DAMON BARKER.
Barker’s Mill, visits to which had convinced Jo that he should like to
be a miller, was built on Bull River, in the centre of the only woods in
all that country.
It was said of its proprietor that he came to the country a great many
years before with a train of wagons drawn by oxen, on which was loaded
the machinery of what afterwards became the mill, together with his
general effects. Nobody seemed to know where he came from, but nobody
seemed to care, strangely enough, for he was trusty as a miller, and
honorable as a citizen. Occasionally he came to our neighborhood dressed
in an odd-fashioned cut-away coat with brass buttons, and vest and
pantaloons of an equally aristocratic pattern, but I never heard of his
going to the country town. If he had money to pay there, or other
important business, he entrusted it to some one to transact for him,
preferring to have it half done rather than to go himself. From this
circumstance I came to believe that Damon Barker had been an outlaw in
his time, and was anxious to avoid people, although he was very
well-bred, and the only polished man I had ever known.
He came to our house originally, I believe, on some sort of business,
and, becoming acquainted, happened in at long intervals afterwards, but
I never knew that he went anywhere else. We all admired him, for he was
a man to make himself welcome anywhere, and he sat quietly among us
when he came (which was always at night, as though for private reasons
he did not walk out during the day), and listened to what was being
said. My father had the greatest respect for him, and was often uneasy
under his steady gaze, as if he felt that Damon Barker was not a
Fairview man, and had knowledge and opinions of his own. They frequently
discussed all sorts of questions (or rather my father discussed them in
Barker’s presence, who only made short answers indicating that he was
familiar with the subject in hand), and I was forced to the belief that,
had he seen fit, he could have readily torn to pieces many of the
arguments advanced. His knowledge of religious topics was extensive, but
he patronized the subject as he would patronize a child, dismissing it
with a polite word as though it was of no consequence; and we wondered
that a man who understood the subject so well could be indifferent, for
it was well known that he was not religious. My father often threatened
to “speak” to him about it, but he never did, either fearing that Barker
might be able to defend his position, or respecting his disposition to
avoid the subject.
Although he was courteous and well-bred, lifting his hat and bowing to
my mother in the most courtly manner when he came and went, it was never
remarked to his discredit, although a man of his manners had never been
seen by us before. Had he been the least awkward in his politeness, I am
sure we should have laughed at him, and regarded him as a fop, for we
watched him narrowly; but his adieus and greetings were so appropriate,
natural, and easy, that we received them as a matter of course, and
accepted them as evidences not merely of different but of better
breeding than we were accustomed to. During one of his visits to the
house he invited Jo and me to the mill, asking it as a favor, and thus
it came about that occasionally we went to see him on Saturday
afternoons, returning the next day. Indeed, we were rather encouraged to
go to Barker’s, my father believing that familiarity with such a courtly
gentleman would do us no harm, if no good, and he was not greatly
displeased if we did not return until late Sunday evening, although he
always inquired what we found so entertaining at his house, and on our
replying, he found no objection to it.
The house in which Barker lived was built close to the mill, in a dense
growth of trees, but as if the shadow of these was not sufficient to
hide him, he had planted other trees among them, until the place was so
dark that the sunlight seldom found its way in at his windows. The house
was very large and strong, with doors of heavy hard wood, and I thought
that if Barker should be attacked, he would make a long defence, for he
always had provisions and fuel stored away in great quantities, and
there was a well in the cellar which I always disliked to drink out of,
fearing there might be dead men in it. There were thick wooden blinds at
all the windows, which were usually closed, and heavy iron bars across
the doors, and altogether the place was so mysterious and unusual that
it occurred to me when I first went there that if either Jo or I should
discover some of its secrets by accident, we should be cut into halves,
and thrown down the well for fear we should disclose what we had seen.
In his own room, a large apartment occupying the greater part of the
second story, were strange and curious things we had never seen before;
and these we were free to examine and question him about. Besides brass
pistols hid away in every box and drawer, there were swords and knives
of odd pattern, and handsome dresses for women and men, many of them
ornamented with gold lace, and all of a style we had never seen worn.
In a place for plunder which adjoined his room were kept half a dozen
large chests, and in looking through them, when he gave me permission, I
half expected to find bones of dead men; but I found nothing except
strange instruments, scientific apparatus, maps, drawings I had no
knowledge of, curiosities gathered during a long life, and the odd
clothing I have mentioned. If I found something more curious than the
rest, I took it to him as he sat grave and silent in his own room, and
he told me its history, what use it could be put to, and where it came
from. There were a great many books, the titles of which I could not
pronounce with all my learning, and these gave evidence of being often
used, for they were collected on a turning shelf within easy reach of
the table at which he usually sat.
If we found a curious stone or leaf, he could tell its nature and kind,
and if we asked of something we read in his books, he told us about it
in a quiet, simple way, making it quite easy of comprehension. Knowing
our ignorance, he took pains to answer the questions with which we plied
him, and we often sat on either side of him until far into the night,
listening to his explanations of matters we were curious about,
sometimes going to sleep in our chairs.
Before he knew Jo and me he had no friends--he told me this himself
early in our acquaintance--but we amused him, and he became our
companion in everything we did while at the house or mill, instructing
and benefiting us in a hundred ways. When I say he became our companion
in everything we did, I mean no more than that he was always with us,
looking on good-naturedly when we played the games at cards he taught
us, accompanying us when we walked through the woods or rowed on the
river, and giving suggestions and help in everything. He said but little
at any time, except in answer to our questions, and I think his
principal enjoyment in our companionship was to listen quietly to what
we had stored up to tell him on our different visits.
He was regarded as hard and exacting by those with whom he had business
dealings--he dealt in nothing else--but was always kind and liberal with
Jo and me, giving us money frequently, and presents when he could get
them. If we were in the mill with him, the entrance of a customer would
harden his features until we were afraid of him, and we went away until
the customer had gone when he soon became himself again, so that we grew
to be afraid of him except when we were alone.
In Barker’s room was a great box-stove in which we made wonderful fires
in winter, and the fire in it seemed never to go out; so that I have
thought in summer that, if the ashes were stirred, live coals could be
found at the bottom. Around this we always sat with him during the
winter nights (and we had opportunity to visit him oftener in winter
than at any other time, for during that season we had the least to do),
and did whatever Barker thought would best amuse us. Sometimes he gave
us suppers, prepared by his own hands from cans and bottles stored away
in other chests we had not yet examined; at other times he told us the
story of one of the brass pistols, or of the strange wearing-apparel we
had seen, holding the article in his hand to illustrate; or if we found
something belonging to a ship, he told us of the sea, of storms, of
strange countries, and of wrecks.
In all the stories of robbers and pirates that he told us--and there
were many of that kind because we preferred them--I always thought of
him as one of the participants, and was pleased when the one I had
picked out for Barker freed the captive maiden, flinging back his
companions who would murder her, with the declaration that he would have
their lives if they persisted, thereupon conducting her within sight of
her home, and, having first bidden her a gallant adieu, galloped away.
These recitals had much of dashing romance in them, and his robberies
were committed generally from motives of daring rather than gain. It was
always the mean and stingy misers who were robbed, and if a beautiful
maiden was captured at sea she was always taken to her friends, unless
she freely consented to marry the pirate captain, which was sometimes
the case.
This kind of amusement he kept up at night until we became sleepy, and,
lighting us to the room in which we were to sleep, he sat down on the
bed if we desired it, and continued the story until we were asleep, when
he returned to his own apartment. It seemed to me he dreaded the hour
when we would go to sleep and leave him alone; and once when I awoke in
the middle of the night, and crept to his door, I found him sitting over
the table with his hat and coat on, as if ready to run away.
Barker’s widowed sister, the Mrs. Tremaine already mentioned, whose
husband had been a drunkard and a doctor, was his housekeeper (when she
was at home, which was seldom the case). I believe she was originally
called Betts, or Bett, but this was shortened to B., and by this name
she was generally known. It was understood that Dr. Tremaine had been
unkind to her before his death, and that their married life had been
very miserable, though I never heard either Barker or herself say so.
But such was generally thought to be the case nevertheless, for
certainly the excellent woman had had trouble. It was also understood
that he died in drink, probably from catching fire on the inside, and
that with his last breath he referred to his wife as a snake, and to his
neighbors as devils. This impression, like the other one with reference
to his disposition, had no foundation I ever heard of except that his
relict worried a great deal about people who were going to ruin from
drink. We supposed, of course, that she was prompted to this by the
memory of her late husband, as she was prompted to insist on everybody’s
being religious by the wickedness of her brother, the miller. Having no
other place to go after her husband’s death, she determined to move West
and live with her brother, and had arrived at Fairview a few years
before we did. Although there was not a drunkard in the county, she
immediately began a war on rum, and when I first encountered the words
“Delirium Tremens,” in connection with drunkenness, I remember thinking
I was acquainted with his widow.
Next to her desire to save everybody from drunkenness, she wanted to
save everybody from sin, and spent most of her time in discussing these
two questions; but she had little opposition, for everybody in that
country was religious as well as temperate. When she became acquainted
with the Rev. John Westlock she at once hailed him as a man raised up to
do a great work, and was always with him in the meetings he held in
different places, nothing being thought of it if he took her with him
and brought her back again.
Together they established a lodge of Good Templars at Fairview, although
the people were all sober and temperate, and once a week they met to
call upon the fallen brother to shun the cup, and to redeem the country
from debauchery and vice. Barker said they spent one-half the evening in
“opening” and the other half in “closing.” He also said once that his
sister was very much offended that my father preached without pay, for
she would have enjoyed making fancy work, to the neglect of her
brother’s house, to sell at fairs to pay the minister’s salary, and that
she was a brilliant woman at festivals. Barker often criticised her,
half in jest and half in earnest, and once when Jo and I were at his
house for dinner, and something had been lost, he remarked that if B.
were as familiar with her home as she was familiar with the number of
gallons of liquor consumed annually, or with the Acts of the Apostles,
things would be more comfortable. I think he disliked her because she
paid so much attention to other people’s faults and so little to her
own; but he treated her courteously, although he appeared to avoid her,
and they were not much together. B. frequently left home for days at a
time, compelling her patient brother to prepare his own meals or do
without, but he never complained unless she chose to construe
half-jesting, half-earnest raillery into complaint. At such times she
had a way of replying to his light words with a seriousness that I
thought disgusted him, and made him resolve never to mention the matter
again.
That she was a miserable housekeeper I had frequent occasion to know,
and Barker’s house always seemed like a bachelor’s home, as there was
nothing about it to indicate that a woman lived there. Jo used to say of
Mrs. Tremaine that she talked as the women write who furnish recipes to
the newspapers; and when she came to our house the room in which she sat
seemed damp for several days thereafter. Once after she had slept there,
and I was put into the bed she had occupied a night or two afterward, I
amused my mother by asking her to change the sheets, as they seemed like
ice and would not thaw out, and the good humor with which she did this
convinced me that she did not like B. very well herself. Her face was
large and round and of a waxen color, and though it was said by some
that she was handsome I never thought so; nor did I admire her dress,
which was very rich and expensive, though exceedingly plain. Her teeth
were very white, and quite prominent, because she always wore what was
intended to be an enchanting smile, and when she kissed me (which she
usually did in the earlier days of our acquaintance, as a compliment to
a child) I thought she must have just finished washing her face, her
lips were so cold and damp. Her hair being very dark, and her face very
pale, I thought she resembled a well-dressed and affable corpse risen
from the dead, whose business it was to go among the people and warn
them that unless they repented of their sins they would very much regret
it after death.