THE POWER OF ASSOCIATION.
As the boys returned by the same road, which presented no new objects
to excite their curiosity, much less time was consumed in measuring the
same distance; and they ascended the eminence upon which the castle was
situated, and stood before its principal entrance long before night.
It was one of the few old feudal strongholds still remaining in France
that had not been suffered to go to decay by its possessors. It had
been the property of a grand seignior (derived from his ancestors),
who, having built a modern chateau near it, with extensive stables
and other out-buildings, kept the old castle in complete repair, till
sacked by a mob during the reign of terror.
It had evidently been a place of great strength, but occupying so much
space that a large garrison would be required to man its exterior
fortifications. It was beautifully situated upon a noble swell of
land, falling away in natural terraces to the stream upon whose banks
were clustered the dwellings of the peasants. The hand of violence had
swept away all but the relics of its former magnificence and beauty.
The axe had levelled the vast groves and long avenues of oak, chestnut,
beech, and massive pines,--which had for ages delighted the eye and
gratified the taste, and beneath whose hoary limbs generations had
lived and died,--except one clump of large pines, at some distance in
the rear of the fortress.
Everything without the walls that would burn had been consumed by fire,
while the tall chimney of the chateau, and other buildings standing
amid heaps of rubbish, the wild weeds springing from the joints of the
hearth-stones, imparted a peculiarly desolate appearance to the scene.
Gunpowder had been freely used to obtain an entrance into the fortress,
and afterwards to destroy it; but such was the enormous thickness of
the walls that but comparatively little impression had been produced
upon them, although single apartments had been blown up and whole
floors had fallen, the pillars which supported them having been mined.
Entire floors, supported at one end by the beams, which still remained
in the walls, and a few pillars, while the remaining portion lay upon
heaps of rubbish, bricks, mortar, fragments of clothes, domestic
utensils, curved frames, broken china and glass ware of the rarest
patterns and the richest colors, presented an inclined plane, up which
the boys clambered to the apartments above, passing through chambers
once the abode of luxury, but from whose walls the rich tapestry
hung in tatters, exposed to sun and wind, that found free entrance
through shattered casements and demolished doors. The boys gazed with
wonder upon the relics of a magnificence of which they had before no
conception.
The most singular spectacle awaited them in the great hall of the
castle, which they now entered. Nothing remained undisfigured here
except the lofty arches of the roof, with its beautiful fret-work, the
carving on the capitals and some portions of the windows, by reason of
their height difficult to reach.
The walls had been adorned with ancestral portraits of the former
inhabitants of the castle and the old French nobility, with banners and
suits of armor, statues in marble and bronze, paintings and copies of
paintings by the greatest masters; but they were now torn from their
places, pierced with bullets, and battered with rocks and clubs; for,
in consequence of one of those caprices which sometimes influence the
conduct of a mob even in the midst of the wildest excitement, they had
abstained from using fire _within_ the walls, while they had burned
everything combustible _outside_, although many of the timbers and much
of the panel-work bore traces of the peasants' axes, undoubtedly cut
for fire-wood.
In the midst of this spacious hall was a vast collection of articles
which appeared to have been brought from all parts of the castle and
flung here in indiscriminate confusion; marble statues, paintings,
ancient armor, antlers of stags, hunting implements, and flags from old
battle-fields.
Walter sat down upon a marble statue of a chieftain in armor, from
which the left arm and shield had been broken, and the face flattened.
Ned placed himself on a pile of gilded frames of large paintings he had
thrown together, and thus seated they surveyed at leisure the fretted
roof, and whatever of interest and beauty had escaped the fury of the
assailants.
The nearest approach to ornamental carving Walter had ever seen before
was the plain panel-work with which Uncle Isaac ceiled up the rooms
he finished, the cornice round the tops of the rooms, beneath the
mantel-piece, and on the front stairs; but these consisted of only four
little flutings with a gouge, a simple bead with a moulding-plane,
or a succession of little squares made with a saw and finished up
with a jack-knife. He had also seen faces of cats on the cat-heads of
vessels, sheaves of wheat and vine-leaves carved on their sterns. Ned
had also seen these, and in addition some more ambitious efforts, in
the old meeting-house at Salem, on the sounding-board, the base, and
surroundings of the pulpit. But here they gazed upon oaken panels,
displaying the most beautiful designs in the highest style of ancient
or modern art; upon tapestry most beautifully wrought, fitted to adorn
regal halls, bleaching in the wind, rent and disfigured; picked from
the rubbish fragments of porcelain vases, bowls, and drinking-cups, of
elaborate design and rare finish.
"I mean to carry these home," said Ned, culling from the heap a portion
of a broken vase, and a large pane from one of the windows, upon which
was represented the Saviour in the act of healing the withered hand.
"And I this," said Walter, holding up a panel upon which were carved
Laocoon and his sons, writhing in the folds of the snakes.
"Look at that window," said Ned; "only six panes of glass left, and two
thirds of the sash gone."
"This sight," said Walter, "reminds me of stories I have heard Monsieur
Vimont, my French teacher at Salem, tell. He said the mob attacked
the chateaux and castles of the nobles, murdered their possessors, or
dragged them to prison, except such as were able to save themselves by
flight."
Walter, who sympathized with the refugees, and listened to his recital
of the terrible scenes through which they had passed, was much
prejudiced in favor of the nobility and against their assailants.
As they followed along the walls, noticing the shattered windows and
the positions from which the paintings and statuary had been torn, they
came to a place from which a very large painting of a knight templar
in full armor had been thrown, and lay defaced upon the floor. Lying
upon this, grinding up the gilded frame, and breaking the canvas, was
one of the large stones of the wall. This stone had once been hung upon
massive hinges, now broken.
Through the opening it had once closed a flight of stairs was visible,
constructed in the thickness of the wall by an arrangement of the
stones at the time of building, and which led to the foundation of the
castle.
Ned was burning with impatience to enter the opening and see whither
the stairs led; but Walter, naturally interested in everything of a
mechanical nature, would not proceed till he had ascertained the method
by which an entrance was effected. He found the whole painting had been
raised by hidden weights, and, by the pressure of a spring adroitly
concealed in the frame, was elevated sufficiently to permit of passing
under it, when by the pressure of another spring the stone was set free
and sprung outwards, affording an entrance, after which, by concealed
mechanism, the whole was restored as before. When he had mastered the
principle of the machinery, they descended the stairs, from the bottom
of which a winding passage led to a corridor from which several doors
opened into vaulted chambers dimly lighted by slits in the walls. Some
of them appeared to have been used as dungeons, ring-bolts, with chains
attached, being secured to the walls.
As they proceeded they came to another door admitting to a winding
passage-way, entirely dark; but, their curiosity being excited, they
continued to grope their way, carefully placing one foot in advance,
and dragging the other after, lest they might stumble into some pit.
At length Ned, who led the way, suddenly stopped and gave back.
"What is the matter, Ned? What are you stopping for?"
"Walter," he exclaimed in a half whisper, "there's something here,
under my feet. I've put my hand on it, and I believe it's some dead
man; there's something feels like clothes and buttons."
"Drag it out to where it's lighter; or let me, if you don't like to."
"Do you think I'm afraid?"
Ned began to step backward, dragging the object after him, while Walter
threw open the doors leading to the vaults. By the glimmering of light
thus obtained, they beheld the skeleton of a human body, held together
by the articulations of the joints, the clothes, dried gristle, and
sinews, being partially mummified.
Neither of the boys had ever seen the human skeleton before, or even
so much as a bone, and this was to them a fearful sight--the teeth
white and prominent, the eyeless sockets, and the remaining portion
of the skull black with decayed flesh that still adhered to it (for
the air was cool and dry, ventilation being in some way provided). The
right hand had dropped off, the stump of the wrist projecting from the
sleeve, while the blackened bones and shrivelled sinews of the left
remained in place.
"It was a boy," said Ned; "you can see by the clothes."
"Poor fellow, he was about your size."
"His hair," said Ned, pointing to some brown locks that had lodged in
the breast of the coat, "was just the color of yours. Think he was
murdered?"
"I expect so, for it don't seem likely that a place as strong as this
was given up without a struggle, unless it was occupied only by a
family, or was surprised."
"Then, perhaps, there's more in there."
"Let us try to make some kind of a torch. I want to see all there is,
and to find where this secret passage leads to that so much pains was
taken to make and conceal."
Returning, the boys hunted over the great heap of rubbish in the hall,
and searched every nook and corner in order to find a lamp or wax
candle (which they knew were much used in that country), but in vain.
"O, if we were only at home," said Walter, "instead of being in this
wretched country, how quick I could get a piece of pitch wood, or strip
the bark from a birch tree, and make a first-rate torch; but there are
no birches here, and no old pines with any pitch wood in 'em."
"But we shouldn't have any castles there to see," said Ned.
At last they found an iron pot, and resolved to build a fire in that,
and carry it as a torch.
While they were breaking up pieces of dry wood for that purpose, Ned
exclaimed, "Who knows but olive wood will burn well. I should think it
would be full of oil."
"Perhaps it will."
They broke some branches from the trees, and put them in the pot with
pine slivers from old panels. Walter took a horn full of tinder from
his pack, and, holding it between his knees, with an old file and
flint-stone struck the sparks into the horn till he ignited the tinder
sufficiently to light a brimstone match, and kindled his fire in the
pot, when they found that the olive wood burned freely, lasted longer,
and afforded a better light, than the pine or oak; therefore they
procured more of it.
"Now for something to carry it with," said Ned; "and here it is,"
pulling a long iron rod from the pile of miscellaneous articles that
strewed the floor.
"And here is something to hold a supply of wood," said Walter, picking
up a steel helmet and filling it with the chips.
With the kettle of blazing brands between them, they proceeded to
explore the passage.
The first object that arrested their attention (and almost touching a
door, through the grates of which a fresh current of air, fragrant with
the scent of the earth and fields, was blowing) was the skeleton of an
aged man. The skull had been cleft by some sharp weapon; long locks of
gray hair strewed the floor, and across the breast of the skeleton lay
that of a dog, the fore paws outstretched, and the nose thrust among
the clothes that covered the breast.
"O, Walter," cried Ned, the tears springing to his eyes, "what a sight!"
"The saddest sight I ever saw. That dog starved to death because he
would not leave his master."
"I shall always love a dog after this."
"They are noble creatures. Did you ever see what was on Tige Rhines's
collar?"
"About his taking the little girl from the mill pond?"
"Yes; and that is not all he did; he saved the lives of John, Charlie
Bell, and Fred Williams, by waking them up when they were asleep in a
cave into which the tide was flowing."
"This must be that boy's father," said Ned. "Or his grandfather,"
replied Walter. "He was murdered, at any rate," pointing to the cloven
skull.
"See here, Wal," holding a brand close to the floor; "see the blood all
dried on the stones."
"Poor old man, cut down with his hand almost on the door! That door
leads out, for I can smell the fresh air, and feel it warm on my cheek.
Let's see if we can open it, Wal."
The upper part of the door was grated. They shook it, and exerted
themselves to the utmost to wrench it open, but without success.
"Hold up a brand, Ned; perhaps I can find a fastening."
Walter searched carefully, but in vain, for any lock, bolt, or other
fastening.
"If I only had a sledge, or hammer, and cold chisel, I'd cut these
grates off, short notice."
"I saw a crowbar outside, among some garden tools," said Ned.
"Get it; that's the thing."
Walter plied the bar upon the grates till the sparks flew from the
iron, and the sweat dropped from his forehead; but it resisted his
efforts.
"Let me spell you, Wal."
"Try the wood below, Ned."
"It is oak, and studded with iron; but I'll try it."
After a few blows, the door flew open of its own accord. Ned, by a
random stroke, had moved the spring.
"That's good luck, Ned. Go ahead."
They soon encountered another similar door.
"Now, Ned, I'm just going back to look at that spring."
By the knowledge thus obtained, Walter was enabled to detect a similar
spring in this door, though in a different place.
They now began to perceive the light, and came to a horizontal grate,
which was unfastened, and reached by only two steps. Walter flung
it back, and they crawled out on their hands and knees beneath an
overhanging cliff (through which the passage was cut), and into a
tangle of wild vines that clung to the cliffs, weeds, brambles, and
shrubs, effectually concealing the passage from casual observation.
"Whoever built this," said Ned, "knew how to make secret passages. One
might pass this place all his lifetime, and never suspect it."
"It didn't do them much good," said Walter. "I'd rather live in a
country where they are not needed. Ned, don't you think we ought to put
this father and son in the ground?"
"I was thinking of that."
"What can we find to dig a grave with?"
"When I went after the crowbar, I found it among a lot of garden
tools; there were shovels, rakes, and hoes, but the handles were all
burnt away."
"No matter; we'll bury them in the old garden, where the ground is
mellow; we can make a hole with the bar, and throw out the loose earth
with the shovel-blades, if they _have_ no handles."
A shallow grave was soon dug in the soft mould.
"We buried a man from the Madras," said Ned; "he was sewed up in
canvas."
"We lost the second mate when I was in the Casco," said Walter; "he was
buried ashore, and we put the American flag on the coffin for a pall.
Suppose we should wrap their bones in these flags taken from the walls;
they are their country's flags."
"I suppose they would like it if they could know it, and would rather
lie here, where the nightingales will sing in the summer, than in that
dark alley."
They carefully gathered the bones, wrapped them in the tattered
banners, and committed them to the earth.
"What shall we do with the dog, Walter?"
"Do with him? Bury him with them."
"In the same grave?"
"To be sure; at their feet. He was the best and only friend they had,
and died on his master's breast; he is worthy to sleep in marble."
"Well, I feel just so; but I didn't know."
The sun was just sinking behind the horizon, and his last lingering
rays fell, as it were, in benediction upon the boys, as, feeling the
necessity of instant preparation for the night, they hastened from the
spot. Admonished by the approaching twilight, they went rapidly from
room to room, in order to select one suited to their purpose.
"Let us go out of this hall," said Ned, "into God's air, and get clear
of rubbish, musty walls, and dead men's bones."
"Yes, into that clump of pines. I had rather lug the wood, and be out
of doors."
It was not long before they heaped together a great pile of oaken
beams, boards, picture-frames, broken furniture, and panels, and,
seated by the ruddy blaze, were enjoying a hearty meal, till, full even
to repletion, they seated themselves with their backs against a tree to
enjoy the grateful warmth of the fire.
The rising moon began to silver the lofty towers of the ancient
castle, and quivered on the stream, visible at different points between
the cottages of the peasants, while the rush of water, pouring through
the rents of the broken dam, rose on the air. Not a breath of wind
stirred the foliage. The only sounds, contesting with the murmur of
waters the empire of the night, were the crackling of the fire and the
occasional bleat of a sheep on the mountain. It is singular to what an
extent peculiar states of feeling impart a tinge, sombre or otherwise,
to impressions produced by surrounding objects and events.
As Walter sat thus, with the crackling of the fire in his ear, and the
ruddy blaze playing on his cheek, he said,--
"I think this is a nice country, after all; rather dry, to be sure;
a good deal of waste land, covered with gravel and stones brought
down from the mountains. We have seen some beautiful valleys of most
excellent land. The people are kind and hospitable, and, if they were
not so shiftless, might, with their climate and soil, raise two crops a
year. What are you thinking about, Ned?"
"About what my mother would say, if she knew I was making a fire of
mahogany chairs, looking-glass frames, harpsichords, and carved work.
I wonder if any boy ever did that before."
"Perhaps some soldiers have."
After this they sat some time, hand clasped in hand, and each occupied
with his own thoughts.
"I should like to know what you are thinking about, Wal."
"You see that little cove the river has eaten out of the bank?"
"You mean where the moonlight is shining on that large rock, and beside
which a tree is growing?"
"That is the spot. Well, the Saturday afternoon before I was going
to sea for the first time, in the Madras, I went to the catechising,
because I knew that I should find all the boys and girls there, and I
wanted to bid them good by. After that I kept on to Charlie Bell's. It
was a moonlight evening, just like this; and after supper we went to
the head of Pleasant Cove, sat down, and leaned our backs against an
oak, just as you and I are leaning against this pine. We could hear the
brook that runs through his field, behind us, just as we can hear this
stream below, and the ripple of the tide as it crept along the beach.
I felt tender that night, for I loved Charlie Bull dearly. You know,
Ned, how a boy feels, if he does want to go, when the time comes."
"_That I do._ When he's thinking about going, longing to be off, and
his folks trying to put him off the notion, then he's all stirred
up, and only thinks about getting away; but, when they've given
their consent, he has signed the articles, packed his chest, got his
protection at the Custom house, is sure of going, and all is settled,
then, if he has a good home, and any soul in him, it will give him the
heartache to say good by. There never was a boy more crazy to go to sea
than I was--counting the days till the vessel was ready. She lay in the
stream, ready to sail in the morning. After supper the second mate took
me and three men whom he could trust, and went ashore. We were ordered
to be down to the boat at nine o'clock. It was seven when I reached
home. Didn't those two hours go quick as I sat on the sofa in the
parlor, between father and mother, and my sisters before me. When the
bell rang for nine, and I got up to start for the beach, I didn't feel
altogether so keen for going as I did the week before."
"That was what I meant. I felt just so that night, while Charlie and
I sat together at the head of Pleasant Cove, beneath the oak, and he
talked to me."
"What did he say?"
"A great many things. He wanted me to love God and pray to him; he said
there would be nights at sea when the moon would be shining on the
ocean, just as it was then upon the waters of that cove; that he should
look at it and think of me; hoped I would look at it and think of him
and his words; and that as the same planets were above us, so the same
God was around our daily paths; that perhaps when I thought that some
dear friend I loved much was thinking of and praying for me, I should
feel I ought to pray for myself."
"Have you never thought of it before to-night?"
"Thought of it? Yes, truly. On many a bright moonlight night, when you
and I have been pacing the deck together, have I been occupied with
those memories. You may think it strange, but they were in my mind when
the shot from that English ship of the line was flying round us; but
the moon shining on the water in that little bight, the sound of the
stream, as we sit against this pine, and perhaps what we have just been
doing, bring it home as never before."
"I love you, Wal," said Ned, laying his head in his friend's lap.
"Tell me some news; I knew that before," said Walter, patting his cheek.
"I have thought a good many times, lately, that you didn't seem as
you used to. I never heard you say anything about doing good till
this voyage; before, it was always getting rich and rushing things. I
suppose it was because he talked with you, made you have this feeling."
"I don't know; I always had something of it; always admired it in
Charlie Bell and Uncle Isaac, and longed to do something--I didn't know
what--that was not altogether for myself."
"Have you ever done what Charlie asked you to that night?"
"What? Pray to God?"
"Yes."
"No; I only say my prayers when I turn in; don't you?"
"No, I never was brought up to. Will you say the Lord's prayer with me,
Ned?"
"Shall we kneel?"
They knelt together between the roots of the pine, after which they
replenished the fire, rolled themselves in their blankets, and were
soon asleep.