THE CHRONICLES OF BREAK O'DAY
BY
E. EVERETT HOWE
BOSTON
ARENA PUBLISHING COMPANY
Copley Square
1894
Copyrighted 1893
BY
E. EVERETT HOWE
All rights reserved.
Arena Press.
DEDICATION.
My readers who are familiar with the traditions preserved in this
history know one woman who is beloved by rich and poor, a comforter
of the afflicted, a friend of the friendless, a mother of the
motherless, in prosperity without arrogance, in sorrow without
complaint. To Mrs. Fidelia Gibbins, whose character suggested the
Mrs. Boyle of my story, this volume is respectfully dedicated.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. A Rural Philosopher
II. The New Jerusalem
III. A Glimpse of Farm Service
IV. A Cirrus becomes a Nimbus
V. Ramoth Gilead Predicted
VI. The Guerrero Mining Company
VII. Montcalm takes a Night's Ramble
VIII. Pursuing the Depredators
IX. How the Affair Ended
X. Two Kinds of Bud Blossom
XI. The Root of an Evil
XII. The Well with a Barrel Curb
XIII. A Daniel come to Judgment
XIV. Montcalm finds Dante inaccurate
XV. Ivanhoe Criticised by a Master
XVI. Mrs. Boyle's House
XVII. What Happened in the Swamp
XVIII. Break O'Day
XIX. The Village has a Sensation
XX. A Good Samaritan
XXI. Controversy and Reminiscence
XXII. Action is Equal to Reaction
XXIII. One Hour of Bliss
XXIV. A Beethoven and a Gibbon in one
XXV. Durgenson Demands his Money
XXVI. Ramoth Gilead
XXVII. Ruin
XXVIII. John hears an Account of his Adventure
XXIX. Among the Invalids
XXX. The Beginning of Mystery
XXXI. Awakening
XXXII. Liber Sextus
XXXIII. The House Divided against Itself
XXXIV. Verdure rising from the Ashes
XXXV. Stray Locals
XXXVI. In the Orchard Again
CHAPTER I.
A RURAL PHILOSOPHER.
For a territory containing no high mountain system, Michigan has a
varied geography. In contrast to the sterile hills and grand,
pictured rocks of the northern peninsula, the productive farms in the
southern part of the state form an area of fertility unbroken save by
a few patches of sand and some irregular strips of swamp. The largest
and most remarkable of these swamps passes from north to south
through Ingham and Jackson counties, extending beyond the borders of
Shiawassee and Lenawee.
This marshy territory is covered by a motley growth of willows,
huckleberries, spruce, tamaracks and a few pines, in places so thin
as to afford no inconvenience to a footman, in other places so thick
as to be almost inaccessible. Horse-thieves, escaped convicts, and
deserters from the army, have successively sought its seclusion; and
never has the asylum betrayed the confidence of one who trusted in
its hospitality.
On the western side of the swampy belt lay a farm, which, according
to the census of 1870, shared, with but four others in the State, the
distinction of containing one thousand acres.
The owner of this piece of property for many years was Major Ratke,
an officer of the Mexican war. He was ambitious of acquiring
distinction as a philosopher, both in his neighborhood and throughout
the world. He was especially desirous of becoming famous as a great
inventor, and to this end he had constructed a large quantity of
strange machinery. In his inventions he aimed at novelty, and so well
did he succeed in this respect that even his bitterest enemies never
accused him of a lack of originality.
One March morning in 187--, the major was in the sitting-room of his
gothic house working at an abstruse problem in mathematical
philosophy, of which he was excessively fond. It was hard, however,
for him to give it his undivided attention. Troubles had been
gathering about his domain. A mortgage on his estate had been
foreclosed, and his hired help, never famed for efficient service,
now shirked duty with even more than their usual faithlessness. His
widowed sister, Mrs. Grippin, a more acute and vigilant overseer than
he, had from the chamber window repeatedly viewed through a telescope
the delinquency of two men who were cutting wood on a back lot. Her
vehement arraignment did not induce the major to take action upon the
matter, till an event occurred which he considered an insult to his
dignity as a master. He had sent them to the woods with an ax and an
invention of his own, which he termed a "one-man saw," but which his
men called, from the labor of running it, the "six-man saw."
Next to the "one-man saw" the ax was the tool most shunned about the
farm. Accordingly, as soon as they thought themselves out of sight,
the indignant laborers took a half-day's vacation to get some tobacco
at the village of Break o'Day, which circumstance procured their
immediate discharge.
The major had thought it an easy thing to supply their places. His
surmise, however, was incorrect. Of the first three visitors who
called at his residence after he put up the sign, "Wanted, two hired
men," one was a lightning-rod man, one was a book agent, and the
other a tramp, who hired out before breakfast, and after the meal
declared that it was cold weather to work and that he would come
around to begin when it got warmer.
Notwithstanding the foreclosure of the mortgage the major was
planning sundry improvements on his place. A hill and a quagmire
opposite to the house were eyesores to his vanity, and he determined
to transfer the superfluous gravel of the one to the boggy surface of
the other. His first step was nicely to calculate the expense of the
undertaking, the only prudence of which he was capable, for expense
never stood in the way of his projects. When he had finished a survey
of the hill, he applied his mathematics to ascertain its cubical
contents, using a confusion of geometrical and surveying terms to
which Mrs. Grippin, though protesting, was obliged to listen.
But, as he proceeded in his work, he determined to originate a new
method for ascertaining the dimensions of solid bodies; and his
inventive instinct prevailed to such an extent that it became greater
than his desire to improve his farm.
He declared that he would invent a system of mathematics which should
be the basis of calculation for succeeding ages. He formed a small
earthen mound to represent as nearly as possible the shape of the
hill. He determined to ascertain the weight of the hill by the rule,
"Similar bodies are to each other as the cubes of their like
dimensions."
As he was giving the miniature mountain a final pat to impart
additional depth to a depression on its side, his sister interrupted
his study.
"James, there's a man coming."
"Strong hand, is he?" asked the major, drawing his finger carefully
down the mound.
"Go and look for yourself," retorted Mrs. Grippin tartly. "I ain't
going to wait on you and let you fool with that pile of dirt."
"He is as faithful as the day is long," said the major, going to the
window. "I can tell by his gait. See how steadily he walks. He would
work at a good jog chopping and keep it up all day. He would cut, let
me see, a quarter of a cord an hour. Eight hours a day. That would be
two cords."
"I'll bet he's the biggest shirk in four counties," commented Mrs.
Grippin sarcastically. "Anybody can tell all about a man by taking
him for just the opposite of what you say he is."
Two nieces of Mrs. Grippin and the major now entered from the parlor.
The one in advance, Nora Warfle, was fair and vivacious, with eyes
over which solemnity rarely drew a curtain thick enough to hide the
merriment slumbering within.
She was ever on the alert for the ridiculous and the mirthful, and in
her efforts at diversion she was not always scrupulous about wounding
the feelings of others.
Her companion, Marion Ratke, who resided permanently at the farm, was
a true representative of her father's family. Her height was medium,
her form symmetrical, and her hair dark brown. She was somewhat
handsome, though she was too intelligent to be really a beauty.
"Here comes a peddler, Manie," whispered Miss Warfle excitedly.
"Let's buy something of him and beat him down on everything he
sells."
The man had drawn an attention altogether out of proportion to the
impressiveness of his personal appearance. A common observer would at
once have decided that he had long followed the occupation of
peddling. He was of ordinary size and wore ordinary clothes. Strapped
together and hanging, one before his breast and one over his back,
were two large satchels. They seemed to have crowded down his neck
and pushed out his chin until his shoulders were rounded almost to
deformity.
The first characteristic act which he performed after passing through
the door was to anticipate the offer of a chair by placing himself in
one by the fire, as if he had done the same thing in the same place a
thousand times before.
"I suppose you've heard the news?" he said, with the air of one who
holds a secret and who feels his power.
"I have heard a great many items of news this winter," answered the
major.
"Yes, but the news--the late news. You ain't heard about the
horse-thieves?"
"Horse-thieves?" echoed Miss Warfle. "Are they around again? Uncle
James, you want to lock your barn or they'll be stealing Taylor."
"Yes," continued the man, "they've been at it again. This time they
called on, what's his name?--this man that raises horses over here.
Queer I can't think."
"Sparks," suggested the major. "Lyman Sparks has the best horses of
any man in Jefferson township."
"No, that ain't his name," answered the man, "it's Holmes. That's it,
Holmes."
"Oh," said the major. "The best horse Holmes has will not bring more
than $300. Sparks has one for which he has been offered $600--Madge
T., a very good blooded animal. He thinks she can outstep my Taylor.
He did pass me once, but he would not if Taylor had hung to the
trot."
"No wonder he breaks up," put in his sister, "the way you train him.
Do you know how he does, Nora? He trains his team to run. He'll make
them stand stock still still he yells 'Charge,' and if they don't
jump the first thing, he thrashes them. Then the next day he'll take
Taylor out to trot."
"Mrs. Grippin!" said the major, his voice sounding an octave below
his usual speaking key.
"Maybe you can get this gentleman to work, Uncle James," said Miss
Ratke, wishing to put an end to the unpleasant controversy.
"Well now, like enough," answered the major. "Do you want a job?"
"I've got one now," said the man, drawing a bottle from one of his
satchels.
"I'm going to do humanity all the good I can, sir, all the good I
can. I am agent for the Great American Panacea. This medicine is
compounded of pine, hemlock, tamarack, cedar and spruce, besides
sovereign roots and herbs known to the medical fraternity. It cures
cuts, bruises, sprains, wounds, incisions, hurts, proud flesh--"
"What did you say your panicky is made of?" interrupted the
fair-haired Miss Warfle.
"Panacea, Miss, panacea," corrected the peddler. "It cures cuts,
bruises, sprains, wounds, incisions and all injuries to the flesh. It
is also a sovereign remedy for asthma, bronchitis, tonsilitis,
laryngitis and all throat diseases, besides being an excellent tonic
for consumption, dyspepsia----"
"What is your panicky worth a bottle?" innocently asked Miss Warfle.
"Panacea, Miss, panacea," again corrected the medicine man. "Panicky
is in a battle where the men get in a tight place with the rebels
coming right onto 'em so they have to run, you know. Then when they
get whipped and can't fight any more, they have what they call a
panic, you know, or, as you might say, they get panicky. But this is
a different thing altogether. Better take a bottle. Mister. It is a
sovereign remedy for asthma, bronchitis, tonsilitis, laryngitis----"
"I would like a good liniment for bruises," said the major, "but it
is impossible for one remedy to cure so many diseases. If it is
prepared for everything, it is pretty sure to cure nothing."
"I ain't so sure about the consumption and the throat diseases," said
the agent reflectively. "I thought it would be good for them on
account of its healing properties, but it's sure business for
bruises."
"Have you a good salve?" asked the major.
"That's just what I've got," responded the man with alacrity,
"Derrick's Dough of Life." "There's Bill Higgins had a colt that got
his leg cut on a scythe. Laid it right open so the hide was left in
flaps. Bill says to me, 'Say, Dabney, what'll cure that cut?' and
says I, 'I've got the very thing for that.' Well, he put on the Dough
of Life. In two weeks the colt was capering round to beat all. He got
into the corn, knocked over a fence, chased the cattle and sheep, and
killed two lambs and kicked the hired man on the leg. And I don't
know what the hired man would have done if it hadn't been for the
panacea."
When the agent had sold a box of the salve he moved toward the
back-door and said, "I guess I'll go down and try your men. Maybe
some of them'll want to buy."
"You better wait till noon," said Mrs. Grippin. "Then the men won't
have to stop work."
"They never mind that," said the agent. "They was always real good
about stopping whenever I come around."
"Of course they'd be willing to stop and gab with him," commented
Mrs. Grippin, looking after the retreating agent. "James Ratke, if
you had the gumption of a man, you'd kick such loafers off the farm
when they come palavering round with an excuse for your lazy hired
men to stop work."
"How did he know I had so many hired men?" asked the major.
"How did he know?" repeated his sister. "Ain't he been here half a
dozen times before? He comes about every six months, and a nuisance
he is, too. Ain't you heard them tell about old Panicky? You're the
only man in the country that don't know him."
"Oh, yes," said the major, "I do have some recollection of him; but I
was away from home when he made his last two or three visits."
"In the name of mercy," exclaimed Mrs. Grippin, "if there ain't
another lightning-rod man."
The young man coming up the walk might have been twenty-eight. The
preceding speculation concerning his profession seemed correct, for
nothing about him indicated acquaintance with farm labor. His elegant
form, his dark hair and eyes and a heavy brown mustache combined with
an air of easy grace to make him one of those so rarely met with whom
any apparel becomes. Yet, as is usually the case with such
individuals, he bestowed more care on his personal appearance than he
would have bestowed had nature made such attention more necessary.
The stranger with few preliminaries made an application for work. To
this proposal Ratke did not immediately reply. He gave his own name
and requested the young man to do likewise.
"My name is Montcalm," said the stranger, with a smile which at once
won the major's heart.
"Montcalm," exclaimed the major; "that is the name of one of my
comrades in the army."
"My father held the rank of captain in the Mexican war," said
Montcalm. "I am the heir to his given name, which was Traceworth."
Instantly the major was shaking him by the hand. "Is he alive? Is he
well? Where does he live?" were his ejaculations.
"He died fifteen years ago," answered Montcalm, "at his home in
Cortland, New York."
"He was a noble fellow," said the major, "and his sword was one of
the best in the brigade. General Taylor, in his official report, made
special mention of him for bravery in the battle of Resaca de la
Palma. I was by his side during the engagement, and I, like the rest
of the men, noticed his impetuosity, though I had little time to
watch my comrades. It always seemed as if he ought to have been
promoted, but justice is not in every case meted out in this world.
Did you ever hear him speak of me?"
"I have heard him mention his comrades in the army, but I have
forgotten their names," answered Montcalm. "I was young when he
died."
"We first got acquainted in the Black-Hawk war," said the old man.
"He was generally good-natured, but he had a terrible temper and was
very set in his way. I have suspected that that was one thing which
kept him from rising in the service. One night on Wisconsin River,
after we had been chasing Black-Hawk all day, the mosquitos were very
thick. Some of the boys rolled and tumbled and some swore. As I was
exposing first one part of my face and then another, to see if there
was not some place the pests had less relish for, I heard a threshing
so regular that I knew whoever was making it meant to push
hostilities to the last, and when I looked, I saw Trace sitting up
and striking as deliberately as he would plan a compaign. But it was
a wicked vindictiveness, and when the lieutenant laughed at him, he
wanted to fight.
"His set ways came near getting him into trouble once. It was at the
last battle in the Wisconsin territory. The Indians had been beaten
and were swimming across a slough, bucks, pappooses and squaws all
splashing around together. We had orders to fire on them from the
bank.
"Trace told me he thought it was a hard sight, and he would fire, but
he would take care the bullets did not hit anybody. Most of the
Indians were shot down before they got across. One old buck turned
back to help a squaw, probably his own, to get her pappoose to shore.
Trace and I wanted to have that old fellow get clear; but I while we
were congratulating ourselves that he stood a little chance, Ben
Rogers, right close by, drew a careful bead on him. Now, Ben was the
best shot in the regiment, and my heart went down in my boot-heels,
but Trace jostled him just as he fired. Well, Ben was mad. He
threatened to report, and if he had. Trace might have got
court-martialed, but he never did. Trace's jostling did no good,
however. The old buck fell, going over the bluff on the other side.
How long before dinner, Maria?"
"About three-quarters of an hour," answered Mrs. Grippin with
unaccustomed good-nature. "I'll ring the bell when it's time, and I
ought to have a load of wood, James."
"All right," responded the major. "Show Trace his room. I must call
you Trace on your father's account, for it is a luxury to address his
son as I did him. We will make no bargain till after dinner."
After bringing in the wood, Ratke waited a few minutes for Montcalm's
appearance. At the end of that period Montcalm came from the bedroom,
wearing a suit of plain clothes and a pair of stoga boots. Even this
dress did not give him the air of a farmer, which he had evidently
sought to assume. His hands, soft and white, indicated that he was
unacquainted with muscular toil; and his whole aspect and demeanor,
in ways not easily described, pointed to the same conclusion. There
was in his address something which was peculiarly winning, and which
would have fascinated Ratke without the assistance of the veteran's
friendship for his old comrade.
"Why, you have made a farmer of yourself," said the major. "No, you
have only tried to. Well, suppose we look around a little before
dinner. Go to work now? No, sir, not a stroke do you do till one
o'clock;" and, leading the way, the master of the domain passed out
to a survey of the farm; but Mrs. Grippin called him back to take
from her table the pile of dirt intended as the basis of his
mathematical calculations.