have outgrown it. A college man, too, no doubt; but what does that
signify? I have a friend who spent about six thousand simoleons on his
son's education, and at the end of three years all the boy had learned
was to wear baggy pants, sport a cane, and yell 'Raw! Raw! Raw!'--very
appropriately--upon the slightest provocation. The kind of chap you will
find dashing through the streets in a forty horse-power automobile with
a hundred fool-power chauffeur in charge. As to the modern young woman,
all the education _she_ wants is to be able to write love-letters!
"But our visitor is certainly an individual of strong personality!"
grunted Colonel Manysnifters, continuing to blow smoke into all parts of
the car. "Whew! Open the window back of you, Ridley. It is hard to
realize that he has left us! He was certainly not 'born to blush unseen,
nor waste his sweetness on the desert air,' eh?"
"The tramp problem is becoming a serious one," said Senator Pennypacker
ponderously. "The great army of the unemployed is steadily increasing.
In New York City alone, on October the first of last year, there were no
less than--just a second. I have the data in my bag. I will read you
some figures that will astonish you."
The Senator arose to get his bag. Faint groans were heard as he left us.
Senators Bull, Wendell, Baker, several Representatives, and the
gentlemen of the press arose as one man and rushed to the button.
President Madison appeared and took the orders. Then Pennypacker
returned with a look of determination on his face, and for fifteen
minutes or more we were regaled with facts, figures, and statistics, all
tending to prove that crime and wretchedness were on the increase
throughout the country; that we were a degenerate people; and other
equally cheerful information.
The hobo's return was hailed with joy. He was vastly improved in
appearance, and fairly radiated contentment. He sank into the seat that
Colonel Manysnifters had thoughtfully placed for him,--somewhat apart
from the rest,--with a murmur of satisfaction not unlike the loud
purring of a cat. Senator Bull pushed the cigars in his direction, and
Van Rensselaer was equally assiduous with the whiskey and soda. Our
visitor seemed perfectly at home. He drank,--drank deeply,--and wiping
his mouth on his sleeve, drank again.
"The hair of the goat is certainly good for the butt," said he, smiling,
and displaying a set of marvellously white and regular teeth. "Now,
gentlemen, I am quite ready to fulfil my part of the agreement. If my
little story interests you, you are welcome to it. It was this way.
"I was a doctor by profession, carpenter by trade, stevedore by
occupation; then came harder times--booze--more booze--despair, illness,
and I found myself discharged from the hospital, down and out--a hobo!
Yet tramp life is not so bad after all. I like it. I like the open-air
existence, the freedom from care and responsibility, and--the hours. I
am much alone, and genius, you know, grows corpulent in solitude.
"My name is Tippett--Livingstone Tippett. Age, of no special moment. You
know," he said pleasantly, "there are two things all of us lie
about--our ages and our incomes. As this is a true story I will drop the
_age_ question. It is better so.
"My early life was uneventful. I was brought up by a pious mother in a
quiet, deeply religious home; every influence uplifting and
good-instilling. I was taught, among other things, to regard liquor in
any form with abhorrence, and that drunkenness was the sin of sins. I
was surrounded with every safeguard a loving mother could devise, and it
was not until after her death and my wife's that I took to drink. My
father and grandfather both died drunkards. Heredity, in my case,
overcame both training and environment, and my troubles hurried on the
inevitable.
"I passed through college unscathed, studied medicine, walked the
hospitals, and began the practice of my profession under the most
favorable auspices. I fell in love with a charming girl, and blessed
with my good mother's approval we were married. Our future seemed
singularly bright and untroubled. Life is a game and I was considerably
ahead of the game. I was certainly playing on velvet.
"When my Elizabeth and I announced that instead of going abroad we would
spend our honeymoon at 'Raven Hill' our little world thought it quite
absurd. They were charitably inclined, however, and made excuses for us
upon the ground that we were too much absorbed in each other to know
what we were doing. But we did know, nevertheless. Our plans had been
fully matured long before we saw fit to reveal them. To spend a month or
so at Neville Mason's, down in Virginia, appealed very pleasantly to
both of us, and I accepted my old chum's offer with avidity. We were to
have everything to ourselves, with just as many servants as we wanted.
"We were married. There was a wedding breakfast, flowers, weeping
relatives, old shoes, and a profusion of rice; nothing, in short, was
omitted. A few hours later we left Jersey City on the southbound flyer.
Breaking the journey at Washington, and remaining over night there, we
arrived at the tiny depot near our ultimate destination late on the
evening of the following day. An ancient but still serviceable family
carriage was in waiting, and we were conveyed in state to the mansion.
"The house at Raven Hill is a huge affair of the Revolutionary period,
with numerous modern additions, which fail entirely to harmonize with
the quaint architecture of the original. The stables and servants'
quarters give the place the appearance of quite a settlement--a survival
of slavery days one sees here and there in the South.
"We were shown to a suite of sunny rooms in the east wing which had been
especially prepared for us, and soon made ourselves thoroughly at home.
From this agreeable vantage-ground we set out upon many pleasant
expeditions into the countryside, returned the visits of our neighbors,
and attended the chapel at the Crossways in truly rural style. Nothing
amused us as much, though, as the negro servants. To them Elizabeth was
'Honey,' and I, 'Marse Livingstone'; and over at the quarters the little
darkies gave rare exhibitions of dancing for our benefit, while solemn,
gray-haired Uncle Ashby picked a greasy banjo. The men sang in nasal,
but not unmelodious tones, weird, crooning songs, with occasionally an
up-to-date composition which found its way, no doubt, from nearby
Richmond. I shall never forget those happy evenings at Raven Hill; and
in my dreams I often see and hear the negroes as they danced and sang in
the moonlight.
"There were some good horses in the stables, and we did not spare them.
Our cross-country dashes were most exciting, and the total absence of
fences in the region gave us an apparently limitless expanse over which
to wander. And that reminds me of a never-to-be-forgotten fox hunt which
was attended by riders from all over that section of the country. Half a
dozen foxes were corralled at the 'round-up,' and I could not help
thinking how tame our alleged 'chases' at home appeared by the contrast.
"One day while roaming about the lower portion of the Raven Hill estate
we stumbled quite by accident into Dark Forest, vaguely hinted at by the
negroes as a place to be avoided. This Dark Forest is a large tract of
scrub oak, birch and holly, with dense undergrowths of briar; the haunt
of innumerable small birds that dart in and out, chirping faintly. In
its depressed portions the 'forest' has degenerated into a marsh through
which a sluggish stream wends it way to the distant river. Slimy
reptiles bask in the warm sun and glide lazily over the black, oozy
soil. At intervals the stillness is broken by the splash of a gigantic
bullfrog returning to his favorite pool. This acrobatic feat is usually
accompanied by a deep-throated cry of satisfaction, not unlike the
twanging of an ill-tuned guitar. On the edges of the marsh mud-covered
terrapins drag themselves through the weeds and disappear with
surprising swiftness when they see an intruder.
"Through this singular region, and overgrown with rank, sedgy grass, is
a wagon trail, here and there along its winding course several inches
under water; and into this wretched road we turned our horses. After a
half a mile or so we left the marsh and struck into firmer ground. Then
came a sharp bend in the undergrowth, and a clearing, several acres in
extent, burst into view. Here stood a white-washed cabin in the midst of
a little garden enclosed by a paling fence, and tall sunflowers, swaying
to and fro in the breeze, brushed the low-hanging eaves. Flowers grew
everywhere in profusion, and the rude porch at the front of the dwelling
was half buried in a mass of fragrant honey-suckle. White curtains,
gracefully looped, hung at the windows, and there was a charming air of
femininity and comfort about the place. We dismounted, and tied our
horses at the gate. As we approached the cabin an immense cat dozing on
the stoop sprang up hurriedly and darted into the vines. We knocked
repeatedly at the door without response. Finally, some one was heard
approaching, so we walked to the lean-to at the rear, and there saw,
coming up from the spring at the foot of the enclosure, a young and
astonishingly pretty girl. She was not at all startled by seeing us; in
fact, led us to believe from her manner that we were rather expected
than otherwise.
"'Walk right in,' said the little beauty. 'I reckon you folks must be
pretty well beat out after your long ride in the hot sun. It's a goodish
bit from here to the Hill, ain't it?'
"'How do you know that we are from the Hill?' I asked in surprise.
"'Oh, I know,' she replied. 'I saw ye both at the station when ye first
come, and then again at meetin' on Sunday. And you air a bride?' she
added, turning to my wife.
"'Yes, and a very happy one,' said Elizabeth, placing her hand upon my
shoulder in loving fashion. The child, for she was hardly more than
that, gave an odd little sigh, but quickly brightened up again.
"'I'm downright glad ye came,' she said heartily. 'I do so like folks to
be neighborly and sociable. Ye ain't stuck up, nuther, like most city
folks; no airs, nor the like o' that. Pap'll be home soon, and he'll be
glad to see ye too!'
"Then she prepared a nice luncheon in the living-room. The lightest
bread, delicious butter, preserved peaches, and some slices of
marvellous old ham; this, with a stone pitcher of cool, foamy milk, made
life very pleasant to the weary travelers. The girl declined to join us,
but sat near at hand, gazing intently at my wife. No detail of
Elizabeth's attire seemed to escape her.
"'Oh,' said she, partly to herself, 'what beautiful, beautiful clothes!'
And I registered a vow that she should have just such an outfit as soon
as we went back to New York.
"'That child, properly dressed, would attract attention anywhere; she
does not look at all bourgeois,' said my wife; and this from Elizabeth,
whose grandmother was a Boston Higglesworth, was a concession indeed.
"'Do not tell her so,' said I; 'it would certainly spoil her. She _is_
uncommonly pretty, I'll admit; but unless something unforeseen happens
she will probably marry within her own sphere of life, toil unceasingly,
rear a brood of uncouth bumpkins--a hag at thirty, and thus fulfil her
destiny.'
"Elizabeth looked exceeding wise, but said nothing.
"Ailsee came to us at that moment, and I looked at her closely as she
stood in the sunlight, her bonnet dangling from her arm. She was
undeniably beautiful--a dainty little head, crowned with a wealth of
golden-brown hair, sweet hazel eyes, a lovely mouth, and the most
bewitching dimples. There was nothing of the milkmaid style about her,
for she lacked the vivid coloring and tendency to embonpoint of the
typical rustic beauty. I pictured her to myself entering the room at one
of the Bachelors' on the arm of the leader of the cotillion, and the
subsequent sensation and heart-burnings.
"My reverie was interrupted by a hoarse voice calling, 'Ailsee!
Ailsee!'--seemingly just over in the forest.
"'Dad wants me,' she said with a smile. 'I'll go and fetch him back with
me. Please you folks wait a moment.' And she tripped lightly down the
garden and out into the wilderness beyond.
"Ten or fifteen minutes slipped by without the return of either Ailsee
or her father. The footfalls in the forest died away, and the stillness
was becoming oppressive.
"'Remarkable, truly,' said my wife, with a puzzled expression. 'Where
could she have gone? Do you think her father is keeping her? Dearest,'
she added gravely, 'don't laugh, I feel--I feel--that something dreadful
is going to happen. I don't know exactly what, but----'
"'Of course you don't know exactly what,' I interrupted. 'Come now, be a
sensible little woman. You surely don't believe in presentiments. It is
the heat; this sticky, Southern heat! I feel a little queer myself.'
"But nothing I could say quite banished the singular fancy which had
taken possession of my young wife. Womenkind cling tenaciously to absurd
ideas, especially when they are of the worrying kind; and Elizabeth
looked so troubled and sad that I soon caught the feeling and became
melancholy too.
"It was long past noon and intensely sultry, and we were sitting on the
porch where occasionally the faintest shadow of a breeze made life more
endurable. Our horses, maddened by the flies and heat, chafed and
stamped restlessly out at the gate. Elizabeth tried to amuse herself
with a huge album of daguerreotypes which occupied the place of honor in
the cabin parlor, and I smoked and lounged about, wondering what had
become of Ailsee.
"'Well,' said I at last, 'we can not wait here forever. If I am not
greatly mistaken there will be a storm before night, and we had better
get out of this at once. We can come down here some other day and renew
our acquaintance with the mysterious child of the forest.' So back
through the marsh we splashed our way, and arrived at Raven Hill barely
in time to escape the storm, which broke with fury just as Uncle Ashby
came around for our mud-bespattered steeds.
"Elizabeth went upstairs to change her dress and rest before dinner, and
I settled down in the library with the _Country Gentleman_. There was a
knock at the door, and Uncle Ashby came in.
"'Marse Livingstone,' he asked huskily, 'whar has you been wif de
horses?'
"I told him; and during the brief account of our adventures his face
grew ashen and his eyes seemed about to start out of his head. When I
was through he tottered over to the window, muttering, 'Gawd help us!
Gawd help us!'
"'What's the matter, Uncle Ashby?' I asked curiously. 'What on earth are
you so excited about?'
"'Boss,' said he entreatingly, 'doan' make me tell you--you'll be sorry
ef you do. 'Deed, Marster, I really mus' go now, sah; dey's waitin' fer
me at de stables. And youse been down dar an' seen it! Oh, Lordy,
Lordy!'
"'Come back here,' said I, my curiosity getting the better of me. 'Don't
be a fool, old man; brace up. What's the trouble? You are not afraid to
speak out, eh?'
"'Well, Marse Livingstone, ef I mus' tell you, I 'spose I mus'--thar
doan' 'pear to be no help fer it. But I'd ruther not, boss; 'deed, I'd
ruther not.'
"'Go on; tell your story,' said I impatiently. 'I guess I can stand it.
Just try me, anyhow.' So in the semi-darkness a marvellous tale was
unfolded to my ears.
"In the first place, Uncle Ashby solemnly assured me that I had that day
seen a ghost. The flesh-and-blood Ailsee, he declared, had been dead
many years. Her father, Coot Harris, was a rough customer who took up
his abode in the marsh--'mash,' Uncle Tucker called it--at the close of
the Civil War. Here he gained a precarious livelihood by 'pot-hunting';
for Harris and others of his ilk paid but little attention to the poorly
enforced game laws of the section. Coot Harris, the marshman, had a
daughter, who, as Uncle Ashby contemptuously remarked, 'was peart enuff,
as pore white trash folkses go.'
"This daughter was named Ailsee. Thwarted by her father in some love
affair with a swain of the neighborhood, she had drowned herself in a
gloomy pool in the very darkest part of the forest. The body was found
shortly afterward and buried in the cottage garden. Harris then left the
country and has never since been heard of. All this, according to Uncle
Ashby, happened twenty years ago. The ghost of the ill-starred Ailsee
had occasionally been seen by the country folk, but always with dire
results. Bad luck, disease, and in some cases death, had been the fate
of those who saw the 'ha'nt.' One man lost his house by fire within
forty-eight hours after the shadowy form crossed his path. The body of
another unfortunate was found floating in the creek; his eyes wide open,
staring horribly. The drowned man had but the day before made known the
fact that he had seen the wraith of the marshman's daughter. Still
another poor fellow had been taken, raving and violent, to the asylum.
Numerous additional instances, equally as harrowing, were cited by Uncle
Ashby, whose fervent belief in all that he said was rather impressive
than otherwise.
"I listened patiently to the old man until he finished. By that time the
storm had ceased and the sky, suddenly clearing in the west, revealed
the last rays of the setting sun, which brightened the room for a few
moments. I laughed softly when Uncle Ashby went out, and all that I had
heard of the ignorance, credulity, and superstition of the Southern
negro came into my mind. I sat for a while, musing in the gathering
dusk, and then went up to my room.
"The lamps had not been lighted in that portion of the house, and it was
quite dark. The atmosphere was stifling, as all the windows had been
closed at the approach of the storm. I raised them, and the cool, damp
air, heavy with the odor of jessamine, floated into the room. Elizabeth,
evidently greatly fatigued by the day's exertions, had thrown herself
upon a lounge at the foot of the bed. She was in her dressing-gown, and
her face was framed in masses of wavy brown hair which had become
uncoiled in her restless movements. I hesitated to awaken her, but as
sounds from below indicated the near approach of dinner I called her--at
first softly, and then in louder tones, an indefinable fear stealing
over me as I did so. I approached the couch, and tremblingly placed my
hand upon her forehead.... Ah, God, I cannot tell the rest!
"Seven years have dragged their weary length along since I lost my dear
young wife and the light of my life was extinguished forever! Now, all
is darkness! darkness!
"Subsequent investigation, supported by the testimony of well-known and
thoroughly reliable residents of the country, confirmed in every
particular the truth of Uncle Ashby's story. A visit to the marshman's
cottage some days after my wife's death revealed a ruinous mouldering
habitation, in the midst of a wilderness of weeds and vines. A mournful,
desolate spot, shunned and avoided by all for the past twenty years, and
yet had I not seen----" Tippett paused abruptly, with bowed head and
eyes tear-dimmed.
"Here, old chap, take this," said Colonel Manysnifters, hastily pouring
out and handing him a stiff drink. Tippett, obeying, was somewhat
revived, and continued.
"I returned to Brooklyn with the body of my wife. My mother followed her
to the grave a few months later. All in the world that was dear to me
was now lost. I took to drink; I sunk lower and lower, dissipated my
little fortune, friends forsook me; and by quick stages in the
descending scale I found myself, as I said before--an outcast! Yet,
through all my troubles I have never entertained the thought of
self-destruction. I have no desire whatever to seek--
"'The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn
No traveler returns,--puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than to fly to others we know not of.'"
It was long after midnight when Tippett concluded his story and the
gathering broke up; not, however, before sleeping-quarters had been
found for the unfortunate man, and a promise given by Senator Bull to
put him on his feet again in the far West--an offer gladly accepted in
all sincerity, and a venture which proved highly successful, as most of
the long-headed Senator's usually did.
Morning brought relief, the track was cleared, and our train proceeded
on its way, arriving at Washington many hours behind schedule; its
occupants but little the worse for their experience--Colonel
Manysnifters, I believe, with a slight headache.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Statesmen Snowbound, by Robert Fitzgerald