SWORDS AND SHIPS
Having succeeded in establishing himself in the society and
confidence of the more substantial men of the village, and having
discomfited completely those few--among whom remained the
blacksmith--who had treated him shabbily in the first weeks of his
return and had continued ever since to regard him with suspicion,
Cornelius Gleazen began now to extend his campaign to other
quarters, and to curry favor among those whose good-will, so far as
I could see, was really of little weight one way or another. He now
cast off something of his arrogant, disdainful air, and won the
hearts of the children by strange knickknacks and scrimshaws, which
he would produce, sometimes from his pockets, and sometimes, by
delectable sleight of hand, from the very air itself. Before long
half the homes in the village boasted whale's teeth on which were
wrought pictures of whales and ships and savages, or chips of ivory
carved into odd little idols, and every one of them, you would find,
if you took the trouble to ask, came from the old chests that Neil
Gleazen kept under the bed in his room at the tavern, where now he
was regarded as the prince of guests.
To those who were a little older he gave more elaborate trinkets of
ivory and of dark, strange woods; and the report grew, and found
ready belief, that he had prospered greatly in trade before he
decided to retire, and that he had brought home a fortune with which
to settle down in the old town; for the toys that he gave away so
freely were worth, we judged, no inconsiderable sum. But to the
lads in their early twenties, of whom I was one, he endeared himself
perhaps most of all when, one fine afternoon, smoking one of his
long cigars and wearing his beaver tilted forward at just such an
angle, he came down the road with a great awkward bundle under his
arm, and disclosed on the porch of my uncle's store half a dozen
foils and a pair of masks.
He smiled when all the young fellows in sight and hearing gathered
round him eagerly, and called one another to come and see, and
picked up the foils and passed at one another awkwardly. There was
an odd satisfaction in his smile, as if he had gained something
worth the having. What a man of his apparent means could care for
our good-will, I could not have said if anyone had asked me, and at
the time I did not think to wonder about it. But his air of triumph,
when I later had occasion to recall it to mind, convinced me that
for our good-will he did care, and that he was manoeuvring to win
and hold it.
It was interesting to mark how the different ones took his
playthings. Sim Muzzy cried out in wonder and earnestly asked, "Are
those what men kill themselves with in duels? Pray how do they stick
'em in when the points are blunted?" Arnold Lamont, without a word
or a change of expression, picked up a foil at random and tested the
blade by bending it against the wall. Uncle Seth, having satisfied
his curiosity by a glance, cried sharply, "That's all very
interesting, but there's work to be done. Come, come, I pay no one
for gawking out the door."
The lively hum of voices continued, and a number of town boys
remained to examine the weapons; but Arnold, Sim, and I obediently
turned back into the store.
"That's all right, lads," Cornelius Gleazen cried. "Come evening,
I'll show you a few points on using these toys. I'll make a
fencing-master and a good one, I'll have you know, and there are
some among you that have the making of swordsmen. You're one, Joe
Woods, you're one."
I was pleased to be singled out, and went to my work with a will,
thinking meanwhile of the promised lessons. It never occurred to me
that Cornelius Gleazen could have had a motive that did not appear
on the surface for so choosing my name from all the rest.
That evening, true to his promise, he took us in hand on the village
green, with four fifths of the village standing by to watch, and
gave us lessons in thrusting and parrying and stepping swiftly
forward and backward. We were an awkward company of recruits, and
for our pains we got only hearty laughter from the onlookers; but
the new sport captured our imagination, and realizing that, once
upon a time, even Cornelius Gleazen himself had been a tyro, we
zealously worked to learn what we could, and in our idle moments we
watched with frank admiration the grand flourishes and great leaps
and stamps of which Gleazen was master.
The diamond on the finger of his gracefully curved left hand flashed
as he sprang about, and his ruffled shirt, damped by his unwonted
exercise, clung close to his big shoulders and well-formed back.
Surely, we thought, few could equal his surprising agility; the
great voice in which he roared his suggestions and commands
increased our confidence in his knowledge of swordsmanship.
When, after my second turn at his instruction, I came away with my
arms aching from the unaccustomed exertion and saw that Arnold
Lamont was watching us and covertly smiling, I flamed red and all
but lost my temper. Why should he laugh at _me_, I thought. Surely I
was no clumsier than the others. Indeed, he who thought himself so
smart probably could not do half so well. Had not Mr. Gleazen
praised me most of all? In my anger at Arnold's secret amusement, I
avoided him that evening and for several days to come.
It was on Saturday night, when we were closing the store for the
week, that quite another subject led me back to my resentment in
such a way that we had the matter out between us; and as all that we
had to say is more or less intimately connected with my story I will
set it down word for word.
A young woman in a great quilted bonnet of the kind that we used to
call calash, and a dress that she no doubt thought very fetching,
came mincing into the store and ordered this thing and that in a way
that kept me attending closely to her desires. When she had gone
mincing out again, I turned so impatiently to put the counter to
rights, that Arnold softly chuckled.
"Apparently," said he, with a quiet smile, "the lady did not impress
you quite as she desired, Joe."
"Impress me!" I snorted, ungallantly imitating her mincing manner.
"She impressed me as much as any of them."
"You must have patience, Joe. Some day there will come a lady--"
"No, no!" I cried, with the cocksure assertiveness of my years.
"But yes!"
"Not I! No, no, Arnold--, 'needles and pins, needles and pins'--"
"When a man marries his trouble begins?" Sadness now shadowed
Arnold's expressive face. "No! Proverbs sometimes are pernicious."
"You are laughing at me!"
I had detected, through the veil of melancholy that seemed to have
fallen over him, a faint ray of something akin to humor.
"I am not laughing at you, Joe." His voice was sad. "You will marry
some day--marry and settle down. It is good to do so. I--"
There was something in his stopping that made me look at him in
wonder. Immediately he was himself again, calm, wise, taciturn; but
in spite of my youth I instinctively felt that only by suffering
could a man win his way to such kindly, quiet dignity.
I had said that I would not marry: no wonder, I have since thought,
that Arnold looked at me with that gentle humor. Never dreaming that
in only a few short months a new name and a new face were to fill my
mind and my heart with a world of new anxieties and sorrows and
joys, never dreaming of the strange and distant adventures through
which Arnold and I were to pass,--if a fortune-teller had foretold
the story, I should have laughed it to scorn,--I was only angry at
his amused smile. Perhaps I had expected him to argue with me, to
try to correct my notions. In any case, when he so kindly and yet
keenly appraised at its true worth my boyish pose, I was sobered for
a moment by the sadness that he himself had revealed; then I all but
flew into a temper.
"Oh, very well! Go on and laugh at me. You were laughing at me the
other night when I was fencing, too. I saw you. I'd like to see you
do better yourself. Go on and laugh, you who are so wise."
Arnold's smile vanished. "I am not laughing at you, Joe. Nor was I
laughing at you then."
"You were not laughing at me?"
"No."
"At whom, then, were you laughing?"
To this Arnold did not reply.
The fencing lessons, begun so auspiciously that first evening,
became a regular event. Every night we gathered on the green and
fenced together until twilight had all but settled into dark. Little
by little we learned such tricks of attack and defense as our master
could teach us, until we, too, could stamp and leap, and parry with
whistling circles of the blade. And as we did so, we young fellows
of the village came more and more to look upon Cornelius Gleazen
almost as one of us.
Though his coming had aroused suspicion, though for many weeks there
were few who would say a good word for him, as the summer wore away,
he established himself so firmly in the life of his native town that
people began to forget, as far as anyone could see, that he had ever
had occasion to leave it in great haste.
If he praised my fencing and gave me more time than the others, I
thought it no more than my due--was I not a young man of great
prospects? If Uncle Seth had at first regarded him with suspicion,
Uncle Seth, too, had quite returned now to his old abrupt, masterful
way and was again as sharp and quick of tongue as ever, even when
Neil Gleazen was sitting in Uncle Seth's own chair and at his own
desk. Perhaps, had we been keener, we should have suspected that
something was wrong, simply because _no one_--except a few stupid
persons like the blacksmith--had a word to say against Neil Gleazen.
You would at least have expected his old cronies to resent his
leaving them for more respectable company. But not even from them
did there come a whisper of suspicion or complaint.
Why should not a man come home to his native place to enjoy the
prosperity of his later years? we argued. It was the most natural
thing in the world; and when Cornelius Gleazen talked of foreign
wars and the state of the country and the deaths of Mr. Adams and
Mr. Jefferson, and of the duel between Mr. Clay and Mr. Randolph,
the most intelligent of us listened with respect, and found occasion
in his shrewd observations and trenchant comment to rejoice that
Topham had so able a son to return to her in the full power of his
maturity.
There was even talk of sending him to Congress, and that it was not
idle gossip I know because three politicians from Boston came to
town and conferred with our selectmen and Judge Bordman over their
wine at the inn for a long evening; and Peter Nuttles, whose sister
waited on them, spread the story to the ends of the county.
Late one night, when Uncle Seth and I were about to set out for
home, leaving Arnold and Sim to lock up the store, we parted with
Gleazen on the porch, he stalking off to the right in the moonlight
and swinging his cane as he went, we turning our backs on the
village and the bright windows of the tavern, and stepping smartly
toward our own dark house, in which the one lighted lamp shone from
the window of the room that Mrs. Jameson, our housekeeper, occupied.
"He's a man of judgment," Uncle Seth said, as if meditating aloud,
"rare judgment and a wonderful knowledge of the world."
He seemed to expect no reply, and I made none.
"He was venturesome to rashness as a boy," Uncle Seth presently
continued. "All that seems to have changed now."
We walked along through the dust. The weeds beside the road and the
branches of the trees and shrubs were damp with dew.
"As a boy," Uncle Seth said at last, "I should never have thought of
going to Neil Gleazen for judgment--aye, or for knowledge." And when
we stood on the porch in the moonlight and looked back at the
village, where all the houses were dark now except for a lamp here
and there that continued to burn far into the night, he added, "How
would you like to leave all this, Joe, and wrestle a fall with
fortune for big stakes--aye, for rich stakes, with everything in our
favor to win?"
At something in his voice I turned on my heel, my heart leaping, and
stared hard at him.
As if he suddenly realized that he had been saying things he ought
not to say, he gave himself a quick shake, and woke from his
meditations with a start. "We must away to bed," he cried sharply.
"It's close on midnight."
Here was a matter for speculation. For an hour that afternoon and
for another hour that evening Uncle Seth and Neil Gleazen had sat
behind my uncle's desk, with their chairs drawn close together and
the beaver laid on the cracker-box, and had scribbled endless
columns of figures and mysterious notes on sheet after sheet of
foolscap. What, I wondered, did it mean?
At noon next day, as I was waiting on customers in the front of the
store, I saw a rider with full saddlebags pass, on a great black
horse, and shortly afterwards I heard one of the customers remark
that the horse was standing at the inn. Glancing out of the window,
I saw that the rider had dismounted and was talking with Cornelius
Gleazen; though the distance was considerable, Gleazen's bearing and
the forward tilt of his beaver were unmistakable. When next I passed
the window, I saw that Gleazen was posting down the road toward the
store, with his beaver tipped even farther over his right eye, his
cane swinging, and a bundle under his arm.
As I bowed the customers out, Gleazen entered the store, brushing
past me with a nod, and loudly called, "Seth Upham! Seth Upham!
Where are you?"
"Here I am. What's wanted?" my uncle testily retorted, as he
emerged from a bin into which he had thrust his head and shoulders
in his efforts to fill a peck measure.
"Come, come," cried Gleazen in his great, gruff voice. "Here's
news!"
"News," returned my uncle, sharply; "news is no reason to scare a
man out of a year's growth."
Neil Gleazen laughed loudly and gave my uncle a resounding slap on
the back that made him writhe. "News, Seth, news is the key to
fortune. Come, man, come, lay by your pettifogging. Here's papers
just in by the post. You ain't going to let 'em lie no more than I
am."
To my amazement,--I could never get used to it,--my uncle's
resentment seemed to go like mist before the sun, and he said not a
word against the boisterous roughness of the friend of his youth,
although I almost believe that, if anyone else had dared to treat
him so, he would have grained the man with a hayfork. Instead, he
wiped his hands on his coarse apron and followed Gleazen to the
desk, where they sat down in the two chairs that now were always
behind it.
For a time they talked in voices so low that I heard nothing of
their conversation; but after a while, as they became more and more
absorbed in their business, their voices rose, and I perceived that
Gleazen was reading aloud from the papers some advertisements in
which he seemed especially interested.
"Here's this," he would cry. "Listen to this. If this ain't a good
one, I'll miss my guess. 'Executor's sale, Ship Congress: on
Saturday the 15th, at twelve o'clock, at the wharf of the late
William Gray, Lynn Street, will be sold at public auction the ship
Congress, built at Mattapoisett near New Bedford in the year 1823
and designed for the whale fishery. Measures 349 tons, is copper
fastened and was copper sheathed over felt in London on the first
voyage, and is in every respect a first-rate vessel. She has two
suits of sails, chain and hemp cables, and is well found in the
usual appurtenances. By order of the executors of the late William
Gray, Whitewell, Bond and Company, Auctioneers.' There, Seth,
there's a vessel for you, I'll warrant you."
My uncle murmured something that I could not hear; then Gleazen
tipped his beaver back on his head--for once he had neglected to set
it on the cracker-box--and hoarsely laughed. "Well, I'll be shot!"
he roared. "How's a man to better himself, if he's so confounded
cautious? Well, then, how's this: 'Marshal's Sale. United States of
America, District of Massachusetts, Boston, August 31, 1826.
Pursuant to a warrant from the Honorable John Davis, Judge of the
District Court for the District aforesaid, I hereby give public
notice that I shall sell at public auction on Wednesday the 8th day
of September, at 12 o'clock noon, at Long Wharf, the schooner
Caroline and Clara, libelled for wages by William Shipley, and the
money arising from the sale to be paid into court. Samuel D. Hains,
Marshal.' That'll come cheap, if cheap you'll have. But mark what I
tell you, Seth, that what comes cheap, goes cheap. There's no good
in it. It ain't as if you hadn't the money. The plan's mine, and I
tell you, it's a good one, with three merry men waiting for us over
yonder. Half's for you, a whole half, mind you; and half's to be
divided amongst the rest of us. It don't pay to try to do things
cheap. What with gear carried away and goods damaged, it don't pay."
Uncle Seth was marking lines on the margin of the newspaper before
them.
"I wonder," he began, "how much--"
Then they talked in undertones, and I heard nothing more.