sadness that I bade him farewell a few days later. He was a mellow old
soul, ruled by emotions, and not by reason, drifting aimlessly on a sea
of troubles, totally lost to every consideration except his childish
vanity and the memories of a threadbare chivalry. He easily adjusted his
conscience to any point of view that conformed to his interest, and
suffered keenly from sensitiveness. Fate had thrown him into an
environment with which he could not mingle, and it was perhaps better
that he should go. When all else failed, there was a world in his
imaginative brain in which he could live, and woe to those who have not
these realms of fancy when the shadows come.
When I visited the river the following spring I arranged with my friend
Muskrat Hyatt to provide me with the shelter of his stranded house boat,
and to act as “pusher” and general utility man in my expeditions on the
river and marsh.
“Rat” was always interesting, and I anticipated a delightful two weeks.
One of the first trips we made was down to the Big Marsh, where we
intended to camp for a day or two on a little island that was scarcely
ever visited. It was thirty or forty yards long and half as wide. There
were a few trees, some underbrush and fallen timber on the islet. The
place was deserted, except for a blue heron that winged away in awkward
flight as we approached. There was no reason for stopping there, but a
wayward fancy and a desire to see the vast marsh in its different moods.
After we landed I asked Rat about the Colonel.
“The Colonel’s place was sold under a mortgage last fall, an’ that ol’
maid that swore fer ’im at the trial bid it in, an’ its in her name, an’
now the Colonel’s married the old maid, so there y’are.
“That ol’ feller come down to the store one mornin’ an’ him an’ Tip had
a fight, an’ Tip got licked. The Colonel an’ Seth Mussey had come in a
buggy, an’ they was goin’ on from Tip’s to the county seat to see the
editor of the paper. It was all about that safe blowin’ case, an’ the
Colonel accused Tip of start’n all the talk about ’im. Bill Wirrick an’
me got a rig an’ went to the county seat, fer we thought the Colonel was
goin’ to lick the editor ag’in an’ we wanted to see the fun, but the
editor was out of town. The Colonel went up to see the ol’ maid an’ they
was married the next day. I guess she had some money, fer they took the
cars an’ said they was goin’ down south.
“The Colonel went to the postmaster an’ told ’im to tell the editor,
w’en ’e got home, that if ’e ever put the Colonel’s name in ’is paper
ag’in, er any name that sounded like his, he’d kill ’im, an’ I guess the
editor b’lieved it, fer ’e didn’t mention nothin’ about the wedd’n w’en
’e got back.
“People don’t think the Colonel blowed open that safe after all. He
never flashed no wealth around afterwards, and the way he beat up that
editor fer sayin’ things about ’im, sort a squared ’im up.”
We erected our little tent, and Rat busied himself with collecting fuel.
He attacked a long hollow log with his axe. When it was split open we
found an old gray coat, that had at some time been stuffed into the
decayed interior. We laid the coat out on the ground and Rat extracted a
discolored brass key from one of the pockets, and a wad of hairy
material, that proved to be a set of false chin whiskers. In a damaged
manilla envelope, that we found in an inside pocket, was a certificate
of the honorable discharge of Jasper Montgomery Peets, as a private in
the Confederate Army.
The mildewed relics, with their eloquent though silent story, were
convincing.
“I s’spose ’e thought that gray coat was gitt’n too pop’lar with
possees, an’ ’e concluded to shed it,” remarked Rat. “Say, wasn’t that
feller a peach?”
I agreed that he was.
I sat for a long time on the sloping bank of the islet, and mused over
the soul mates that, like migrating songsters, had winged their way to
the balmy southland when the leaves had fallen, and the skies had become
gray. I thought of Anastasia’s hungry heart, and the precarious resting
place it had found.
The Colonel’s “plot” had certainly been woven to a consistent end; the
“mystehious veiled lady” had glided into its web, and there was a
wedding on the last page.
IX
HIS UNLUCKY STAR
I had stopped on the old bridge in the twilight to look upon the glories
of a dreamy afterglow, and the gnarled tree forms that were etched
against its symphony of color far away down the river. Just above the
bands of purple and orange the evening star was coming out of a sea of
turquoise, and its radiance was creeping into the waters below the
trees. I heard a light foot fall behind me.
“Excuse me, mister, have you got a match?”
I turned and saw an odd looking little man, of perhaps fifty, with a
squirrel skin cap and ginger colored hair and beard, who laid down a
burden contained in a gunny sack, and approached deferentially.
As I produced the match he brought forth a virulent looking pipe that
seemed to consist mostly of solidified nicotine.
“I don’t seem to have no tobacco neither,” he continued ruefully, as he
fumbled in his pockets.
I gave him a cigar, a portion of which he broke up and stuffed into his
pipe. He carefully stowed the remainder in his vest pocket and began to
smoke composedly.
I asked him if he lived in the neighborhood.
“No, my place is about two miles from here. I’ve ben up the river after
some snake root that’s wanted right away by the man I do business with.
My name’s Erastus Wattles an’ I get all kinds of herbs around ’ere fer a
man that sells ’em to the medicine makers somewheres down east.”
We sat on the bridge rail and talked for some time, and I became much
interested in my new acquaintance. He spoke in a low voice, and his
manner seemed rather furtive. He told me much of the herbs and rare
plants that grew in the river country, and of his attempts to cultivate
ginseng. “Certain influences” had repeatedly caused failures of his
crop.
“That’s a fine scene out yonder,” he remarked, and the splendid glow of
Jupiter in the western sky led to a subject that I found had enthralled
his life, and his eyes quickened with a new light as he told me his
story.
When he was a young man he had studied for the stage, but had made a
failure of this, and had gone to work on an Ohio river steamboat as a
clerk. A very old man, with long white whiskers and green spectacles
came on board at Louisville late one night. He wanted to go to Cairo,
but lacked a dollar of the amount necessary for his boat fare. He stated
that he was a professor of astrology, and offered to cast the horoscope
of anybody on the boat who would supply the deficiency. After an
eloquent exposition of the wonders of astrology by the professor,
Wattles furnished the dollar and the date and hour of his birth.
Amid the jibes of the other employees on the boat he received his
horoscope just before the landing was made at Cairo. The aged seer
departed down the gang plank and disappeared.
This was the turning point in the life of Erastus Wattles.
He sought a secluded place on the boat and studied the several closely
written pages of foolscap, that were pinned together and numbered, and
found that the old man had done a conscientious and thorough job.
Wattles extracted a large worn envelope from an inside pocket. It
contained the document, which he said he always carried with him, and he
asked me to read it.
On the first page was the circle of the horoscope, divided into its
twelve “houses,” and above it was the “nativity” with the “sidereal
variation” noted.
In the “delineation,” which occupied the remaining pages, were black
clouds of misfortune. If Wattles had selected his hour of birth he could
not have found one in the whole gamut of heavenly chords when his
entrance into the world would have been more inopportune.
Mars was “on the ascendant in Taurus” and was his “significator”
and “ruling planet.” Its position in relation to the other
“malefics”—Saturn, Uranus and Neptune—all of which were above the
horizon, was most disastrous. Two malefics were “poised upon the
cusp of the House of Money,” indicating that Wattles “would go
broke, and remain so during life.” The moon was also in a hostile
square at the time.
The hoary headed astrologer had “dived into the Abyss of Futurity, and
through a glass darkly” he had seen “a pale light.” It illumined a life
of hopeless sorrow and futility. Ever and anon the blood red eye of Mars
gleamed with a baleful glow upon the destiny under consideration. When
Mars was off duty Saturn took up the malign rod, which was yielded to
Uranus and Neptune when he passed temporarily into other fields of
astral activity to indicate misfortunes of other people.
Periods of deep perplexities were apparent—when Wattles must not engage
in new ventures, or talk with men over sixty, or with women under
forty—when he must not deal with farmers, or have anything to do with
people with red hair or bushy eyebrows. He was not to ask favors,
travel, trade, write letters or marry, when the moon was in its first or
last quarter, or have anything to do with surgeons or tradesmen when the
moon was in conjunction with Saturn. Flying pains in limbs and joints,
warts, boils, and accidents to the head were indicated at these periods.
New enterprises might be undertaken when the sun was in Leo, but not if
Neptune was stationary in Aries at that time, or if Venus was
retrogressing in Cancer or Capricorn.
When Jupiter and Venus were together in Libra there would be
particularly distressing periods for Wattles. When Jupiter passed into
Sagittarius there might be temptation to make merry, but in the midst of
mirth he must remember death, for almost fatal accidents, and possibly
severe illness were indicated for these times, which were pregnant with
calamity.
A certain retrogression of Uranus in Leo in the fifth year after the
casting, with the sun hyleg, Mars in Aquarius, and the moon in
Capricorn, indicated a liver complaint, with pains in the back and head,
an almost fatal accident from an explosive compound, and interference in
his affairs by a fat person—probably a female with a retreating chin,
whose significator would be the malefic Neptune. A minor sub-related
transit “might change this female to a dark haired woman with pointed
features, who would spread strange reports with a bitter tongue, but in
an unknown language.”
No illnesses, accidents or women materialized in that year, and Wattles
thought they were all side tracked by a retrogression of Mercury in
Virgo.
The influence of an evil minded woman, whose ruling planet was Saturn,
was indicated during the eleventh year. Long arms, freckles and a high
instep were suggested, as Antares would be in Gemini when she came into
the sketch. Wattles had assumed that this peril had been fended off by
an unsuspected transit. He had stayed in the woods as much as possible
while Antares was in Gemini, and had spoken to no female during the
eleventh year, but afterwards learned that the postmistress, who
answered the description, had told an inquirer that no such man as
Wattles lived in that part of the country. Somebody had tried to find
him with a view of making a large herb contract, which had been thereby
lost, so, after all, the indication was correct.
Under the heads of “Heredity,” “Mental Faculties,” “Moral Qualities,”
and “Disposition,” it appeared that Wattles possessed most of the
characteristics of a goat. The “cause” was “obscure” but assiduous
effort might gradually overcome some of the tendencies.
In the twenty-second year, which was yet to come, the two malefics,
Saturn and Neptune, would retrograde in Taurus. Mars and the Moon would
be in Aquarius, and this would probably mean that Wattles would have an
affliction of the stomach, and would lose one or both legs if he waded
in unclear waters.
There were so many things to look out for that he was dazed with their
complexity. He was horrified by the “variations” and “transits of evil
omen” that were possible in unexpected quarters when the rest of the sky
was apparently free. Temporizing signs and harmless transits were rare.
Malign conjunctions and oppositions were leading features of every month
in the calendar.
At one of the periods, when the moon and Ceres would be in opposition,
and Venus “in trine” with Neptune, Wattles would die of an unindicated
disorder.
He had certainly got his dollar’s worth. With Mars careering continually
through the Zodiac, and all the other malefics falling into conjunction
and opposition at the most fateful times, he saw little prospect of
escaping an astrological coil that reeked with woe. For him there was no
balm in Gilead, or anywhere else in the universe. Like many others he
let the blessings of existence take care of themselves, and was
concerned solely with its ills. Apparently he was hopelessly enmeshed,
but instinctively he struggled on.
The far seeing sage delineated a collateral variation indicating that
the subject of the horoscope would, within a year after its casting,
become a disciple, and possibly a practitioner, of a certain ancient
science that had to do with the heavenly bodies, but the indication was
not quite clear as to its name.
Impelled by this covert and ingeniously mystic suggestion, Wattles had
procured all the literature he could find on the subject of astrology,
and had studied it carefully. He hoped that he might find error in his
horoscope, but the more he studied the more he believed. He had been
touched with a hypnotic wand and had drifted into the toils of a
remorseless power.
The opinion expressed by one of his friends on the steamboat that “the
old party who cast the horoscope was probably drunk” had no weight with
Wattles. There were too many confirmations of planet positions and
significations in the astrological almanacs and related literature that
he had succeeded in accumulating.
There was a postscript at the end of the delineation. Somewhere in the
realms of infinite space the white bearded prophet felt the presence of
a strange and malign star, that, for lack of data at hand, could not be
named. Its unknown orbit dimly intersected the fate lines of Wattles. At
some crisis in his affairs it would unexpectedly become manifest and
would have a woeful significance.
Wattles pondered long upon the missing star in his horoscope, and had
vainly sought it in his studies. There appeared to be nothing in his
books that could lead to a solution, and the unknown malefic besieged
his soul with a haunting fear.
“I got to keep track of all them heavenly bodies, and if that damn star
ever shows up I must get a line on it,” he declared, as he folded up his
horoscope. “I’ve got all the almanacs, and I know where ev’rything is
all the time. I’ve studied astrology ’till I’ve ben black in the face,
and I’m an expert caster. I’m goin’ to cast horoscopes right along now.
There’s my significator comin’ up, an’ its in Aquarius now,” he
remarked, and he pointed to Mars that had just scaled the tree tops in
the east.
He offered, “for the small sum of fifty cents,” to sell me an unlabelled
bottle of brown liquid, which he said was “an excellent tonic” that he
made himself. He called it “Wahoo Bitters.” I made the purchase and
placed the precious compound on the bridge rail.
He took a small book from his pocket, which he consulted for a moment,
and then invited me to visit him if I would come at a particular hour on
Thursday of the following week. This I promised to do if possible. He
told me how to find his house, gratefully accepted another cigar, and
bade me good night. He then softly mingled with the shadows of the woods
with his bag of roots. I pushed the Wahoo Bitters gently over into the
river and continued my walk.
He was a strange and pathetic figure. Naturally superstitious, he had
become imbued with illusions, that for ages have lured the imaginations
of those who have reached blindly into the unknowable and found only the
Ego—the “ruling star” in all horoscopes. Verily, to man, the luminary of
the greatest magnitude in the universe is himself. Not content to be
silly over little things, he must needs prowl among the constellations
and there spin the web of his puny personal affairs, as in theology he
assumes the particular concern of the Almighty with his daily doings.
Ancient as astrology is, it is not as old as conceit.
I was curious to know more of Wattles. At heart I scoffed, but concluded
to keep my engagement and ask him to cast my horoscope. On the appointed
day I made the little journey. The road led through the woods for a mile
or so to a big oak tree that Wattles had described. Here a narrow path
left it and followed the course of the river to a long bayou. Beyond the
end of the bayou I found some high ground on which perhaps an acre had
been cleared. Near the farther edge of the clearing was an unpainted
single story house with low eaves. There was some queer looking frame
work, and a small platform on the roof.
As I approached the door I was confronted with cabalistic
characters—painted in black on the wood work. The signs of the Zodiac
appeared around the rim of a roughly drawn circle. On a blue background
at the top of the door were four stars and a crescent moon in yellow. I
assumed that the stars represented the malefics in Wattles’ horoscope.
In response to my knock, he opened the door.
“Well, I’m glad to see you!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t think you’d come. I
thought mebbe you might size me up for a queer bird after all that talk
we had on the bridge. Set down an’ make yourself comfortable.”
He flung a villainous looking maltese tom cat, that he addressed as
“Scorpio,” out of a crippled rocking chair, and I occupied the vacated
space.
As Scorpio fled through a hole in the bottom of the door, that
apparently had been cut for his benefit, I noticed that he was much
scarred. One ear was gone, his left eyelid was missing, there were bare
places on him where the fur had been removed, evidently with violence,
and his tail was not complete. These things imparted a sinister aspect,
and I did not like him. He looked like a thoroughly bad cat, and was
probably a malefic.
It would seem fit that a cat found amid such uncanny surroundings should
be black instead of maltese, but as this is a veracious chronicle it is
necessary to adhere to facts.
We spent some time in desultory conversation before I mentioned the
ostensible object of my visit.
“Now,” said Wattles, “before I do anything about your horoscope, I want
to show some I’ve ben casting,” and he began pulling over some papers on
his shelves.
While he was doing this I looked around the strange room.
A row of bottles on one of the shelves contained various small reptiles
with filmy orbs that peered out through alcohol. From the end of the
shelf a stuffed badger stared fixedly and disdainfully, with dull glass
eyes, at a moth eaten coon that returned the gaze from a pedestal in a
darkened corner. A dismal and tattered owl occupied a perch above the
coon. One of his glass eyes had dropped out, but with the other he
regarded the offending badger sadly.
A dried snake skin, with several dangling rattles, was tacked on the
wall back of the stove, with a few Indian relics—bows, arrows, and a
spear head—that were arranged on each side of it. Some butterflies with
broken wings, and beetles, impaled on pins, were scattered through the
spaces around the relics. A number of colored botanical prints and
astronomical charts were pinned on the walls, and there were cobwebs in
the upper corners that appeared to be inhabited.
Some bunches of withered herbs and a broken violin hung above the
window. On a table near it was a violet tinted globe of solid glass,
about six inches in diameter. It was mounted on a block of wood. Wattles
afterwards explained that this was a “magic crystal of marvellous
power,” and that it “pictured prophetic visions under certain
influences.”
The air in the room had a pungent musty odor, as of dried roots and
plants, and I thought that a pile of small sacks back of the stove might
contain something of the kind.
Wattles finally produced copies of the horoscopes and I was pleased to
find among them those of my friends Tipton Posey, Bill Stiles and “Rat”
Hyatt.
As Wattles traded at Posey’s store, his horoscope had probably been
exchanged for merchandise.
Posey’s nativity was exceptionally fortuitous. Jupiter was his
significator, and the other benefics were advantageously placed at the
hour of his birth. In the delineation it appeared that there were few
blessings that would escape him as long as he was kind to friends and
not too fond of money. His historical parallel was a certain ancient
Persian king, who, after a long and happy reign, was suffocated in a
shower of gold.
He would be fortunate in his dealings with all those who had to do with
medicines of any kind. It would always be safe for him to extend credit
when any of the benefics were above the horizon, and at any time that
the sun was in Aquarius, Scorpio, or Leo. It would be a bad time for
Posey to ask for money, or to try to collect debts of any kind, when
Mercury was in opposition to Mars, when the moon was full, or partially
so, when the sun was in Virgo, Taurus, or Aries, or when two or more of
the malefics were above the horizon. Persons born under Posey’s planet
were tactful and magnetic, had much power over the minds of others and
were model housewives. They were proud, dignified and conservative,
intolerant of wrong, and well adapted to fill representative positions.
Usually they had piercing intellects and triumphed in all things. They
were at times inclined to avarice, and to be suspicious of others, and
this must be strongly guarded against. There was a dark warning against
the acquirement of too much wealth.
In his magic crystal Wattles dimly saw a figure that looked like Posey,
but the head was that of some kind of a beast. It sat upon a rock with a
big bag of gold, with which it had climbed a weary hill. Beyond was a
shady bower among the trees, under which dwelt happy hours. The way was
blocked by two black rams, that signified opposition. The figure could
not go on, for its fair form had been changed by the winning of the
gold.
Far beyond the bower was a wonderful city with brilliant domes. Its
towers sparkled with ruby and pearl, and unto this bright city the
figure could never go, because of its brutish aspect that betokened
greed.
Bill Stiles’s ruling star was Saturn, and his nativity was questionable.
The planet’s position, with regard to the moon and Mars in Leo,
indicated a Master Spirit, subject to many variations of fortune. The
tendencies were modified by the benign presence of Arcturus and Venus in
Aries at his natal hour. Two famous Roman emperors had almost identical
nativities. Bill was studious, veracious, instinctively noble and
imperious. He had an iron will, abhorred deception in others, and was
stern and able. He would be warlike and refractory when Mars was in the
square of Saturn. When his significator was in Aquarius, he would be
liable to serious errors of judgment, and he would have great potency
for evil. He would succeed in undertakings that would bring fame.
Certain literary work, upon which he was now engaged, was likened to
that of the ancient Jewish historian Josephus. At some period when
Mercury and Venus were in opposition, and the moon was in Capricorn,
Bill would fall to rise no more.
Venus was ascendant in Virgo when Rat Hyatt came into the world, but the
watchful eye of Saturn in Leo was upon him. The benign love star was not
allowed to monopolize his fortunes. There were three malefics in
strategic sectors that betokened danger. The moon was coyly ensconced
with respect to Venus, and thus neutralized the dire influences to some
extent. Counterparts of Rat’s characteristics, indicated by planetic
conditions at his birth, were found in Richard Coeur de Lion and Marcus
Aurelius. They evidenced one “skilful in command, ambitious, cautious,
strenuous, obstinate, active, yet indolent at times, versatile,
inventive, acute and self confident, busy in all things, terrible in
anger, intrepid and invincible when roused, loyal to friends and modest,
yet fond of applause.”