THE TWO OATHS
On an afternoon in the early summer of 1856 Captain Nathaniel Plum,
master and owner of the sloop _Typhoon_ was engaged in nothing more
important than the smoking of an enormous pipe. Clouds of strongly
odored smoke, tinted with the lights of the setting sun, had risen above
his head in unremitting volumes for the last half hour. There was
infinite contentment in his face, notwithstanding the fact that he had
been meditating on a subject that was not altogether pleasant. But
Captain Plum was, in a way, a philosopher, though one would not have
guessed this fact from his appearance. He was, in the first place, a
young man, not more than eight or nine and twenty, and his strong,
rather thin face, tanned by exposure to the sea, was just now lighted up
by eyes that shone with an unbounded good humor which any instant might
take the form of laughter.
At the present time Captain Plum's vision was confined to one direction,
which carried his gaze out over Lake Michigan. Earlier in the day he had
been able to discern the hazy outline of the Michigan wilderness twenty
miles to the eastward. Straight ahead, shooting up rugged and sharp in
the red light of the day's end, were two islands. Between these, three
miles away, the sloop _Typhoon_ was strongly silhouetted in the fading
glow. Beyond the islands and the sloop there were no other objects for
Captain Plum's eyes to rest upon. So far as he could see there was no
other sail. At his back he was shut in by a dense growth of trees and
creeping vines, and unless a small boat edged close in around the end
of Beaver Island his place of concealment must remain undiscovered. At
least this seemed an assured fact to Captain Plum.
In the security of his position he began to whistle softly as he beat
the bowl of his pipe on his boot-heel to empty it of ashes. Then he drew
a long-barreled revolver from under a coat that he had thrown aside and
examined it carefully to see that the powder and ball were in solid and
that none of the caps was missing. From the same place he brought forth
a belt, buckled it round his waist, shoved the revolver into its
holster, and dragging the coat to him, fished out a letter from an
inside pocket. It was a dirty, much worn letter. Perhaps he had read it
a score of times. He read it again now, and then, refilling his pipe,
settled back against the rock that formed a rest for his shoulders and
turned his eyes in the direction of the sloop.
The last rim of the sun had fallen below the Michigan wilderness and in
the rapidly increasing gloom the sloop was becoming indistinguishable.
Captain Plum looked at his watch. He must still wait a little longer
before setting out upon the adventure that had brought him to this
isolated spot. He rested his head against the rock, and thought. He had
been thinking for hours. Back in the thicket he heard the prowling of
some small animal. There came the sleepy chirp of a bird and the
rustling of tired wings settling for the night. A strange stillness
hovered about him, and with it there came over him a loneliness that was
chilling, a loneliness that made him homesick. It was a new and
unpleasant sensation to Captain Plum. He could not remember just when he
had experienced it before; that is, if he dated the present from two
weeks ago to-night. It was then that the letter had been handed to him
in Chicago, and it had been a weight upon his soul and a prick to his
conscience ever since. Once or twice he had made up his mind to destroy
it, but each time he had repented at the last moment. In a sudden
revulsion at his weakness he pulled himself together, crumpled the
dirty missive into a ball, and flung it out upon the white rim of beach.
At this action there came a quick movement in the dense wall of verdure
behind him. Noiselessly the tangle of vines separated and a head thrust
itself out in time to see the bit of paper fall short of the water's
edge. Then the head shot back as swiftly and as silently as a serpent's.
Perhaps Captain Plum heard the gloating chuckle that followed the
movement. If so he thought it only some night bird in the brush.
"Heigh-ho!" he exclaimed with some return of his old cheer, "it's about
time we were starting!" He jumped to his feet and began brushing the
sand from his clothes. When he had done, he walked out upon the rim of
beach and stretched himself until his arm-bones cracked.
Again the hidden head shot forth from its concealment. A sudden turn and
Captain Plum would certainly have been startled. For it was a weird
object, this spying head; its face dead-white against the dense green of
the verdure, with shocks of long white hair hanging down on each side,
framing between them a pair of eyes that gleamed from cavernous sockets,
like black glowing beads. There was unmistakable fear, a tense anxiety
in those glittering eyes as Captain Plum walked toward the paper, but
when he paused and stretched himself, the sole of his boot carelessly
trampling the discarded letter, the head disappeared again and there
came another satisfied bird-like chuckle from the gloom of the thicket.
Captain Plum now put on his coat, buttoned it close to conceal the
weapons in his belt, and walked along the narrow water-run that crept
like a white ribbon between the lake and the island wilderness. No
sooner had he disappeared than the bushes and vines behind the rock were
torn asunder and a man wormed his way through them. For an instant he
paused, listening for returning footsteps, and then with startling
agility darted to the beach and seized the crumpled letter.
The person who for the greater part of the afternoon had been spying
upon Captain Plum from the security of the thicket was to all
appearances a very small and a very old man, though there was something
about him that seemed to belie a first guess at his age. His face was
emaciated; his hair was white and hung in straggling masses on his
shoulders; his hooked nose bore apparently the infallible stamp of
extreme age. Yet there was a strange and uncanny strength and quickness
in his movements. There was no stoop to his shoulders. His head was set
squarely. His eyes were as keen as steel. It would have been impossible
to have told whether he was fifty or seventy. Eagerly he smoothed out
the abused missive and evidently succeeded even in the failing light, in
deciphering much of it, for the glimmer of a smile flashed over his thin
features as he thrust the paper into his pocket.
Without a moment's hesitation he set out on the trail of Captain Plum. A
quarter of a mile down the path he overtook the object of his pursuit.
"Ah, how do you do, sir?" he greeted as the younger man turned about
upon hearing his approach. "A mighty fast pace you're setting for an old
man, sir!" He broke into a laugh that was not altogether unpleasant, and
boldly held out a hand. "We've been expecting you, but--not in this way.
I hope there's nothing wrong?"
Captain Plum had accepted the proffered hand. Its coldness and the
singular appearance of the old man who had come like an apparition
chilled him. In a moment, however, it occurred to him that he was a
victim of mistaken identity. As far as he knew there was no one on
Beaver Island who was expecting him. To the best of his knowledge he was
a fool for being there. His crew aboard the sloop had agreed upon that
point with extreme vehemence and, to a man, had attempted to dissuade
him from the mad project upon which he was launching himself among the
Mormons in their island stronghold. All this came to him while the
little old man was looking up into his face, chuckling, and shaking his
hand as if he were one of the most important and most greatly to be
desired personages in the world.
"Hope there's nothing wrong, Cap'n?" he repeated.
"Right as a trivet here, Dad," replied the young man, dropping the cold
hand that still persisted in clinging to his own. "But I guess you've
got the wrong party. Who's expecting me?"
The old man's face wrinkled itself in a grimace and one gleaming eye
opened and closed in an understanding wink.
"Ho, ho, ho!--of course you're not expected. Anyway, you're not
_expected_ to be expected! Cautious--a born general--mighty clever thing
to do. Strang should appreciate it." The old man gave vent to his own
approbation in a series of inimitable chuckles. "Is that your sloop out
there?" he inquired interestedly.
Something in the strangeness of the situation began to interest Captain
Plum. He had planned a little adventure of his own, but here was one
that promised to develop into something more exciting. He nodded his
head.
"That's her."
"Splendid cargo," went on the old man. "Splendid cargo, eh?"
"Pretty fair."
"Powder in good shape, eh?"
"Dry as tinder."
"And balls--lots of balls, and a few guns, eh?"
"Yes, we _have_ a few guns," said Captain Plum. The old man noted the
emphasis, but the darkness that had fast settled about them hid the
added meaning that passed in a curious look over the other's face.
"Odd way to come in, though--very odd!" continued the old man, gurgling
and shaking as if the thought of it occasioned him great merriment.
"Very cautious. Level business head. Want to know that things are on
the square, eh?"
"That's it!" exclaimed Captain Plum, catching at the proffered straw.
Inwardly he was wondering when his feet would touch bottom. Thus far he
had succeeded in getting but a single grip on the situation. Somebody
was expected at Beaver Island with powder and balls and guns. Well, he
had a certain quantity of these materials aboard his sloop, and if he
could make an agreeable bargain--
The old man interrupted the plan that was slowly forming itself in
Captain Plum's puzzled brain.
"It's the price, eh?" He laughed shrewdly. "You want to see the color of
the gold before you land the goods. I'll show it to you. I'll pay you
the whole sum to-night. Then you'll take the stuff where I tell you to.
Eh? Isn't that so?" He darted ahead of Captain Plum with a quick alert
movement. "Will you please follow me, sir?"
For an instant Captain Plum's impulse was to hold back. In that instant
it suddenly occurred to him that he was lending himself to a rank
imposition. At the same time he was filled with a desire to go deeper
into the adventure, and his blood thrilled with the thought of what it
might hold for him.
"Are you coming, sir?"
The little old man had stopped a dozen paces away and turned
expectantly.
"I tell you again that you've got the wrong man, Dad!"
"Will you follow me, sir?"
"Well, if you'll have it so--damned if I won't!" cried Captain Plum. He
felt that he had relieved his conscience, anyway. If things should
develop badly for him during the next few hours no one could say that he
had lied. So he followed light-heartedly after the old man, his eyes and
ears alert, and his right hand, by force of habit, reaching under his
coat to the butt of his pistol. His guide said not another word until
they had traveled for half an hour along a twisting path and stood at
last on the bald summit of a knoll from which they could look down upon
a number of lights twinkling dimly a quarter of a mile away. One of
these lights gleamed above all the others, like a beacon set among
fireflies.
"That's St. James," said the old man. His voice had changed. It was low
and soft, as though he feared to speak above a whisper.
"St. James!"
The young man at his side gazed down silently upon the scattered lights,
his heart throbbing in a sudden tumult of excitement. He had set out
that day with the idea of resting his eyes on St. James. In its silent
mystery the town now lay at his feet.
"And that light--" spoke the old man. He pointed a trembling arm toward
the glare that shone more powerfully than the others. "That light marks
the sacred home of the king!" His voice had again changed. A metallic
hardness came into it, his words were vibrant with a strange excitement
which he strove hard to conceal. It was still light enough for Captain
Plum to see that the old man's black, beady eyes were startlingly alive
with newly aroused emotion.
"You mean--"
"Strang!"
He started rapidly down the knoll and there floated back to Captain Plum
the soft notes of his meaningless chuckle. A dozen rods farther on his
mysterious guide turned into a by-path which led them to another knoll,
capped by a good-sized building made of logs. There sounded the grating
of a key in a lock, the shooting of a bolt, and a door opened to admit
them.
"You will pardon me if I don't light up," apologized the old man as he
led the way in. "A candle will be sufficient. You know there must be
privacy in these matters--always. Eh? Isn't that so?"
Captain Plum followed without reply. He guessed that the cabin was made
up of one large room, and that at the present time, at least, it
possessed no other occupant than the singular creature who had guided
him to it.
"It is just as well, on this particular night, that no light is seen at
the window," continued the old man as he rummaged about a table for a
match and a candle. "I have a little corner back here that a candle will
brighten up nicely and no one in the world will know it. Ho, ho,
ho!--how nice it is to have a quiet little corner sometimes! Eh, Captain
Plum?"
At the sound of his name Captain Plum started as though an unexpected
hand had suddenly been laid upon him. So he _was_ expected, after all,
and his name was known! For a moment his surprise robbed him of the
power of speech. The little old man had lighted his candle, and,
grinning back over his shoulder, passed through a narrow cut in the
wall that could hardly be called a door and planted his light on a table
that stood in the center of a small room, or closet, not more than five
feet square. Then he coolly pulled Captain Plum's old letter from his
pocket and smoothed it out in the dim light.
"Be seated, Captain Plum; right over there--opposite me. So!"
He continued for a moment to smooth out the creases in the letter and
then proceeded to read it with as much assurance as though its owner
were a thousand miles away instead of within arm's reach of him. Captain
Plum was dumfounded. He felt the hot blood rushing to his face and his
first impulse was to recover the crumpled paper and demand something
more than an explanation. In the next instant it occurred to him that
this action would probably spoil whatever possibilities his night's
adventure might have for him. So he held his peace. The old man was so
intent in his perusal of the letter that the end of his hooked nose
almost scraped the table. He went over the dim, partly obliterated words
line by line, chuckling now and then, and apparently utterly oblivious
of the other's presence. When he had come to the end he looked up, his
eyes glittering with unbounded satisfaction, carefully folded the
letter, and handed it to Captain Plum.
"That's the best introduction in the world, Captain Plum--the very best!
Ho, ho!--it couldn't be better. I'm glad I found it." He chuckled
gleefully, and rested his ogreish head in the palms of his skeleton-like
hands, his elbows on the table. "So you're going back home--soon?"
"I haven't made up my mind yet, Dad," responded Captain Plum, pulling
out his pipe and tobacco. "You've read the letter pretty carefully, I
guess. What would you do?"
"Vermont?" questioned the old man shortly.
"That's it."
"Well, I'd go, and very soon, Captain Plum, _very_ soon, indeed. Yes,
I'd hurry!" The old man jumped up with the quickness of a cat. So sudden
was his movement that it startled Captain Plum, and he dropped his
tobacco pouch. By the time he had recovered this article his strange
companion was back in his seat again holding a leather bag in his hand.
Quickly he untied the knot at its top and poured a torrent of glittering
gold pieces out upon the table.
"Business--business and gold," he gurgled happily, rubbing his thin
hands and twisting his fingers until they cracked. "A pretty sight, eh,
Captain Plum? Now, to our account! A hundred carbines, eh? And a
thousand of powder and a ton of balls. Or is it in lead? It doesn't make
any difference--not a bit. It's three thousand, that's the account, eh?"
He fell to counting rapidly.
For a full minute Captain Plum remained in stupefied bewilderment,
silenced by the sudden and unexpected turn his adventure had taken.
Fascinated, he watched the skeleton fingers as they clinked the gold
pieces. What was the mysterious plot into which he had allowed himself
to be drawn? Why were a hundred guns and a ton and a half of powder and
balls wanted by the Mormons of Beaver Island? Instinctively he reached
out and closed his hand over the counting fingers of the old man. Their
eyes met. And there was a shrewd, half-understanding gleam in the black
orbs that fixed Captain Plum in an unflinching challenge. For a little
space there was silence. It was Captain Plum who broke it.
"Dad, I'm going to tell you for the third and last time that you've made
a mistake. I've got eight of the best rifles in America aboard my sloop
out there. But there's a man for every gun. And I've got something
hidden away underdeck that would blow up St. James in half an hour. And
there is powder and ball for the whole outfit. But that's all. I'll sell
you what I've got--for a good price. Beyond that you've got the wrong
man!"
He settled back and blew a volume of smoke from his pipe. For another
half minute the old man continued to look at him, his eyes twinkling,
and then he fell to counting again.
Captain Plum was not given over to the habit of cursing. But now he
jumped to his feet with an oath that jarred the table. The old man
chuckled. The gold pieces clinked between his fingers. Coolly he shoved
two glittering piles alongside the candle-stick, tumbled the rest back
into the leather bag, deliberately tied the end, and smiled up into the
face of the exasperated captain.
"To be sure you're not the man," he said, nodding his head until his
elf-locks danced around his face. "Of course you're not the man. I know
it--ho, ho! you can wager that I know it! A little ruse of mine, Captain
Plum. Pardonable--excusable, eh? I wanted to know if you were a liar. I
wanted to see if you were honest."
[Illustration: Captain Plum]
With a gasp of astonishment Captain Plum sank back into the chair. His
jaw dropped and his pipe was held fireless in his hand.
"The devil you say!"
"Oh, certainly, certainly, if you wish it," chuckled the little man, in
high humor. "I would have visited your sloop to-day, Captain Plum, if
you hadn't come ashore so opportunely this morning. Ho, ho, ho! a good
joke, eh? A mighty good joke!"
Captain Plum regained his composure by relighting his pipe. He heard the
chink of gold pieces and when he looked again the two piles of money
were close to the edge of his side of the table.
"That's for you, Captain Plum. There's just a thousand dollars in those
two piles." There was tense earnestness now in the old man's face and
voice. "I've imposed on you," he continued, speaking as one who had
suddenly thrown off a disguise. "If it had been any other man it would
have been the same. I want help. I want an honest man. I want a man whom
I can trust. I will give you a thousand dollars if you will take a
package back to your vessel with you and will promise to deliver it as
quickly as you can."
"I'll do it!" cried Captain Plum. He jumped to his feet and held out his
hand. But the old man slipped from his chair and darted swiftly out into
the blackness of the adjoining room. As he came back Captain Plum could
hear his insane chuckling.
"Business--business--business--" he gurgled. "Eh, Captain Plum? Did you
ever take an oath?" He tossed a book on the table. It was the Bible.
Captain Plum understood. He reached for the book and held it under his
left hand. His right he lifted above his head, while a smile played
about his lips.
"I suppose you want to place me under oath to deliver that package," he
said.
The old man nodded. His eyes gleamed with a feverish glare. A sudden
hectic flush had gathered in his death-like cheeks. He trembled. His
voice rose barely above a whisper.
"Repeat," he commanded. "I, Captain Nathaniel Plum, do solemnly swear
before God--"
A thrilling inspiration shot into Captain Plum's brain.
"Hold!" he cried. He lowered his hand. With something that was almost a
snarl the old man sprang back, his hands clenched. "I will take this
oath upon one other consideration," continued Captain Plum. "I came to
Beaver Island to see something of the life and something of the people
of St. James. If you, in turn, will swear to show me as much as you can
to-night I will take the oath."
The old man was beside the table again in an instant.
"I will show it to you--all--all--" he exclaimed excitedly. "I will show
it to you--yes, and swear to it upon the body of Christ!"
Captain Plum lifted his hand again and word by word repeated the oath.
When it was done the other took his place.
"Your name?" asked Captain Plum.
A change scarcely perceptible swept over the old man's face.
"Obadiah Price."
"But you are a Mormon. You have the Bible there?"
Again the old man disappeared into the adjoining room. When he returned
he placed two books side by side and stood them on edge so that he might
clasp both between his bony fingers. One was the Bible, the other the
Book of the Mormons. In a cracked, excited voice he repeated the
strenuous oath improvised by Captain Plum.
"Now," said Captain Plum, distributing the gold pieces among his
pockets, "I'll take that package."
This time the old man was gone for several minutes. When he returned he
placed a small package tightly bound and sealed into his companion's
hand.
"More precious than your life, more priceless than gold," he whispered
tensely, "yet worthless to all but the one to whom it is to be
delivered."
There were no marks on the package.
"And who is that?" asked Captain Plum.
The old man came so close that his breath fell hot upon the young man's
cheek. He lifted a hand as though to ward sound from the very walls that
closed them in.
"Franklin Pierce, President of the United States of America!"