CHAPTER X

MORDECAI PRIME MINISTER

1. And the king Ahasuerus laid a tribute upon the land, and upon the

isles of the sea.

2. And all the acts of his power and of his might, and the declaration

of the greatness of Mordecai, whereunto the king advanced him, are they

not written in the book of the chronicles of the kings of Media and

Persia?

3. For Mordecai the Jew was next unto king Ahasuerus, and great among

the Jews, and accepted of the multitude of his brethren, seeking the

wealth of his people, and speaking peace to all his seed.

II. THE HISTORY OF ALI BABA AND THE FORTY ROBBERS[*]

[* From "The Arabian Nights."]

AUTHOR UNKNOWN

[_Setting_. This story, like "Esther," takes place in Persia. The

stories of "The Arabian Nights" as a whole probably originated in India,

were modified and augmented by the Persians, and had the finishing

touches put upon them by the Arabians. Bagdad on the Tigris is the city

that figures most prominently in the stories, and the good caliph Haroun

Al-Raschid (or Alraschid), who ruled from 786 to 809, A.D., is the

monarch most often mentioned.

"A goodly place, a goodly time,

For it was in the golden prime

Of good Haroun Alraschid."

However old the germs of the stories are, the form in which we have them

hardly antedates the year 1450. The absence of all mention of coffee and

tobacco precludes, at least, a date much later. They began to be

translated into the languages of Europe during the reign of Queen Anne

and, with the exception of the Old Testament, have been the chief

orientalizing influence in modern literature. The setting of "Ali Baba"

shows the four characteristics of all these Perso-Arabian tales: it has

to do with town life, not country life; it presupposes one faith, the

Mohammedan; it shows a fondness for magic; and it takes for granted an

audience interested not in moral or ethical distinctions but in

story-telling for story-telling's sake.

_Plot_. The plot of the short story as a distinct type of literature has

been said to show a steady progress from the impossible through the

improbable and probable to the inevitable. When we say of a story that

the conclusion is inevitable we mean that, with the given background and

characters, it could not have ended in any other way, just as, with a

given multiplier and multiplicand, one product and only one is possible.

This cannot be said of "Ali Baba," because the five parts are not linked

together in a logical sequence as are the events in "The Gold-Bug," or

by any controlling idea of reform such as we find in "A Christmas

Carol," or by any underlying moral purpose like that which gives unity

and dignity to "The Great Stone Face." These Perso-Arabian tales, in

other words, are stories of random incident, loosely but charmingly

told, with always the note of strangeness and unexpectedness. The

incidents, however, reflect accurately the manners and customs of time

and place. We do not believe that a door ever opened to the magic of

mere words, but we do believe and cannot help believing that the author

tells the truth when he writes of leather jars full of oil, of bands of

mounted robbers, of a poor man who could support himself by hauling wood

from the free-for-all forest, of slavery from which one might escape by

notable fidelity, of funeral rites performed by the imaum and other

ministers of the mosque, and of the unwillingness of an assassin to

attempt the life of a man with whom he had just eaten salt. Fancy, it is

true, mingles with fact in "The Arabian Nights," but it does not replace

fact.

_Characters_. Morgiana is the leading character. She furnishes all the

brains employed in the story. The narrator praises her "courage" twice,

but she had more than courage. Fidelity, initiative, and resourcefulness

must also be put among her assets. We can hardly imagine her as acting

from Esther's high motive, but she lived up to the best standards of

conduct that she knew. Whoever serves as a model for his own time may

serve as a model for ours. Duties change, but duty remains.]

I

CASSIM, ALI BABA'S BROTHER, DISCOVERED AND KILLED BY THE ROBBERS

There once lived in a town of Persia two brothers, one named Cassim and

the other Ali Baba. Their father divided his small property equally

between them. Cassim married a very rich wife, and became a wealthy

merchant. Ali Baba married a woman as poor as himself, and lived by

cutting wood and bringing it upon three asses into the town to sell.

One day, when Ali Baba had cut just enough wood in the forest to load

his asses, he noticed far off a great cloud of dust. As it drew nearer,

he saw that it was made by a body of horsemen, whom he suspected to be

robbers. Leaving the asses, he climbed a large tree which grew on a high

rock, and had branches thick enough to hide him completely while he saw

what passed beneath. The troop, forty in number, all well mounted and

armed, came to the foot of the rock on which the tree stood, and there

dismounted. Each man unbridled his horse, tied him to a shrub, and hung

about his neck a bag of corn. Then each of them took off his saddle-bag,

which from its weight seemed to Ali Baba full of gold and silver. One,

whom he took to be their captain, came under the tree in which Ali Baba

was concealed; and, making his way through some shrubs, spoke the words:

"Open, Sesame."[*] As soon as the captain of the robbers said this, a

door opened in the rock, and after he had made all his troop enter

before him, he followed them, when the door shut again of itself.

[* Sesame (pronounced _séssamy_), a small grain.]

The robbers stayed some time within, and Ali Baba, fearful of being

caught, remained in the tree. At last the door opened again, and the

captain came out first, and stood to see all the troop pass by him. Then

Ali Baba heard him make the door close by saying: "Shut, Sesame." Every

man at once bridled his horse, fastened his wallet, and mounted again.

When the captain saw them all ready, he put himself at their head, and

they returned the way they had come.

Ali Baba watched them out of sight, and then waited some time before

coming down. Wishing to see whether the captain's words would have the

same effect if he should speak them, he found the door hidden in the

shrubs, stood before it, and said: "Open, Sesame." Instantly the door

flew wide open.

Instead of a dark, dismal cavern, Ali Baba was surprised to see a large

chamber, well lighted from the top, and in it all sorts of provisions,

rich bales of silk, brocade and carpeting, gold and silver ingots in

great heaps, and money in bags.

Ali Baba went boldly into the cave, and collected as much of the gold

coin, which was in bags, as he thought his asses could carry. When he

had loaded them with the bags, he laid wood over them so that they could

not be seen, and, passing out of the door for the last time, stood

before it and said: "Shut, Sesame." The door closed of itself, and he

made the best of his way to town.

When he reached home, he carefully closed the gate of his little yard,

threw off the wood, and carried the bags into the house. They were

emptied before his wife, and the great heap of gold dazzled her eyes.

Then he told her the whole adventure, and warned her, above all things,

to keep it secret.

Ali Baba would not let her take the time to count it out as she wished,

but said: "I will dig a hole and bury it."

"But let us know as nearly as may be," she said, "how much we have. I

will borrow a small measure, and measure it, while you dig a hole."

Away she ran to the wife of Cassim, who lived near by, and asked for a

measure. The sister-in-law, knowing Ali Baba's poverty, was curious to

learn what sort of grain his wife wished to measure out, and artfully

managed to put some suet in the bottom of the measure before she handed

it over. Ali Baba's wife wanted to show how careful she was in small

matters, and, after she had measured the gold, hurried back, even while

her husband was burying it, with the borrowed measure, never noticing

that a coin had stuck to its bottom.

"What," said Cassim's wife, as soon as her sister-in-law had left her,

"has Ali Baba gold in such plenty that he measures it? Whence has he all

this wealth?" And envy possessed her breast.

When Cassim came home, she said to him: "Cassim, you think yourself

rich, but Ali Baba is much richer. He does not count his money; he

measures it." Then she explained to him how she had found it out, and

they looked together at the piece of money, which was so old that they

could not tell in what prince's reign it was coined.

Cassim, since marrying the rich widow, had never treated Ali Baba as a

brother, but neglected him. Now, instead of being pleased, he was filled

with a base envy. Early in the morning, after a sleepless night, he went

to him and said: "Ali Baba, you pretend to be wretchedly poor, and yet

you measure gold. My wife found this at the bottom of the measure you

borrowed yesterday."

Ali Baba saw that there was no use of trying to conceal his good

fortune, and told the whole story, offering his brother part of the

treasure to keep the secret.

"I expect as much," replied Cassim haughtily; "but I must know just

where this treasure is and how to visit it myself when I choose.

Otherwise I will inform against you, and you will lose even what you

have now."

Ali Baba told him all he wished to know, even to the words he must speak

at the door of the cave.

Cassim rose before the sun the next morning, and set out for the forest

with ten mules bearing great chests which he meant to fill. With little

trouble he found the rock and the door, and, standing before it, spoke

the words: "Open, Sesame." The door opened at once, and when he was

within closed upon him. Here indeed were the riches of which his brother

had told. He quickly brought as many bags of gold as he could carry to

the door of the cavern; but his thoughts were so full of his new wealth,

that he could not think of the word that should let him out. Instead of

"Sesame," he said "Open, Barley," and was much amazed to find that the

door remained fast shut. He named several sorts of grain, but still the

door would not open.

Cassim had never expected such a disaster, and was so frightened that

the more he tried to recall the word "Sesame," the more confused his

mind became. It was as if he had never heard the word at all. He threw

down the bags in his hands, and walked wildly up and down, without a

thought of the riches lying round about him.

At noon the robbers visited their cave. From afar they saw Cassim's

mules straggling about the rock, and galloped full speed to the cave.

Driving the mules out of sight, they went at once, with their naked

sabres in their hands, to the door, which opened as soon as the captain

had spoken the proper words before it.

Cassim had heard the noise of the horses' feet, and guessed that the

robbers had come. He resolved to make one effort for his life. As soon

as the door opened, he rushed out and threw the leader down, but could

not pass the other robbers, who with their scimitars soon put him to

death.

The first care of the robbers was to examine the cave. They found all

the bags Cassim had brought to the door, but did not miss what Ali Baba

had taken. As for Cassim himself, they guessed rightly that, once

within, he could not get out again; but how he had managed to learn

their secret words that let him in, they could not tell. One thing was

certain,--there he was; and to warn all others who might know their

secret and follow in Cassim's footsteps, they agreed to cut his body

into four quarters--to hang two on one side and two on the other, within

the door of the cave. This they did at once, and leaving the place of

their hoards well closed, mounted their horses and set out to attack the

caravans they might meet.

II

THE MANNER OF CASSIM'S DEATH CONCEALED

When night came, and Cassim did not return, his wife became very uneasy.

She ran to Ali Baba for comfort, and he told her that Cassim would

certainly think it unwise to enter the town till night was well

advanced. By midnight Cassim's wife was still more alarmed, and wept

till morning, cursing her desire to pry into the affairs of her brother

and sister-in-law. In the early day she went again, in tears, to Ali

Baba.

He did not wait for her to ask him to go and see what had happened to

Cassim, but set out at once for the forest with his three asses. Finding

some blood at the door of the cave, he took it for an ill omen; but when

he had spoken the words, and the door had opened, he was struck with

horror at the dismal sight of his brother's body. He could not leave it

there, and hastened within to find something to wrap around it. Laying

the body on one of his asses, he covered it with wood. The other two

asses he loaded with bags of gold, covering them also with wood as

before. Then bidding the door shut, he came away, but stopped some time

at the edge of the forest, that he might not go into the town before

night. When he reached home he left the two asses, laden with gold, in

his little yard for his wife to unload, and led the other to his

sister-in-law's house.

Ali Baba knocked at the door, which was opened by Morgiana, a clever

slave, full of devices to conquer difficulties. When he came into the

court and unloaded the ass, he took Morgiana aside, and said to her:--

"You must observe a strict secrecy. Your master's body is contained in

these two panniers. We must bury him as if he had died a natural death.

Go now and tell your mistress. I leave the matter to your wit and

skillful devices."

They placed the body in Cassim's house, and, charging Morgiana to act

well her part, Ali Baba returned home with his ass.

Early the next morning, Morgiana went to a druggist, and asked for a

sort of lozenge used in the most dangerous illness. When he asked her

for whom she wanted it, she answered with a sigh: "My good master

Cassim. He can neither eat nor speak." In the evening she went to the

same druggist, and with tears in her eyes asked for an essence given to

sick persons for whose life there is little hope. "Alas!" said she, "I

am afraid even this will not save my good master."

All that day Ali Baba and his wife were seen going sadly between their

house and Cassim's, and in the evening nobody was surprised to hear the

shrieks and cries of Cassim's wife and Morgiana, who told everybody that

her master was dead.

The next morning at daybreak she went to an old cobbler, who was always

early at work, and, putting a piece of gold in his hand, said:--

"Baba Mustapha, you must bring your sewing-tackle and come with me; but

I must tell you, I shall blindfold you when we reach a certain place."

"Oh! oh!" replied he, "you would have me do something against my

conscience or my honor."

"God forbid!" said Morgiana, putting another piece of gold in his hand;

"only come along with me, and fear nothing."

Baba Mustapha went with Morgiana, and at a certain place she bound his

eyes with a handkerchief, which she never unloosed till they had entered

the room of her master's house, where she had put the corpse together.

"Baba Mustapha," said she, "you must make haste, and sew the parts of

this body together, and when you have done, I will give you another

piece of gold."

After Baba Mustapha had finished his task, she blindfolded him again,

gave him the third piece of gold she had promised, and, charging him

with secrecy, took him back to the place where she had first bound his

eyes. Taking off the bandage, she watched him till he was out of sight,

lest he should return and dog her; then she went home.

At Cassim's house she made all things ready for the funeral, which was

duly performed by the imaum[*] and other ministers of the mosque.

Morgiana, as a slave of the dead man, walked in the procession, weeping,

beating her breast, and tearing her hair. Cassim's wife stayed at home,

uttering doleful cries with the women of the neighborhood, who,

according to custom, came to mourn with her. The whole quarter was

filled with sounds of sorrow.

[* Imaum, a Mohammedan priest.]

Thus the manner of Cassim's death was hushed up, and, besides his widow,

Ali Baba, and Morgiana, the slave, nobody in the city suspected the

cause of it. Three or four days after the funeral, Ali Baba removed his

few goods openly to his sister-in-law's house, in which he was to live

in the future; but the money he had taken from the robbers was carried

thither by night. As for Cassim's warehouse, Ali Baba put it entirely

under the charge of his eldest son.

III

THE ROBBERS' PLOT FOILED BY MORGIANA

While all this was going on, the forty robbers again visited their cave

in the forest. Great was their surprise to find Cassim's body taken

away, with some of their bags of gold.

"We are certainly found out," said the captain; "the body and the money

have been taken by some one else who knows our secret. For our own

lives' sake, we must try and find him. What say you, my lads?"

The robbers all agreed that this must be done.

"Well," said the captain, "one of you, the boldest and most skillful,

must go to the town, disguised as a stranger, and try if he can hear any

talk of the man we killed, and find out where he lived. This matter is

so important that the man who undertakes it and fails should suffer

death. What say you?"

One of the robbers, without waiting to know what the rest might think,

started up, and said: "I submit to this condition, and think it an honor

to expose my life to serve the troop."

This won great praise from the robber's comrades, and he disguised

himself at once so that nobody could take him for what he was. Just at

daybreak he entered the town, and walked up and down till he came by

chance to Baba Mustapha's stall, which was always open before any of the

shops.

The old cobbler was just going to work when the robber bade him

good-morrow, and said:--

"Honest man, you begin to work very early; how can one of your age see

so well? Even if it were lighter, I question whether you could see to

stitch."

"You do not know me," replied Baba Mustapha; "for old as I am I have

excellent eyes. You will not doubt me when I tell you that I sewed the

body of a dead man together in a place where I had not so much light as

I have now."

"A dead body!" exclaimed the robber amazed.

"Yes, yes," answered Baba Mustapha; "I see you want to know more, but

you shall not."

The robber felt sure that he was on the right track. He put a piece of

gold into Baba Mustapha's hand, and said to him:--

"I do not want to learn your secret, though you could safely trust me

with it. The only thing I ask of you is to show me the house where you

stitched up the dead body."

"I could not do that," replied Baba Mustapha, "if I would. I was taken

to a certain place, whence I was led blindfold to the house, and

afterwards brought back again in the same manner."

"Well," replied the robber, "you may remember a little of the way that

you were led blindfold. Come, let me blind your eyes at the same place.

We will walk together, and perhaps you may recall the way. Here is

another piece of gold for you."

This was enough to bring Baba Mustapha to his feet. They soon reached

the place where Morgiana had bandaged his eyes, and here he was

blindfolded again. Baba Mustapha and the robber walked on till they came

to Cassim's house, where Ali Baba now lived. Here the old man stopped,

and when the thief pulled off the band, and found that his guide could

not tell him whose house it was, he let him go. But before he started

back for the forest himself, well pleased with what he had learned, he

marked the door with a piece of chalk which he had ready in his hand.

Soon after this Morgiana came out upon some errand, and when she

returned she saw the mark the robber had made, and stopped to look at

it.

"What can this mean?" she said to herself. "Somebody intends my master

harm, and in any case it is best to guard against the worst." Then she

fetched a piece of chalk, and marked two or three doors on each side in

the same manner, saying nothing to her master or mistress.

When the robber rejoined his troop in the forest, and told of his good

fortune in meeting the one man that could have helped him, they were all

delighted.

"Comrades," said the captain, "we have no time to lose. Let us set off

at once, well armed and disguised, enter the town by twos, and join at

the great square. Meanwhile our comrade who has brought us the good news

and I will go and find out the house, and decide what had best be done."

Two by two they entered the town. Last of all went the captain and the

spy. When they came to the first of the houses which Morgiana had

marked, the spy pointed it out. But the captain noticed that the next

door was chalked in the same manner, and asked his guide which house it

was, that or the first. The guide knew not what answer to make, and was

still more puzzled when he and the captain saw five or six houses marked

after this same fashion. He assured the captain, with an oath, that he

had marked but one, and could not tell who had chalked the rest, nor

could he say at which house the cobbler had stopped.

There was nothing to do but to join the other robbers, and tell them to

go back to the cave. Here they were told why they had all returned, and

the guide was declared by all to be worthy of death. Indeed, he

condemned himself, owning that he ought to have been more careful, and

prepared to receive the stroke which was to cut off his head.

The safety of the troop still demanded that the second comer to the cave

should be found, and another of the gang offered to try it, with the

same penalty if he should fail. Like the other robber, he found out Baba

Mustapha, and, through him, the house, which he marked, in a place

remote from sight, with red chalk.

But nothing could escape Morgiana's eyes, and when she went out, not

long after, and saw the red chalk, she argued with herself as before,

and marked the other houses near by in the same place and manner.

The robber, when he told his comrades what he had done, prided himself

on his carefulness, and the captain and all the troop thought they must

succeed this time. Again they entered the town by twos; but when the

robber and his captain came to the street, they found the same trouble.

The captain was enraged, and the robber as much confused as the former

guide had been. Thus the captain and his troop went back again to the

cave, and the robber who had failed willingly gave himself up to death.

IV

THE ROBBERS, EXCEPT THE CAPTAIN, DISCOVERED AND KILLED BY MORGIANA

The captain could not afford to lose any more of his brave fellows, and

decided to take upon himself the task in which two had failed. Like the

others, he went to Baba Mustapha, and was shown the house. Unlike them

he put no mark on it, but studied it carefully and passed it so often

that he could not possibly mistake it.

When he returned to the troop, who were waiting for him in the cave, he

said:--

"Now, comrades, nothing can prevent our full revenge, as I am certain of

the house. As I returned I thought of a way to do our work, but if any

one thinks of a better, let him speak."

He told them his plan, and, as they thought it good, he ordered them to

go into the villages about, and buy nineteen mules, with thirty-eight

large leather jars, one full of oil, and the others empty. Within two or

three days they returned with the mules and the jars, and as the mouths

of the jars were rather too narrow for the captain's purpose, he caused

them to be widened. Having put one of his men into each jar, with the

weapons which he thought fit, and having a seam wide enough open for

each man to breathe, he rubbed the jars on the outside with oil from the

full vessel.

Thus prepared they set out for the town, the nineteen mules loaded with

the thirty-seven robbers in jars, and the jar of oil, with the captain

as their driver. When he reached Ali Baba's door, he found Ali Baba

sitting there taking a little fresh air after his supper. The captain

stopped his mules, and said:--

"I have brought some oil a great way to sell at to-morrow's market; and

it is now so late that I do not know where to lodge. Will you do me the

favor to let me pass the night with you?"

Though Ali Baba had seen the captain in the forest, and had heard him

speak, he could not know him in the disguise of an oil-merchant, and

bade him welcome. He opened his gates for the mules to go into the yard,

and ordered a slave to put them in a stable and feed them when they were

unloaded, and then called Morgiana to get a good supper for his guest.

After supper he charged her afresh to take good care of the stranger,

and said to her:--

"To-morrow morning I intend to go to the bath before day; take care to

have my bathing linen ready; give it to Abdalla" (which was his slave's

name), "and make me some good broth against my return." After this he

went to bed.

In the mean time the captain of the robbers went into the yard, and took

off the lid of each jar, and told his people what they must do. To each,

in turn, he said:--

"As soon as I throw some stones out of the chamber window where I lie,

do not fail to come out, and I will join you at once."

Then he went into the house, and Morgiana showed him his chamber, where

he soon put out the light, and laid himself down in his clothes.

To carry out Ali Baba's orders, Morgiana got his bathing linen ready,

and bade Abdalla to set on the pot for the broth; but soon the lamp went

out, and there was no more oil in the house, nor any candles. She knew

not what to do, till the slave reminded her of the oil-jars in the yard.

She thanked him for the thought, took the oil-pot, and went out. When

she came nigh the first jar, the robber within said softly: "Is it

time?"

Of course she was surprised to find a man in the jar instead of the oil,

but she saw at once that she must keep silence, as Ali Baba, his family,

and she herself were in great danger. Therefore she answered, without

showing any fear: "Not yet, but presently." In this manner she went to

all the jars and gave the same answers, till she came to the jar of oil.

By this means Morgiana found that her master had admitted to his house

thirty-eight robbers, of whom the pretended oil-merchant, their captain,

was one. She made what haste she could to fill her oil-pot, and returned

to her kitchen, lighted her lamp, and taking a great kettle went back to

the oil-jar and filled it. Then she set the kettle on a large wood fire,

and as soon as it boiled went and poured enough into every jar to stifle

and destroy the robber within.

When this deed, worthy of the courage of Morgiana, was done without any

noise, as she had planned, she returned to the kitchen with the empty

kettle, put out the lamp, and left just enough of the fire to make the

broth. Then she sat silent, resolving not to go to rest till she had

seen through the window that opened on the yard whatever might happen

there.

It was not long before the captain of the robbers got up, and, seeing

that all was dark and quiet, gave the appointed signal by throwing

little stones, some of which hit the jars, as he doubted not by the

sound they gave. As there was no response, he threw stones a second and

a third time, and could not imagine why there was no answer to his

signal.

Much alarmed, he went softly down into the yard, and, going to the first

jar to ask the robber if he was ready, smelt the hot boiled oil, which

sent forth a steam out of the jar. From this he suspected that his plot

was found out, and, looking into the jars one by one, he found that all

his gang were dead. Enraged to despair, he forced the lock of a door

that led from the yard to the garden, and made his escape. When Morgiana

saw him go, she went to bed, well pleased that she had saved her master.

and his family.

Ali Baba rose before day, and went to the baths without knowing of what

had happened in the night. When he returned he was very much surprised

to see the oil-jars in the yard and the mules in the stable.

"God preserve you and all your family," said Morgiana when she was asked

what it meant; "you will know better when you have seen what I have to

show you."

So saying she led him to the first jar, and asked him to see if there

was any oil. When he saw a man instead, he started back in alarm.

"Do not be afraid," said Morgiana; "he can do neither you nor anybody

else the least harm. He is dead. Now look into all the other jars."

Ali Baba was more and more amazed as he went on, and saw all the dead

men and the sunken oil-jar at the end. He stood looking from the jars to

Morgiana, till he found words to ask: "And what is become of the

merchant?"

"Merchant!" answered she; "he is as much one as I am."

Then she led him into the house, and told of all that she had done, from

the first noticing of the chalk-mark to the death of the robbers and the

flight of their captain. On hearing of these brave deeds from Morgiana's

own lips, Ali Baba said to her:--

"God, by your means, has delivered me from death. For the first token of

what I owe you, I give you your liberty from this moment, till I can

fully reward you as I intend."

Near the trees at the end of Ali Baba's long garden, he and Abdalla dug

a trench large enough to hold the bodies of the robbers. When they were

buried there, Ali Baba hid the jars and weapons; and as the mules were

of no use to him, he sent them at different times to be sold in the

market by his slave.

V

THE CAPTAIN DISCOVERED AND KILLED BY MORGIANA

The captain of the forty robbers had returned to his cave in the forest,

but found himself so lonely there that the place became frightful to

him. He resolved at the same time to avenge the fate of his comrades,

and to bring about the death of Ali Baba. For this purpose he returned

to the town, disguised as a merchant of silks. By degrees he brought

from his cavern many sorts of fine stuffs, and to dispose of these he

took a warehouse that happened to be opposite Cassim's, which Ali Baba's

son had occupied since the death of his uncle.

He took the name of Cogia Houssain, and as a newcomer was very civil to

the merchants near him. Ali Baba's son was one of the first to converse

with him, and the new merchant was most friendly. Within two or three

days Ali Baba came to see his son, and the captain of the robbers knew

him at once, and soon learned from his son who he was. From that time

forth he was still more polite to Ali Baba's son, who soon felt bound to

repay the many kindnesses of his new friend.

As his own house was small, he arranged with his father that on a

certain afternoon, when he and the merchant were passing by Ali Baba's

house, they should stop, and he should ask them both to sup with him.

This plan was carried out, though at first the merchant, with whose own

plans it agreed perfectly, made as if to excuse himself. He even gave it

as a reason for not remaining that he could eat no salt in his victuals.

"If that is all," said Ali Baba, "it need not deprive me of the honor of

your company"; and he went to the kitchen and told Morgiana to put no

salt into anything she was cooking that evening.

Thus Cogia Houssain was persuaded to stay, but to Morgiana it seemed

very strange that any one should refuse to eat salt. She wished to see

what manner of man it might be, and to this end, when she had finished

what she had to do in the kitchen, she helped Abdalla carry up the

dishes. Looking at Cogia Houssain, she knew him at first sight, in spite

of his disguise, to be the captain of the robbers, and, scanning him

very closely, saw that he had a dagger under his garment.

"I see now why this greatest enemy of my master would eat no salt with

him. He intends to kill him; but I will prevent him."

While they were at supper Morgiana made up her mind to do one of the

boldest deeds ever conceived. She dressed herself like a dancer, girded

her waist with a silver-gilt girdle, from which hung a poniard, and put

a handsome mask on her face. Then, when the supper was ended, she said

to Abdalla:--

"Take your tabor, and let us go and divert our master and his son's

friend, as we sometimes do when he is alone."

They presented themselves at the door with a low bow, and Morgiana was

bidden to enter and show Cogia Houssain how well she danced. This, he

knew, would interrupt him in carrying out his wicked purpose, but he had

to make the best of it, and to seem pleased with Morgiana's dancing. She

was indeed a good dancer, and on this occasion outdid herself in

graceful and surprising motions. At the last, she took the tabor from

Abdalla's hand, and held it out like those who dance for money.

Ali Baba put a piece of gold into it, and so did his son. When Cogia

Houssain saw that she was coming to him, he pulled out his purse from

his bosom to make her a present; but while he was putting his hand into

it, Morgiana, with courage worthy of herself, plunged the poniard into

his heart.

"Unhappy woman!" exclaimed Ali Baba, "what have you done to ruin me and

my family?"

"It was to preserve, not to ruin you," answered Morgiana. Then she

showed the dagger in Cogia Houssain's garment, and said: "Look well at

him, and you will see that he is both the pretended oil-merchant and the

captain of the band of forty robbers. As soon as you told me that he

would eat no salt with you, I suspected who it was, and when I saw him,

I knew."

Ali Baba embraced her, and said: "Morgiana, I gave you your liberty

before, and promised you more in time; now I would make you my

daughter-in-law. Consider," he said, turning to his son, "that by

marrying Morgiana, you marry the preserver of my family and yours."

The son was all the more ready to carry out his father's wishes, because

they were the same as his own, and within a few days he and Morgiana

were married, but before this, the captain of the robbers was buried

with his comrades, and so secretly was it done, that their bones were

not found till many years had passed, when no one had any concern in

making this strange story known.

For a whole year Ali Baba did not visit the robbers' cave. At the end of

that time, as nobody had tried to disturb him, he made another journey

to the forest, and, standing before the entrance to the cave, said:

"Open, Sesame." The door opened at once, and from the appearance of

everything within the cavern, he judged that nobody had been there since

the captain had fetched the goods for his shop. From this time forth, he

took as much of the treasure as his needs demanded. Some years later he

carried his son to the cave, and taught him the secret, which he handed

down in his family, who used their good fortune wisely, and lived in

great honor and splendor.

III. RIP VAN WINKLE[*] (1819)

[* From "The Sketch Book." The elaborate Knickerbocker notes with which

Irving, following a passing fashion of the time, sought to mystify the

reader, are here omitted. They are hindrances now rather than helps.]

BY WASHINGTON IRVING (1783-1859)

[_Setting_. The Hudson River and the Kaatskill Mountains were first

brought into literature through this story, Irving being the first

American master of local color and local tradition. Since 1870 the

American short story, following the example of Irving, has been the

leading agency by which the South, the West, and New England have made

known and thus perpetuated their local scenery, legends, customs, and

dialect. Irving, however, seemed afraid of dialect. There were, it is

true, many legends about the Hudson before Irving was born, but they had

found no expression in literature. Mrs. Josiah Quincy, who made a voyage

up the Hudson in 1786, wrote: "Our captain had a legend for every scene,

either supernatural or traditional or of actual occurrence during the

war, and not a mountain reared its head unconnected with some marvellous

story." Irving, therefore, did not have to manufacture local traditions;

he only gave them wider currency and fitted them more artistically into

their natural settings.

Irving chose for his setting the twenty years that embrace the

Revolutionary War because the numerous social and political changes that

took place then enabled him to bring Rip back after his sleep into a

"world not realized." You will appreciate much better the art of this

time-setting if you will try your hand on a somewhat similar story and

place it between 1820 and 1840, when railroads, telegraph lines, and

transatlantic steamers made a new world out of the old; or, if your

story takes place in the South, you might make your background include

the interval between 1855 and 1875, when slavery was abolished, when the

old plantation system was changed, when the names of new heroes emerged,

and when new social and political and industrial problems had to be

grappled with.

_Plot_. The plot is divided into two almost equal parts, which we may

call "before and after taking." A recent critic has said: "The actual

forward movement of the plot does not begin until the sentence, 'In a

long ramble of the kind on a fine autumnal day, Rip had unconsciously

scrambled to one of the highest parts of the Kaatskill Mountains.'" The

critic has missed, I think, the main structural excellence of the story.

Dame Van Winkle, the children who hung around Rip, his own children, his

dog, the social club at the inn with the portrait of George the Third,

Van Bummel, and Nicholas Vedder, all had to be mentioned before Rip

began the ascent of the mountain. Otherwise, when he returned, we should

have had no means of measuring the swift passage of time during his

sleep. Each is a skillfully set timepiece or milepost which, on Rip's

return, misleads the poor fellow at every turn and thus produces the

exact kind of "totality of effect" that Irving intended. The forward

movement of the plot begins with this careful planning of the route that

Rip is to take on his return trip, when twenty years shall have done

their work. Cut out these _points de repère_ and see how effectively the

forward movement of the plot is retarded.

_Characters_. Rip was the first character in American fiction to be

known far beyond our own borders, and he remains one of the best known.

In the class with him belong James Fenimore Cooper's Leatherstocking (or

Natty Bumppo), Harriet Beecher Stowe's Uncle Tom, Joel Chandler Harris's

Uncle Remus, and Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer. He has

been called un-American, and so he is, and so Irving plainly intended

him to be. If one insists on finding a bit of distinctive Americanism

somewhere in the story, he will find it not in Rip but in the number and

rapidity of the changes that American life underwent during the twenty

years that serve as background to the story. George William Curtis calls

Rip "the constant and unconscious satirist of American life," but surely

Irving would have smiled at finding so purposeful a mission laid upon

the stooping shoulders of his vagabond ne'er-do-well hero. Rip is no

satirist, conscious or unconscious. He is a provincial Dutch type, such

as Irving had seen a hundred times; but he is so lovable and is sketched

so lovingly that we hardly realize the consummate art, the human

sympathy, and the keen powers of observation that have gone into his

making. Every other character in the story, including Wolf, is a

sidelight on Rip. Of "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" Irving said: "The

story is a mere whimsical band to connect the descriptions of scenery,

customs, manners, etc." The emphasis, in other words, was put on the

setting. Of "Rip Van Winkle" might he not have said, "The descriptions

of scenery, customs, manners, etc. are but so many channels through

which the character of Rip finds outlet and expression"?]

Whoever has made a voyage up the Hudson must remember the Kaatskill

Mountains. They are a dismembered branch of the great Appalachian

family, and are seen away to the west of the river, swelling up to a

noble height, and lording it over the surrounding country. Every change

of season, every change of weather, indeed, every hour of the day,

produces some change in the magical hues and shapes of these mountains,

and they are regarded by all the good wives, far and near, as perfect

barometers. When the weather is fair and settled, they are clothed in

blue and purple, and print their bold outlines on the clear evening sky;

but sometimes when the rest of the landscape is cloudless they will

gather a hood of gray vapors about their summits, which, in the last

rays of the setting sun, will glow and light up like a crown of glory.

At the foot of these fairy mountains, the voyager may have descried the

light smoke curling up from a village, whose shingle-roofs gleam among

the trees, just where the blue tints of the upland melt away into the

fresh green of the nearer landscape. It is a little village of great

antiquity, having been founded by some of the Dutch colonists in the

early time of the province, just about the beginning of the government

of the good Peter Stuyvesant (may he rest in peace!), and there were

some of the houses of the original settlers standing within a few years,

built of small yellow bricks brought from Holland, having latticed

windows and gable fronts, surmounted with weathercocks.

In that same village, and in one of these very houses (which, to tell

the precise truth, was sadly time-worn and weather-beaten), there lived

many years since, while the country was yet a province of Great Britain,

a simple, good-natured fellow, of the name of Rip Van Winkle. He was a

descendant of the Van Winkles who figured so gallantly in the chivalrous

days of Peter Stuyvesant, and accompanied him to the siege of Fort

Christina. He inherited, however, but little of the martial character of

his ancestors. I have observed that he was a simple, good-natured man;

he was, moreover, a kind neighbor, and an obedient henpecked husband.

Indeed, to the latter circumstance might be owing that meekness of

spirit which gained him such universal popularity; for those men are

most apt to be obsequious and conciliating abroad, who are under the

discipline of shrews at home. Their tempers, doubtless, are rendered

pliant and malleable in the fiery furnace of domestic tribulation; and a

curtain lecture is worth all the sermons in the world for teaching the

virtues of patience and long-suffering. A termagant wife may, therefore,

in some respects be considered a tolerable blessing, and if so, Rip Van

Winkle was thrice blessed.

Certain it is, that he was a great favorite among all the good wives of

the village, who, as usual with the amiable sex, took his part in all

family squabbles; and never failed, whenever they talked those matters

over in their evening gossipings, to lay all the blame on Dame Van

Winkle. The children of the village, too, would shout with joy whenever

he approached. He assisted at their sports, made their playthings,

taught them to fly kites and shoot marbles, and told them long stories

of ghosts, witches, and Indians. Whenever he went dodging about the

village, he was surrounded by a troop of them hanging on his skirts,

clambering on his back, and playing a thousand tricks on him with

impunity; and not a dog would bark at him throughout the neighborhood.

The great error in Rip's composition was an insuperable aversion to all

kinds of profitable labor. It could not be from the want of assiduity or

perseverance; for he would sit on a wet rock, with a rod as long and

heavy as a Tartar's lance, and fish all day without a murmur, even

though he should not be encouraged by a single nibble. He would carry a

fowling-piece on his shoulder for hours together, trudging through woods

and swamps, and up hill and down dale, to shoot a few squirrels or wild

pigeons. He would never refuse to assist a neighbor, even in the

roughest toil, and was a foremost man at all country frolics for husking

Indian corn, or building stone-fences; the women of the village, too,

used to employ him to run their errands, and to do such little odd jobs

as their less obliging husbands would not do for them. In a word, Rip

was ready to attend to anybody's business but his own; but as to doing

family duty, and keeping his farm in order, he found it impossible.

In fact, he declared it was of no use to work on his farm; it was the

most pestilent little piece of ground in the whole country; everything

about it went wrong, and would go wrong, in spite of him. His fences

were continually falling to pieces; his cow would either go astray or

get among the cabbages; weeds were sure to grow quicker in his fields

than anywhere else; the rain always made a point of setting in just as

he had some out-door work to do; so that though his patrimonial estate

had dwindled away under his management, acre by acre, until there was

little more left than a mere patch of Indian corn and potatoes, yet it

was the worst-conditioned farm in the neighborhood.

His children, too, were as ragged and wild as if they belonged to

nobody. His son Rip, an urchin begotten in his own likeness, promised to

inherit the habits, with the old clothes of his father. He was generally

seen trooping like a colt at his mother's heels, equipped in a pair of

his father's cast-off galligaskins, which he had much ado to hold up

with one hand, as a fine lady does her train in bad weather.

Rip Van Winkle, however, was one of those happy mortals, of foolish,

well-oiled dispositions, who take the world easy, eat white bread or

brown, whichever can be got with least thought or trouble, and would

rather starve on a penny than work for a pound. If left to himself, he

would have whistled life away in perfect contentment; but his wife kept

continually dinning in his ears about his idleness, his carelessness,

and the ruin he was bringing on his family. Morning, noon, and night her

tongue was incessantly going, and everything he said or did was sure to

produce a torrent of household eloquence. Rip had but one way of

replying to all lectures of the kind, and that, by frequent use, had

grown into a habit. He shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, cast up

his eyes, but said nothing. This, however, always provoked a fresh

volley from his wife; so that he was fain to draw off his forces, and

take to the outside of the house--the only side which, in truth, belongs

to a henpecked husband.

Rip's sole domestic adherent was his dog Wolf, who was as much henpecked

as his master; for Dame Van Winkle regarded them as companions in

idleness, and even looked upon Wolf with an evil eye, as the cause of

his master's going so often astray. True it is, in all points of spirit

befitting an honorable dog, he was as courageous an animal as ever

scoured the woods--but what courage can withstand the ever-during and

all-besetting terrors of a woman's tongue? The moment Wolf entered the

house his crest fell, his tail drooped to the ground, or curled between

his legs, he sneaked about with a gallows air, casting many a sidelong

glance at Dame Van Winkle, and at the least flourish of a broomstick or

ladle he would fly to the door with yelping precipitation.

Times grew worse and worse with Rip Van Winkle as years of matrimony

rolled on; a tart temper never mellows with age, and a sharp tongue is

the only edged tool that grows keener with constant use. For a long

while he used to console himself, when driven from home, by frequenting

a kind of perpetual club of the sages, philosophers, and other idle

personages of the village, which held its sessions on a bench before a

small inn, designated by a rubicund portrait of His Majesty George the

Third. Here they used to sit in the shade through a long lazy summer's

day, talking listlessly over village gossip, or telling endless sleepy

stories about nothing. But it would have been worth any statesman's

money to have heard the profound discussions that sometimes took place,

when by chance an old newspaper fell into their hands from some passing

traveller. How solemnly they would listen to the contents, as drawled

out by Derrick Van Bummel, the schoolmaster, a dapper, learned little

man, who was not to be daunted by the most gigantic word in the

dictionary; and how sagely they would deliberate upon public events some

months after they had taken place.

The opinions of this junto were completely controlled by Nicholas

Vedder, a patriarch of the village, and landlord of the inn, at the door

of which he took his seat from morning till night, just moving

sufficiently to avoid the sun and keep in the shade of a large tree; so

that the neighbors could tell the hour by his movements as accurately as

by a sun-dial. It is true he was rarely heard to speak, but smoked his

pipe incessantly. His adherents, however (for every great man has his

adherents), perfectly understood him, and knew how to gather his

opinions. When anything that was read or related displeased him, he was

observed to smoke his pipe vehemently, and to send forth short, frequent

and angry puffs; but when pleased, he would inhale the smoke slowly and

tranquilly, and emit it in light and placid clouds; and sometimes,

taking the pipe from his mouth, and letting the fragrant vapor curl

about his nose, would gravely nod his head in token of perfect

approbation.

From even this stronghold the unlucky Rip was at length routed by his

termagant wife, who would suddenly break in upon the tranquillity of the

assemblage and call the members all to naught; nor was that august

personage, Nicholas Vedder himself, sacred from the daring tongue of

this terrible virago, who charged him outright with encouraging her

husband in habits of idleness.

Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to despair; and his only

alternative, to escape from the labor of the farm and clamor of his

wife, was to take gun in hand and stroll away into the woods. Here he

would sometimes seat himself at the foot of a tree, and share the

contents of his wallet with Wolf, with whom he sympathized as a

fellow-sufferer in persecution. "Poor Wolf," he would say, "thy mistress

leads thee a dog's life of it; but never mind, my lad, whilst I live

thou shalt never want a friend to stand by thee!" Wolf would wag his

tail, look wistfully in his master's face, and if dogs can feel pity, I

verily believe he reciprocated the sentiment with all his heart.

In a long ramble of the kind on a fine autumnal day, Rip had

unconsciously scrambled to one of the highest parts of the Kaatskill

Mountains. He was after his favorite sport of squirrel shooting, and the

still solitudes had echoed and re-echoed with the reports of his gun.

Panting and fatigued, he threw himself, late in the afternoon, on a

green knoll, covered with mountain herbage, that crowned the brow of a

precipice. From an opening between the trees he could overlook all the

lower country for many a mile of rich woodland. He saw at a distance the

lordly Hudson, far, far below him, moving on its silent but majestic

course, with the reflection of a purple cloud, or the sail of a lagging

bark, here and there sleeping on its glassy bosom, and at last losing

itself in the blue highlands.

On the other side he looked down into a deep mountain glen, wild,

lonely, and shagged, the bottom filled with fragments from the impending

cliffs, and scarcely lighted by the reflected rays of the setting sun.

For some time Rip lay musing on this scene; evening was gradually

advancing, the mountains began to throw their long blue shadows over the

valleys; he saw that it would be dark long before he could reach the

village, and he heaved a heavy sigh when he thought of encountering the

terrors of Dame Van Winkle.

As he was about to descend, he heard a voice from a distance, hallooing,

"Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!" He looked round, but could see nothing

but a crow winging its solitary flight across the mountain. He thought

his fancy must have deceived him, and turned again to descend, when he

heard the same cry ring through the still evening air: "Rip Van Winkle!

Rip Van Winkle!"--at the same time Wolf bristled up his back, and giving

a low growl, skulked to his master's side, looking fearfully down into

the glen. Rip now felt a vague apprehension stealing over him; he looked

anxiously in the same direction, and perceived a strange figure slowly

toiling up the rocks, and bending under the weight of something he

carried on his back. He was surprised to see any human being in this

lonely and unfrequented place; but supposing it to be some one of the

neighborhood in need of his assistance, he hastened down to yield it.

On nearer approach he was still more surprised at the singularity of the

stranger's appearance. He was a short, square-built old fellow, with

thick bushy hair, and a grizzled beard. His dress was of the antique

Dutch fashion: a cloth jerkin strapped round the waist, several pairs of

breeches, the outer one of ample volume, decorated with rows of buttons

down the sides, and bunches at the knees. He bore on his shoulder a

stout keg, that seemed full of liquor, and made signs for Rip to

approach and assist him with the load. Though rather shy and distrustful

of this new acquaintance, Rip complied with his usual alacrity; and

mutually relieving one another, they clambered up a narrow gully,

apparently the dry bed of a mountain torrent. As they ascended, Rip

every now and then heard long rolling peals like distant thunder, that

seemed to issue out of a deep ravine, or rather cleft, between lofty

rocks, toward which their rugged path conducted. He paused for a moment,

but supposing it to be the muttering of one of those transient

thunder-showers which often take place in mountain heights, he

proceeded. Passing through the ravine, they came to a hollow, like a

small amphitheatre, surrounded by perpendicular precipices, over the

brinks of which impending trees shot their branches, so that you only

caught glimpses of the azure sky and the bright evening cloud. During

the whole time Rip and his companion had labored on in silence; for

though the former marvelled greatly what could be the object of carrying

a keg of liquor up this wild mountain, yet there was something strange

and incomprehensible about the unknown, that inspired awe and checked

familiarity.

On entering the amphitheatre, new objects of wonder presented

themselves. On a level spot in the center was a company of odd-looking

personages playing at ninepins. They were dressed in a quaint outlandish

fashion; some wore short doublets, others jerkins, with long knives in

their belts, and most of them had enormous breeches of similar style

with that of the guide's. Their visages, too, were peculiar; one had a

large beard, broad face, and small piggish eyes; the face of another

seemed to consist entirely of nose, and was surmounted by a white

sugar-loaf hat, set off with a little red cock's tail. They all had

beards, of various shapes and colors. There was one who seemed to be the

commander. He was a stout old gentleman, with a weather-beaten

countenance; he wore a laced doublet, broad belt and hanger,

high-crowned hat and feather, red stockings, and high-heeled shoes, with

roses in them. The whole group reminded Rip of the figures in an old

Flemish painting in the parlor of Dominie Van Shaick, the village

parson, which had been brought over from Holland at the time of the

settlement.

What seemed particularly odd to Rip was, that though these folks were

evidently amusing themselves, yet they maintained the gravest faces, the

most mysterious silence, and were, withal, the most melancholy party of

pleasure he had ever witnessed. Nothing interrupted the stillness of the

scene but the noise of the balls, which, whenever they were rolled,

echoed along the mountains like rumbling peals of thunder.

As Rip and his companion approached them, they suddenly desisted from

their play, and stared at him with such, fixed, statue-like gaze, and

such strange, uncouth, lack-lustre countenances, that his heart turned

within him, and his knees smote together. His companion now emptied the

contents of the keg into large flagons, and made signs to him to wait

upon the company. He obeyed with fear and trembling; they quaffed the

liquor in profound silence, and then returned to their game.

By degrees Rip's awe and apprehension subsided. He even ventured, when

no eye was fixed upon him, to taste the beverage, which he found had

much of the flavor of excellent Hollands. He was naturally a thirsty

soul, and was soon tempted to repeat the draught. One taste provoked

another; and he reiterated his visits to the flagon so often that at

length his senses were overpowered, his eyes swam in his head, his head

gradually declined, and he fell into a deep sleep.

On waking, he found himself on the green knoll whence he had first seen

the old man of the glen. He rubbed his eyes--it was a bright, sunny

morning. The birds were hopping and twittering among the bushes, and the

eagle was wheeling aloft, and breasting the pure mountain breeze.

"Surely," thought Rip, "I have not slept here all night." He recalled

the occurrences before he fell asleep. The strange man with a keg of

liquor--the mountain ravine--the wild retreat among the rocks--the

woe-begone party at ninepins--the flagon--"Oh! that flagon! that wicked

flagon!" thought Rip--"what excuse shall I make to Dame Van Winkle?"

He looked round for his gun, but in place of the clean, well-oiled

fowling-piece, he found an old firelock lying by him, the barrel

incrusted with rust, the lock falling off, and the stock worm-eaten. He

now suspected that the grave roisterers of the mountain had put a trick

upon him, and, having dosed him with liquor, had robbed him of his gun.

Wolf, too, had disappeared, but he might have strayed away after a

squirrel or partridge. He whistled after him, and shouted his name, but

all in vain; the echoes repeated his whistle and shout, but no dog was

to be seen.

He determined to revisit the scene of the last evening's gambol, and if

he met with any of the party, to demand his dog and gun. As he rose to

walk, he found himself stiff in the joints, and wanting in his usual

activity. "These mountain beds do not agree with me," thought Rip, "and

if this frolic should lay me up with a fit of the rheumatism, I shall

have a blessed time with Dame Van Winkle." With some difficulty he got

down into the glen; he found the gully up which he and his companion has

ascended the preceding evening; but to his astonishment a mountain

stream was now foaming down it, leaping from rock to rock, and filling

the glen with babbling murmurs. He, however, made shift to scramble up

its sides, working his toilsome way through thickets of birch,

sassafras, and witch-hazel, and sometimes tripped up or entangled by the

wild grapevines that twisted their coils or tendrils from tree to tree,

and spread a kind of network in his path.

At length he reached to where the ravine had opened through the cliffs

to the amphitheatre; but no traces of such opening remained. The rocks

presented a high, impenetrable wall, over which the torrent came

tumbling in a sheet of feathery foam, and fell into a broad, deep basin,

black from the shadows of the surrounding forest. Here, then, poor Rip

was brought to a stand. He again called and whistled after his dog; he

was only answered by the cawing of a flock of idle crows, sporting high

in air about a dry tree that overhung a sunny precipice; and who, secure

in their elevation, seemed to look down and scoff at the poor man's

perplexities. What was to be done? the morning was passing away, and Rip

felt famished for want of his breakfast. He grieved to give up his dog

and gun; he dreaded to meet his wife; but it would not do to starve

among the mountains. He shook his head, shouldered the rusty firelock,

and, with a heart full of trouble and anxiety, turned his steps

homeward.

As he approached the village he met a number of people, but none whom he

knew, which somewhat surprised him, for he had thought himself

acquainted with every one in the country round. Their dress, too, was of

a different fashion from that to which he was accustomed. They all

stared at him with equal marks of surprise, and whenever they cast their

eyes upon him, invariably stroked their chins. The constant recurrence

of this gesture induced Rip, involuntarily, to do the same, when, to his

astonishment, he found his beard had grown a foot long!

He had now entered the skirts of the village. A troop of strange

children ran at his heels, hooting after him, and pointing at his gray

beard. The dogs, too, not one of which he recognized for an old

acquaintance, barked at him as he passed. The very village was altered;

it was larger and more populous. There were rows of houses which he had

never seen before, and those which had been his familiar haunts had

disappeared. Strange names were over the doors--strange faces at the

windows--everything was strange. His mind now misgave him; he began to

doubt whether both he and the world around him were not bewitched.

Surely this was his native village, which he had left but the day

before. There stood the Kaatskill Mountains--there ran the silver Hudson

at a distance--there was every hill and dale precisely as it had always

been--Rip was sorely perplexed--"That flagon last night," thought he,

"has addled my poor head sadly!"

It was with some difficulty that he found the way to his own house,

which he approached with silent awe, expecting every moment to hear the

shrill voice of Dame Van Winkle. He found the house gone to decay--the

roof fallen in, the windows shattered, and the doors off the hinges. A

half-starved dog that looked like Wolf was skulking about it. Rip called

him by name, but the cur snarled, showed his teeth, and passed on. This

was an unkind cut indeed--"My very dog," sighed poor Rip, "has forgotten

me!"

He entered the house, which, to tell the truth, Dame Van Winkle had

always kept in neat order. It was empty, forlorn, and apparently

abandoned. This desolateness overcame all his connubial fears--he called

loudly for his wife and children--the lonely chambers rang for a moment

with his voice, and then again all was silence.

He now hurried forth, and hastened to his old resort, the village

inn--but it, too, was gone. A large, rickety wooden building stood in

its place, with great gaping windows, some of them broken and mended

with old hats and petticoats, and over the door was painted, "The Union

Hotel, by Jonathan Doolittle." Instead of the great tree that used to

shelter the quiet little Dutch inn of yore, there now was reared a tall

naked pole, with something on the top that looked like a red night-cap,

and from it was fluttering a flag, on which was a singular assemblage of

stars and stripes--all this was strange and incomprehensible. He

recognized on the sign, however, the ruby face of King George, under

which he had smoked so many a peaceful pipe; but even this was

singularly metamorphosed. The red coat was changed for one of blue and

buff, a sword was held in the hand instead of a sceptre, the head was

decorated with a cocked hat, and underneath was painted in large

characters, GENERAL WASHINGTON.

There was, as usual, a crowd of folk about the door, but none that Rip

recollected. The very character of the people seemed changed. There was

a busy, bustling, disputatious tone about it, instead of the accustomed

phlegm and drowsy tranquillity. He looked in vain for the sage Nicholas

Vedder, with his broad face, double chin, and fair long pipe, uttering

clouds of tobacco-smoke instead of idle speeches; or Van Bummel, the

schoolmaster, doling forth the contents of an ancient newspaper. In

place of these, a lean, bilious-looking fellow, with his pockets full of

hand-bills, was haranguing vehemently about rights of citizens

--elections--members of congress--liberty--Bunker's Hill--heroes

of seventy-six--and other words, which were a perfect Babylonish jargon

to the bewildered Van Winkle.

The appearance of Rip, with his long grizzled beard, his rusty

fowling-piece, his uncouth dress, and an army of women and children at

his heels, soon attracted the attention of the tavern-politicians. They

crowded round him, eying him from head to foot with great curiosity. The

orator bustled up to him, and, drawing him partly aside, inquired "on

which side he voted?" Rip stared in vacant stupidity. Another short but

busy little fellow pulled him by the arm, and, rising on tiptoe,

inquired in his ear, "Whether he was Federal or Democrat?" Rip was

equally at a loss to comprehend the question; when a knowing,

self-important old gentleman, in a sharp cocked hat, made his way

through the crowd, putting them to the right and left with his elbows as

he passed, and planting himself before Van Winkle, with one arm akimbo,

the other resting on his cane, his keen eyes and sharp hat penetrating,

as it were, into his very soul, demanded in an austere tone, "what

brought him to the election with a gun on his shoulder, and a mob at his

heels, and whether he meant to breed a riot in the village?"--"Alas!

gentlemen," cried Rip, somewhat dismayed, "I am a poor quiet man, a

native of the place, and a loyal subject of the king, God bless him!"

Here a general shout burst from the bystanders--"A tory! a tory! a spy!

a refugee! hustle him! away with him!" It was with great difficulty that

the self-important man in the cocked hat restored order; and, having

assumed a tenfold austerity of brow, demanded again of the unknown

culprit what he came there for, and whom he was seeking? The poor man

humbly assured him that he meant no harm, but merely came there in

search of some of his neighbors, who used to keep about the tavern.

"Well--who are they?--name them."

Rip bethought himself a moment, and inquired, "Where's Nicholas Vedder?"

There was a silence for a little while, when an old man replied, in a

thin, piping voice: "Nicholas Vedder! why, he is dead and gone these

eighteen years! There was a wooden tombstone in the churchyard that used

to tell all about him, but that's rotten and gone too."

"Where's Brom Dutcher?"

"Oh, he went off to the army in the beginning of the war; some say he

was killed at the storming of Stony Point--others say he was drowned in

a squall at the foot of Antony's Nose. I don't know--he never came back

again."

"Where's Van Bummel, the schoolmaster?"

"He went off to the wars too, was a great militia general, and is now in

Congress."

Rip's heart died away at hearing of these sad changes in his home and

friends, and finding himself thus alone in the world. Every answer

puzzled him too, by treating of such enormous lapses of time, and of

matters which he could not understand: war--Congress--Stony Point; he

had no courage to ask after any more friends, but cried out in despair,

"Does nobody here know Rip Van Winkle?"

"Oh, Rip Van Winkle!" exclaimed two or three.

"Oh, to be sure! that's Rip Van Winkle yonder, leaning against the

tree."

Rip looked, and beheld a precise counterpart of himself, as he went up

the mountain: apparently as lazy, and certainly as ragged. The poor

fellow was now completely confounded. He doubted his own identity, and

whether he was himself or another man. In the midst of his bewilderment,

the man in the cocked hat demanded who he was, and what was his name?

"God knows," exclaimed he, at his wit's end; "I'm not myself--I'm

somebody else--that's me yonder--no--that's somebody else got into my

shoes--I was myself last night, but I fell asleep on the mountain, and

they've changed my gun, and everything's changed, and I'm changed, and I

can't tell what's my name, or who I am!"

The bystanders began now to look at each other, nod, wink significantly,

and tap their fingers against their foreheads. There was a whisper,

also, about securing the gun, and keeping the old fellow from doing

mischief, at the very suggestion of which the self-important man in the

cocked hat retired with some precipitation. At this critical moment a

fresh, comely woman pressed through the throng to get a peep at the

gray-bearded man. She had a chubby child in her arms, which, frightened

at his looks, began to cry. "Hush, Rip," cried she, "hush, you little

fool; the old man won't hurt you." The name of the child, the air of the

mother, the tone of her voice, all awakened a train of recollections in

his mind. "What is your name, my good woman?" asked he.

"Judith Gardenier."

"And your father's name?"

"Ah, poor man, Rip Van Winkle was his name, but it's twenty years since

he went away from home with his gun, and never has been heard of

since,--his dog came home without him; but whether he shot himself or

was carried away by the Indians, nobody can tell. I was then but a

little girl."

Rip had but one question more to ask; and he put it with a faltering

voice:--"Where's your mother?"

"Oh, she too had died but a short time since; she broke a blood-vessel

in a fit of passion at a New England peddler."

There was a drop of comfort, at least, in this intelligence. The honest

man could contain himself no longer. He caught his daughter and her

child in his arms. "I am your father!" cried he--"Young Rip Van Winkle

once--old Rip Van Winkle now! Does nobody know poor Rip Van Winkle?"

All stood amazed, until an old woman, tottering out from among the

crowd, put her hand to her brow, and peering under it in his face for a

moment, exclaimed, "Sure enough it is Rip Van Winkle--it is himself!

Welcome home again, old neighbor--Why, where have you been these twenty

long years?"

Rip's story was soon told, for the whole twenty years had been to him

but as one night. The neighbors stared when they heard it; some were

seen to wink at each other, and put their tongues in their cheeks; and

the self-important man in the cocked hat, who, when the alarm was over,

had returned to the field, screwed down the corners of his mouth, and

shook his head--upon which there was a general shaking of the head

throughout the assemblage.

It was determined, however, to take the opinion of old Peter Vanderdonk,

who was seen slowly advancing up the road. He was a descendant of the

historian of that name, who wrote one of the earliest accounts of the

province. Peter was the most ancient inhabitant of the village, and well

versed in all the wonderful events and traditions of the neighborhood.

He recollected Rip at once, and corroborated his story in the most

satisfactory manner. He assured the company that it was a fact, handed

down from his ancestor the historian, that the Kaatskill Mountains had

always been haunted by strange beings. That it was affirmed that the

great Hendrick Hudson, the first discoverer of the river and country,

kept a kind of vigil there every twenty years, with his crew of the

Half-moon; being permitted in this way to revisit the scenes of his

enterprise, and keep a guardian eye upon the river and the great city

called by his name. That his father had once seen them in their old

Dutch dresses playing at ninepins in a hollow of the mountain; and that

he himself had heard, one summer afternoon, the sound of their balls

like distant peals of thunder.

To make a long story short, the company broke up and returned to the

more important concerns of the election. Rip's daughter took him home to

live with her; she had a snug well-furnished house, and a stout cheery

farmer for a husband, whom Rip recollected for one of the urchins that

used to climb upon his back. As to Rip's son and heir, who was the ditto

of himself, seen leaning against the tree, he was employed to work on

the farm; but evinced an hereditary disposition to attend to anything

else but his business.

Rip now resumed his old walks and habits; he soon found many of his

former cronies, though all rather the worse for the wear and tear of

time; and preferred making friends among the rising generation, with

whom he soon grew into great favor.

Having nothing to do at home, and being arrived at that happy age when a

man can be idle with impunity, he took his place once more on the bench

at the inn door, and was reverenced as one of the patriarchs of the

village, and a chronicle of the old times "before the war." It was some

time before he could get into the regular track of gossip, or could be

made to comprehend the strange events that had taken place during his

torpor. How that there had been a revolutionary war--that the country

had thrown off the yoke of old England--and that, instead of being a

subject of his Majesty George the Third, he was now a free citizen of

the United States. Rip, in fact, was no politician; the changes of

states and empires made but little impression on him; but there was one

species of despotism under which he had long groaned, and that

was--petticoat government. Happily that was at an end; he had got his

neck out of the yoke of matrimony, and could go in and out whenever he

pleased, without dreading the tyranny of Dame Van Winkle. Whenever her

name was mentioned, however, he shook his head, shrugged his shoulders,

and cast up his eyes, which might pass either for an expression of

resignation to his fate, or joy at his deliverance.

He used to tell his story to every stranger that arrived at Mr.

Doolittle's hotel. He was observed, at first, to vary on some points

every time he told it, which was, doubtless, owing to his having so

recently awaked. It at last settled down precisely to the tale I have

related, and not a man, woman, or child in the neighborhood but knew it

by heart. Some always pretended to doubt the reality of it, and insisted

that Rip had been out of his head, and that this was one point on which

he always remained flighty. The old Dutch inhabitants, however, almost

universally gave it full credit. Even to this day they never hear a

thunder-storm of a summer afternoon about the Kaatskill, but they say

Hendrick Hudson and his crew are at their game of ninepins; and it is a

common wish of all henpecked husbands in the neighborhood, when life

hangs heavy on their hands, that they might have a quieting draught out

of Rip Van Winkle's flagon.

IV. THE GOLD-BUG (1843)

BY EDGAR ALLAN POE (1809-1849)

[_Setting_. Sullivan's Island is at the entrance of Charleston harbor,

just east of Charleston, South Carolina. It is the site of Fort

Moultrie, where Poe served as a private soldier in Battery H of the

First Artillery, United States Army, from November, 1827, to November,

1828. The atmosphere of the place in Poe's time is well preserved, but

no such beetle as the gold-bug has been discovered. Poe may have found a

hint for his story in the wreck of the old brigantine _Cid Campeador_

off the coast of South Carolina in 1745, the affidavits of the burying

of the treasure being still preserved in the Probate Court Records of

Charleston.

_Plot_. "The Gold-Bug" is recognized as one of the world's greatest

short stories and marks a distinct advance in short-story structure. The

plot is divided into two parts, which we may call mystery and solution,

or complication and explication, or rise and fall. The second part

begins with the short paragraph on page 91, beginning "When, at length,

we had concluded our examination," etc. Notice how skillfully the

interest is preserved and even heightened as the plot passes from the

romantic action of part one to the subtle exposition of part two. These

two parts may be said to represent the two sides of Poe's genius, the

imaginative or poetical, and the intellectual or scientific. The

treasure-trove is the symbol of the first, the cryptogram of the second.

Stories had been written about buried treasures and about cryptograms

before 1843, but the two interests had never before been combined. Poe's

example, however, has borne abundant fruit.

_Characters_. Poe's strength did not lie in the creation of character.

He is so intent on the development of the windings and unwindings of his

story that the characters become mere puppets, originated and controlled

by the needs of the plot. Jupiter deserves mention as one of the

earliest attempts made by an American short-story writer to portray

negro character. But Jupiter has been so far surpassed in breadth and

reality by Joel Chandler Harris, Thomas Nelson Page, and a score of

others as to be almost negligible in the count. In defense of Jupiter's

barbarous lingo, which has been often criticized, it should be

remembered that Poe intended him as a representative of the Gullah (or

Gulla) dialect. "It is the negro dialect," says Joel Chandler Harris,

"in its most primitive state--the 'Gullah' talk of some of the negroes

on the Sea Islands being merely a confused and untranslatable mixture of

English and African words."

William Legrand, though not a great or notable character in any way, is

admirably fitted to do what is required of him in the story. Like Poe,

he was solitary, proud, quick-tempered, and "subject to perverse moods

of alternate enthusiasm and melancholy." He had also Poe's passion for

puzzles. Jupiter is hardly more than an awkward tool fashioned to

display Legrand's analytic and directive genius; and the other character

in the story, like Dr. Watson in Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes stories,

is introduced merely to ask such questions as must be answered if the

reader is to follow intelligently the unfolding of the plot. They are

agents rather than characters.]

What ho! what ho! this fellow is dancing mad!

He hath been bitten by the Tarantula.

"All in the Wrong"

Many years ago, I contracted an intimacy with a Mr. William Legrand. He

was of an ancient Huguenot family, and had once been wealthy; but a

series of misfortunes had reduced him to want. To avoid the

mortification consequent upon his disasters, he left New Orleans, the

city of his forefathers, and took up his residence at Sullivan's

Island, near Charleston, South Carolina.

This island is a very singular one. It consists of little else than the

sea sand, and is about three miles long. Its breadth at no point

exceeds a quarter of a mile. It is separated from the mainland by a

scarcely perceptible creek, oozing its way through a wilderness of

reeds and slime, a favorite resort of the marsh-hen. The vegetation, as

might be supposed, is scant, or at least dwarfish. No trees of any

magnitude are to be seen. Near the western extremity, where Fort

Moultrie stands, and where are some miserable frame buildings, tenanted

during summer by the fugitives from Charleston dust and fever, may be

found, indeed, the bristly palmetto; but the whole island, with the

exception of this western point, and a line of hard white beach on the

seacoast, is covered with a dense undergrowth of the sweet myrtle, so

much prized by the horticulturists of England. The shrub here often

attains the height of fifteen or twenty feet, and forms an almost

impenetrable coppice, burdening the air with its fragrance.

In the utmost recesses of this coppice, not far from the eastern or

more remote end of the island, Legrand had built himself a small hut,

which he occupied when I first, by mere accident, made his

acquaintance. This soon ripened into friendship--for there was much in

the recluse to excite interest and esteem. I found him well educated,

with unusual powers of mind, but infected with misanthropy, and subject

to perverse moods of alternate enthusiasm and melancholy. He had with

him many books, but rarely employed them. His chief amusements were

gunning and fishing, or sauntering along the beach and through the

myrtles in quest of shells or entomological specimens;--his collection

of the latter might have been envied by a Swammerdamm. In these

excursions he was usually accompanied by an old negro, called Jupiter,

who had been manumitted before the reverses of the family, but who

could be induced, neither by threats nor by promises, to abandon what

he considered his right of attendance upon the footsteps of his young

"Massa Will." It is not improbable that the relatives of Legrand,

conceiving him to be somewhat unsettled in intellect, had contrived to

instil this obstinacy into Jupiter, with a view to the supervision and

guardianship of the wanderer.

The winters in the latitude of Sullivan's Island are seldom very

severe, and in the fall of the year it is a rare event indeed when a

fire is considered necessary. About the middle of October, 18--, there

occurred, however, a day of remarkable chilliness. Just before sunset I

scrambled my way through the evergreens to the hut of my friend, whom I

had not visited for several weeks--my residence being at that time in

Charleston, a distance of nine miles from the island, while the

facilities of passage and repassage were very far behind those of the

present day. Upon reaching the hut I rapped, as was my custom, and,

getting no reply, sought for the key where I knew it was secreted,

unlocked the door, and went in. A fine fire was blazing upon the

hearth. It was a novelty, and by no means an ungrateful one. I threw

off an overcoat, took an armchair by the crackling logs, and awaited

patiently the arrival of my hosts.

Soon after dark they arrived, and gave me a most cordial welcome.

Jupiter, grinning from ear to ear, bustled about to prepare some

marsh-hens for supper. Legrand was in one of his fits--how else shall I

term them?--of enthusiasm. He had found an unknown bivalve, forming a

new genus, and, more than this, he had hunted down and secured, with

Jupiter's assistance, a _scarabæus_ which he believed to be totally

new, but in respect to which he wished to have my opinion on the

morrow.

"And why not to-night?" I asked, rubbing my hands over the blaze, and

wishing the whole tribe of _scarabæi_ at the devil.

"Ah, if I had only known you were here!" said Legrand, "but it's so

long since I saw you; and how could I foresee that you would pay me a

visit this very night of all others? As I was coming home I met

Lieutenant G----, from the fort, and, very foolishly, I lent him the

bug; so it will be impossible for you to see it until the morning. Stay

here to-night, and I will send Jup down for it at sunrise. It is the

loveliest thing in creation!"

"What?--sunrise?"

"Nonsense! no!--the bug. It is of a brilliant gold color--about the

size of a large hickory-nut--with two jet-black spots near one

extremity of the back, and another, somewhat longer, at the other. The

_antennæ_ are--"

"Dey aint _no_ tin in him, Massa Will, I keep a tellin on you," here

interrupted Jupiter; "de bug is a goole-bug, solid, ebery bit of him,

inside and all, sep him wing--neber feel half so hebby a bug in my

life."

"Well, suppose it is, Jup," replied Legrand, somewhat more earnestly,

it seemed to me, than the case demanded, "is that any reason for your

letting the birds burn? The color"--here he turned to me--"is really

almost enough to warrant Jupiter's idea. You never saw a more brilliant

metallic lustre than the scales emit--but of this you cannot judge till

to-morrow. In the meantime I can give you some idea of the shape."

Saying this, he seated himself at a small table, on which were a pen

and ink, but no paper. He looked for some in a drawer, but found none.

"Never mind," said he at length, "this will answer"; and he drew from

his waistcoat pocket a scrap of what I took to be very dirty foolscap,

and made upon it a rough drawing with the pen. While he did this, I

retained my seat by the fire, for I was still chilly. When the design

was complete, he handed it to me without rising. As I received it, a

low growl was heard, succeeded by a scratching at the door. Jupiter

opened it, and a large Newfoundland, belonging to Legrand, rushed in,

leaped upon my shoulders, and loaded me with caresses; for I had shown

him much attention during previous visits. When his gambols were over,

I looked at the paper, and, to speak the truth, found myself not a

little puzzled at what my friend had depicted.

"Well!" I said, after contemplating it for some minutes, "this _is_ a

strange _scarabæus_, I must confess; new to me; never saw anything like

it before--unless it was a skull, or a death's-head, which it more

nearly resembles than anything else that has come under _my_

observation."

"A death's-head!" echoed Legrand--"oh--yes--well, it has something of

that appearance upon paper, no doubt. The two upper black spots look

like eyes, eh? and the longer one at the bottom like a mouth--and then

the shape of the whole is oval."

"Perhaps so," said I; "but, Legrand, I fear you are no artist. I must

wait until I see the beetle itself, if I am to form any idea of its

personal appearance."

"Well, I don't know," said he, a little nettled, "I draw

tolerably--_should_ do it at least--have had good masters, and flatter

myself that I am not quite a blockhead."

"But, my dear fellow, you are joking then," said I; "this is a very

passable _skull_,--indeed, I may say that it is a very _excellent_

skull, according to the vulgar notions about such specimens of

physiology--and your _scarabæus_ must be the queerest _scarabæus_ in

the world if it resembles it. Why, we may get up a very thrilling bit

of superstition upon this hint. I presume you will call the bug

_scarabæus caput hominis_[*] or something of that kind--there are many

similar titles in the Natural Histories. But where are the _antennæ_

you spoke of?"

[* _Scarabæus caput hominis_, "death's-head beetle."]

"The _antennæ_!" said Legrand, who seemed to be getting unaccountably

warm upon the subject; "I am sure you must see the _antennæ_. I made

them as distinct as they are in the original insect, and I presume that

is sufficient."

"Well, well," I said, "perhaps you have--still I don't see them"; and I

handed him the paper without additional remark, not wishing to ruffle

his temper; but I was much surprised at the turn affairs had taken; his

ill humor puzzled me--and as for the drawing of the beetle, there were

positively _no antennæ_, visible, and the whole _did_ bear a very close

resemblance to the ordinary cuts of a death's-head.

He received the paper very peevishly, and was about to crumple it,

apparently to throw it in the fire, when a casual glance at the design

seemed suddenly to rivet his attention. In an instant his face grew

violently red--in another as excessively pale. For some minutes he

continued to scrutinize the drawing minutely where he sat. At length he

arose, took a candle from the table, and proceeded to seat himself upon

a sea-chest in the farthest corner of the room. Here again he made an

anxious examination of the paper; turning it in all directions. He said

nothing, however, and his conduct greatly astonished me; yet I thought

it prudent not to exacerbate the growing moodiness of his temper by any

comment. Presently he took from his coat pocket a wallet, placed the

paper carefully in it, and deposited both in a writing-desk, which he

locked. He now grew more composed in his demeanor; but his original air

of enthusiasm had quite disappeared. Yet he seemed not so much sulky as

abstracted. As the evening wore away he became more and more absorbed

in revery, from which no sallies of mine could arouse him. It had been

my intention to pass the night at the hut, as I had frequently done

before, but, seeing my host in this mood, I deemed it proper to take

leave. He did not press me to remain, but, as I departed, he shook my

hand with even more than his usual cordiality.

It was about a month after this (and during the interval I had seen

nothing of Legrand) when I received a visit, at Charleston, from his

man, Jupiter. I had never seen the good old negro look so dispirited,

and I feared that some serious disaster had befallen my friend.

"Well, Jup," said I, "what is the matter now?--how is your master?"

"Why, to speak de troof, massa, him not so berry well as mought be."

"Not well! I am truly sorry to hear it. What does he complain of?"

"Dar! dat's it!--him neber plain of notin--but him berry sick for all

dat."

"_Very_ sick, Jupiter!--why didn't you say so at once? Is he confined

to bed?"

"No, dat he aint!--he aint find nowhar--dat's just whar de shoe

pinch--my mind is got to be berry hebby bout poor Massa Will."

"Jupiter, I should like to understand what it is you are talking about.

You say your master is sick. Hasn't he told you what ails him?"

"Why, massa, taint worf while for to git mad bout de matter--Massa Will

say noffin at all aint de matter wid him--but den what make him go bout

looking dis here way, wid he head down and he soldiers up, and as white

as a gose? And then he keeps a syphon all de time--"

"Keeps a what, Jupiter?"

"Keeps a syphon wid de figgurs on de slate--de queerest figgurs I ebber

did see. Ise gittin to be skeered, I tell you. Hab for to keep mighty

tight eye pon him noovers. Todder day he gib me slip fore de sun up and

was gone de whole ob de blessed day. I had a big stick ready cut for to

gib him d----d good beating when he did come--but Ise sich a fool dat I

hadn't de heart arter all--he look so berry poorly."

"Eh?--what?--ah, yes!--upon the whole I think you had better not be too

severe with the poor fellow--don't flog him, Jupiter--he can't very

well stand it--but can you form no idea of what has occasioned this

illness, or rather this change of conduct? Has anything unpleasant

happened since I saw you?"

"No, massa, dey aint bin noffin onpleasant _since_ den--'t was _fore_

den I'm feared--'t was de berry day you was dare."

"How? what do you mean?"

"Why, massa, I mean de bug--dare now."

"The what?"

"De bug--I'm berry sartain dat Massa Will bin bit somewhere bout de

head by dat goole-bug."

"And what cause have you, Jupiter, for such a supposition?"

"Claws enuff, massa, and mouff too. I nebber did see sich a d----d

bug--he kick and he bite every ting what cum near him. Massa Will cotch

him fuss, but had for to let him go gin mighty quick, I tell you--den

was de time he must ha got de bite. I didn't like de look ob de bug

mouff, myself, no how, so I wouldn't take hold ob him wid my finger,

but I cotch him wid a piece ob paper dat I found. I rap him up in de

paper and stuff piece ob it in he mouff--dat was de way."

"And you think, then, that your master was really bitten by the beetle,

and that the bite made him sick?"

"I don't tink noffin about it--I nose it. What make him dream bout de

goole so much, if taint cause he bit by de goole-bug? Ise heerd bout

dem goole-bugs fore dis."

"But how do you know he dreams about gold?"

"How I know? why, cause he talk about it in he sleep--dat's how I

nose."

"Well, Jup, perhaps you are right; but to what fortunate circumstances

am I to attribute the honor of a visit from you to-day?"

"What de matter, massa?"

"Did you bring any message from Mr. Legrand?"

"No, massa, I bring dis here pissel"; and here Jupiter handed me a note

which ran thus:

MY DEAR----: Why have I not seen you for so long a time?

I hope you have not been so foolish as to take offense at any little

_brusquerie_ of mine; but no, that is improbable.

Since I saw you I have had great cause for anxiety. I have something

to tell you, yet scarcely know how to tell it, or whether I should

tell it at all.

I have not been quite well for some days past, and poor old Jup

annoys me, almost beyond endurance, by his well-meant attentions.

Would you believe it?--he had prepared a huge stick, the other

day, with which to chastise me for giving him the slip, and spending

the day, _solus_, among the hills on the mainland. I verily believe

that my ill looks alone saved me a flogging.

I have made no addition to my cabinet since we met.

If you can, in any way, make it convenient, come over with

Jupiter. _Do_ come. I wish to see you _tonight_, upon business of

importance. I assure you that it is of the _highest_ importance.

Ever yours,

WILLIAM LEGRAND

There was something in the tone of this note which gave me great

uneasiness. Its whole style differed materially from that of Legrand.

What could he be dreaming of? What new crotchet possessed his excitable

brain? What "business of the highest importance" could _he_ possibly

have to transact? Jupiter's account of him boded no good. I dreaded lest

the continued pressure of misfortune had, at length, fairly unsettled

the reason of my friend. Without a moment's hesitation, therefore, I

prepared to accompany the negro.

Upon reaching the wharf, I noticed a scythe and three spades, all

apparently new, lying in the bottom of the boat in which we were to

embark.

"What is the meaning of all this, Jup?" I inquired.

"Him syfe, massa, and spade."

"Very true; but what are they doing here?"

"Him de syfe and de spade what Massa Will sis pon my buying for him in

de town, and de debbil's own lot of money I had to gib for em."

"But what, in the name of all that is mysterious, is your 'Massa Will'

going to do with scythes and spades?"

"Dat's more dan _I_ know, and debbil take me if I don't believe 'tis

more dan he know, too. But it's all cum ob de bug."

Finding that no satisfaction was to be obtained of Jupiter, whose whole

intellect seemed to be absorbed by "de bug," I now stepped into the boat

and made sail. With a fair and strong breeze we soon ran into the little

cove to the northward of Fort Moultrie, and a walk of some two miles

brought us to the hut. It was about three in the afternoon when we

arrived. Legrand had been awaiting us in eager expectation. He grasped

my hand with a nervous _empressement_, which alarmed me and strengthened

the suspicions already entertained. His countenance was pale even to

ghastliness, and his deep-set eyes glared with unnatural lustre. After

some inquiries respecting his health, I asked him, not knowing what

better to say, if he had yet obtained the _scarabæus_ from Lieutenant

G----.

"Oh, yes," he replied, coloring violently, "I got it from him the next

morning. Nothing should tempt me to part with that _scarabæus_. Do you

know that Jupiter is quite right about it?"

"In what way?" I asked, with a sad foreboding at heart.

"In supposing it to be a bug of _real gold_." He said this with an air

of profound seriousness, and I felt inexpressibly shocked.

"This bug is to make my fortune," he continued, with a triumphant smile,

"to reinstate me in my family possessions. Is it any wonder, then, that

I prize it? Since Fortune has thought fit to bestow it upon me, I have

only to use it properly and I shall arrive at the gold of which it is

the index. Jupiter, bring me that _scarabæus_!"

"What! de bug, massa? I'd rudder not go fer trubble dat bug--you mus git

him for your own self." Hereupon Legrand arose, with a grave and stately

air, and brought me the beetle from a glass case in which it was

enclosed. It was a beautiful _scarabæus_, and, at that time, unknown to

naturalists--of course a great prize in a scientific point of view.

There were two round, black spots near one extremity of the back, and a

long one near the other. The scales were exceedingly hard and glossy,

with all the appearance of burnished gold. The weight of the insect was

very remarkable, and, taking all things into consideration, I could

hardly blame Jupiter for his opinion respecting it; but what to make of

Legrand's agreement with that opinion, I could not, for the life of me,

tell.

"I sent for you," said he, in a grandiloquent tone, when I had completed

my examination of the beetle, "I sent for you that I might have your

counsel and assistance in furthering the views of Fate and of the bug--"

"My dear Legrand," I cried, interrupting him, "you are certainly unwell,

and had better use some little precautions. You shall go to bed, and I

will remain with you a few days, until you get over this. You are

feverish and--"

"Feel my pulse," said he.

I felt it, and, to say the truth, found not the slightest indication of

fever.

"But you may be ill, and yet have no fever. Allow me this once to

prescribe for you. In the first place, go to bed. In the next--"

"You are mistaken," he interposed, "I am as well as I can expect to be

under the excitement which I suffer. If you really wish me well, you

will relieve this excitement."

"And how is this to be done?"

"Very easily. Jupiter and myself are going upon an expedition into the

hills, upon the mainland, and, in this expedition, we shall need the aid

of some person in whom we can confide. You are the only one we can

trust. Whether we succeed or fail, the excitement which you now perceive

in me will be equally allayed."

"I am anxious to oblige you in any way," I replied; "but do you mean to

say that this infernal beetle has any connection with your expedition

into the hills."

"It has."

"Then, Legrand, I can become a party to no such absurd proceeding."

"I am sorry--very sorry--for we shall have to try it by ourselves."

"Try it by yourselves! The man is surely mad!--but stay--how long do you

propose to be absent?"

"Probably all night. We shall start immediately, and be back, at all

events, by sunrise."

"And will you promise me, upon your honor, that when this freak of yours

is over and the bug business (good God!) settled to your satisfaction,

you will then return home and follow my advice implicitly, as that of

your physician?"

"Yes; I promise; and now let us be off, for we have no time to lose."

With a heavy heart I accompanied my friend. We started about four

o'clock--Legrand, Jupiter, the dog, and myself. Jupiter had with him the

scythe and spades--the whole of which he insisted upon carrying, more

through fear, it seemed to me, of trusting either of the implements

within reach of his master, than from any excess of industry or

complaisance. His demeanor was dogged in the extreme, and "dat d----d

bug" were the sole words which escaped his lips during the journey. For

my own part, I had charge of a couple of dark lanterns, while Legrand

contented himself with the _scarabæus_, which he carried attached to the

end of a bit of whip-cord; twirling it to and fro, with the air of a

conjuror, as he went. When I observed this last, plain evidence of my

friend's aberration of mind, I could scarcely refrain from tears. I

thought it best, however, to humor his fancy, at least for the present,

or until I could adopt some more energetic measures with a chance of

success. In the meantime I endeavored, but all in vain, to sound him in

regard to the object of the expedition. Having succeeded in inducing me

to accompany him, he seemed unwilling to hold conversation upon any

topic of minor importance, and to all my questions vouchsafed no other

reply than "We shall see!"

We crossed the creek at the head of the island by means of a skiff, and,

ascending the high grounds on the shore of the mainland, proceeded in a

northwesterly direction, through a tract of country excessively wild and

desolate, where no trace of a human footstep was to be seen. Legrand led

the way with decision; pausing only for an instant, here and there, to

consult what appeared to be certain landmarks of his own contrivance

upon a former occasion.

In this manner we journeyed for about two hours, and the sun was just

setting when we entered a region infinitely more dreary than any yet

seen. It was a species of table-land, near the summit of an almost

inaccessible hill, densely wooded from base to pinnacle, and

interspersed with huge crags that appeared to lie loosely upon the soil,

and in many cases were prevented from precipitating themselves into the

valleys below merely by the support of the trees against which they

reclined. Deep ravines, in various directions, gave an air of still

sterner solemnity to the scene.

The natural platform to which we had clambered was thickly overgrown

with brambles, through which we soon discovered that it would have been

impossible to force our way but for the scythe; and Jupiter, by

direction of his master, proceeded to clear for us a path to the foot of

an immensely large tulip-tree, which stood, with some eight or ten oaks,

upon the level, and far surpassed them all, and all other trees which I

had then ever seen, in the beauty of its foliage and form, in the wide

spread of its branches, and in the general majesty of its appearance.

When we reached this tree, Legrand turned to Jupiter, and asked him if

he thought he could climb it. The old man seemed a little staggered by

the question, and for some moments made no reply. At length he

approached the huge trunk, walked slowly around it, and examined it with

minute attention. When he had completed his scrutiny, he merely said:

"Yes, massa, Jup climb any tree he ebber see in he life."

"Then up with you as soon as possible, for it will soon be too dark to

see what we are about."

"How far mus go up, massa?" inquired Jupiter.

"Get up the main trunk first, and then I will tell you which way to

go--and here--stop! take this beetle with you."

"De bug, Massa Will!--de goole-bug!" cried the negro, drawing back in

dismay--"what for mus tote de bug way up detree?--d----n if I do!"

"If you are afraid, Jup, a great big negro like you, to take hold of a

harmless little dead beetle, why, you can carry it up by this

string--but, if you do not take it up with you in some way, I shall be

under the necessity of breaking your head with this shovel."

"What de matter now, massa?" said Jup, evidently shamed into compliance;

"always want fur to raise fuss wid old nigger. Was only funnin anyhow.

_Me_ feered de bug! what I keer for de bug?" Here he took cautiously

hold of the extreme end of the string, and, maintaining the insect as

far from his person as circumstances would permit, prepared to ascend

the tree.

In youth, the tulip-tree, or _Liriodendron Tulipifera_, the most

magnificent of American foresters, has a trunk peculiarly smooth, and

often rises to a great height without lateral branches; but, in its

riper age the bark becomes gnarled and uneven while many short limbs

make their appearance on the stem. Thus the difficulty of ascension, in

the present case, lay more in semblance than in reality. Embracing the

huge cylinder, as closely as possible, with his arms and knees, seizing

with his hands some projections, and resting his naked toes upon others,

Jupiter, after one or two narrow escapes from falling, at length

wriggled himself into the first great fork, and seemed to consider the

whole business as virtually accomplished. The _risk_ of the achievement

was, in fact, now over, although the climber was some sixty or seventy

feet from the ground.

"Which way mus go now, Massa Will?" he asked.

"Keep up the largest branch,--the one on this side," said Legrand. The

negro obeyed him promptly, and apparently with but little trouble,

ascending higher and higher, until no glimpse of his squat figure could

be obtained through the dense foliage which enveloped it. Presently his

voice was heard in a sort of halloo.

"How much fudder is got for go?"

"How high up are you?" asked Legrand.

"Ebber so fur," replied the negro; "can see de sky fru de top ob de

tree."

"Never mind the sky, but attend to what I say. Look down the trunk and

count the limbs below you on this side. How many limbs have you passed?"

"One, two, tree, four, fibe--I done pass fibe big limb, massa, pon dis

side."

"Then go one limb higher."

In a few minutes the voice was heard again, announcing that the seventh

limb was attained.

"Now, Jup," cried Legrand, evidently much excited, "I want you to work

your way out upon that limb as far as you can. If you see anything

strange, let me know."

By this time what little doubt I might have entertained of my poor

friend's insanity was put finally at rest. I had no alternative but to

conclude him stricken with lunacy, and I became seriously anxious about

getting him home. While I was pondering upon what was best to be done,

Jupiter's voice was again heard.

"Mos feerd for to ventur pon dis limb berry far--'t is dead limb putty

much all de way."

"Did you say it was a _dead_ limb, Jupiter?" cried Legrand in a

quavering voice.

"Yes, massa, him dead as de door-nail--done up for sartain--done

departed dis here life."

"What in the name of heaven shall I do?" asked Legrand, seemingly in the

greatest distress.

"Do!" said I, glad of an opportunity to interpose a word, "why come home

and go to bed. Come now!--that's a fine fellow. It's getting late, and,

besides, you remember your promise."

"Jupiter," cried he, without heeding me in the least, "do you hear me?"

"Yes, Massa Will, hear you ebber so plain."

"Try the wood well, then, with your knife, and see if you think it

_very_ rotten."

"Him rotten, massa, sure nuff," replied the negro in a few moments, "but

not so berry rotten as mought be. Mought ventur out leetle way pon de

limb by myself, dat's true."

"By yourself!--what do you mean?"

"Why, I mean de bug. 'Tis _berry_ hebby bug. Spose I drop him down fuss,

and den de limb won't break wid just de weight ob one nigger."

"You infernal scoundrel!" cried Legrand, apparently much relieved, "what

do you mean by telling me such nonsense as that? As sure as you let that

beetle fall, I'll break your neck. Look here, Jupiter! do you hear me?"

"Yes, massa, needn't hollo at poor nigger dat style."

"Well! now listen!--if you will venture out on the limb as far as you

think safe, and not let go the beetle, I'll make you a present of a

silver dollar as soon as you get down."

"I'm gwine, Massa Will--deed I is," replied the negro very

promptly--"most out to the eend now."

"_Out to the end!_" here fairly screamed Legrand, "do you say you are

out to the end of that limb?"

"Soon be to de eend, massa,--o-o-o-o-oh! Lorgol-a-marcy! what _is_ dis

here pon de tree?"

"Well!" cried Legrand, highly delighted, "what is it?"

"Why, taint nuffin but a skull--somebody bin lef him head up de tree,

and de crows done gobble ebery bit ob de meat off."

"A skull, you say!--very well!--how is it fastened to the limb?--what

holds it on?"

"Sure nuff, massa; mus look. Why, dis berry curous sarcumstance, pon my

word--dare's a great big nail in de skull, what fastens ob it on to de

tree."

"Well now, Jupiter, do exactly as I tell you--do you hear?"

"Yes, massa."

"Pay attention, then!--find the left eye of the skull."

"Hum! hoo! dat's good! why, dar aint no eye lef at all."

"Curse your stupidity! do you know your right hand from your left?"

"Yes, I nose dat--nose all bout dat--'tis my lef hand what I chops de

wood wid."

"To be sure! you are left-handed; and your left eye is on the same side

as your left hand. Now, I suppose you can find the left eye of the

skull, or the place where the left eye has been. Have you found it?"

Here was a long pause. At length the negro asked, "Is de lef eye of de

skull pon de same side as de lef hand of de skull, too?--cause de skull

aint got not a bit ob a hand at all--nebber mind! I got de lef eye

now--here de lef eye! what must do wid it?"

"Let the beetle drop through it, as far as the string will reach--but be

careful and not let go your hold of the string."

"All dat done, Massa Will; mighty easy ting for to put de bug fru de

hole--look out for him dar below!"

During this colloquy no portion of Jupiter's person could be seen; but

the beetle, which he had suffered to descend, was now visible at the end

of the string, and glistened like a globe of burnished gold in the last

rays of the setting sun, some of which still faintly illumined the

eminence upon which we stood. The _scarabæus_ hung quite clear of any

branches, and, if allowed to fall, would have fallen at our feet.

Legrand immediately took the scythe, and cleared with it a circular

space, three or four yards in diameter, just beneath the insect, and,

having accomplished this, ordered Jupiter to let go the string and come

down from the tree.

Driving a peg, with great nicety, into the ground at the precise spot

where the beetle fell, my friend now produced from his pocket a

tape-measure. Fastening one end of this at that point of the trunk of

the tree which was nearest the peg, he unrolled it till it reached the

peg, and thence farther unrolled it, in the direction already

established by the two points of the tree and the peg, for the distance

of fifty feet--Jupiter clearing away the brambles with the scythe. At

the spot thus attained a second peg was driven, and about this, as a

centre, a rude circle, about four feet in diameter, described. Taking

now a spade himself, and giving one to Jupiter and one to me, Legrand

begged us to set about digging as quickly as possible.

To speak the truth, I had no especial relish for such amusement at any

time, and, at that particular moment, would most willingly have declined

it; for the night was coming on, and I felt much fatigued with the

exercise already taken; but I saw no mode of escape, and was fearful of

disturbing my poor friend's equanimity by a refusal. Could I have

depended, indeed, upon Jupiter's aid, I would have had no hesitation in

attempting to get the lunatic home by force; but I was too well assured

of the old negro's disposition to hope that he would assist me, under

any circumstances, in a personal contest with his master. I made no

doubt that the latter had been infected with some of the innumerable

Southern superstitions about money buried, and that his fantasy had

received confirmation by the finding of the _scarabæus_, or, perhaps, by

Jupiter's obstinacy in maintaining it to be "a bug of real gold." A mind

disposed to lunacy would readily be led away by such suggestions,

especially if chiming in with favorite preconceived ideas; and then I

called to mind the poor fellow's speech about the beetle's being the

"index of his fortune." Upon the whole, I was sadly vexed and puzzled,

but at length I concluded to make a virtue of necessity--to dig with a

good will, and thus the sooner to convince the visionary, by ocular

demonstration, of the fallacy of the opinions he entertained.

The lanterns having been lit, we all fell to work with a zeal worthy a

more rational cause; and, as the glare fell upon our persons and

implements, I could not help thinking how picturesque a group we

composed, and how strange and suspicious our labors must have appeared

to any interloper who, by chance, might have stumbled upon our

whereabouts.

We dug very steadily for two hours. Little was said; and our chief

embarrassment lay in the yelpings of the dog, who took exceeding

interest in our proceedings. He, at length, became so obstreperous that

we grew fearful of his giving the alarm to some stragglers in the

vicinity; or, rather, this was the apprehension of Legrand; for myself,

I should have rejoiced at any interruption which might have enabled me

to get the wanderer home. The noise was, at length, very effectually

silenced by Jupiter, who, getting out of the hole with a dogged air of

deliberation, tied the brute's mouth up with one of his suspenders, and

then returned, with a grave chuckle, to his task.

When the time mentioned had expired, we had reached a depth of five

feet, and yet no signs of any treasure became manifest. A general pause

ensued, and I began to hope that the farce was at an end. Legrand,

however, although evidently much disconcerted, wiped his brow

thoughtfully and recommenced. We had excavated the entire circle of four

feet diameter, and now we slightly enlarged the limit, and went to the

farther depth of two feet. Still nothing appeared. The gold-seeker, whom

I sincerely pitied, at length clambered from the pit, with the bitterest

disappointment imprinted upon every feature, and proceeded slowly and

reluctantly to put on his coat, which he had thrown off at the beginning

of his labor. In the meantime I made no remark. Jupiter, at a signal

from his master, began to gather up his tools. This done, and the dog

having been unmuzzled, we turned in profound silence towards home.

We had taken, perhaps, a dozen steps in this direction, when, with a

loud oath, Legrand strode up to Jupiter, and seized him by the collar.

The astonished negro opened his eyes and mouth to the fullest extent,

let fall the spades, and fell upon his knees.

"You scoundrel," said Legrand, hissing out the syllables from between

his clenched teeth--"you infernal black villain!--speak, I tell

you!--answer me this instant, without prevarication!--which--which is

your left eye?"

"Oh, my golly, Massa Will! aint dis here my lef eye for sartain?" roared

the terrified Jupiter, placing his hand upon his _right_ organ of

vision, and holding it there with a desperate pertinacity, as if in

immediate dread of his master's attempt at a gouge.

"I thought so! I knew it! Hurrah!" vociferated Legrand, letting the

negro go, and executing a series of curvets and caracoles, much to the

astonishment of his valet, who, arising from his knees, looked mutely

from his master to myself, and then from myself to his master.

"Come! we must go back," said the latter, "the game's not up yet;" and

he again led the way to the tulip-tree.

"Jupiter," said he, when we reached its foot, "come here! Was the skull

nailed to the limb with the face outward, or with the face to the limb?"

"De face was out, massa, so dat de crows could get at de eyes good,

widout any trouble."

"Well, then, was it this eye or that through which you dropped the

beetle?" here Legrand touched each of Jupiter's eyes.

"'T was dis eye, Massa--de lef eye--jis as you tell me," and here it was

his right eye that the negro indicated.

"That will do--we must try it again."

Here, my friend, about whose madness I now saw, or fancied that I saw,

certain indications of method, removed the peg which marked the spot

where the beetle fell, to a spot about three inches to the westward of

its former position. Taking, now, the tape-measure from the nearest

point of the trunk to the peg, as before, and continuing the extension

in a straight line to the distance of fifty feet, a spot was indicated,

removed, by several yards, from the point at which we had been digging.

Around the new position a circle, somewhat larger than in the former

instance, was now described, and we again set to work with the spades. I

was dreadfully weary, but, scarcely understanding what had occasioned

the change in my thoughts, I felt no longer any great aversion from the

labor imposed. I had become most unaccountably interested--nay, even

excited. Perhaps there was something, amid all the extravagant demeanor

of Legrand--some air of forethought, or of deliberation--which impressed

me. I dug eagerly, and now and then caught myself actually looking, with

something that very much resembled expectation, for the fancied

treasure, the vision of which had demented my unfortunate companion. At

a period when such vagaries of thought most fully possessed me, and when

we had been at work perhaps an hour and a half, we were again

interrupted by the violent howlings of the dog. His uneasiness, in the

first instance, had been evidently but the result of playfulness or

caprice, but he now assumed a bitter and serious tone. Upon Jupiter's

again attempting to muzzle him, he made furious resistance, and, leaping

into the hole, tore up the mould frantically with his claws. In a few

seconds he had uncovered a mass of human bones, forming two complete

skeletons, intermingled with several buttons of metal, and what appeared

to be the dust of decayed woollen. One or two strokes of a spade

upturned the blade of a large Spanish knife, and, as we dug farther,

three or four loose pieces of gold and silver coin came to light.

At sight of these the joy of Jupiter could scarcely be restrained, but

the countenance of his master wore an air of extreme disappointment. He

urged us, however, to continue our exertions, and the words were hardly

uttered when I stumbled and fell forward, having caught the toe of my

boot in a large ring of iron that lay half buried in the loose earth.

We now worked in earnest, and never did I pass ten minutes of more

intense excitement. During this interval we had fairly unearthed an

oblong chest of wood, which, from its perfect preservation and wonderful

hardness, had plainly been subjected to some mineralizing

process--perhaps that of the bichloride of mercury. This box was three

feet and a half long, three feet broad, and two and a half feet deep. It

was firmly secured by bands of wrought iron, riveted, and forming a kind

of trellis-work over the whole. On each side of the chest, near the top,

were three rings of iron--six in all--by means of which a firm hold

could be obtained by six persons. Our utmost united endeavors served

only to disturb the coffer very slightly in its bed. We at once saw the

impossibility of removing so great a weight. Luckily, the sole

fastenings of the lid consisted of two sliding bolts. These we drew

back--trembling and panting with anxiety. In an instant, a treasure of

incalculable value lay gleaming before us. As the rays of the lanterns

fell within the pit, there flashed upwards, from a confused heap of gold

and of jewels, a glow and a glare that absolutely dazzled our eyes.

I shall not pretend to describe the feelings with which I gazed.

Amazement was, of course, predominant. Legrand appeared exhausted with

excitement, and spoke very few words. Jupiter's countenance wore, for

some minutes, as deadly a pallor as it is possible, in the nature of

things, for any negro's visage to assume. He seemed stupefied

--thunder-stricken. Presently he fell upon his knees in the

pit, and, burying his naked arms up to the elbows in gold, let them

there remain, as if enjoying the luxury of a bath. At length, with a

deep sigh, he exclaimed, as if in a soliloquy:

"And dis all cum ob de goole-bug! de putty goole-bug! de poor little

goole-bug, what I boosed in dat sabage kind ob style! Aint you shamed ob

yourself, nigger?--answer me dat!"

It became necessary, at last, that I should arouse both master and valet

to the expediency of removing the treasure. It was growing late, and it

behooved us to make exertion, that we might get everything housed before

daylight. It was difficult to say what should be done, and much time was

spent in deliberation--so confused were the ideas of all. We finally

lightened the box by removing two-thirds of its contents, when we were

enabled, with some trouble, to raise it from the hole. The articles

taken out were deposited among the brambles, and the dog left to guard

them, with strict orders from Jupiter neither, upon any pretence, to

stir from the spot, nor to open his mouth until our return. We then

hurriedly made for home with the chest; reaching the hut in safety, but

after excessive toil, at one o'clock in the morning. Worn out as we

were, it was not in human nature to do more just now. We rested until

two, and had supper; starting for the hills immediately afterwards,

armed with three stout sacks, which by good luck were upon the premises.

A little before four we arrived at the pit, divided the remainder of the

booty, as equally as might be, among us, and, leaving the holes

unfilled, again set out for the hut, at which, for the second time, we

deposited our golden burdens, just as the first streaks of the dawn

gleamed from over the tree-tops in the east.

We were now thoroughly broken down; but the intense excitement of the

time denied us repose. After an unquiet slumber of some three or four

hours' duration, we arose, as if by preconcert, to make examination of

our treasure.