before dinner, neither did he smoke before dinner. He told them that the
late Doctor Phyzgig, who had always been their (the Pinchfips') family
physician, had absolutely forbidden it.
No one made any remark to this, unless Mr. Van Brick's expressive face
could be translated as observing, in a quiet manner, that the late
Doctor was possibly dyspeptic, and probably nervous.
Rocjean's painting represented a view of the Claudian aqueduct,
mountains in the distance; bold foreground, shepherd with flocks, a
wayside shrine, peasants kneeling in front of it. Over all, bold cloud
effects. A very ponderous volume balanced on top of the picture, and
leaning against the easel, invited Uncle Bill's attention, and he asked
Rocjean why he had put it there? The artist answered that it was a folio
copy of _Josephus_, his works, and, as he was anxious to comply with the
terms of Mr. Browne, he had placed it there in order to put the _most
work_ on it.
Mr. Pinchfip having asked Rocjean why, in placing that book there, he
was like a passenger paying his fare to the driver of an omnibus?
The latter at once answered:
'I give it up.'
'So you do,' replied Pinchfip. 'You are quick, sir, at answering
conundrums.'
Mr. Brick saw it. Finally Uncle Bill was made to comprehend.
'Very excellent, sir; very ingenious! Philadelphians may well be proud
of the high position they have as punsters, utterers of _bon mots_ and
conundrums,' said Rocjean; 'I have had the comfort of living in your
city, and thoroughly appreciating your--markets.'
After Rocjean's the judges and Uncle Bill went to Caper's studio. As
they entered his room they found that ingenious youth walking, in his
shirt-sleeves, in as large a circle as the room would permit, bearing on
his head a large canvas, while a quite pretty female model, named
Stella, sat on a sofa, marking down something on a piece of paper, using
the sole of her shoe for a writing-desk.
'We-ell!' said Uncle Bill.
'One more round,' quoth Caper, with unmoved countenance, 'and I will be
with you. That will make four hundred and fifty, won't it, Stella?'
'_Eh, Gia_, one more is all you want.' And making an extra scratch with
a pencil, the female model surveyed the new-comers with a triumphant
air, plainly saying: 'See there! I can write, but I am not proud.'
'What are you about, Jim?'
'Look at that painting!' answered Caper. 'The Blessing of the Donkeys,
Horses, etc.; it is one of the most imposing ceremonies of the Church.
As my specialty is animal, I have chosen it for my painting; and not
contented with laboring faithfully on it, I have determined, in order to
put the thing beyond a doubt as to my gaining the prize, to put the
_most work_ on it of any of my rivals; so I have actually, as Stella
will tell you, carried it bodily four hundred and fifty times round this
studio.'
'Instead of a painting, I should think you would have made a panting of
it,' spoke Mr. Van Brick.
'The idea seems to me artful,' added Mr. Pinchfip, 'but after all, this
pedestrian work was not on the painting, but under it; therefore,
according to Blackstone on contracts, this comes under the head of a
consideration _do, ut facias_, see vol. ii. page 360. How far moral
obligation is a legal consideration, see note, vol. iii. p. 249
Bossanquet and Puller's Reports. The principle _servus facit, ut herus
det_, as laid down by....'
'Jove!' exclaimed Uncle Bill, 'couldn't you stop off the torrent for one
minute? I'm drowning--I give up--do with me as you see fit.'
* * * * *
'And now,' said Mr. Van Brick, 'that we have seen the four paintings,
let us, Mr. Pinchfip, proceed calmly to discover who has won the five
hundred dollars. Duly, deliberately, and gravely, let us put the four
names on four slips of paper, stir them up in a hat. Mr. Browne shall
then draw out a name, the owner of that name shall be the winner.'
It was drawn, and by good fortune for him, Bagswell won the five hundred
dollars. Thus Uncle Bill Browne bought one painting for a good round
sum, and three others at the stipulated price. Which one of the four had
the _most work_ on it, is, however, an unsettled question among three of
the artists, to this day.
FOR THE HOUR OF TRIUMPH.
Victory comes with a palm in her hand,
With laurel upon her brow;
Cypress is clinging about her feet,
But its dark blossoms are red and sweet,
And the weeping mourners bow.
It is well. Through her tears, the widow smiles
To the child upon her knee;
'Thou'rt fatherless, darling; but he fell
Gallantly fighting, and long and well,
For the banner of the free!'
Then, weeping: 'Alas! for my lost, lost love;
Alas! for my own weak heart;
I know, when the storm shall pass away,
My boy, in manhood, would blush to say:
'My blood had therein no part."
The maiden her lover weeps, unconsoled,
So desolate is her gloom;
But a voice falls softly through the air,
Whispering comfort to her despair,
'Love _here_ hath fadeless bloom.'
The father laments for his boy, who fell
By Cumberland's river-side;
The sister, her brother loved the best,
Whose blood, in the dark and troubled West,
The father of waters dyed.
The mother--oh! silence your Spartan tales--
Says bravely, hushing a moan:
'I have yet _one_ left. My boy! go on;
Rear freedom's banner high in the sun!'
Then sits in the house alone.
To die for one's country is sweet, indeed!
To fight for the right is brave;
But there are brave hearts who vainly wait
Till triumph shall find them desolate,
Their hopes in a far-off grave.
O mourners! be patient; the end shall come;
The beautiful years of peace.
Remember! though hearts rebel the while
You hide your tears with a mournful smile,
That tyranny soon shall cease.
For victory comes, a palm in her hand,
Fresh garlands about her brow;
But the cypress trailing under her feet,
With crimson blossoms, by tears made sweet,
Shall wreathe with the laurel now.
IN TRANSITU.
When the acid meets the alkali,
How they sputter, snap, and fly!
Such a crackling, such a pattering!
Such a hissing, such a spattering!
All in foaming discord tossed,
One would swear that all is lost.
Yet the equivalents soon blend,
All comes right at last i' the end.
Country mine!--'tis so with thee.
Wait--and all will quiet be!
Men, while working out a mission,
Must not fear the fierce transition.
AMONG THE PINES.
I sauntered out, after the events recorded in the last paper, to inhale
the fresh air of the morning. A slight rain had fallen during the night,
and it still moistened the dead leaves which carpeted the woods, making
an extended walk out of the question; so, seating myself on the trunk of
a fallen tree, in the vicinity of the house, I awaited the hour for
breakfast. I had not remained there long before I heard the voices of my
host and Madam P---- on the front piazza:
'I tell you, Alice, I can not--must not do it. If I overlook this, the
discipline of the plantation is at an end.'
'Do what you please with him when you return,' replied the lady, 'but do
not chain him up, and leave me, at such a time, alone. You know Jim is
the only one I can depend on.'
'Well, have your own way. You know, my darling, I would not cause you a
moment's uneasiness, but I must follow up this d----d Moye.'
I was seated where I could hear, though I could not see the speakers,
but it was evident from the tone of the last remark, that an action
accompanied it quite as tender as the words. Being unwilling to overhear
more of a private conversation, I rose and approached them.
'Ah! my dear fellow,' said the Colonel, on perceiving me, 'are you
stirring so early? I was about to send to your room to ask if you'll go
with me up the country. My d----d overseer has got away, and I must
follow him at once.'
'I'll go with pleasure,' I replied. 'Which way do you think Moye has
gone?'
'The shortest cut to the railroad, probably; but old Cæsar will track
him.'
A servant then announced breakfast--an early one having been prepared.
We hurried through the meal with all speed, and the other preparations
being soon over, were in twenty minutes in our saddles, and ready for
the journey. The mulatto coachman, with a third horse, was at the door,
ready to accompany us, and as we mounted, the Colonel said to him:
'Go and call Sam, the driver.'
The darky soon returned with the heavy, ugly-visaged black who had been
whipped, by Madam P----'s order, the day before.
'Sam,' said his master, 'I shall be gone some days, and I leave the
field-work in your hands. Let me have a good account of you when I
return.'
'Yas, massa, you shill dat,' replied the negro.
'Put Jule--Sam's Jule--into the field, and see that she does full
tasks,' continued the Colonel.
'Hain't she wanted 'mong de nusses, massa?'
'Put some one else there--give her field-work; she needs it.'
I will here explain that on large plantations the young children of the
field-women are left with them only at night, being herded together
during the day in a separate cabin, in charge of nurses. These nurses
are feeble, sickly women, or recent mothers; and the fact of Jule's
being employed in that capacity was evidence that she was unfit for
out-door labor.
Madam P----, who was waiting on the piazza to see us off, seemed about
to remonstrate against this arrangement, but she hesitated a moment, and
in that moment we had bidden her 'Good-by,' and galloped away.
We were soon at the cabin of the negro-hunter, and the coachman
dismounting, called him out.
'Hurry up, hurry up,' said the Colonel, as Sandy appeared, 'we haven't a
moment to spare.'
'Jest so, jest so, Cunnel; I'll jine ye in a jiffin,' replied he of the
reddish extremities.
Emerging from the shanty with provoking deliberation--the impatience of
my host had infected me--the clay-eater slowly proceeded to mount the
horse of the negro, his dirt-bedraggled wife, and clay-incrusted
children, following close at his heels, and the younger ones huddling
around for the tokens of paternal affection usual at parting. Whether it
was the noise they made, or their frightful aspect, I know not, but the
horse, a spirited animal, took fright on their appearance, and nearly
broke away from the negro, who was holding him. Seeing this, the Colonel
said:
'Clear out, you young scarecrows. Into the house with you.'
'They hain't no more scarecrows than yourn, Cunnel J----,' said the
mother, in a decidedly belligerent tone. 'You may 'buse my old man--he
kin stand it--but ye shan't blackguard my young 'uns!'
The Colonel laughed, and was about to make a good-natured reply, when
Sandy yelled out:
'Gwo enter the house and shet up, ye ---- ----.'
With this affectionate farewell, he turned his horse and led the way up
the road.
The dog, who was a short distance in advance, soon gave a piercing howl,
and started off at the speed of a reindeer. He had struck the trail, and
urging our horses to their fastest speed, we followed.
We were all well mounted, but the mare the Colonel had given me was a
magnificent animal, as fleet as the wind, and with a gait so easy that
her back seemed a rocking-chair. Saddle-horses at the South are trained
to the gallop--Southern riders deeming it unnecessary that one's
breakfast should be churned into a Dutch cheese by a trotting nag, in
order that one may pass for a good horseman.
We had ridden on at a perfect break-neck pace for half an hour, when the
Colonel shouted to our companion:
'Sandy, call the dog in; the horses won't last ten miles at this
gait--we've a long ride before us.'
The dirt-eater did as he was bidden, and we soon settled into a gentle
gallop.
We had passed through a dense forest of pines, but were emerging into a
'bottom country,' where some of the finest deciduous trees, then brown
and leafless, but bearing promise of the opening beauty of spring,
reared, along with the unfading evergreen, their tall stems in the air.
The live-oak, the sycamore, the Spanish mulberry, the mimosa, and the
persimmon, gayly festooned with wreaths of the white and yellow
jessamine, the woodbine and the cypress-moss, and bearing here and there
a bouquet of the mistletoe, with its deep green and glossy leaves
upturned to the sun--flung their broad arms over the road, forming an
archway grander and more beautiful than any the hand of man ever wove
for the greatest heroes the world has worshiped.
The woods were free from underbrush, but a coarse, wiry grass, unfit for
fodder, and scattered through them in detached patches, was the only
vegetation visible. The ground was mainly covered with the leaves and
burs of the pine.
We passed great numbers of swine, feeding on these burs, and now and
then a horned animal browsing on the cypress-moss where it hung low on
the trees. I observed that nearly all the swine were marked, though they
seemed too wild to have ever seen an owner, or a human habitation. They
were a long, lean, slab-sided race, with legs and shoulders like a deer,
and bearing no sort of resemblance to the ordinary hog except in the
snout, and that feature was so much longer and sharper than the nose of
the Northern swine, that I doubt if Agassiz would class the two as one
species. However, they have their uses--they make excellent bacon, and
are 'death on snakes;' Ireland itself is not more free from the
serpentine race than are the districts frequented by these long-nosed
quadrupeds.
'We call them Carolina race-horses,' said the Colonel, as he finished an
account of their peculiarities.
'Race-horses! Why, are they fleet of foot?'
'Fleet as deer. I'd match one against an ordinary horse at any time.'
'Come, my friend, you're practicing on my ignorance of natural history.'
'Not a bit of it. See! there's a good specimen yonder. If we can get him
into the road, and fairly started, I'll bet you a dollar he'll beat
Sandy's mare on a half-mile stretch--Sandy to hold the stakes and have
the winnings.'
'Well, agreed,' I said, laughing, 'and I'll give the pig ten rods the
start.'
'No,' replied the Colonel, 'you can't afford it. He'll _have_ to start
ahead, but you'll need that in the count. Come, Sandy, will you go in
for the pile?'
I'm not sure that the native would not have run a race with Old Nicholas
himself, for the sake of so much money. To him it was a vast sum; and as
he thought of it, his eyes struck small sparks, and his enormous beard
and mustachio vibrated with something that faintly resembled a laugh.
Replying to the question, he said:
'Kinder reckon I wull, Cunnel; howsomdever, I keeps the stakes, anyhow?'
'Of course,' said the planter, 'but be honest--win if you can.'
Sandy halted his horse in the road, while the planter and I took to the
woods on either side of the way. The Colonel soon maneuvered to separate
the selected animal from the rest of the herd, and, without much
difficulty, got him into the road, where, by closing down on each flank,
we kept him till he and Sandy were fairly under way.
'He'll keep to the road when once started,' said the Colonel, laughing,
'and he'll show you some of the tallest running you ever saw in your
life.'
Away they went. At first the pig seemed not exactly to comprehend the
programme, for he cantered off at a leisurely pace, though he held his
own. Soon, however, he cast an eye behind him--halted a moment to
collect his thoughts and reconnoiter--and then, lowering his head and
elevating his tail, put forth all his speed. And such speed! Talk of a
deer, the wind, or a steam-engine--their gait is not to be compared with
it. Nothing in nature I have ever seen run--except, it may be, a
Southern tornado, or a Sixth Ward politician--could hope to distance
that pig. He gained on the horse at every pace, and I soon saw that my
dollar was gone!
'In for a shilling in for a pound,' is the adage, so turning to the
Colonel, I said, as intelligibly as my horse's rapid steps, and my own
excited risibilities would allow:
'I see I've lost, but I'll go you another dollar that you can't beat the
pig!'
'No--sir!' the Colonel got out in the breaks of his laughing explosions;
'you can't hedge on me in that manner. I'll go a dollar that _you_ can't
do it, and your mare is the fastest on the road. She won me a thousand
not a month ago.'
'Well, I'll do it; Sandy to have the stakes.'
'Agreed,' said the Colonel, and away we went.
The swinish racer was about a hundred yards ahead when I gave the mare
the reins, and told her to go. And she did go. She flew against the wind
with a motion so rapid that my face, as it clove the air, felt as if
cutting its way through a solid body, and the trees, as we passed,
seemed taken with a panic, and running for dear life in the opposite
direction.
For a few moments I thought the mare was gaining, and I turned to the
Colonel with an exultant look.
'Don't shout till you win, my boy,' he called out from the distance
where I was fast leaving him and Sandy.
_I did not shout_, for spite of all my efforts the space between me and
the pig seemed to widen. Yet I kept on, determined to win, till, at the
end of a short half-mile, we reached the Waccamaw--the swine still a
hundred yards ahead! There his pig-ship halted, turned coolly around,
eyed me for a moment, then quietly and deliberately trotted off into the
woods.
A bend in the road kept my companions out of sight for a few moments,
and when they came up I had somewhat recovered my breath, though the
mare was blowing hard, and reeking with foam.
'Well,' said the Colonel, 'what do you think of our bacon 'as it runs'?'
'I think the Southern article can't be beat, whether raw or cooked,
standing or running.'
At this moment the hound, who had been leisurely jogging along in the
rear, disdaining to join in the race in which his dog of a master and I
had engaged, came up, and dashing quickly on to the river's edge, set up
a most dismal howling. The Colonel dismounted, and clambering down the
bank, which was there twenty feet high, and very steep, shouted out:
'The d--d Yankee has swum the stream!'
'Why so?' Tasked.
'To cover his tracks and delay pursuit; but he has overshot the mark.
There is no other road within ten miles, and he must have taken to this
one again beyond here. He's lost twenty minutes by that maneuver. Come,
Sandy, call on the dog, we'll push on a little faster.'
'But he tuk to t'other bank, Cunnel. Shan't we trail him thar?' asked
Sandy.
'And suppose he found a boat here,' I suggested, 'and made the shore
some ways down?'
'He couldn't get Firefly into a boat--we should only waste time in
scouring the other bank. The swamp this side the next run has forced him
into the road within five miles. The trick is transparent. He took me
for a fool,' replied the Colonel, answering both questions at once.
I had reined my horse out of the road, and when my companions turned to
go, was standing at the edge of the bank, overlooking the river.
Suddenly I saw, on one of the abutments of the bridge, what seemed a
long, black log--strange to say, _in motion!_
'Colonel,' I shouted, 'see there! a living log, as I'm a white man!'
'Lord bless you,' cried the planter, taking an observation, 'it's an
alligator!'
I said no more, but pressing on after the hound, soon left my companions
out of sight. For long afterward, the Colonel, in a doleful way, would
allude to my lamentable deficiency in natural history--particularly in
such branches as bacon and 'living logs.'
I had ridden about five miles, keeping well up with the hound, and had
reached the edge of the swamp, when suddenly the dog darted to the side
of the road, and began to yelp in the most frantic manner. Dismounting,
and leading my horse to the spot, I made out plainly the print of
Firefly's feet in the sand. There was no mistaking it--that round shoe
on the off fore-foot. (The horse had, when a colt, a cracked hoof, and
though the wound was outgrown, the foot was still tender.) These prints
were dry, while the tracks we had seen at the river were filled with
water, thus proving that the rain ceased while the overseer was passing
between the two places. He was then not far off.
The Colonel and Sandy soon rode up.
'Caught a living log! eh, my good fellow?' asked my host, with a laugh.
'No; but here's the overseer as plain as daylight; and his tracks not
wet!'
Quickly dismounting, he examined the ground, and then exclaimed:
'The d--l! it's a fact--here not four hours ago! He has doubled on his
tracks since, I'll wager, and not made twenty miles--we'll have him
before night, sure! Come, mount--quick.'
We sprang into our saddles, and again pressed rapidly on after the dog,
who followed the scent at the top of his speed.
Some three miles more of wet, miry road took us to the run of which the
Colonel had spoken. Arrived there, we found the hound standing on the
bank, wet to the skin, and looking decidedly chop-fallen.
'Death and d--n!' shouted the Colonel; 'the dog has swum the run, and
lost the trail on the other side! The d--d scoundrel has taken to the
water, and balked us after all! Take up the dog, Sandy, and try him
again over there.'
The native spoke to Cæsar, who bounded on to the horse's back in front
of his master. They then crossed the stream, which there was about fifty
yards wide, and so shallow that in the deepest part the water only
touched the horse's breast, but it was so roiled by the recent rain that
we could not distinguish the foot-prints of the horse beneath the
surface.
The dog ranged up and down on the opposite bank, but all to no purpose:
the overseer had not been there. He had gone either up or down the
stream--in which direction, was now the question. Calling Sandy back to
our side of the run, the Colonel proceeded to hold a 'council of war.'
Each one gave his opinion, which was canvassed by the others, with as
much solemnity as if the fate of the Union hung on the decision.
The native proposed we should separate--one go up, another down the
stream, and the third, with the dog, follow the road; to which he
thought Moye had finally returned. Those who should explore the run
would easily detect the horse's tracks where he had left it, and then
taking a straight course to the road, we could all meet some five miles
further on, at a place indicated.
I gave in my adhesion to Sandy's plan, but the Colonel overruled it on
the ground of the waste of time to be incurred in thus recovering the
overseer's trail.
'Why not,' he said, 'strike at once for the end of his route? Why follow
the slow steps he took in order to throw us off the track? He has not
come back to this road. Six miles below there is another one leading
also to the railway. He has taken that. We might as well send Sandy and
the dog back at once, and go on by ourselves.'
'But if bound for the Station, why should he wade through the creek
here, sis miles out of his way? Why not go straight on by the road?' I
asked.
'Because he knew the dog would track him, and he hoped by taking to the
run to make me think he had crossed the country instead of striking for
the railroad.'
I felt sure the Colonel was wrong, but knowing him to be tenacious of
his own opinions, I made no further objection.
Directing Sandy to call on Madam P---- and acquaint her with our
progress, he then dismissed the negro-hunter, and we once more turned
our horses up the road.
The next twenty miles, like our previous route, lay through an unbroken
forest, but as we left the water-courses, we saw nothing but the gloomy
pines, which there--the region being remote from the means of
transportation--were seldom tapped, and presented few of the openings
that invite the weary traveler to the dwelling of the hospitable
planter.
After a time the sky, which had been bright and cloudless all the
morning, grew overcast and gave out tokens of a coming storm. A black
cloud gathered in the west, and random flashes darted from it far off in
the distance; then gradually it neared us; low mutterings sounded in the
air, and the tops of the tall pines a few miles away, were lit up now
and then with a fitful blaze, all the brighter for the deeper gloom that
succeeded. Then a terrific flash and peal broke directly over us, and a
great tree, struck by a red-hot bolt, fell with a deafening crash,
half-way across our path. Peal after peal followed, and then the
rain--not filtered into drops as it falls from our colder sky, but in
broad, blinding sheets, poured full and heavy on our shelterless heads.
'Ah! there it comes!' shouted the Colonel. 'God have mercy upon us!'