MYSTERY.
John was at work in the garden. At least, so it would have appeared to
an ordinary observer; in reality he was carrying on a sanguinary combat,
and dealing death on every side. His name was George Washington, and he
was at Bunker Hill (where he certainly had no business to be), and the
British were intrenched behind the cabbages. "They've just got down into
the ground, they are so frightened!" he said to himself, pausing to
straighten his aching back, and toss the red curls out of his eyes. "See
'em, all scrooched down, with their feet in the earth, trying to make
believe they grow there! But I'll have 'em out! Whack! there goes the
general. Come out, I say!" He wrestled fiercely with an enormous
Britisher, disguised as a stalk of pig-weed, and, after a breathless
tussle, dragged him bodily out of the ground, and flung his headless
corpse on the neighbouring pile of weeds.
"Ha! that was fine!" cried the boy. "I shouldn't be a bit surprised if
that was George the Third himself; it was ugly enough for him. Come up
here! hi! down with you! Now Jack the Giant-Killer is coming to help me,
and the British have got Cormoran (this was before Jack killed him), and
there's going to be a terrible row." But General Washington waves his
gallant sword, and calls to his men, and says,--
"Good morning, sir! you make a busy day, I see."
It was not General Washington who spoke. It was the Skipper, and he was
leaning on the gate and looking at the boy John and smiling. "You make a
busy day," he repeated. "I think there are soon no more weeds in Sir
Scraper's garden."
"Oh, yes!" cried John, straightening himself again, and leaning on his
trusty hoe. "There'll be just as many--I beg your pardon! Good morning!
I hope you are well; it is a very fine day. There'll be just as many of
them to-morrow, or next day, certainly. I make believe they are the
British, you see, and I've been fighting all the morning, and I do think
they are pretty well licked by this time; but they don't stay licked,
the British don't. I like them for that, don't you? Even though it is a
bother to go on fighting all the days of one's life."
"I also have noticed that of the British!" the Skipper said, nodding
gravely. "But now you can rest a little, Juan Colorado? Sir Scraper is
at home, that you call him for me, say I desire to make him the visit?"
"No, he isn't at home," said John. "He's gone down to the store for his
mail. But please come in and wait, and he'll be back soon. Do come in!
It--it's cool to rest, after walking in the sun."
It was the only inducement the child could think of, but he offered it
with right good-will. The Skipper assented with a smile and a nod, and
the two passed into the house together.
In the kitchen, which was the living-room of the house, John halted,
and brought a chair for his visitor, and prepared to play the host as
well as he could; but the visitor seemed, for some reason, not to fancy
the kitchen. He looked around with keen, searching eyes, scanning every
nook and corner in the bare little room. Truly, there was not much to
see. The old fireplace had been blocked up, and in its place was the
usual iron cooking-stove, with a meagre array of pots and pans hanging
behind it. The floor was bare; the furniture, a table and chair, with a
stool for John. There was no provision for guests; but that did not
matter, as Mr. Scraper never had guests. Altogether, there was little
attraction in the kitchen, and the Skipper seemed curiously displeased
with its aspect.
"There is no other room?" he asked, after completing his survey. "No
better room than this, Colorado? Surely, there must be one other; yes,
of course!" he added, as if struck by a sudden thought. "His shells? Mr.
Scraper has shells. They are--where?"
He paused and looked sharply at the boy. Little John coloured high.
"The--the shells?" he stammered. "Yes, of course, sir, the shells are in
another room, in the parlour; but--but--I am not let go in there, unless
Mr. Scraper sends me."
"So!" said the dark man; "but for me, Colorado, how is it for me? Mr.
Scraper never said to me that I must not go in this parlour, you see.
For you it is well, you do as you are told; you are a boy that makes
himself to trust; for me, I am a Skipper from the Bahamas, I do some
things that are strange to you,--among them, this. I go into the
parlour."
He nodded lightly, and leaving the child open-mouthed in amazement,
opened the sacred door, the door of the best parlour, and went in, as
unconcernedly as if it were his own cabin. John, standing at the
door,--he surely might go as far as the door, if he did not step over
the threshold,--watched him, and his eyes grew wider and wider, and his
breath came quicker and quicker.
For the Skipper was doing strange things, as he had threatened.
Advancing quickly into the middle of the room, he cast around him the
same searching glance with which he had scanned the kitchen. He went to
the window, and threw back the blinds. The sunlight streamed in, as if
it, too, were eager to see what shrouded treasures were kept secluded
here. Probably the blinds had not been thrown back since Gran'ther
Scraper died.
The parlour was scarcely less grim than the kitchen, though there was a
difference in its grimness. Seven chairs stood against the wall, like
seven policemen with their hands behind their backs; a table crouched in
the middle, its legs bent as if to spring. The boy John considered the
table a monster, transformed by magic into its present shape, and likely
to be released at any moment, and to leap at the unwary intruder. Its
faded cover, with two ancient ink-blots which answered for eyes,
fostered this idea, which was a disquieting one. On the wall hung two
silver coffin-plates in a glass case, testifying that Freeborn Scraper,
and Elmira his wife, had been duly buried, and that their coffins had
presented a good appearance at the funeral. But the glory of the room,
in the boy John's eyes, was the cabinet of shells which stood against
the opposite wall. He had once thought this the chief ornament of the
world; he knew better now, but still he regarded its treasures with awe
and veneration, and looked to see the expression of delight which should
overspread the features of his new friend at sight of it. What, then,
was his amazement to see his new friend pass over the cabinet with a
careless glance, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world!
Evidently, it was not shells that he had come to see; and the boy grew
more and more mystified. Suddenly the dark eyes lightened; the whole
face flashed into keen attention. What had the Skipper seen? Nothing,
apparently, but the cupboard in the corner, the old cupboard where Mr.
Scraper kept his medicines. The old man had sent John to this cupboard
once, when he himself was crippled with rheumatism, to fetch him a
bottle of the favourite remedy of the day. John remembered its inward
aspect, with rows of dusty bottles, and on the upper shelf, rows of
still more dusty papers. What could the Skipper see to interest him in
the corner cupboard? Something, certainly! For now he was opening the
cupboard, quietly, as if he knew all about it and was looking for
something that he knew to be there.
"Ah!" said the Skipper; and he drew a long breath, as of relief. "True,
the words! In the corner of the parlour, a cupboard of three corners,
with bottles filled, and over the bottles, papers. Behold the cupboard,
the bottles, the papers! A day of fortunes!" He bent forward, and
proceeded to rummage in the depths of the cupboard; but this was too
much for John's conscience. "I beg your pardon, sir!" he said, timidly.
"But--do you think you ought to do that?"
The Skipper looked out of the cupboard for an instant, and his eyes were
very bright. "Yes, Colorado," he said. "I think I ought to do this! Oh,
very much indeed, my friend, I ought to do this! And here,"--he stepped
back, holding something in his hand,--"here, it is done! No more
disturbance, Colorado; I thank you for your countenance.
"Do we now make a promenade in the garden, to see your work?
"Yet," he added, pausing and again looking around him, "but yet once
more I observe. This room,"--it was strange, he did not seem to like the
parlour any better than he had liked the kitchen--"this room, to live
in! a young person, figure it, Colorado! gentle, with desires, with
dreams of beauty, and this only to behold! For companion an ancient
onion,--I say things that are improper, my son! I demand pardon! But for
a young person, a maiden to live here, would be sad indeed, do you think
it?"
John pondered, in wonder and some trouble of mind. There was something
that he had to say, something very hard; but it would not be polite just
now, and he must answer a question when he was asked. "I--I thought it
was a fine room!" he said at length, timidly. "It isn't as bright,
somehow, as where I used to live with my mother, and--it seems to stay
shut up, even when it isn't; but--I guess it's a fine room, sir; and
then, if a person didn't like it, there's all out-doors, you know, and
that's never shut up."
"True!" cried the Skipper, with a merry laugh; "out of doors is never
shut up, praise be to Heaven!" He pulled off his cap, and looked up at
the shining sky. They were standing on the door-step now, and John
noticed that his companion seemed much less grave than usual. He
laughed, he patted the boy on the shoulder, he hummed snatches of
strange, sweet melodies. Once or twice he broke out into speech, but it
was foreign speech, and John knew nothing save that it was something
cheerful. They walked about the garden, and the Skipper surveyed John's
work, and pronounced it prodigious. He questioned the child closely,
too, as to how he lived, and what he did, and why he stayed with Mr.
Scraper. But the child could tell him little. He supposed it was all
right; his mother was dead, and there was nobody else, and Mr. Scraper
said he was his father's uncle, and that the latter had appointed him
guardian over John in case of the mother's death. That was all, he
guessed.
"All, my faith!" cried the Skipper, gayly. "Enough, too, Colorado! quite
enough, in the opinion of me. But I go, my son! Till a little while; you
will come to-day to the 'Nautilus,' yes?"
But little John stood still in the path, and looked up in his friend's
face. The time had come when he must do the hard thing, and it was
harder even than he had thought it would be. His throat was very dry,
and he tried once or twice before the words would come. At last--"I beg
your pardon!" he said. "I am only a little boy, and perhaps there is
something I don't understand; but--but--I don't think you ought to have
done that!"
"Done what, son of mine?" asked the Skipper, gazing down at him with the
bright, kind eyes that he loved, and that would not be kind the next
moment, perhaps. "What is it I have done?"
"To take the papers!" said John; and now his voice was steady, and he
knew quite well what he must say, if only his heart would not beat so
loud in his ears! "I don't think it was right; but perhaps you know
things that make it right for you. But--but Mr. Scraper left me here, to
take care of the house, and--and I shall have to tell him that you went
into the parlour and took things out of the cupboard."
There was silence for a moment,--silence, all but the throbbing that
seemed as if it must deafen the child, as it was choking him. He stood
looking at the ground, his face in a flame, his eyes full of hot,
smarting tears. Was it he who had stolen the papers? Surely anyone would
have thought so who saw his anguish of confusion. And the Skipper did
not speak! And this was his friend, the first heart-friend the child had
ever had, perhaps the only one that would ever come to him, and he was
affronting him, casting him off, accusing him of vileness! Unable to
bear the pain any longer, the child looked up at last, and as he did so,
the tears overflowed and ran down his round cheeks. The dark eyes were
as kind as ever. They were smiling, oh, so tenderly! John hid his face
on his blue sleeve, and sobbed to his heart's content; somehow, without
a word, the dreadful pain was gone, and the blessed feeling had returned
that this friend knew all about things, and understood little boys, and
liked them.
The Skipper did not speak for a moment, only stood and stroked the boy's
curly hair with a light, soft touch, almost as his mother used to stroke
it. Then he said, in his deep, grave voice, that was sweeter than music,
John thought.
"Colorado! my little son, my friend!" That was enough for a few minutes,
till the sobs were quieted, and only the little breast heaved and sank,
tremulously, like the breast of a frightened bird. Then the Skipper led
him to a rustic bench, and sat down beside him, and took his hand.
"And that hurt you to say, my little son?" he said, smiling. "That hurt
you, because you thought it would vex the friend from the Bahamas, the
friend who steals. And yet you like him a little, is it not?"
"Oh!" cried John, looking up with all his heart in his blue eyes; and no
other word was needed.
"See, then!" the Skipper went on, still holding the boy's hand; "it is
that you are right, Colorado, oh, very right, my son! and I, who am old,
but old enough to be twice to you a father, I thought not of this. Yes,
you must tell Sir Scraper, if--if I do not tell him first." He was
silent a moment, thinking; and then continued, speaking slowly, choosing
his words with care: "Is it that you think, Colorado, it would be wrong
to wait a little before you tell Sir Scraper--if I said, till
to-morrow? If I ask you to wait, and then, if I have not told him, you
shall tell him,--what do you say of that, my son?"
John looked helplessly around, his blue eyes growing big and wistful
again. "If--if he should ask me!" he said. "I am sure you know all about
it, and that it is all right for you, but if he should ask me--you
see--I--I should have to answer him, shouldn't I?"
"You would have to answer him!" the Skipper repeated, frowning
thoughtfully. "And you could not tell him that there were flying-fish in
the cabin, eh, Colorado? Wait then, that your friend thinks. The mind
moves at times slowly, my son, slowly!"
He was silent, and John watched him, breathless.
Presently, "Will you come with me, Colorado?" asked the Skipper. "I
invite you to come, to spend the day on the 'Nautilus,' to play with
Jack and Jim, to polish the shells,--what you please. I desire not
longer to wait here, I desire not that yet Sir Scraper know of my visit.
Had he been here, other happenings might have been; as it is--shortly,
will you come with me, Colorado?"
John shut his eyes tight, and took possession of his soul.
"I promised!" he said, "I promised him that if he would not whip me this
morning I would not stir off the place. He was mad because I went
yesterday, and he was going to give me a good one this morning, and I
hadn't got over the last good one, and so--I promised that! But if I had
known you were coming," he cried, "I would not have promised, and I
would have taken three good ones, if I could only go."
The Skipper nodded, and was silent again. Suddenly he rose to his feet.
"Have you heard of pirates, Colorado?" he asked, abruptly.
John nodded, wondering.
"Of Malay pirates?" the Skipper continued, with animation. "They are
wild fellows, those! They come, they see a person, they carry him off,
to keep at their fancy, till a ransom is paid, or till he grow old and
die, or till they kill him the next day, who knows? But not all are bad
fellows, and there are some of them who are kind to captives, who take
them on board their ships, play with them, show to them strange things,
shells and fish and corals, all things. Have you ever played at pirate,
Colorado?"
"Yes, sometimes," the boy admitted, wondering still more at the
brightness in his friend's look, and his air of sudden determination.
"I never played Malay, only Portugee; I thought they weren't so cruel,
but I don't know. I had a ship down by the wharf, and I made a good many
pirate voyages round the wharf, and sometimes quite a piece down river,
when I could get the time. But then, after a while, I thought it was
nicer to be a rescuing ship, and get folks away from the pirates, you
know, so I've done that lately, and I've rescued as many as twenty
vessels, I should think."
"That was fine!" said the Skipper, nodding sagely. "That was well done,
Colorado! But here we come to trouble, do you see? for I that speak to
you--I am a Malay pirate!"
The boy started violently and looked up, expecting he knew not what
sudden and awful change in the face that bent down over him; but no! it
was the same quiet, dark face, only there was a bright gleam in the
eyes. A gleam of fun, was it? Surely not of ferocity.
"I come up this river," the Skipper continued, rapidly, "to see what I
find,--perhaps gold, perhaps silver, perhaps prisoners of value. I look
about, I see the pleasant village, I see persons very amiable, but no
precious thing except one; that one, I have it! I am a Malay pirate,
Colorado, and thus I carry off my prize!" and picking up the child as if
he were a feather, and tossing him up to his shoulder, the Skipper
strode from the garden, and took his way toward the wharf.