instantly saw there had something unusual happened. Could it be--oh! if
it only _could_ be--that he had put off the old man, which is sin! She
longed to ask him, yet, with a woman's natural delicacy, she determined
to find out without direct questioning.
"Good season, cap'en?" she inquired.
"A No. 1, ma'am--positively first-class," replied the captain.
"Hed good health--no ager?" she continued.
"Never was better, my dear woman--healthy right to the top notch," he
answered.
"It must be," said good Mrs. Simmons, to herself--"it can't be nothin'
else. Bless the Lord!"
This pious sentiment she followed up by a hymn, whose irregularities of
time and tune were fully atoned for by the spirit with which she sung. A
knock at the door interrupted her.
"Come in!" she cried.
Captain Sam entered, and laid a good-sized, flat flask on the table,
saying:
"I've just been unpackin', an' I found this; p'r'aps you ken use it fur
cookin'. It's no use to me; I've sworn off drinkin'."
And before the astonished lady could say a word, he was gone.
But the good soul could endure the suspense no longer. She hurried to
the door, and cried:
"Cap'en!"
"That's me," answered Captain Sam, returning.
"Cap'en," said Mrs. Simmons, in a voice in which solemnity and
excitement struggled for the mastery, "hez the Lord sent His angel unto
you?"
"He hez," replied the captain, in a very decided tone, and abruptly
turned, and hurried to his own room.
"Bless the Lord, O my soul!" almost shouted Mrs. Simmons, in her
ecstacy. "We musn't worry them that's weak in the faith, but I sha'n't
be satisfied till I hear him tell his experience. Oh, _what_ a blessed
thing to relate at prayer-meetin' to-night!"
There was, indeed, a rattling of dry bones at the prayer-meeting that
night, for it was the first time in the history of the church that the
conversion of a steamboat captain had been reported.
On returning home from the meeting, additional proof awaited the happy
old saint. The captain was in his room--in his room at nine o'clock in
the evening! She had known the captain for years, but he had never
before got in so early. There could be no doubt about it, though--there
he was, softly whistling.
"I'd rather hear him whistlin' Windham or Boylston," thought Mrs.
Simmons; "that tune don't fit any hymn _I_ know. P'r'aps, though, they
sing it in some of them churches up to Cincinnaty," she charitably
continued.
"Cap'en," said she, at breakfast, next morning, when the other guests
had departed, "is your mind at peace?"
"Peace?" echoed the captain--"peaceful as the Ohio at low water."
The captain's simile was not so Scriptural as the old lady could have
desired, but she remembered that he was but a young convert, and that
holy conversation was a matter of gradual attainment. So, simply and
piously making the best of it, she fervently exclaimed:
"That it may ever be thus is my earnest prayer, cap'en."
"Amen to that," said Captain Sam, very heartily, upsetting the chair in
his haste to get out of the room.
For several days Mrs. Simmons lived in a state of bliss unknown to
boarding-house keepers, whose joys come only from a sense of provisions
purchased cheaply and paying boarders secured.
From the kitchen, the dining-room, or wherever she was, issued sounds of
praise and devotion, intoned to some familiar church melody. Scrubbing
the kitchen-floor dampened not her ardor, and even the fateful
washing-day produced no visible effects on her spirits. From over the
bread-pan she sent exultant strains to echo through the house, and her
fists vigorously marked time in the yielding dough. From the third-story
window, as she hung out the bed-linen to air, her holy notes fell on the
ears of passing teamsters, and caused them to cast wondering glances
upward. What was the heat of the kitchen-stove to her, now that Captain
Sam was insured against flames eternal? What, now, was even money, since
Captain Sam had laid up his treasures above?
And the captain's presence, which had always comforted her, was now a
perpetual blessing. Always pleasant, kind, and courteous, as of old, but
oh, so different!
All the coal-scuttles and water-pails in the house might occupy the
stairway at night, but the captain could safely thread his way among
them.
No longer did she hurry past his door, with her fingers ready, at the
slightest alarm, to act as compressors to her ears; no, the captain's
language, though not exactly religious, was eminently proper.
He was at home so much evenings, that his lamp consumed more oil in a
week than it used to in months; but the old lady cheerfully refilled it,
and complained not that the captain's goodness was costly.
The captain brought home a book or two daily, and left them in his room,
seeing which, his self-denying hostess carried up the two flights of
stairs her own copies of "Clarke's Commentaries," "The Saints' Best,"
"Joy's Exercises," and "Morning and Night Watches," and arranged them
neatly on his table.
Finally, after a few days, Captain Sam seemed to have something to
say--something which his usual power of speech was scarcely equal to.
Mrs. Simmons gave him every opportunity.
At last, when he ejaculated, "Mrs. Simmons," just as she was carrying
her beloved glass preserve-dish to its place in the parlor-closet, she
was so excited that she dropped the brittle treasure, and uttered not a
moan over the fragments.
"Mrs. Simmons, I've made up my mind to lead an entirely new life," said
the captain, gravely.
"It's what I've been hopin' fur years an' years, cap'en," responded the
happy old lady.
"Hev you, though? God bless your motherly old soul," said the captain,
warmly. "Well, I've turned over a new leaf, and it don't git turned back
again."
"That's right," said Mrs. Simmons, with a happy tear under each
spectacle-glass. "Fight the good fight, cap'en."
"Just my little game," continued the captain. "'Tain't ev'ry day that a
man ken find an angel willin' to look out fur him, Mrs. Simmons."
"An angel! Oh, cap'en, how richly blessed you hev been!" sobbed Mrs.
Simmons. "Many's the one that hez prayed all their lives long for the
comin' of a good sperrit to guide 'em."
"Well, _I've_ got one, sure pop," continued Captain Sam; "and happy
ain't any kind of a name fur what I be all the time now."
"Bless you!" said the good woman, wringing the captain's hand fervidly.
"But you'll hev times of trouble an' doubt, off an' on."
"Is that so?" asked the captain, thoughtfully.
"Yes," continued Mrs. Simmons; "but don't be afeard; ev'ry thing'll come
right in the end. I know--I've been through it all."
"That's so," said the captain, "you hev that. Well, now, would you mind
interdoosin' me to your minister?"
"Mind!" said the good old lady. "I've been a-dyin' to do it ever since
you come. I've told him about it, and he's ez glad fur you ez I am."
"Oh!" said the captain, looking a little confused, "you suspected it,
did you?"
"From the very minute you fust kem," replied Mrs. Simmons; "I know the
signs."
"Well," said the captain, "might ez well see him fust as last then, I
reckon."
"I'll get ready right away," said Mrs. Simmons. And away she hurried,
leaving the captain greatly puzzled.
The old lady put on her newest bombazine dress--all this happened ten
years ago, ladies--and a hat to match.
Never before had these articles of dress been seen by the irreligious
light of a weekday; the day seemed fully as holy as an ordinary Sabbath.
They attracted considerable attention, in their good clothes and solemn
faces, and finally, as they stood on the parson's doorstep, two of the
captain's own deckhands saw him, and straightway drank themselves into a
state of beastly intoxication in trying to decide what the captain could
want of a preacher.
The minister entered, cordially greeted Mrs. Simmons, and expressed his
pleasure at forming the captain's acquaintance.
"Parson," said the captain, in trembling accents--"don't go away, Mrs.
Simmons--parson, my good friend here tells me you know all about my
case; now the question is, how soon can you do the business?"
The reverend gentleman shivered a little at hearing the word "business"
applied to holy things, but replied, in excellent temper:
"The next opportunity will occur on the first Sabbath of the coming
month, and I shall be truly delighted to gather into our fold one whose
many worthy qualities have been made known to us by our dearly beloved
sister Simmons. And let me further remind you that there is joy in
heaven over one sinner that repenteth, and that therefore--"
"Just so, parson," interrupted the captain, wincing a little, and
looking exceedingly puzzled--"just so; but ain't thar no day but Sunday
for a man to be married--"
"Married!" ejaculated the minister, looking inquiringly at Mrs. Simmons.
"Married!" screamed the old lady, staring wildly at the
captain--"married! Oh, what shall I do? I thought you'd experienced a
change! And I've told everybody about it!"
The captain burst into a laugh, which made the minister's chandeliers
rattle, and the holy man himself, seeing through the mistake, heartily
joined the captain.
But poor Mrs. Simmons burst into an agony of tears.
"My dear, good old friend," said the captain, tenderly putting his arm
about her, "I'm very sorry you have been disappointed; but one thing at
a time, you know. When you see my angel, you'll think I'm in a fair way
to be an angel myself some day, I guess. Annie's her name--Annie
May--an' I've named the boat after her. Don't take on so, an' I'll show
you the old boat, new painted, an' the name Annie May stuck on wherever
there's a chance."
But the good old woman only wrung her hands, and exclaimed:
"Thar's a lovely experience completely spiled--completely spiled!"
At length she was quieted and escorted home, and a few days afterward
appeared, in smiles and the new bombazine, at the captain's wedding.
The bride, a motherless girl, speedily adopted Mrs. Simmons as mother,
and made many happy hours for the old lady; but that venerable and pious
person is frequently heard to say to herself, in periods of
thoughtfulness:
"A lovely experience completely spiled!"
[Illustration: THE CAPTAIN BURST INTO A LAUGH, WHICH MADE THE
MINISTER'S CHANDELIERS RATTLE.]
MISS FEWNE'S LAST CONQUEST.
How many conquests Mabel Fewne had made since she had entered society no
one was able to tell. Perhaps the conqueror herself kept some record of
the havoc she had worked, but if she did, no one but herself ever saw
it. Even such of her rivals as were envious admitted that Miss Fewne's
victims could be counted by dozens, while the men who came under the
influence of that charming young lady were wont to compute their
fellow-sufferers by the hundred. It mattered not where Miss Fewne spent
her time: whether she enjoyed the season in New York or Washington,
Baltimore or Boston, she found that climatic surroundings did not in the
least change the conduct of men toward her. In what her attractions
especially consisted, her critics and admirers were not all agreed.
Palette, the artist, who was among her earliest victims, said she was
the embodiment of all ideal harmonies; while old Coupon, who at sixty
offered her himself and his property, declared in confidence to another
unfortunate that what took him was her solid sense. At least one young
man, who thought himself a poet, fell in love with her for what he
called the golden foam of her hair; a theological student went into
pious ecstasy (and subsequent dejection) over the spiritual light of her
eyes. The habitual pose of her pretty fingers accounted for the awkward
attentions of at least a score of young men, and the piquancy of her
manner attracted, to their certain detriment, all the professional beaus
who met her. And yet, a clear-headed literary Bostonian declared that
she was better read than some of his distinguished _confreres_; while a
member of Congress excused himself for monopolizing her for an entire
half-hour, at an evening party, by saying that Miss Fewne talked
politics so sensibly, that for the first time in his life he had learned
how much he himself knew. As for the ladies, some said any one could get
as much admiration as Mabel Fewne if they could dress as expensively;
others said she was so skillful a flirt that no man could see through
her wily ways; two or three inclined to the theory of personal
magnetism; while a few brave women said that Mabel was so pretty and
tasteful, and modest and sensible and sweet, that men would be idiots if
they didn't fall in love with her at sight.
But one season came in which those who envied and feared Mabel were left
in peace, for that young lady determined to spend the Winter with her
sister, who was the wife of a military officer stationed at Smithton, in
the Far West. Smithton was a small town, but a pleasant one; it had a
railroad and mines; a government land office was established there, as
was the State Government also; trading was incessant, money was plenty,
so men of wit and culture came there to pay their respects to the
almighty dollar; and as there were nearly two-score of refined ladies in
the town, society was delightful to the fullest extent of its existence.
And Mabel Fewne enjoyed it intensely; the change of air and of scene
gave stimulus to her spirits and new grace to her form and features, so
that she soon had at her feet all the unmarried men in Smithton, while
many sober Benedicts admired as much as they could safely do without
transferring their allegiance.
Smithton was not inhabited exclusively by people of energy and culture.
New settlements, like all other things new, powerfully attract
incapables, and Smithton was no excuse to the rule. In one portion of
it, yclept "the End," were gathered many characters more odd than
interesting. Their local habitations seemed to be the liquor-shops which
fairly filled that portion of the town. About the doors of these shops
the "Enders" were most frequently seen. If one of them chanced to stray
into the business street of the town, he seemed as greatly confused and
troubled as a lost boy. In his own quarter, however, and among his own
kind, the Ender displayed a composure which was simply superb. No one
could pass through the End by daylight without seeing many of the
inhabitants thereof leaning against fences, trees, buildings, and such
other objects as could sustain without assistance the weight of the
human frame. From these points of support the Enders would contemplate
whatever was transpiring about them, with that immobility of countenance
which characterizes the finished tourist and the North American Indian.
There were occasions when these self-possessed beings assumed erect
positions and manifested ordinary human interest. One of these was the
breaking out of a fight between either men or animals; another was the
passing of a lady of either handsome face or showy dress. So it happened
that, when pretty, well-dressed Mabel Fewne was enjoying a drive with
one of her admirers, there was quite a stir among such Enders as chanced
to see her. The venders of the beverages for which the Enders spent most
of their money noticed that, upon that particular afternoon, an unusual
proportion of their customers stood at the bar with no assistance from
the bar itself, that some spirit was manifest in their walk and
conversation, and yet they were less than usual inclined to be
quarrelsome. So great was the excitement caused by Miss Fewne's
appearance, that one Ender was heard to ask another who she was--an
exhibition of curiosity very unusual in that part of the town. Even
more: One member of that apparently hopeless gang was known to wash his
face and hands, purchase a suit of cheap--but new and clean--clothing,
and take an eastern-bound train, presumably to appear among respectable
people he had known during some earlier period of his existence.
On the evening of the next day a delightful little party was enjoyed by
the well-to-do inhabitants of Smithton. New as was the town, the
parlors of Mrs. General Wader (her husband was something for the railway
company) were handsomely furnished, the ladies were elaborately dressed,
the gentlemen lacked not one of the funereal garments which men
elsewhere wear to evening parties, and stupid people were noticeably
rarer than, in similar social gatherings, in older communities. Mabel
Fewne was there, and as human nature is the same at Smithton as in the
East, she was the belle of the evening. She entered the room on the arm
of her brother-in-law, and that warrior's height, breadth, bronzed
countenance and severe uniform, made all the more striking the figure
which, clad apparently in a pale blue cloud, edged with silver and
crowned with gold, floated beside him. Men crowded about her at once,
and the other ladies present had almost undisturbed opportunity in which
to converse with each other.
At the End there was likewise a social gathering. The place was Drake's
saloon, and the guests were self-invited. Their toilets, though unusual,
scarcely require description, and a list of their diversions would not
interest people of taste Refreshments were as plentiful as at Mrs.
Wader's, and, after the manner of refreshments everywhere, they caused a
general unbending of spirits. Not all the effects were pleasing to
contemplate. One of them was a pistol-shot, which, missing the man for
whom it was intended, struck a person called Baggs, and remarkable only
for general worthlessness. Baggs had a physical system of the
conventional type, however, and the bullet caused some disarrangement so
radical in its nature, that Baggs was soon stretched upon the floor of
the saloon, with a face much whiter than he usually wore. The barkeeper
poured out a glass of brandy, and passed it over the bar, but the
wounded man declined it; he also rejected a box of pills which was
proffered. An Ender, who claimed to have been a physician, stooped over
the victim, felt his pulse, and remarked:
"Baggs, you're a goner."
"I know it," said Baggs; "and I want to be prayed for."
The barkeeper looked puzzled. He was a public-spirited man, whose heart
and pocket were open to people in real trouble, but for prayers he had
never been asked before, and, was entirely destitute of them. He felt
relieved when one of his customers--a leaden-visaged man, with bulbous
nose and a bad temper--advanced toward the wounded man, raised one hand,
threw his head back a trifle, and exclaimed:
"Once in grace, always in grace. I've _been_ there, I know. Let us
pray."
The victim waived his hand impatiently, and faintly exclaimed:
"_You_ won't do; somebody that's better acquainted with God than _you_
are must do it."
"But, Baggs," reasoned the barkeeper, "perhaps he's been a
preacher--you'd better not throw away a chance."
"Don't care if he has," whispered Baggs; "he don't look like any of the
prayin' people mother used to know."
The would-be petitioner took his rebuff considerably to heart, and
began, in a low and rapid voice, an argument with himself upon the
duration of the state of grace. The Enders listened but indifferently,
however; the dying man was more interesting to them than living
questions, for he had no capacity for annoyance. The barkeeper scratched
his head and pinched his brow, but, gaining no idea thereby, he asked:
"Do _you_ know the right man, Baggs?"
"Not here, I don't," gasped the sufferer; "not the right _man_."
The emphasis on the last word was not unheeded by the bystanders; they
looked at each other with as much astonishment as Enders were capable of
displaying, and thrust their hands deep into the pockets of their
pantaloons, in token of their inability to handle the case. Baggs spoke
again.
"I wish mother was here!" he said. "_She'd_ know just to say and how to
say it."
"She's too far away; leastways, I suppose she is," said the barkeeper.
"I know it," whispered the wounded man; "an' yet a woman--"
Baggs looked inquiringly, appealingly about him, but seemed unable to
finish his sentence. His glance finally rested upon Brownie, a man as
characteristic as himself, but at times displaying rather more heart
than was common among Enders. Brownie obeyed the summons, and stooped
beside Baggs. The bystanders noticed that there followed some
whispering, at times shame-faced, and then in the agony of earnestness
on the part of Baggs, and replied to by Brownie with averted face and
eyes gazing into nowhere.
Finally Brownie arose with an un-Ender-like decision, and left the
saloon. No one else said much, but there seemed to circulate an
impression that Baggs was consuming more time than was customary at the
End.
Very different was the scene in Mrs. Wader's parlor; instead of a dying
man surrounded by uncouth beings, there stood a beautiful woman, radiant
with health and animation; while about her stood a throng of
well-dressed gentlemen, some of them handsome, all of them smart, and
each one craving a smile, a word, or a look. Suddenly the pompous voice
of General Wader arose:
"Most astonishing thing I ever heard of," said he. "An Ender has the
impudence to ask to see Miss Fewne!"
"An Ender?" exclaimed the lady, her pretty lips parting with surprise.
"Yes, and he declares you could not have the heart to say no, if you
knew his story."
"Is it possible, Miss Fewne," asked one admirer, "that your cruelty can
have driven any one to have become an Ender?"
Mabel's eyes seemed to glance inward, and she made no reply. She
honestly believed she had never knowingly encouraged a man to become her
victim; yet she had heard of men doing very silly things when they
thought themselves disappointed in love. She cast a look of timid
inquiry at her host.
"Oh, perfectly safe, if you like," said the general. "The fellow is at
the door, and several of our guests are in the hall."
Miss Fewne looked serious, and hurried to the door. She saw a man in
shabby clothing and with unkempt beard and hair, yet with a not
unpleasing expression.
"Madame," said he, "I'm a loafer, but I've been a gentleman, and I know
better than to intrude without a good cause. The cause is a dying man.
He's as rough and worthless as I am, but all the roughness has gone out
of him, just now, and he's thinking about his mother and a sweetheart he
used to have. He wants some one to pray for him--some one as unlike
himself and his associates as possible. He cried for his mother--then he
whispered to me that he had seen, here in Smithton, a lady that looked
like an angel--seen her driving only to-day. He meant you. He isn't
pretty; but, when a _dying_ man says a lady is an angel, he means what
he says."
Two or three moments later Miss Fewne, with a very pale face, and with
her brother-in-law as escort, was following Brownie. The door of the
saloon was thrown open, and when the Enders saw who was following
Brownie they cowered and fell back as if a sheriff with his _posse_ had
appeared. The lady looked quickly about her, until her eye rested upon
the figure of the wounded man; him she approached, and as she looked
down her lip began to tremble.
"I didn't mean it," whispered Baggs, self-depreciation and pain striving
for the possession of his face. "If I hadn't have been a-goin', I
shouldn't have thought of such a thing, but dyin' takes away one's
reg'lar senses. It's not my fault, ma'am, but when I thought about what
mother used to say about heaven, _you_ came into my mind. I felt as if I
was insultin' you just by thinkin' about you--a feller such as me to be
thinking about such a lady. I tried to see mother an' Liz, my
sweetheart that was, just as I've seen 'em when my eyes was shut, but I
couldn't see nothin' but you, the way you looked goin' along that road
and makin' the End look bright. I'd shoot myself for the imperdence of
the thing if I was goin' to get well again, but I ain't. Ther needs to
be a word said for me by somebody--somebody that don't chaw, nor drink,
nor swear--somebody that'll catch God's eye if He happens to be lookin'
down--and I never saw that kind of a person in Smithton till to-day."
Mabel stood speechless, with a tear in each eye.
"Don't, if you don't think best," continued Baggs. "I'd rather go to--to
t'other place than bother a lady. Don't speak a word, if you don't want
to; but mebbe you'll _think_ the least thing? God _can't_ refuse _you_.
But if you think t'other place is best for me, all right."