea
Where spring-tides beat their long-drawn reveille.
Out of the Mission of San Luis Rey,
All in that brisk, tumultuous spring weather,
Rode Friar Pedro, in a pious way,
With six dragoons in cuirasses of leather.
Each armed alike for either prayer or fray,
Handcuffs and missals they had slung together ;
And as an aid the gospel truth to scatter
Each swung a lasso — alias a " riata."
In sooth, that year the harvest had been slack,
The crop of converts scarce worth computation ;
Some souls were lost, whose owners had turned back
To save their bodies frequent flagellation.
And some preferred the songs of birds, alack.
To Latin matins and their souls' salvation,
And thought their own wild whoopings were less dreary
Than Father Pedro's droning miserere.
132
FRIAR PEDRO'S RIDE.
To bring them back to matins and to prime,
To pious works and secular submission,
To prove to them that liberty was crime.
This was in fact the Padre's present mission ;
To get new souls perchance at the same time
And bring them to a "sense of their condition "—
That easy phrase which, in the past and present,
Means making that condition most unpleasant.
He saw the glebe land guiltless of a furrow ;
He saw the wild oats wrestle on the hill ;
He saw the gopher working in his burrow ;
h t saw the squirrel scampering at his will ;
He sxw all this, and felt no doubt a thorough
Anvl deep conviction of God's goodness ; still
He failed to see that in His glory He
Yet left the humblest of His creatures free.
He saw the flapping crow, whose frequent note
Voiced the monotony of land and sky.
Mocking with graceless wing and rusty coat
His priestly presence as he trotted by.
He would have cursed the bird by bell and rote,
But other game just then was in his eye —
A savage camp, whose occupants preferred
Their heathen darkness to the living Word.
He rang his bell, and at the martial sound
Twelve silver spurs their jingling rowels clashed ;
Six horses sprang across the level ground
And six dragoons in open order dashed ;
Above their heads the lassos circled round ;
In every eye a pious fervour flashed ;
They charged the camp, and in one moment more
They lassoed six and reconverted four.
FRIAR PEDRO'S RIDE. I33
The Friar saw the conflict from a knoll,
And sang Laus Deo, and cheered on his men :
" Well thrown, Bautista, — that's another soul !
After him, Gomez, — try it once again !
This way, Felipe ! there the heathen stole ;
Bones of St. Francis ! surely that makes ttn I
Te deiim laudamus, —but they're very wild ;
Non tiobis dominus, — all right, my child."
When at that moment — as the story goes —
A certain squaw, who had her foes eluded,
Ran past the Friar, — ^just before his nose.
He stared a moment, and in silence brooded,
Then in his breast a pious frenzy rose
• And every other prudent thought excluded ;
He caught a lasso, and dashed in a canter
After that Occidental Atalanta.
High o'er his head he swirled the dreadful noose,
But as the practice was quite unfamiliar,
His first cast tore Felipe's captive loose,
And almost choked Tiburcio Camilla,
And might have interfered with that brave youth's
Ability to gorge the tough tortilla;
But all things come by practice, and at last
His flying slip-knot caught the maiden fast.
Then rose above the plain a mingled yell
Of rage and triumph, — a demoniac whoop ;
The Padre heard it like a passing knell,
And would have loosened his unchristian loop ;
But the tough raw-hide held the captive well,
And held, alas, too well the captor-dupe ;
For with one bound the savage fled amain,
Dragging horse, friar, down the lonely plain.
134 FRIAR PEDRu'b KIDE.
Down the arroyo, out across the mead,
By heath and hollow, sped the flying maid,
Dragging behind her still the panting steed
And helpless friar, who in vain essayed
To cut the lasso or to check his speed.
He felt himself beyond all human aid.
And trusted to the saints, — and for that mattei
To some weak spot in Felipe's riata.
Alas ! the lasso had been duly blessed,
And, like baptism, held the flying wretch.
A doctrine that the priest had oft expressed, —
Which, like the lasso, might be made to stretch
But would not'break, — so neither could divest
Themselves of it, but like some awfuiytV^r^,
The holy friar had to recognize
His fate prophetic in that heathen guise.
He saw the glebe land guiltless of a furrow ;
He saw the wild oats wrestle on the hill ;
He saw the gopher standing in his burrow ;
He saw the squirrel scampering at his will ;
He saw all this, and felt no doubt how thorough
The contrast was to his condition ; still
The squaw kept onward to the sea, till night
And the cold sea-fog hid them both from sight.
The morning came above the serried coast,
Lighting the snow-peaks with its beacon-fires,
Driving before it all the fleet-winged host
Of chattering birds above the Mission spires,
Filling the land with light and joy, — but most
The savage woods with all their leafy lyres ;
In pearly tints, and opal flame and fire
The morning came, — but not the holy Friar.
FRIAR PEDRO'S RIDE. I 35
Weeks passed away. In vain the Fatliers sought
Some trace or token that might tell his story.
Some thought him dead, or like Elijah caught
Up to the heavens in a blaze of glory.
Tn this surmise some miracles were wrought
On his account, and souls in purgatory
Were thought to profit from his intercession —
In brief, his absence made a " deep impression."
A twelvemonth passed ; the welcome spring once more
Made green the hills besivle the white-faced Mission,
Spread her bright dais by the western shore,
And sat enthroned,^a most resplendent vision.
The heathen converts thronged the chapel-door
At morning mass ; when, says the old tradition,
-A frightful whoop throughout the church resounded,
And to their feet the congregation bounded.
A tramp of hoofs upon the beaten course —
Then came a sight that made the bravest quail :
A phantom friar, on a spectre horse,
Dragged by a creature decked with horns and tail.
By the lone Mission, with the whirlwind's force.
They madly swept, and left a sulphurous trail —
And that was all — enough to tell the story
And leave unblessed those souls in purgatory.
And ever after, on that fatal day
That Friar Pedro rode abroad lassoing,
A ghostly couple came and went.away
With savage whoop and heathenish hallooing,
Which brought discredit on San Luis Rey,
And proved the Mission's ruin and undoing ;
For ere ten years had passed, the squaw and Friar
Performed to empty walls and fallen spire.
136 FRIAR PEDRO'S RIDE.
The Mission is no more ; upon its walls
The golden lizards slip, or breathless pause,
Still as the sunshine brokenly that falls
Through crannied roof and spider-webs of gauze ;
No more the bell its solemn warning calls, —
A holier silence thrills and overawes ;
And the sharp lights and shadows of To-Day
Outline the Mission of San Luis Rey.
AT THE HACIENDA.
Know I not whom thou mayst be
Carved upon this oHve tree, —
" Manuela of La Torre,"
For, around on broken walls
Summer sun and Spring rain falls,
And in vain the low wind calls
" Manuela of La Torre."
Of that song no words remain
But the musical refrain:
" Manuela of La Torre."
Yet at night when winds are still,
Tinkles on the distant hill
A guitar, and words that thrill
Tell to me the old, old story,—
Old when first thy charms were sung,
Old when these old walls were young,
"Manuela of La Torre"
TRUTHFUL JAMES TO THE EDITOR.
IN THE MODOC WAR.
1873.
Which it is not my style
To produce needless pain
By statements that rile,
Or that go 'gin the grain,
Hut here's Captain Jack still a livin', and Nye has no skelp
on his brain !
On that Caucasian head
There is no crown of hair.
It has gone, it has fled !
And Echo sez *' where ? "
And I asks, " Is this Nation a White Man's, and is generally
things on the square ? "
The was known in the camp
As " Nye's other squaw,"
And folks of that stamp
Hez no rights in the Law,
But is treacherous, sinful, and slimy, as Nye might hev well
known before
TRUTHFUL JAMES TO THE EDITOR. I39
But she said that she knew
Where the Injins was hid,
And the statement was true,
For it seemed that she did ;
Since she led William where he was covered by seventeen
Modocs, and — slid !
Then they reached for his hair ;
But Nye sez, " By the Law
Of Nations, forbear !
I surrenders, — no more :
And I looks to be treated, you hear me? — as a pris'ner, a
pris'ner of war ! "
But Captain Jack rose
And he sez, " It's too thin.
Such statements as those
It's too late to begin.
There's a Modoc indictment agin you, O Pale-face, and you're
ffoin' in !
6'
" You stole Schonchin's squaw
In the year 'sixty-two ;
It was in 'sixty-four
That Long Jack you went through,
And you burned Nasty Jim's rancheria and his wives and his
pappooses too.
" This gun in my hand
Was sold me by you
'Gainst the law of the land,
And I grieves it is true ! "
And he buried his face in his blanket and wept as he hid it
from view.
140 TRUTHFUL JAMES TO THE EDITOR.
" But you're tried and condemned,
And skelping's your doom,"
And he paused and he hemmed, —
But why this resume ?
He was skelped 'gainst the custom of Nations, and cut off
like a rose in its bloom.
So I asks without guile,
And I trusts not in vain,
If this is the style
That is going to obtain, —
If here's Captain Jack stLH a-livin', and Nye with no skelp
on his brain ?
"THE BABES IN THE WOOD."
BIG PINE FLAT.
187I.
" Something characteristic," eh !
Humph ! I reckon you mean by that
Something that happened in our \vay.
Here at the crossin' of Big Pine Flat.
Times aren't now as they used to be
When gold was flush and the boys were frisky,
And a man would pull out his battery
For anything, — may be the price of whisky.
Nothing of that sort ; eh ! That's strange.
Why, I thought you might be diverted.
Hearing how Jones of the Red Rock Ranf^c,
Drawed his " Hints to the Unconverted."
A"hd saying, " Where will you have it?" shot
Cherokee Bob at the last Debating !
What was the question ? I forgot, —
But Jones didn't like Bob's way of stating.
Nothing of that kind, eh ? You mean
Something milder.'' Let's see. O, Joe '
Tell to the stranger that little scene
Out of the " Babes in the Woods." You know
*'the babes in the woods*
" Babes" was the name we gave 'em, sir,
Two lean lads in their teens, and greener
Than even the belt of spruce and fir
Where they built their nest, and each day grew leaner.
No one knew where they came from. None
Cared to know if they had a mother.
Runaway schoolboys, maybe. One
Tall and dark as a spruce ; the other
Blue and gold in the eyes and hair,
Soft and low in his speech, but rarely
Talking with us ; and we didn't care
To get at their secret at all unfairly.
For they were so quiet, so sad and shy,
Content to trust each other solely.
That somehow we'd always shut one eye
And never seem to observe them wholly
As they passed to their work. 'Twas a worn-out claim
And it paid them grub. They could live without it.
For the boys had a way of leaving game
In their tents, and forgetting all about it.
Yet no one asked for their secret. Dumb
It lay in their big eyes' heavy hollows.
It was understood that no one should come
To their tent unawares, save the bees and the swallows.
So they lived alone. Until one warm night
1 was sitting here at the tent-door so, sir,
When out of the sunset's rosy light
Up rode the sheriff of Mariposa.
I knew at once there was something wrong,
For his hand and his voice shook just a little.
And there isn't much you can fetch along
To make the sinews of Jack Hill brittle.
"the babes in the woods." 143
" Go warn the Babes ! " he whispered hoarse ;
" Tell them I'm coming, — to get and scurry,
For I've got a story that's bad, and worse,
I've got a warrant ; G — d d — n it, hurry ! "
Too late ! they had seen him cross the hill ;
I ran to their tent and found them lying
Dead in each others arms, and still
Clasping the drug they had taken flying.
And there lay their secret, cold and bare,
Their life, their trial, the old, old story !
For the sweet blue eyes and the golden hair,
Was a woman's shame and a woman's glory.
" Who were they ?" Ask no more, or ask
The sun that visits their grave so lightly ;
Ask of the whispering reeds, or task
The mourning crickets that chirrup nightly.
All of their life but its love forgot,
Everything tender and soft and mystic.
These are our " Babes in the Woods " ; you've got,
Well — human nature ! — that's characteristic
AFTER THE ACCIDENT.
MOUTH OF THE SHAFT.
What I want is my husband, sir,-
And if you're a man, sir,
You'll give me an answer, —
Where is my Joe?
Penrhyn, sir, Joe,—
Caernarvonshire.
Six months ago
Since we came here —
Eh ? — Ah, you know !
Well, I atn quiet
And still.
But I must stand here,
And will !
Please — I'll be strong —
If you'll just let me wait
Inside o' that gate
Till the news comes along.
" Negligence" —
That was the cause ; —
Butchery ! —
Are there no laws, —
Laws to protect such as we ?
AFTER tHr. \CClDENt. I45
Well, then ! —
I won't raise my voice.
There men !
I won't make no noise.
Only you just let me be.
Four, only four — did he say--
Saved ! and the other ones ? — Eti f
Why do they call ?
Why are they all
Looking and coming this way
I
What's that ?— a message r
I'll take it.
I know his wife, sir,
I'll break it,
" Foreman ! "
Ay, ay !
« Out by and by," —
"Just saved his life."
" Say to his wife
Soon he'll be free,"
Will I?--Godblessyoii,
It's me I
THE GHOST THAT JIM SAW.
Why, as to that, said the engineer,
Ghosts ain't things we are apt to fear,
Spirits don't fool with levers much.
And throttle- valves don't take to such ;
And as for Jim, —
What happened to him
Was one half fact and t' other half whim !
Running one night on the line, he saw
A house — as plain as the moral law —
Just by the moonlit bank, and thence
Came a drunken man witli no more sense
Than to droj) on the rail,
Flat as a flail,
As Jim drove by with the midnight mail.
Down went the patents. Steam, reversed.
Too late ! for there came a " thud." Jim cursed,
As the fireman, there in the cab with him,
Kinder stared in the face of Jim,
And says, "What now.'"
Says Jim, " What now !
I've just run over a man, — that's how !^
The fireman stared at Jim. They ran
Back, but they never found house nor man, -
Nary a shadow within a mile.
Jim turned pale, but he tried to smile.
THE GHOST tHAT JIM SAW. 147
Then on he tore,
Ten mile or more,
In quicker time than bed made afore.
Would you believe it ! the very next night
Up rose that house in the moonlight white,
Out comes the chap and drops as before,
Down goes the brake and the rest encore,
And so, in fact,
Each night that act
Occurred, till folks swore Jim was cracked.
Humph ! let me see ; it's a year now, 'most.
That I met Jim, East, and says, "How's your ghost?"
" Gone," says Jim ; "and more, it's plain
That ghost don't trouble me again.
I thought I shook
That ghost when I took ,
A place on an Eastern line, — but look !
" What should I meet, the first trip out,
But the very house we talked about,
And the selfsame man ! ' Well,' says 1, ' I guess
It's time to stop this yer foolishness ' ;,
So I cramned on steam.
When there came a scream
From my fireman, — that jest broke my dream.
" ' You've killed somebody ! ' Says I, ' Not much,
I've been thar often, and thar ain't no such.
And now I'll prove it ! ' Back we ran,
And, — darn my skin ! — but thar was a man
On the rail, dead,
Smashed in the head, —
Now I call that meanness ! " That's all Jim said
MISS BLANCHE SAYS.
And you are the poet, and so you want
Something — what is it ? — a theme, a fancy ?
Something or other the muse won't grant
In your old poetical necromancy;
Why, one half your poets — you can't deny —
Don't know the muse when you chance to meet her,
But sit in your attics and mope and sigh
For a faineant goddess to drop from the sky,
When flesh and blood may be standing by
Quite at your service, should you but greet her.
What if I told you my own romance ?
Women are poets, if you so take tliem,
One third poet, — the rest what chance
Of man and marriage may choose to make them.
Give me ten minutes before you go, —
Here at the window we'll sit together,
Watching the currents that ebb and flow ;
Watching the world as it drifts below
Up to the hot avenue's dustv glow .
Isn't it pleasant, — this bright June weather ?
Well, it was after the war broke out,
And I was a school-girl fresh from Paris :
Papa had contracts and roamed about,
And I — did nothing — for I was an heiress.
MISS BLANCHE SAYS. 149
Picked some lint, now I think ; perhaps
Knitted some stockings — a dozen nearly ;
Hav clocks made for the soldiers' caps ;
Stood at fair-tables and peddled traps
Quite at a profit. The shoulder-straps
Thought I was pretty. Ah, thank you, really
Still, it was stupid. Ratatat-tat !
Those were the sounds of that battle summer,
Till the earth seemed a parchment round and flat.
And every footfall the tap of a drummer ;
And, day by day, down the avenue went
Cavalry, Infantry, all together,
Till my pitying angel one day sent
My fate in the shape of a regiment
That halted, just as the day was spent.
Here at our door in the bright June weather.
None of your dandy warriors they :
Men from the West, but where, I know not ;
Haggard and travel-stained, worn and gray,
With never a ribbon or lace or bow-knot :
And I opened the window, and leaning there,
I felt in their presence the free winds blowing ;
My neck and shoulders and arms were bare, —
I did not dream they might think me fair.
But I had some flowers that night in my hair,
And here, on my bosom, a red rose glowing.
And I looked from the window along the line,
Dusty and dirty and grim and solemn.
Till an eye like a bayonet-flash met mine
And a dark face blazed from the darkening column,
f50 MISS BLANCHE SAYS.
And a quick flame leaped to my eyes and hair
Till cheeks and shoulders burned all together,
And the next I found myself standing there
With my eyelids wet and my cheeks less fair,
And the rose from my bosom tossed high in air
like a blood-drop falling on plume and feather.
Then I drew back quickly : there came a cheer,
A rush of figures, a noise and tussle,
And then it was over, and high and clear,
My red rose bloomed on his gun's black muzzle.
Then far in the darkness a sharp voice cried.
And slowly, and steadily, all together.
Shoulder to shoulder, and side to side.
Rising and falling, and swaying wide,
But bearing above them the rose, my pride.
They marched away in the twilight weather.
And I leaned from my window and watched my rose,
Tossed on the waves of the surging column,
Warmed from above in the sunset glows.
Borne from below by an impulse solemn.
Then I shut the window. I heard no more
Of my soldier friend, my flower neither,
But lived my life as I did before ;
I did not go as nurse to the war, —
Sick folks to me are a dreadful bore, —
So I didn't go to the hospital, either.
You smile, O poet, and what do you ?
You lean from your window, and watch life's column
Trampling and struggling through dust and dew.
Filled with its purposes gra^*^ and solemn ;
MISS BLANCHE SAYS. 15I
And an act, a gesture, a face, — who knows ? —
Touches your fancy to thrill and haunt you.
And you pluck from your bosom the verse that grows,
And down it flies like my red, red rose.
And you sit and dream as away it goes.
And think that your duty is done, — now don't you ?
I know your answer, I 'm not yet through.
Look at this photograph — " In the Trenches":
That dead man in the coat of blue
Holds a withered rose in his hand. That clenches
Nothing ! Except that the sun paints true,
And a woman is sometimes prophetic-minded.
And that's my romance. And, poet, you
Take it and mould it to suit your view ;
And who Knows but you may find it too
Come back to your heart once more as mme did.
HALF AN HOUR BEFORE SUPPER.
"So she's here, your unknown Dulcinea, — the lady you met
on the train,
And you really believe she would know you if you were to
meet her again ? "
" Of course," he replied, " she would know me ; there never
was womankind yet
Forgot the effect she inspired ; she excuses, but does not
forget."
" Then you told her your love ? " asked the elder ; the
younger looked up with a smile,
'■* I sat by her side half an hour, — what else was I doing the
while !
" What, sit by the side of a woman as fair as the sun in the
sky,
And look somewhere else lest the dazzle flash back from your
own to her eye ?
" No, I hold that the speech of the tongue be as frank and as]
bold as the look.
And I held up herself to herself, — that was more than she'
got from her book."
" Young blood ! '' laughed the elder ; " no doubt you are
voicing the mode of To-day ;
But then we old fogies, at least, gave the lady some chancy
for delajr.
1
HALF AN HOUR BEFORE SUPPER. 153
"There's my wife — (you must know) — we first met on the
journey from Florence to Rome :
It took me three weeks to discover who was she and where
was her home ;
" Three more to be duly presented ; three more ere I saw
her again ;
And a year ere my romance began where yours ended that
day on the train."
" Oh, that was the style of the stage-coach ; we travel to-day
by express ;
Forty miles to the hour," he answered, " won't admit of a
passion that's less."
"But what if you make a mistake?" quoth the elder. The
younger half sighed.
"What happens when signals are wrong or switches mis-
placed ? " he replied.
" Very well, I must bow to your wisdom," the elder returned,
" but submit
Your chances of winning this woman your boldness has
bettered no whit.
" Why, you do not, at best, know her name. And what if I
try your ideal
"With something if not quite so fair, at least more en regie
and real ?
" Let me find you a partner. Nay, come, I insist— you shall
follow — this way.
Aly dear, will you not add your grace to entreat Mr. Rapid to
stay ?
" My wife, Mr. Rapid — Eh, what ! Why, he's gone, — yet he
said he would come ;
How rude I I don't wonder, my dear, you are properly
crimson afid dumb ' " 20
WHAT THE CHIMNEY SANG.
Over the chimney the night-wind sang
And chanted a melody no one knew ;
And the Woman stopped, as her babe she tossed,
And thought of the one she had long since lost,
And said, as her tear-drops back she iorced,
" I hate the wind in the chimney."
Over the chimney the night-wind sang
And chanted a melody no one knew ;
And the Children said, as they closer drew.
"'Tis some witch that is cleaving the black nigr
through, —
'Tis a fairy trumpet that just then blew,
And we fear the wind in the chimney."
Over the chimney the night-wind sang
And chanted a melody no one knew ;
And the Man, as he sat on his hearth below,
Said to himself, " It will surely snow,
And fuel is dear, and wages low,
And I'll stop the leak in the chimney."
Over the chimney the night-wind sang
And chanted a melody no one knew ;
But the Poet listened and smiled, for he
Was Man, and Woman, and Child, all three.
And he said, " It is God's own harmony,
"^his wind that sings in the chimney."
GUILD'S SIGNAL.
William Guild was engineer of the train which on the 19th of
^pril plunged into Meadow Brook, on the line of the Stonington and
f'rovidence Railroad. It was his custom, as often as he passed his
lome, to whistle an "All's well " to his wife. He was found, after the
iisaster dead, with his hand on the throttle-valve of his engine.
Two low whistles, quaint and clear,
That was the signal the engineer —
That was the signal that Guild, 'tis said —
Gave to his wife at Providence.
As through the sleeping town, and thence
Out in the night,
On to the light,
Down past the farms, lying white, he sped !
As a husband's greeting, scant, no doubt.
Vet to the woman looking out,
Watching and waiting, no serenade,
Love-song, or midnight roundelay,
Said what that whistle seemed to say :
" To my trust true.
So love to you !
Working or waiting, good-night ! " it said.
Brisk young bagmen, tourists fine,
Old commuters along the line,
156 guild's signal.
Brakemen and porteia glanced ahead,
Smiled as the signal, sharp, intense,
Pierced through the shadows of Providence, —
" Nothing amiss —
Nothing ! — it is
Only Guild calling his wife," they said.
Summer and Winter, the old refrain.
Rang o'er the billows of ripening grain,
Pierced through the budding boughs o'erhead,
Flew down the track when the red leaves burned
Like living coals from the engine spurned ;
Sang as it flew :
" To our trust true.
First of all, duty ! Good night ! " it said.
And then, one night, it was heard no more
From Stonington over Rhode Island shore,
And the folk in Providence smiled and said.
As they turned in their beds, " The engineer
Has once forgotten his midnight cheer."
One only knew.
To his trust true.
Guild lay under his engine, dead.
CALDWELL OF SPRINGFIELD.
NEW JERSEY.
1780.
Here's the spot. Look around you. Above on the height
Lay the Hessians encamped. By that church on the right
Stood the gaunt Jersey farmers. And here ran a wall, —
You may dig anywhere and you'll turn up a ball.
Nothing more. Grasses spring, waters run, flowers blow,
Pretty much as they did ninety-three years ago.
Nothing more, did I say.? Stay one moment ; you've heard
Of Caldwell, the parson, who once preached the word
Down at Springfield? What, No? Come — that's bad, why
he had
All the Jerseys aflame ! And they gave him the name
Of the " rebel high-priest." He stuck in their gorge,
For he loved the Lord God, — and he hated King George !
He had cause, you might say! When the Hessians that day
Marched up with Knyphausen they stopped on their way
At the " Farms," where his wife, with a child in her arms,
Sat alone in the house. How it happened none knew
But God — and that one of the hireling crew
Who fired the shot ! Enough ! — there she lay,
And Caldwell, the chaplair her husband, away !
Did he bear it — what wcy ? Think of him as you stand
By 4'lie old church to-day ; — think of him and that band
II
158 CALDWELL OF SPRINGFIELD.
Of militant ploughboys ! See the smoke and the heat
Of that reckless advance, — of that straggling retreat !
Keep the ghost of that wife, foully slain, in your view, —
And what could you, what should you, what would /<?« do ?
Why, just what he did ! They were left in the lurch
For the want of more wadding. He ran to the church,
Broke the door, stripped the pews, and dashed out in the
road
With his arms full of hymn-books, and threw down his load
At their feet ! Then above all the shouting and shots,
Rang his voice, — " Put Watts into 'em, — Boys, give 'cm
Watts ! "
And they did. That is all. Grasses spring, flowers blov
Pretty much as they did ninety-three years ago.
You may dig anywhere and you'll turn up a ball, —
But not always a hero like this, — and that's all-
PUEM.
dklivkred on the fourteenth anniversary ok
california's admission into the union.
September 9, 1864.
V/e meet in peace, though from our native East
The sun that sparkles on our birthday feast
Glanced as he rose in fields whose dews were red
With darker tints than those Aurora spread ;
Though shorn his rays, — his welcome disk concealed
In the dim smoke that veiled each battle-field,
Still striving upward, in meridian pride,
He climbed the walls that East and West divide,—
Saw his bright face flashed back from golden sand,
And sapphire seas that lave the Western land.
Strange was the contrast that such scenes disclose
From his high vantage o'er eternal snows :
There War's alarm the brazen trumpet rings,—
Here his love-song the mailed cicala sings ;
There bayonets ghtter through the forest glades, —
Here yellow cornfields stack their peaceful blades ;
There the deep trench where Valour finds a grave,—
Here he long ditch tthat curbs the peaceful wave ;
There the bold sapper with his lighted train, —
Here the dark tunnel and its stores of gain ;
Here the full harvest and the wain's advance,—
There the Grim Reaoer and the ambulance.
r6o POEM.
With scenes so adverse, what mysterious bond
Links our fair fortunes to the shores beyond ?
Why come we here, — last of a scattered fold,^
To pour new metal in the broken mould ?
To yield our tribute, stamped with Caesar's face,
To Caesar, stricken in the market-place ?
Ah, Love of Country is the secret tie
That joins these contrasts 'heath one arching sky ;
Though brighter paths our peaceful steps explore, —
We meet together at the Nation's door.
War winds her horn, and giant cliffs go down
Like the liigh walls that girt the sacred town,
And bares the pathway to her throbbing heart.
From clustered \illage and from crowded mirt.
'o^
Part of God's providence it was to found
A nation's bulwark on this chosen ground, —
Not Jesuit's zeal nor Pioneer's unrest
Planted these pickets in the distant West ;
But He who first the Nation's fate forecast
Placed here his fountains sealed forages past.
Rock-ribbed and guarded till the coming time
Should fit the people for their work sublime ;
When a new Moses with his rod of steel
Smote the tall cliffs with one wide-ringing peal,
And the old miracle in record told
To the new nation was revealed in Gold.
Judge not too idly that our toils are mean,
Though no new levies marshal on our green ;
Nor deem too rashly that our gains are small,
Weighed with the prizes for which heroes fall.
See, where thick vapour wreathes the battle-line
There Mercy follows with her oil and wine ;
POEM. l6l
Or where brown Labour with its peaceful charm
Stiffens the sinews of the Nation's arm,
What nerves its hands to strike a deadher blow,
And hurl its legions on the distant foe ?
Lo ! for each town now rising o'er our State
See the foe's hamlet waste and desolate,
While each new factory trains a chimney tall,
Like a new mortar, on the foeman's wall.
For this, O brothers, swings the fruitful vine.
Spread our broad pastures with their countless l:ine ;
For this o'erhead the arching vault springs clear,
Sunlit and cloudless for one half the year ;
For this no snow-flake, e'er so lightly pressed,
Chills the warm impulse of our mother's breas.t.
Quick to reply, from meadows brown and sere,
She thrills responsive to Spring's earliest tear ;
Breaks into blossom, flings her loveliest rose
Ere the white crocus mounts Atlantic snows ;
And the example of her liberal creed
Teaches the lesson that to-day we need.
Thus ours the lot with peaceful, generous hand
To spread our bounty o'er the suftering land ;
As the deep cleft in Mariposa's wall «
Hurls a vast river splintering in its fall, —
Though the wrapt soul who stands in awe below
Sees but the arching of the promised bow —
Lo ! the far streamlet drinks its dews unseen,
And the whole valley wakes a brighter green.
401NC.-
PS Clemens, Samuel Langhorne
1322 The Mississippi pilot
M5
18—
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