Louada Murilla opened the front door when the chief constable knocked,
after an exasperatingly elaborate hitching and blanketing of horses.
She staggered to the door rather than walked. The Cap'n sat with rigid
legs still extended toward the fire.
The three men filed into the room, and remained standing in solemn
row. Mr. Nute, on behalf of the delegation, refused chairs that were
offered by Mrs. Sproul. He had his own ideas as to how a committee
of notification should conduct business. He stood silent and looked
at Louada Murilla steadily and severely until she realized that her
absence was desired.
She tottered out of the room, her terrified eyes held in lingering
thrall by the woe-stricken orbs of the Cap'n.
Constable Nute eyed the door that she closed, waiting a satisfactory
lapse of time, and then cleared his throat and announced:
"I want you to realize, Cap'n Sproul, that me and my feller constables
here has been put in a sort of a hard position. I hope you'll consider
that and govern yourself accordin'. First of all, we're obeyin'
orders from them as has authority. I will say, however, that I have
ideas as to how a thing ought to be handled, and my associates have
agreed to leave the talkin' to me. I want to read you somethin'
first," he said, fumbling at the buttons on his coat, "but that you
may have some notion as to what it all points and be thinkin' it over,
I'll give you a hint. To a man of your understandin', I don't s'pose
I have to say more than 'Cincinnatus,' That one word explains itself
and our errunt."
"I never knowed his last name," mumbled the Cap'n, enigmatically.
"But I s'pose they've got it in the warrant, all right!" He was eying
the hand that was seeking the constable's inside pocket. "I never
was strong on Portygee names. I called him Joe."
Mr. Nute merely stared, without trying to catch the drift of this
indistinct muttering.
While the Cap'n watched him in an agony of impatience and suspense,
he slowly drew out a spectacle-case, settled his glasses upon his
puffy nose, unfolded a sheet of paper on which a dirty newspaper
clipping was pasted, and began to read:
"More than ever before in the history of the United States of America
are loyal citizens called upon to throw themselves into the breach
of municipal affairs, and wrest from the hands of the guilty--"
The ears of Cap'n Sproul, buzzing with his emotions, caught only a
few words, nor grasped any part of the meaning. But the sonorous
"United States of America" chilled his blood, and the word "guilty"
made his teeth chatter.
He felt an imperious need of getting out of that room for a moment--of
getting where he could think for a little while, out from under the
starings of those three solemn men.
"I want to--I want to--" he floundered; "I would like to get on my
shoes and my co't and--and--I'll be right back. I won't try to--I'll
be right back, I say."
Mr. Nute suspended his reading, looked over his spectacles, and gave
the required permission. Perhaps it occurred to his official sense
that a bit more dignified attire would suit the occasion better. A
flicker of gratification shone on his face at the thought that the
Cap'n was so nobly and graciously rising to the spirit of the thing.
"It's come, Louada Murilla--it's come!" gulped Cap'n Sproul, as he
staggered into the kitchen, where his wife cowered in a corner. "He's
readin' a warrant. He's even got the Portygee's name. My Gawd,
they'll hang me! I can't prove northin'."
"Oh, Aaron," sobbed his wife, and continued to moan. "Oh, Aaron--"
with soft, heartbreaking cluckings.
"Once the law of land-piruts gets a bight 'round ye, ye never git
away from it," groaned the Cap'n. "The law sharks is always waitin'
for seafarin' men. There ain't no hope for me."
His wife had no encouragement to offer.
"Murder will out, Aaron," she quaked. "And they've sent three
constables."
"Them other two--be they--?"
"They're constables."
"There ain't no hope. And it shows how desp'rit' they think I be.
It shows they're bound to have me. It's life and death, Louada Murilla.
If I don't git anything but State Prison, it's goin' to kill me, for
I've lived too free and open to be penned up at my time o' life. It
ain't fair--it ain't noways fair!" His voice broke. "It was all a
matter of discipline. But you can't prove it to land-sharks. If they
git me into their clutches I'm a goner."
His pistols hung on the wall where Louada Murilla had suspended them,
draped with the ribbons of peace.
"There's only one thing to do," he whispered, huskily, pointing at
the weapons with quivering finger. "I'll shoot 'em in the legs, jest
to hold 'em up. I'll git to salt water. I know skippers that will
take me aboard, even if they have to stand off the whole United States.
I've got friends, Louada, as soon as I git to tide-water. It won't
hurt 'em in there--a bullet in the leg. And it's life and death for
me. There's foreign countries where they can't take me up. I know
'em, I've been there. And I'll send for you, Louada Murilla. It's
the best I can think of now. It ain't what I should choose, but it's
the best I can think of. I've had short notice. I can't let 'em take
me."
As he talked he seemed to derive some comfort from action. He pulled
on his boots. He wriggled into his coat. From a pewter pitcher high
up on a dresser shelf he secured a fat wallet. But when he rushed
to take down the pistols his wife threw herself into his arms.
"You sha'n't do that, Aaron," she cried. "I'll go to State Prison
with you--I'll go to the ends of the world to meet you. But I couldn't
have those old men shot in our own house. I realize you've got to
get away. But blood will never wash out blood. Take one of their teams.
Run the horse to the railroad-station. It's only four miles, and
you've got a half-hour before the down-train. And I'll lock 'em into
the setting-room, Aaron, and keep 'em as long as I can. And I'll come
to you, Aaron, though I have to follow you clear around the world."
In the last, desperate straits of an emergency, many a woman's wits
ring truer than a man's. When she had kissed him and departed on her
errand to lock the front door he realized that her counsel was good.
He left the pistols on the wall. As he ran into the yard, he got a
glimpse, through the sitting-room window, of the constables standing
in solemn row. Never were innocent members of committee of
notification more blissfully unconscious of what they had escaped.
They were blandly gazing at the Cap'n's curios ranged on mantel and
what-not.
It was a snort from Constable Swanton that gave the alarm. Mr. Nute's
team was spinning away down the road, the wagon-wheels throwing slush
with a sort of fireworks effect. Cap'n Sproul, like most sailors,
was not a skilful driver, but he was an energetic one. The horse was
galloping.
"He's bound for the town house before he's been notified officially,"
stammered Mr. Swanton.
"It ain't regular," said Constable Wade.
Mr. Nute made no remark. He looked puzzled, but he acted promptly.
He found the front door locked and the kitchen door locked. But the
window-catches were on the inside, and he slammed up the nearest sash
and leaped out. The others followed. The pursuit was on as soon as
they could get to their wagons, Mr. Wade riding with the chief
constable.
The town house of Smyrna is on the main road leading to the
railway-station. The constables, topping a hill an eighth of a mile
behind the fugitive, expected to see him turn in at the town house.
But he tore past, his horse still on the run, the wagon swaying wildly
as he turned the corner beyond the Merrithew sugar orchard.
"Well, I swow," grunted Mr. Nute, and licked on.
The usual crowd of horse-swappers was gathered in the town-house yard,
and beheld this tumultuous passage with professional interest. And,
recognizing the first selectman-elect of Smyrna, their interest had
an added flavor.
Next came the two teams containing the constables, lashing past on
the run. They paid no attention to the amazed yells of inquiry from
the horse-swappers, and disappeared behind the sugar orchard.
"You've got me!" said Uncle Silas Drake to the first out-rush of the
curious from the town house. In his amazement, Uncle Silas was still
holding to the patient nose of the horse whose teeth he had been
examining. "They went past like soft-soap slidin' down the suller
stairs, and that's as fur's I'm knowin'. But I want to remark, as
my personal opinion, that a first seeleckman of this town ought to
be 'tendin' to his duties made and pervided, instead of razooin'
hosses up and down in front of this house when town meetin' is goin'
on."
One by one, voters, mumbling their amazement, unhitched their horses
and started along the highway in the direction the fugitives had
taken. It seemed to all that this case required to be investigated.
The procession whipped along briskly and noisily.
Colonel Gideon Ward, returning from the railroad-station, where he
had been to order flat-cars for lumber, heard the distant clamor of
voices, and stood up in his tall cart to listen. At that instant,
around the bend of the road, twenty feet away, came a horse galloping
wildly. Colonel Ward was halted squarely in the middle of the way.
He caught an amazed glimpse of Cap'n Sproul trying to rein to one
side with unskilled hands, and then the wagons met. Colonel Ward's
wagon stood like a rock. The lighter vehicle, locking wheels, went
down with a crash, and Cap'n Sproul shot head-on over the dasher into
his brother-in-law's lap, as he crouched on his seat.
The advantage was with Cap'n Sproul, for the Colonel was underneath.
Furthermore, Cap'n Sproul was thrice armed with the resolution of
a desperate man. Without an instant's hesitation he drew back, hit
Ward a few resounding buffets on either side of his head, and then
tossed the dizzied man out of his wagon into the roadside slush. An
instant later he had the reins, swung the frightened horse across
the gutter and around into the road, and continued his flight in the
direction of the railroad-station.
The constables, leading the pursuing voters by a few lengths, found
Colonel Ward sitting up in the ditch and gaping in utter amazement
and dire wrath at the turn of the road where Cap'n Sproul had swept
out of sight.
The wreck of the wagon halted them.
"I s'pose you've jest seen our first selectman-elect pass this way,
haven't ye?" inquired Mr. Nute, with official conservatism.
The Colonel had not yet regained his powers of speech. He jabbed with
bony finger in the direction of the railroad, and moved his jaws
voicelessly. Mr. Swanton descended from the wagon, helped him out
of the ditch, and began to stroke the slush from his garments with
mittened hand. As he still continued to gasp ineffectually, Mr. Nute
drove on, leaving him standing by the roadside.
Cap'n Sproul was at bay on the station platform, feet braced
defiantly apart, hat on the back of his head, and desperate resolve
flaming from his eyes.
"Don't ye git out of your wagon, Nute," he rasped. "It's been touch
and go once with the three of ye to-day. I could have killed ye like
sheep. Don't git in my way ag'in. Take warnin'! It's life or death,
and a few more don't make much difference to me now."
The chief constable stared at him with bulging eyes.
"I could have killed ye and I didn't," repeated the Cap'n. "Let that
show ye that I'm square till I have to be otherwise. But I'm a
desp'rit' man, Nute. I'm goin' to take that train." He brandished
his fist at a trail of smoke up behind the spruces. "Gawd pity the
man that gits in my way!"
"Somethin' has happened to his mind all of a sudden," whispered Mr.
Wade. "He ought to be took care of till he gits over it. It would
be a pity and a shame to let a prominent man like that git away and
fall into the hands of strangers."
"All of ye take warnin'," bawled the Cap'n to his townsmen, who were
crowding their wagons into the station square.
Constable Zeburee Nute drove his whip into the socket, threw down
his reins, and stood up. The hollow hoot of the locomotive had sounded
up the track.
"Feller citizens," he cried, "as chairman of the committee of
notification, I desire to report that I have 'tended to my duties
in so far as I could to date. But there has things happened that I
can't figger out, and for which I ain't responsible. There ain't no
time now for ifs, buts, or ands. That train is too near. A certain
prominunt citizen that I don't need to name is thinkin' of takin'
that train when he ain't fit to do so. There'll be time to talk it
over afterward."
Cap'n Sproul was backing away to turn the corner of the station.
"I call on all of ye as a posse," bawled Mr. Nute. "Bring along your
halters and don't use no vi'lence."
Samson himself, even though his weapon had been the jaw-bone of a
megatherium, couldn't have resisted that onrush of the willing
populace. In five minutes, the Cap'n, trussed hand and foot, and
crowded in between Constables Nute and Wade, was riding back toward
Smyrna town house, helpless as a veal calf bound for market.
"Now," resumed Mr. Nute, calmly, "now that you're with us, Cap'n,
and seem to be quieted down a little, I'll perceed to execute the
errunt put upon me as chairman of the notification committee."
With Mr. Wade driving slowly, he read the newspaper clipping that
sounded the clarion call that summoned men of probity to public
office, and at the close formally notified Cap'n Sproul that he had
been elected first selectman of Smyrna. He did all this without
enthusiasm, and sighed with official relief when it was over.
"And," he wound up, "it is the sentiment of this town that there ain't
another man in it so well qualified to lead us up out of the valley
of darkness where we've been wallerin'. We have called our
Cincinnatus to his duty."
They had come around a bend of the road and now faced Colonel Ward,
stumping along stolidly through the slush, following the trail of
his team.
"That's the way he ought to be," roared the Colonel. "Rope him up!
Put ox-chains on him. And I'll give a thousand dollars to build an
iron cage for him. You're all crazy and he's your head lunatic."
Mr. Nute, inwardly, during all the time that he had been so calmly
addressing his captive, was tortured with cruel doubts as to the
Cap'n's sanity. But he believed in discharging his duty first. And
he remembered that insane people were more easily prevailed upon by
those who appeared to make no account of their whims.
During it all, Cap'n Sproul had been silent in utter amazement. The
truth had come in a blinding flash that would have unsettled a man
not so well trained to control emotion.
"Drive along," he curtly commanded Nute, paying no heed to the
incensed Colonel's railings. "You look me in the eye," he continued,
as soon as they were out of hearing. "Do you see any signs that I
am out of my head, or that I need these ropes on me?"
"I can't say as I do," admitted the constable, after he had quailed
a bit under the keen, straightforward stare of the ex-mariner's hard,
gray eyes.
"Take 'em off, then," directed the Cap'n, in tones of authority. And
when it was done, he straightened his hat, set back his shoulders,
and said:
"Drive me to the town house where I was bound when that hoss of yours
run away with me." Mr. Nute stared at him wildly, and drove on.
They were nearly to their destination before Constable Nute ventured
upon what his twisted brow and working lips testified he had been
pondering long.
"It ain't that I'm tryin' to pry into your business, Cap'n Sproul,
nor anything of the kind, but, bein' a man that never intended to
do any harm to any one, I can't figger out what grudge you've got
against me. You said on the station platform that--"
"Nute," said the Cap'n, briskly, "as I understand it, you never went
to sea, and you and the folks round here don't understand much about
sailormen, hey?"
The constable shook his head.
"Then don't try to find out much about 'em. You wouldn't understand.
The folks round here wouldn't understand. We have our ways. You have
your ways. Some of the things you do and some of the things you say
could be called names by me, providin' I wanted to be disagreeable
and pick flaws. All men in this world are different--especially
sailormen from them that have always lived inshore. We've got to take
our feller man as we find him."
They were in the town-house yard--a long procession of teams
following.
"And by-the-way, Nute," bawled the Cap'n, from the steps of the
building as he was going in, using his best sea tones so that all
might hear, "it was the fault of your horse that he run away, and
you ought to be prosecuted for leavin' such an animile 'round where
a sailorman that ain't used to hosses could get holt of him. But I'm
always liberal about other folks' faults. Bring in your bill for the
wagon."
Setting his teeth hard, he walked upon the platform of the town-hall,
and faced the voters with such an air of authority and such
self-possession that they cheered him lustily. And then, with an
intrepidity that filled his secret heart with amazement as he talked,
he made the first real speech of his life--a speech of acceptance.
"Yes, s'r, it was a speech, Louada Murilla," he declared that evening,
as he sat again in their sitting-room with his stockinged feet to
the blaze of the Franklin. "I walked that platform like it was a
quarter-deck, and my line of talk run jest as free as a britches-buoy
coil. And when I got done, they was up on the settees howlin' for
me. If any man came back into that town-house thinkin' I was a lunatic
on account of what happened to-day, they got a diff'runt notion
before I got done. Why, they all come 'round and shook my hand, and
said they must have been crazy to tackle a prominunt citizen that
way on the word of old Nute. It must have been a great speech I made.
They all said so."
He relighted his pipe.
"What did you say, Aaron?" eagerly asked his wife. "Repeat it over."
He smoked awhile.
"Louada Murilla," he said, "when I walked onto that platform my heart
was goin' like a donkey-engine workin' a winch, there was a
sixty-mile gale blowin' past my ears, and a fog-bank was front of
my eyes. And when the sun came out ag'in and it cleared off, the
moderator was standin' there shaking my hand and tellin' me what a
speech it was. It was a speech that had to be made. They had to be
bluffed. But as to knowin' a word of what I said, why, I might jest
as well try to tell you what the mermaid said when the feller brought
her stockin's for her birthday present.
"The only thing that I can remember about that speech," he resumed,
after a pause, and she gazed on him hopefully, "is that your brother
Gideon busted into the town house and tried to break up my speech
by tellin' 'em I was a lunatic. I ordered the constables to put him
out."
"Did they?" she asked, with solicitude.
"No," he replied, rubbing his nose, reflectively. "'Fore the
constables got to him, the boys took holt and throwed him out of the
window. I reckon he's come to a realizin' sense by this time that
the town don't want him for selectman."
He rapped out the ashes and put the pipe on the hearth of the Franklin.
"I'm fair about an enemy, Louada Murilla, and I kind of hate to rub
it into Gideon. But now that I'm on this bluff about what happened
to-day, I've got to work it to a finish. I'm goin' to sue Gid for
obstructin' the ro'd and smashin' Nute's wagon, and then jumpin' out
and leavin' me to be run away with. The idea is, there are some fine
touches needed in lyin' out of that part of the scrape, and, as the
first selectman of Smyrna, I can't afford to take chances and depend
on myself, and be showed up. I don't hold any A.B. certificate when
it comes to lyin'. So for them fancy touches, I reckon I'll have to
break my usual rule and hire a lawyer."
He rose and yawned.
"Is the cat put out, Louada?"
And when she had replied in the affirmative, he said:
"Seein' it has been quite a busy day, let's go to bed."