Old Bill Green was comin' out of Spiegel's Caffy, meanin' a place where
a man can have somethin' to eat while he's havin' a drink, an' he had
folded over his arm what looked like a pretty swell coat for old Bill
to be wearin'.
Noticin' me, "Hulloh, Hiker!" says Bill, an' we stroll along till we
come opposite to Wallie Whelan's father's store on South Street, where
Bill stops. "I do like that little Whelan kid," says Bill. "I wonder
is he in?"
Wallie was in, an' "Hulloh, Hiker!" an' "How do you do, Mr. Green!" he
says, an' comes runnin' out when he sees us.
An' old Bill says, "Oh-h, driftin' by--driftin' by," an' spreads out to
the air the coat he's carryin' on his arm. All wrinkled up it was,
like somebody's slept in it, but a pretty swell coat just the same,
like the kind hackmen wear to a funeral or a weddin' with a stovepipe
hat. There's a pocket in one o' the coat-tails, an' old Bill slides
his hand into it and out comes a case, an' when he springs open the
case there's a shiny black pipe.
"Well, well," says Bill, lookin' at the pipe like he was wonderin' how
it come there.
"Where did y' ever get that fine pipe, Mr. Green?" asks Wallie.
"Oh, a souveneer, a little souveneer of other days--of days I'd 'most
forgot," says Bill.
"A handsome pipe!" says Wallie.
"Yes," says Bill, "if on'y I had the fillin' of it once in a while!"
"Wait!" says Wallie, an' rushes inside the store.
"Comanche Chief, if you have any in stock!" calls out Bill after him.
Mr. Whelan, who's sittin' by the open winder in his office, looks out
to Bill an' then to the clerk an' smiles that it's all right to Wallie
over the top of his mornin' paper, an' Wallie comes out with a plug o'
Comanche Chief smokin' for Bill an' a plug o' the same of chewin' for
me.
I bites into mine right away, but old Bill looks at his pipe, an' then,
sayin' he didn't know's he'd baptize it yet awhile, he reaches over an'
gnaws a corner off my plug o' chewin'.
An' Wallie's dyin' to know how it come to be a souveneer pipe, but is
too polite to ask, on'y he can't help havin' another look at the pipe
an' noticin' the picksher of a bird on the bowl an' readin' the letters
on the gold band. "HRC" he reads out, an' looks at old Bill.
"I know, I know," says old Bill. "They bring me back, them initials,
lad, like nothin' else could, to days that is past 'n' gone." He looks
across East River over to Brooklyn mournful-like, but not forgettin' to
chew an' chew, 'nd bineby, when he has his jaws well oiled up, he says:
"'Tis many 'n' many a year ago, lad, an' me the cabin-boy an' the
fav'rite o' the capt'n o' the good ship _Tropic Zone_."
"The _Tropic Zone_! What a corkin' name for a ship!" says Wallie.
"Ay, lad," says Bill, "a noble name an' a noble ship, a full-rigged
four-master, an' one fine day we up jibs an' yanchor an' sailed out
this same Yeast River an' past the Battery an' down New York Bay an'
the Jersey coast, an' on an' on, bearin' s'utherly, till we came to the
land o' Yunzano, which was--an' mebby is yet--down South Ameriky way,
an' we went ashore, me 'n; the capt'n, to call on the noble don which
them same initials stands for.
"HRC," says Bill, readin' 'em off the pipe. "How well do I remember
the noble don, Hidalgo Rodreego Cazamma, who lived in r'yal splender in
a most lovely an' fertyle valley. Lookin' back now through the vister
of my matoored manhood, I can't say's I c'n recall in all my years o'
world travellin' a more entrancin' picksher than the valley o' Yunzano
when my capt'n 'n' me hove into it of that gorgeous April mornin'.
There was a river gleamin' like silver--an' sometimes like gold 'n'
copper--flowin' through that marvellous valley, an' above it rose the
volkanous mountains with sides of the color of the purple neglijay
shirts an' tops like the ruby scarf-pins that sometimes you see of a
mornin' on the hot sports in Times Square. An' in that valley was
forests with all the tropic trees that ever you read of, bearin' the
most jul-luscious fruits--pomgrannits, cocoanuts, pineapples, limes,
lemons, grapefruits, alligator-pears--any fruit ever you see to the
stalls in the market was there in abundance. An' fr'm the branches o'
them same trees came the most melojus birds' voices, an' the birds
themselves 'd a-dazzle your eyes with the color o' their feathers.
Parrakeets, marrakeets, bobalinks, nightingales, an' a little red,
white, 'n' blue-spotted bird the natives called an eggleeno."
"Ah-h!" says Wallie, "and is that the picture on the bowl o' the pipe?"
"The same," says Bill; "done by a master hand, with the same round
pop-eyes--see--an' the same wide, square-cut tail like the stern of a
ferry-boat.
"'Dijjer ever in yer life, William, see anything more saliferous?' says
the capt'n to me whilst we're ridin' up to the don hidalgo's house--a
hashyender, they called it--longer 'n' wider than any two blocks on
Broadway, but not so high, with a red roof, an' walls o' solid marble,
an' marble columns 'n' promenades around it, with thousands o' lofty
trees liftin' their heads to the sky, an' balconies outside the
winders, an' spoutin' fountains in the r'yal pam garden, which was the
size mebby o' Central Park. It took all of a thousand servants, I
should say, in pink-'n'-old-rose knee-pants, to look arter the place;
an' the old don kep' a band o' musicians in a green-an'-old-gold
uniform on tap all the time. The house rules there--the same engraved
in silver on ivory tablets an' hung on the wall over the head o' your
bed--was that if a guest woke up in the middle o' the night an' didn't
feel well enough to go back to sleep, he had on'y to poke the little
Injun boy who slep' on a mat afore every door with his big toe an' say
to him: 'Boyo, some musico!' An' we did one night, an' in no time the
still air was rent by the entrancin' strains of 'In the Sweet By 'n'
By,' which was the pop'l'ar toon o' them days, an' the one we ordered.
Guitars, manderlins, violins, oboes, trombones, an' cornets they had in
squads, though to my mind a native instrerment called the hooloobooloo
was the most truly musical of all. Shaped like the bow of a ship it
was, with a hundred strings to it, an' made a noise like a breeze o'
wind tryin' to steal through a forest o' trees on a summer's night.
'Twas ravishin'.
"Arter the fatigues of our long an' tejus voy'ge, the hashyender o' the
don was a most refreshin' place to pass a few days in, but we had our
business to attend to. Not that the noble don would sully our ears by
mentionin' the same to us. In those tropic countries the greatest
insult to the stranger who happens to step in an' camp awhile with you
is to ask him what's on his mind--not till he's been restin' up for at
least a week. However, after six days o' restin' up, with salubrious
fruits an' wines an' the most melojus concerts, my capt'n broaches the
cause of why we're callin' on the Don Hidalgo Rodreego Cazamma."
"Ah-h," says Wallie, "now we'll get it, Hiker!"
"Yes," says Bill, "now we'll have it. But, lemme see now--I must tell
it so it'll be clear to your young interlecks," an' he looks hard at
the pipe an' then mournful-like acrost East River toward Brooklyn.
"In them days," Bill goes on at last, "no place you could go to in the
whole Yunnited States--the piny woods, the rocky hills an' grassy
plains, no busy city fr'm the rock-bound coast o' Maine to the golden
shores where rolls the Oregon, no sleepy hamlet between the wooded
hills o' Canada an' the surf-washed sands o' Florida, but you'd see in
big letters on the tops o' flat rocks an' the sides o' mountains, the
backs o' fences an' the roofs o' barns, in the winders o' drug-stores
an' the flags o' back alleys, nowhere but you'd see: YUNZANO SWAMP
ROOT, FOR COUGHS, COLDS, LUMBAGO, RUMMATIZ, GOUT, CHILBLAINS, COLD
SORES, COLIC, BRIGHT'S DISEASE, AN' LIVER TROUBLE--all in high yoller
letters agin black paint.
"Pints an' 'quarts in bottles, for sale at all reputable drug-stores,
an' those bottles had to come all the way by sea an' fr'm the estate o'
Don Hidalgo Rodreego Cazamma, who owned all the swamp-root region in
Yunzano. An' when it'd come on to blow an' the ship'd take to rollin',
where there was no way o' tellin' till arter you'd get to port an'
counted 'em how many bottles was left that wasn't busted. Sometimes
more'n half or three-quarters of 'em 'd be busted.
"An' now we come to that noble benefactor o' the human race who at that
time owned the string o' drug-stores painted blue 'n' green 'n' red,
with cut-rate prices up 'n' down the side of every one of 'em. 'Twas
him owned the Yunnited States rights to Yunzano Swamp Root, an' he used
to sell millions 'n' millions o' bottles of Yunzano every year, an' he
says: 'Why do we have to have so many o' these bottles o' Yunzano
busted in comin'?' An' he says: 'I have it--by Plutie, I have it.
I'll build a special ship for carryin' my wondrous tropic medicines!'
An' he does. He builds a ship 'special, an' in her he sets a great
tank--oh, mebby four hundred foot long an' fifty foot wide an'
deep--oh, deep as the ship was deep, and of all the ships ever I sailed
in she was the deepest. 'There,' he says to my capt'n, 'spill the
Yunzano in there 'stead of in bottles an' we'll make
millions--millions, sir!' He meant he'd make millions. An' the
_Tropic Zone_ was that ship, an' so it was we come, me 'n' the capt'n,
to be doin' business this lovely day with the owner o' the great
Yunzano estate.
'What we want, don,' says the capt'n fr'm his chair that was made of
inlaid precious woods an' the horns o' th' anzello, a beeyootiful
creachure like a nantelope, of which on'y one was killed every hundred
years--'what we want, don,' says my capt'n--an' four liveried servants
keepin' the flies 'n' other insecks off him with wavin' pam-leaves
while he's talkin'--'is to take our swamp-root home in bulk.' An' the
don, a man o' most majestic figger, smokin' a fourteen-inch cheroot in
another chair that was inlaid all in di'monds 'n' gold, he considers
the case and finally agrees to sell us enough to fill our tank, which
is two million two hundred 'n' sixty thousand gallons o' Yunzano at
forty-two cents a gallon. An' we despatch a fleet messenger back to
the ship, an' up comes the gold with forty men-at-arms o' the don
guardin' it--a million dollars or so it was, an' all in the coin o' the
realm--shiny ten an' twenty dollar gold pieces.
"Well, that's settled, so we goes back to the ship, ridin' our
sumpter-mules in the dewy morn, an' down the gleamin' silver 'n' gold
'n' copper river comes the Yunzano in the skins o' wild animals on
bamboo rafts, an' while they're dumpin' it inter the tank the capt'n
'n' me, by special invitation, have a look at where the don
manufactured the Yunzano.
"It was dark like the sassaparilla they served out to church picnics
when it oozed first from nature's bosom, an' not till it was mixed with
a native liquid called poolkey did it become th' inspirin' article o'
commerce which the rocks an' fences an' druggists' winders an' the
advertisin' an' sometimes the readin' columns of our American journals
shouted to the public. This poolkey grew on trees, in little cups
like, which all you had to do was to turn upside down an' into your
mouth. It was the grandest proof to me o' the wise provisions of
nature. It was a white-colored stuff, an' tasted like an equal mixture
o' wood alcohol an' red flame. One part swamp root to one part poolkey
made up the Yunzano o' commerce that many folks preferred to tea. The
poolkey kep' it fr'm spilin'. Some o' the most inveterate battlers
agin the demon rum we ever had, some o' the most cel'brated
politicians, platform speakers, an' drug-dealers in the land, certified
over their own signatures to the component parts o' Yunzano an'
indorsed the same highly.
"Well, our tank was fin'lly filled to the hatches with the two million
two hundred 'n' sixty thousand gallons o' prime Yunzano, an' when we
considered the sellin'-price--pints fifty cents, quarts a
dollar--quarts o' the five-to-the-gallon size--up home we felt happy to
think what profits was goin' to be in this v'yage, for--but lemme
see--did I say his name, the owner o' the _Tropic Zone_ an' the fleet
o' drug-stores?"
"No," says Wallie. "An' I was wonderin'."
"No? Well, Nathaniel Spiggs was his name. However, to continue our
tale. There we was, our cargo all aboard an' waitin' on'y for the
mornin' light to leave to sea. It was a windin', tortuss channel outer
that harbor, not to be navvergated at night by no ship of our size, an'
the skipper was readin' the Bible in his cabin. He liked to read a few
chapters afore turnin' in of a night, an' to my joy he used to invite
me to sit 'n' listen to him, an' many a time in after life I'd be
minded of my old skipper o' the _Tropic Zone_, an' the mem'ry of his
monitions fr'm the Bible was surely a great bullerk to me agin terrible
temptations.
"An' while he's sittin' there, balancin' his specks an' readin' to me,
'n' stoppin' to expound now 'n' agin where mebby my young intellergence
couldn't assimmerlate it, the mate comes down 'n' salutes 'n' says:
'Sir, there's some people on the beach makin' signs o' distress--on
horseback.' An' the skipper, arter a few cusses, which was on'y
nacheral at bein' disturbed in his pious occupation, he sets the Bible
back in his bunk an' goes up on deck. An' me with him.
"An' there they are. An' behold, as we look, we see--my eyes bein'
young an' marvellous sharp in them days was the fust--afar up the
mountainside--to descry a band o' people ridin' wildly down to the
valley an' makin' what must 'a' been all manner o' loud noises, judgin'
by the way they waved their arms an' guns, on'y they was too far away
to be heard. An' the capt'n gets out his night-glasses."
"Excuse me, Mr. Green," says Wallie, "but what is a night-glass?"
"A glass you look through at night is a night-glass. Don't all the
grand sea-stories speak o' night glasses?"
"That's why I ast. But, excuse me--please go on," says Wallie.
"An' who should they turn out to be on the beach, wavin' dolorous-like
signals o' distress, but the don hidalgo an'--I forget mebby to mention
her afore--the don's lovely daughter! An' with them is four
sumpter-mules, an' the sumpter-mules, when we goes 'n' gets 'em off in
a boat, turns out to be loaded down with gold 'n' jewels. The million
dollars in gold we'd brought for the Yunzano water 'n' all the jewels
the noble don's fam'ly has been savin' up for hundreds o' years is on
the mules.
"When we get 'em all aboard--mules 'n' all--the don explains how
there's been a revverlootion in th' interior, an' how the General
Feeleepo Balbeezo, the leader o' the revverlootionists, 'd planned to
capture the hashyender o' the don, includin' his beeyoocheous daughter
'n' the gold 'n' jewels. An', on'y for a cook in the employ o' the
wicked general give it away, he would. The don had cured this cook's
grandmother of a vi'lent attack o' tropic fever years afore this by
frequent an' liberal applications o' Yunzano, an' this grandson, though
he was a wild an' reckless an' dark-complected youth, who preferred to
associate with evil companions, nevertheless was grateful for the don's
curin' his grandmother 'n' never forgot it. An' when he overhears in
the kitchen, where he's fryin' a few yoller podreedos for the general's
breakfast, the general hisself tellin' of his dastardly plan to his
vellay, he ups on the fav'rite war-charger o' the general's, a noble
steed eighteen hands high, an' don't stop ridin', without stirrup or
bridle or saddle, till he comes gallopin' in a lather o' sweat--a
hundred 'n' ten miles in one night over the mountain trails--to the don
an' tells him all. O' course, when later the wicked general discovers
the cook's noble devotion to the don's fam'ly, he has him hung on the
spot, but that's to be expected, an', the hero an' herrin' bein' saved,
it don't matter.
"'Cheer up, my brave don!' says our skipper, when the don tells him the
story, an' refreshes him with a drink o' vold bourbon fr'm his private
stock that he kep' under lock 'n' key in his cabin. An' he has one
hisself. An' then he considers, an', while he's considerin', the
General Balbeezo 'n' his army, who it was I'd seen ridin' down the high
mountainside, they're arrived at the beach. An' they hollers acrost
the harbor to us that if we didn't give up the don hidalgo an' the
seenyohreeter, his daughter, an' the gold 'n' jewels, why, he, General
Balbeezo, regardless of possible international complercations, will
bring his artillery to the beach 'n' blow us all outer water.
"The don 'n' his daughter is tremblin' with fear, but 'Fear not, fear
not!' says our skipper, an' sends for the owner's son."
"The owner's son--aboard all the time!" says Wallie.
"Sure. I'd 'a' told y'about him afore," says Bill, "but it wasn't time
yet. He'd made the passage with us so's he could study the volkanous
mountains o' Yunzano, the like o' which mountains wasn't in all the
world anywhere else. He was a wonderful stoodent, so abstracted in his
studies that he hadn't heard a word of what we was sayin' in the cabin
this night till the capt'n sent me to call him outer his room. He was
sure a noble specimen o' fair young manhood to gaze upon--'twas on'y
the other day I was readin' up to the Yastor Library of a hero in one
o' the best-sellers just like him: seven foot tall 'n' three foot
acrost the shoulders, an' nothin' but pale pink curls to below his
shoulders, an' he no sooner steps inter the cabin now, his wonderful
keen, blue-gray eyes still with the absent-minded look o' the stoodent
o' science, than I could see the don's daughter, the seenyohreeter, was
goin' to fall wild in love with him.
"The capt'n explains the situation to young Hennery. An' Hennery
thinks awhile, an' by'n'by he speaks. 'Har, I have it!' he says. 'The
volkaners!' an' orders h'isted up from the hold his balloon."
"A balloon, Hiker--whooh!" says Wallie, an' sits closer to Bill.
"A balloon, yes. Y' see, besides bein' brought up by his father to be
a great chemist an' stoodent o' mountains, he was likewise professor of
airology in one of our leadin' colleges. An' he fills up his
balloon--the whole crew standin' by to help him pump the hot air inter
it--an' then away he goes. 'In an hour, I promise you, you shall hear
from me!' he says, an' we watch him soarin' 'n' soarin' 'n' soarin'
till his balloon ain't no bigger than a sparrer an' higher than the
large an' silvery moon.
"An' all this time the wicked General Balbeezo an' his bandit army is
bringin' their guns down the mountainside 'n' preparin' to blow our
ship outer water. An' by'n'by they're all ready to begin, when
'Car-ra-be-ee-sss-toe!' exclaims the don--'what is that sound I hear?'
I forgot to say that the last thing young Hennery did afore leavin' the
ship was to put in the balloon a handful o' bombs of a powerful
explosive he'd invented hisself. An' the sound the don hears is the
'ruption produced when young Hennery drops the first of them bombs into
the craters o' the nearest volkaner. An', while we look, the air gets
dark an' the moon hides, an' fr'm outer the top of one volkaner after
another comes the most monstrous explosions, an' down the mountainside
comes a nocean o' fiery, flamin' lavver, with billers 'n' billers o'
black smoke floatin' up off it. An' soon we hears groans o' terror an'
'Save us! Oh, save us!' from the wicked general an' his army on the
beach, an' inter the harbor they plunges with their war-horses 'n' the
cannon 'n' their armer still on 'em.
"An' onter the deck of our ship begins to fall just then a great shower
o' yashes. An' we're in danger o' burnin' up 'n' suffercatin' an'
wonderin' what to do next, when outer the black heavens comes Hennery
'n' his balloon. An' we grabs his lines that's trailin' below him when
he sails over our ship an' makes 'em fast to belayin'-pins, an' he
climbs down to the deck 'n' takes charge. He's on'y eighteen year old,
but wonderful beyond his years. He see what to do right away, an' runs
down an' peels the yasbestos off the boilers 'n' steam-pipes in her
injin-room."
"What!" says Wallie. "Was she a steamer?"
"Sail 'n' steam both. Sail for the hot days to make a draft 'n' keep
us cool 'n' comfortable, an' steam when there was air 'n' it was cold
'n' rainy. An' young Hennery makes fireproof coats 'n' boots an' hats
outer the yasbestos linin' for the capt'n an' me an' the mate an'
hisself, 'cause we're goin' to guard the deck agin the wicked general
'n' his army. All the others we puts below, so no danger'll come to
them. An' when the bandits comes swimmin' alongside an' up over the
rail from the backs o' their war-horses, we captures 'em an' take their
weapons from 'em, an' then the capt'n says: 'Now we got 'em, what'll we
do with 'em?'
"'O' course,' says Hennery, 'it would be perfeckly proper for the crool
men o' the south to kill their prisoners, but as men of the north we
must show a loftier example.' So spoke up our hero nobly.
"An', while we're ponderin' what to do, 'Har,' says Hennery agin, 'I
have it! We will put them in the medicine-tank.'
"'But,' says our capt'n, 'they'll spile it--your father's two million
two hundred 'n' odd thousand gallons o' Yunzano that we paid forty-two
cents a gallon for.'
"'An',' says young Hennery Spinks to that----"
"Spiggs," says Wallie.
"Spiggs, I mean. 'Is this the time or the place,' says heroic young
Hennery Spiggs then, 'to be considerin' of mere money--with the lives
o' human bein's at stake? What though they be viler than dogs, they
are still our fellow creatures. Cost what it may an' ruthless though
the varlets be, save their lives I shall!' An' y' oughter seen him
then, the fair scion of a noble sire, his pink hair flyin' in the
southern wind, his pale eyes an' form in general expanded to twice
their reg'lar dimensions by his righteous indignation, an' the
beeyoocheous an' volupchous daughter o' the noble, wealthy don stickin'
her head outer a hatchway to cast a nadorin' gaze upon him.
"An' into the tank o' Yunzano we flopped 'em, one by one as they come
over the rail o' the _Tropic Zone_. I wouldn't want to state at this
late date how many of 'em we saved from the burnin' lavver by throwin'
'em inter the tanks, but mebby three or four or five hundred souls all
told. An', to keep the burnin' yashes off 'em, we makes a few
yasbestos tarpaulins an' claps 'em down over the hatches o' the tank.
"All night long we patrolled the decks shovellin' the yashes off where
they fell. An' when mornin' comes an' the 'ruptions is over we take
the tarpaulins off the tank, an' there was every blessed one of 'em,
fr'm the General Feeleepo Balbeezo down to the lowest private, 'spite
of all we'd done for 'em, floatin' around drowned. Overcome with grief
'n' surprise we was o' course, but when we come to think it over--their
endin' up that way, wi' the noble don 'n' his beeyoocheous daughter
saved an' the revverlootion busted up--it sure did look like the hand
o' Providence was hoverin' over us.
"And then," says old Bill, borrowin' another chew from me, "arter we'd
cleared out the tank of the dead revverlootionists an' the old Yunzano,
the don filled her up again free of charge. An' o' course Hennery
married the don's daughter, an' for seven days an' seven nights there
was no place yuh could cast yer eyes but you'd see pillers o' smoke by
day an' columns o' flame by night, an' wherever you see one o' them it
meant a barbecuin' of a carload o' goats 'n' oxen 'n' pigs. 'Twas
nothin' but feastin' an' the givin' o' presents, an' then the bridal
party embarked on the _Tropic Zone_, an' gentle tropic breezes wafted
us no'therly an' westerly an' sometimes yeasterly past the shores o'
Panama an' Peru an' Brazil an' Mexico an' Yucatan an' the Farrago
Islands, an' the don's own band used to sit on their camp-stools under
the shadder o' the great bellyin' mains'l an' plunk their guitars an'
mandolins 'n' picolettes, not forgettin' the band leader who played the
most amazin' solos on the hooloobooloo. An' strange ships used to sail
a hundred miles out o' their course to find out who was it was sendin'
them dulcet strains acrost the cam waters. An' the bridal couple 'd be
holdin' hands an' gazin' over the spanker-boom at the full moon. 'Twas
gorgeous an' elevatin', an' a fasset an' pipe led direct from the tank
to the little kegs with brass hoops placed at frequent intervals around
deck, so that whoever o' the crew wanted to could help theirselves any
hour o' the day or night to a free drink o' Yunzano.
"An' thole don sits up on the poop-deck, with his hands folded acrost
his stomach, an' says: 'Quiscanto vascamo mirajjar,' which is Yunzano
for 'I am satisfied, I can now die happy.' But he didn't die--he lived
to be ninety year old, an' before we arrives at New York he makes me a
gift o' this pipe. O' course he made me other gifts, the don did, but
this I value most of all, bein' made from wood of a rare tree from the
heart o' the swamps o' Yunzano. An' I'll never forget him. An' so
there's the story o' my youth an' Yunzano.
"'The days of our youth
Are the days of our glory--
The days of old age
Is the time for the story--'