by the villagers and scattered farmers. We returned to the boat and
rowed it out into the calm lake, where we waited for a breeze. The
motor had again “gone punk.”
“That smoke’s jest natch’ally drifted off,” remarked Sipes
philosophically, as we floated idly on the gentle swells, “but we got
enough to make us rich; wot do we care? I guess that ‘dark secret’ that
Bill said this trip was, was set’n on them rocks w’en we fust come in
the river. Think of all wot we done fer ’im! Me offerin’ ’im that whole
cupful w’en ’e was sick, an’ git’n’ milk fer ’im to cook with, an’ all
them things you an’ Bill did, an’ now ’e’s hornswoggled us. They ain’t
no gratitude. That smoke’s jest like all the rest of ’em!”
“You have had a prosperous trip,” I replied. “You will probably get a
high price for your big pearl, and you won’t have to worry about money
for quite a while. You had better get this trouble off your mind.
Surplus wealth is mere dross.”
“How much dross d’ye think that damn cookie’ll git fer them jools?”
“He will get very little. You had spoiled the lustre on most of them by
constantly shaking the box.”
“If I’d knowed ’e was goin’ to frisk ’em, I’d a shook the stuff’n’ out
of ’em!”
During a visit to the village store, Saunders had written a letter to
the “onion-skinner,” as Sipes persisted in calling the pearl-buyer, and
mailed it to the address on the margin of the pamphlet. He described
the location of the fish shanty, and informed him of the finding of the
big pearl. He also told of the robbery, described Narcissus, and asked
him to have him “nabbed” if he came to sell him the stolen pearls,
which he probably would do. Saunders spent much time writing and
rewriting the letter. Sipes stood over him and cautioned him repeatedly
not to say anything in it that “looked like we wanted to sell the jool.”
“Cat’s paws” appeared on the water. The breeze freshened rapidly, and
there were white-caps on the lake shortly after we began to make fair
headway. The wind increased, the boat careened under the pressure
of the broad sail, and we shipped water copiously several times.
Fortunately I had left my row-boat and tent with a fisherman at the
village, who was to care for them during the winter, so we did not
have these to bother us. I felt relieved when we saw the shanty in the
distance.
“Hard-a-port, Bill,” commanded Sipes in a stentorian tone as he
loosened the main-sheet. We turned in toward shore. Like a roving
galleon proudly returning from distant seas, with her treasure in her
hold, the gallant _Crawfish_ tore in through the curling waves and
flying spray, and felt the foam of her home waters over her prow.
We all got soaking wet getting in through the surf. The long rope
from the windlass on the sand, composed of many odd pieces, knotted
together, was finally attached to the iron ring on the bow, and the now
historic craft was hauled out over the wooden rollers to its berth on
the beach.
We had commenced taking some of the stuff out of the boat, when we
suddenly paused with astonishment, and looked toward the shanty.
Mingled with the voices of the wind, and the roar of the surf, we
faintly, but unmistakably, heard the thrilling strains of “Money Musk”
issuing from the weather beaten structure.
“Now wot d’ye think o’ that!” exclaimed Sipes. “That damn cookie’s in
there. He don’t know it’s our place an’ ’e thinks ’e’s escaped. We got
’im trapped. Gimme the gun!
I happened to know that the gun was not loaded, and had no fears
that there would be any shooting. In solid formation we marched to
the shanty. The padlock on the door was undisturbed. Sipes unlocked
it. Narcissus sat on the pile of nets inside and regarded us with
a frightened expression. Evidently the wind had prevented him from
hearing us when we landed. He seemed overawed by the presence of the
gun and our angry looks.
“Say, Boss, lemme off!” he begged, as he looked up at me pleadingly.
“Narcissus, where are those pearls?” I demanded.
“Pea’ls? Ah don’t know nuff’n ’bout no pea’ls! Ah ain’t seen no pea’ls!
Is theah some pea’ls miss’n’?”
“Of course they’re miss’n’, an’ you know it, you black devil!” roared
Sipes, as he cocked his gun. “You shell out them jools, er yer goin’ to
be shot right ’ere this minute!”
Narcissus’s face turned ashen gray.
“Ah ain’t nevah touched no pea’ls! Ah ain’t nevah seen you gen’lemen’s
pea’ls since you had ’em at the camp. Gimme a Bible an’ Ah’ll take ma
oath!”
While I knew that he was quite safe in asking Sipes for a Bible, his
earnest denial seemed to have the ring of sincerity. I took Sipes
aside, leaving Saunders with the now thoroughly terrified negro. He
leaned against the side of the shanty and seemed in such mental agony
that I felt sorry for him.
I asked Sipes to show me exactly where he had placed the tin box. With
a small electric flashlight we explored a deep recess between the
boards back of the cuddy-hole, and found the box, wedged about a foot
below where the old man had hidden it. Sipes seized it with a shout of
jubilation. He and Saunders acted like a couple of small boys who had
just been told that they could stay out of school and go to a circus.
The mystery of Narcissus’s disappearance and his presence in the shanty
was still to be explained. He was greatly relieved when the box was
found, but seemed too much confused by the sudden flood of events to
talk, so we let him alone. That night, after the shanty was put in
order, and a fire built in the stove, he told his story.
“When Ah took that gas can, an’ went fo’ them things at the stoah, Ah
jest thought Ah’d stop at Cap’n Peppehs’s house. That’s the fi’st li’l
house Ah come to. Ah wanted to thank ’im fo’ the boat Ah got offen
’im, an’ tell ’im Ah hoped ’e was well. Ah left the can neah the path.
Cap’n Peppehs asked me all about you gen’lemen, an’ wanted me to come
in a minute. He wanted to know what you-all had done up the rivah, an’
if you got any pea’ls. Ah didn’t tell ’im nuff’n. Then ’e got out ’is
bottle, an’ we had some drinks. Then ’e asked me ’bout yo’ motah, an’
how you come by it. I told ’im you got it offen a fish man named John.
Then ’e told me John got it f’om him, an’ ’e didn’t want me to let you
know that.”
“And to think,” interrupted Sipes, “that we had that cuss right in the
boat, an’ didn’t know it!”
“Then, aftah a while, we got to feel’n’ pretty good, an’ Ah done fergot
all ’bout the gasoline. We looked out o’ the window, an’ theah was Mr.
Sipes goin’ ’round with ’is gun. We didn’t know whethah he thought Ah’d
run off with that li’l bunch o’ money Ah was goin’ to get the things
with, er was aftah Cap’n Peppehs’ ’count o’ that motah, an’ Ah jest
thought we’d keep still fo’ a while ’till Mr. Sipes put away ’is gun.
Ah was sca’ed o’ that gun. Aftah that Cap’n Peppehs asked me mo’ about
the pea’ls, an’ offe’d me a li’l mo’ ref’eshment. Ah must ’a’ went to
sleep then, an’ Ah didn’t wake up ’til this mawnin’. Ah saw yo’ boat
way out on the lake set’n’ still. I shuah felt bad, an’ Ah was goin’ to
take a boat an’ row out, but ma haid hurt so Ah couldn’t. Ah knew ’bout
wheah you lived, ’cause Ah hea’d you talkin’ ’bout it, an’ Ah jest
walked ’long the beach ’til Ah come to the place that had yo’ sign.
The do’ was locked, but Ah got the window open an’ come in that way. Ah
was ve’y ti’ed, an’ laid down fo’ a nap; then Ah got up an’ played that
li’l tune Mr. Sipes likes so much.
“Say, Ah hope you’ll lemme off. Ah ain’t done nuff’n so awful bad. Ah’m
awful sorry Ah made all that trouble, an’ had all them drinks with
Cap’n Peppehs. Ah fo’got all ’bout that gasoline, an’ Ah won’t nevah
do nuff’n like that no mo’. Mr. Sipes, does theah happ’n to be jest a
few drops in the bottom o’ the jug, that Ah c’d have? Honest, Ah feels
weak!”
Narcissus met with the full measure of forgiveness. He had faltered by
the wayside, where hosts have fallen. The mantle of charity was laid
over his sin. Sipes, while usually intolerant, was mollified with the
recovery of the pearls.
We all slept in the shanty that night. In the morning we saw a horse
and buggy on the beach in the distance. Saunders inspected the driver
attentively through the “spotter.”
“That’s the onion-skinner comin’,” he remarked.
“Yes, an’ I bet we’ll be the onions,” said Sipes, as he took the glass.
The visitor arrived and looked over the fruits of the season’s work. He
did not seem at all dazzled by the beauty of the big pearl. He examined
it casually and laid it aside. He seemed more interested in the others.
“You be careful an’ don’t show no frenzy over that jool. You don’t own
it,” cautioned Sipes, sarcastically. “You may want to buy it later
if you ain’t got enough cash-money now. Mebbe you know o’ some rich
fellers that ’ud like to buy intrusts in it with you.”
A substantial offer was made for the lot. The amount mentioned was much
larger than I had any idea the pearls were worth.
“They was a feller ’long ’ere yisterd’y that offered us twice as much
as that, an’ I told ’im ’e was a cheap skate. Wot d’ye think them
are--peanuts? D’ye think we c’lected all them val’able jools jest fer
love o’ you? Wot d’ye s’pose we are--helpless orphants?”
Most of the day was spent in jockeying over the price. The buyer was an
expert judge of human nature, as well as pearls. He exhibited a large
roll of bills at a psychological moment, and became the owner of the
collection.
He drove away along the beach and turned into the dunes.
“He’ll prob’ly hide some’r’s off’n the woods, an’ peel some o’ them
jools, like ’e did us,” said Sipes. “He oughta fly a black flag over
that buggy, so people ’ud know wot’s comin’. I’ve seen piruts in furrin
waters that was all bloodied up, but ’side o’ that robber, they’d look
like a lot o’ funny kids. Bill, you oughta keep yer mouth shut w’en I’m
sell’n’ jools! You butted in all the time an’ spoilt wot I was doin’.
If you’d a kep’ still, I’d ’a’ got jest twice them figgers. By rights,
I oughta keep wot’s ’ere fer my half an’ let you w’istle fer the half
that that feller saved by you shoot’n’ off yer mouth at the wrong
times.”
That night I sat before the dying embers of driftwood and mused over
the eventful weeks.
I remembered the picturesque camp scenes; the genial gatherings around
the fire; the advent of Narcissus,--his lovable qualities, frailties,
and final vindication; the sociability of Spotty; the Ancient’s graphic
reminiscences; the finding of the big pearl, and the odd combination of
childish foibles, homely wit, kindliness, cupidity, shrewdness, and
primitive savagery in the old shipmates.
The mingled glories of the autumn came back, with memories of the
fragrant woods; the broad sweeps of changing color over the swamp-land;
the majesty of the onward marching storms; the songs of the wind
through trees and bending grasses; the music and beauty of rippling
currents; the companionship and voices of the wild things; the
witchery of twilight mists and purple shadows, and the enchantment of
moon-silvered vistas.
I felt again the haunting mystery that is over the marsh, along the
river through the silent nights, and in its fecund depths, where pearls
are wrought among hidden eddies.
Under the gently moving water was the dreamland of the reflections. The
dark forests and the ghostly dunes hung low in the realm of unreality.
Beyond them the Pleiades and Orion glowed softly in the limitless abyss
that held the endless story of the stars.
The Ego, mocking the Infinite with puny dogma, in its minute orbit--a
speck between two eternities--recoils in terror from the void beyond
the world.
The river bears a secret in its bosom deeper than its pearls. He who
learns it has found the melodies that brood among tremulous strings in
the human heart.
I meditated, and wondered if I, or the valiant crew of the flatboat,
had found the Winding River’s Treasure?
X
THE PLUTOCRATS
[Illustration:
The Game Warden
and his
Deputy]
X
THE PLUTOCRATS
The invitation of the old shipmates to remain with them for a while was
gratefully accepted. The witchery of the changing landscapes and the
color-crowned dunes was irresistible. The society of my odd friends,
which was full of human interest, and certain beguiling promises made
by Narcissus, were factors that prolonged the stay.
After a week of blustery weather, and a light fall of snow, the haze of
Indian Summer stole softly over the hills. The mystic slumberous days
had come, when, in listless reverie, we may believe that the spirits of
a vanished race have returned to the woods, and are dancing around camp
fires that smoulder in hidden places. Spectral forms sit in council
through the still nights, when the moon, red and full-orbed, comes up
out of a sea of mist. Smoke from phantom wigwams creeps through the
forest. Unseen arrows have touched the leaves that carpet aisles among
the trees where myriad banners have fallen.
Our drift-wood fire glowed on the beach in the evening. Sipes piled
on all sorts of things that kept it much larger than necessary. With
reckless prodigality, he dragged forth boxes, damaged rope, broken
oars, and miscellaneous odds and ends, that under former conditions
would have been carefully kept.
Sipes and Saunders were in high spirits. They walked with an elastic
swagger that bespoke supreme confidence in themselves, and a lofty
disdain of the rest of the world. There was much discussion of plans
for the future.
“We got all kinds o’ money now, an’ we c’n spread out,” declared Sipes.
“We gotta git ol’ John an’ ’is horse down ’ere, an’ take care of ’em.
That ol’ nag’s dragged millions o’ pounds o’ fish ’round fer us, an’
’e oughta have a rest. They’r’ both git’n’ too old to work any more,
an’, outside o’ me an’ Bill an’ Cookie, them’s the only ones that lives
round ’ere that’s fit to keep alive through the cold weather.
“We gotta haul down that ol’ sign on the shanty, ’cause we’ve gone out
o’ the fish business. We’r’ goin’ to fix this place all over. All them
fellers that has money, an’ lives in the country, an’ don’t work, has
signs out that’s got names on ’em fer their places. I drawed out the
new sign with the pencil yisterd’y, an’ this is wot it’s goin’ to be.”
He unfolded a piece of soiled wrapping paper, on which he had rudely
lettered--
[Illustration: $HiPMATE$ RE$T]
“The names won’t be on it, but shipmates’ll mean us all right. The
sign’ll still look like cash-money, an’ you bet we’r’ goin’ to rest, so
that sign’s all right, an’ she’s goin’ up.”
Catfish John and Napoleon arrived the next morning.
“You can’t git no more fish ’ere!” announced Sipes, after he had made
his usual derisive comments on the old peddler’s general appearance.
“This place ’as changed hands. Some fellers own it now that don’t ’ave
to work. You’r’ a wuthless ol’ slab-sided wreck, an’ you ain’t no good
peddlin’ fish. You oughta be ’shamed o’ yerself. Yer ol’ horse is a
crowbait, an’ yer fish waggin’s on the bum. You git down offen it an’
come ’ere. We got sump’n we want to tell you.”
John willingly admitted that all the charges were true, as he slowly
and painfully descended from the rickety vehicle.
“Now listen ’ere, John,” continued Sipes seriously, “us fellers ’as got
rich out o’ the jools wot we fished out o’ the river. We’r’ jest goin
to set ’round an’ look pleasant, an’ quit work’n. You’ve been our ol’
friend fer years, an’ we got enough to keep you an’ Napoleon in tobaccy
an’ hay fer the rest o’ yer lives. You’re a nice pair, an’ if you’ll
go in the lake an’ wash up, we’ll burn all yer ol’ nets, an’ the other
stuff up to your place, an’ yer ol’ boat, too, an’ you c’n come down
’ere an’ live. We don’t want none o’ them things ’ere, fer it ’ud make
us tired to look at ’em. We don’t want to see nothin’ that looks like
work ’round ’ere, no more’n we c’n help, but you gotta help haul some
lumber. We’r’ goin’ to tack some more rooms on the shanty. It ain’t a
fit place fer fellers like us to live in.”
John was greatly pleased over the good fortune that had come to his
friends, and happy over the plans that had been made for his future. He
said little, but I noticed that his eyes were moist as he limped over
to the shanty to be “interduced to Cookie.”
“Ah ce’t’nly am glad to meet you, Mr. Catfish!” said Narcissus,
cordially, as they shook hands. “Ah’ve hea’d a great deal ’bout you
f’om these gen’lemen. Ah would like to make a li’l cup o’ coffee fo’
you. Jest have a seat an’ Ah’ll have it ready in jest a few minutes.”
John looked at him gratefully and sat down. He was much impressed by
the evidences of prosperity around him. The old pine table was covered
with a cloth that was spotless, except where Sipes had spilled a “loose
egg” on one corner of it. There was a bewildering array of new clean
dishes and kitchen utensils about the room, and some boxes that had
not yet been unpacked. Narcissus had been given _carte blanche_ as to
the domestic arrangements. He was chef, valet, major domo, and general
manager.
“Cookie’s boss o’ the eats an’ the beds, an’ ev’rythin’ else ’round the
house, ’cept drinks,” declared Saunders.
He had made several trips to the village with the old cronies and they
had acquired a large part of the stock of the general store. Their
advent must have been a godsend to the aged proprietor.
“Now, John,” said Sipes, after the old man had finished his coffee,
“you c’n go back to yer place jest once, an’ fetch anythin’ you want
to keep that’s small, but don’t you bring nothin’ that weighs over a
pound, an’ then you come an’ sleep in the cabin o’ the _Crawfish_ till
we git the new fix’n’s on the shanty. We’ll feed you up so you’ll feel
like a prize-fighter, an’ we’ll make Napoleon into a spring colt. He
c’n stay in the work-shed ’til we make a barn fer ’im. We’r’ goin’ up
there tomorrer night, an’ we’r’ goin’ to burn up the whole mess wot
you leave, an’ you can’t go with us. We’ll chuck ev’rythin’ into that
cusséd ol’ smoke-house, an’ set fire to it. Tomorrer night’s the night,
an’ don’t you fergit it!”
John stayed for a couple of hours, but did little talking. Evidently he
was deeply touched. He drove away slowly up the beach toward the only
home he had known for many years. His quiet, undemonstrative nature was
calloused by the unconscious philosophy of the poor. Gratitude welled
from a fountain deep in his heart, but its outward flow was restrained
by the rough barriers that a lifetime of unremitting toil and poverty
had thrown around his honest soul.
He returned late the following afternoon. His wagon contained a few
things that he said he wanted to keep, no matter what happened to him.
“Thar ain’t no value to the stuff I got ’ere, ’cept to me. If
you’ll put this in a safe place ’til things git settled, I’ll be
much obliged,” said the old man, as he extracted a small package
from an inside pocket. He carefully opened it and showed us an old
daguerreotype. A rather handsome young man, dressed in the style of
the early fifties, sat stiffly in a high-backed chair. Beside him,
trustfully holding his hand, was a sweet-faced girl in bridal costume.
Pride and happiness beamed from her eyes.
“That thar’s me an’ Mary the day we was married. She died the year
after it was took,” said the old fisherman, slowly. There was
tenderness in the quiet look that he bestowed on the picture, and
the care with which he rewrapped it and handed it to Saunders for
safe-keeping.
The old daguerreotype had been treasured for over half a century. I
knew that tears had fallen upon it in silent hours. Its story was in
the old man’s face as he turned and walked over to his wagon to get the
rest of his things.
“Now, hooray fer the fireworks!” shouted Sipes, when we had finished
our after-dinner pipes in the evening. By the light of the lantern,
the small row-boat was shoved into the lake. John watched the sinister
preparations with misgivings. As we rowed away, Sipes called out
cheerily, “Now you brace up, John; you ain’t got no kick comin’! You
c’n stay an’ play with Cookie. He’ll make you some more coffee, an’
you’ll find a big can o’ tobaccy on the shelf.”
The old shipmates did not intend that any lingering affection that John
might retain for his old habitat, or any heartaches, should interfere
with his enjoyment of his new home, or with their delight in burning
his old one. They had grimly resolved that the transition should be
complete and irrevocable.
We reached the old fisherman’s former abode in due time. We found the
tattered nets wound on the reels, which were old and much broken.
We piled all of the loose stuff on the beach around the nets, and
the leaky boat was set up endwise against them. With the lantern we
explored the disreputable little smoke-house. It was filled with fish
tubs, bait pails, and confused rubbish, and was redolent with fishy
odors of the past that Saunders declared “a clock couldn’t tick in.”
We climbed up to the shanty on the edge of the bluff. The door of the
ramshackle structure was fastened with a piece of old hitching strap
that was looped over a nail. We entered and looked around the squalid
interior. Four bricks in the middle of the room supported a nondescript
stove. A rough bench stood against the wall, and a few tin plates,
cups, and kettles were scattered about. The only other room was John’s
sleeping apartment. A decrepit bedstead, that had seen better days
and nights, an old hay mattress, a couple of much soiled blankets, a
cracked mirror, some candle stubs, and two broken chairs were the only
articles we found in it.
“All some people needs to make ’em happy is a lookin’ glass,” observed
Sipes, “but ol’ John ain’t stuck on ’imself; wot does ’e want with it?
He prob’ly busted it w’en ’e peeked in it to see if ’is ol’ hat was on
straight.”
“I hope John’s got some insurance on this place,” Saunders remarked, as
he dragged the mattress to the wall and piled the bedstead and chairs
on it. We found a bottle half full of kerosene under the bench, which
we emptied over the floor.
“Now gimme a match!” demanded Sipes.
When we reached the foot of the bluff the flames were merrily at work
above us. The smoke-house, and the stuff accumulated around the nets,
were soon on fire. We next visited Napoleon’s humble quarters on the
sand, and another column of smoke and flame was added to the joy of the
occasion.
“We can’t leave fer a while yet,” said Saunders; “no fire’s any good
’less somebody’s ’round to poke it.”
We spent considerable time watching the fires, to assure ourselves that
the destruction was complete, and that there was no possibility of the
flames on the bluff getting into the woods beyond through the dry weeds
on the sand. There was a light off-shore breeze, so there was little
danger.
“That ol’ joint’s clean at last,” observed Sipes, as we rowed away in
the early hours of the morning.
From far away we looked upon the scene of Catfish John’s dreary life,
illumined by gleams from the smouldering embers that played along the
face of the bluff.
There were essentials that the old man’s humble surroundings had
lacked. Long sad years were interwoven with them, but the faded face
in the old daguerreotype may have lighted the dark rooms and helped
to make the lonely place an anchorage, for is home anywhere but in
the heart? It does not seem to consist of material things. Absence,
estrangement, and death destroy it--not fire. Sometimes, out of the
losses and wrecks of life, it is rebuilded, but not of wood and stone.
I arranged with John to transport my few belongings to the railroad
station the next day, and regretfully left the contented old mariners
and their happy “cookie,” who was no small part of the riches that had
come from the Winding River.
On the way through the hills the old man opened his heart.
“Now wot d’ye think o’ them ol’ fellers? They battered ’round the
seas an’ they been up ag’in pretty near ev’rythin’ they is. They come
in these hills an’ settled down to fish’n’. We alw’ys got ’long well
together. I done little things fer them an’ they done little things fer
me. Sipes is a queer ol’ cod, an’ so’s Saunders, but all of us has
quirks, an’ they ain’t nobody that pleases ev’rybody else. Now them ol’
fellers has got rich. I don’t know how much they got, but w’en anybody
gits a lot o’ money you c’n alw’ys tell wot they really was all the
time they didn’t have it. They’r’ all right, an’ you bet I like ’em,
an’ I alw’ys did. They drink some, but they don’t go to town an’ go
’round all day shoppin’ in s’loons, like some fellers do. Mebbe they’ll
git busted some day, an I c’n do sump’n fer ’em like they done fer me.”