for, a heavy root of the fallen giant, just covered by the water, caught
the little craft, and caused it to careen so violently that one man was
thrown into the water. As she righted, another man went in.
"Confound it!" growled the captain, who was leaning out of the
pilot-house window. "I hope they can swim, still, 'tain't as bad as it
would be if we had any more cargo to take aboard."
"It's the Chums," remarked the pilot, who had brought a glass to bear
upon the boat.
"Thunder!" exclaimed the captain, striking a bell. "Below there! Lower
away another boat--lively!" Then, turning to the passengers, he
exclaimed: "Nobody on the river'd forgive me if I lost the Chums.
'Twould be as bad as Barnum losing the giraffe."
The occupants of the first boat were evidently of the captain's own
mind, for they were eagerly peering over her side, and into the water.
Suddenly the pilot dropped his glass, extemporized a. trumpet with both
hands, and shouted:
"Forrard--forrard! One of 'em's up!" Then he put, his mouth to the
speaking-tube, and screamed to the engineer: "Let her drop down a
little, Billy!"
The sounding party headed toward a black speck, apparently a hundred
yards below them, and the great steamer slowly drifted down-stream. The
speck moved toward shore, and the boat, rapidly shortening distance,
seemed to scrape the bank with her port oars.
"Safe enough now, I guess!" exclaimed Judge Turner, of one of the
Southern Illinois circuits.
The Judge had been interrupted in telling a story when the accident
occurred, and was in a hurry to resume.
"As I was saying," said he, "he hardly looked like a professional
horse-thief. He was little and quiet, and had always worked away
steadily at his trade. I believed him when he said 'twas his first
offense, and that he did it to raise money to bury his child; and I was
going to give him an easy sentence, and ask the Governor to pardon him.
The laws have to be executed, you know, but there's no law against mercy
being practiced afterward. Well, the sheriff was bringing him from jail
to hear the verdict and the sentence, when the short man, with red hair,
knocked the sheriff down, and off galloped that precious couple for the
Wabash. I saw the entire--"
"The deuce!" interrupted the pilot, again dropping his glass.
The Judge glared angrily; the passengers saw, across the shortened
distance, one of the Chums holding by a root to the bank, and trying to
support the other, whose shirt hung in rags, and who seemed exhausted.
"Which one's hurt?" asked the captain. "Give me the glass."
But the pilot had left the house and taken the glass with him.
The Judge continued:
"I saw the whole transaction through the window. I was so close that I
saw the sheriff's assailant's very eyes. I'd know that fellow's face if
I saw it in Africa."
"Why, they're _both_ hurt!" exclaimed the captain. "They've thrown a
coat over one, and they're crowdin' around the other. What the--They're
comin' back without 'em--need whisky to bring 'em to, I suppose. Why
didn't I send whisky down by the other boat? There's an awful amount of
time being wasted here. What's the matter, Mr. Bell?" shouted the
captain, as the boat approached the steamer.
"Both dead!" replied the officer.
"Both? Now, ladies and gentlemen," exclaimed the captain, turning toward
the passengers, who were crowded forward just below him, "I want to know
if that isn't a streak of the meanest kind of luck? Both the Chums gone!
Why, I won't be able to hold up my head in New Orleans. How came it that
just those two fellows were knocked out?"
"Red tumbled out, and Black jumped in after him," replied the officer.
"Red must have been caught in an eddy and tangled in the old tree's
roots--clothes torn almost off--head caved in. Black must have burst a
blood-vessel--his face looked like a copper pan when he reached shore,
and he just groaned and dropped."
The captain was sorry, so sorry that he sent a waiter for brandy. But
the captain was human--business was business--the rain was falling, and
a big log was across the boat's bow; so he shouted:
"Hurry up and bury 'em, then. You ought to have let the second boat's
crew gone on with that, and you have gone back to your soundings. They
_was_ the Chums, to be sure, but now they're only dead roustabouts.
Below there! Pass out a couple of shovels!"
"Perhaps some ladies would go down with the boat, captain--and a
preacher, too, if there's one aboard," remarked the mate, with an
earnest but very mysterious expression.
"Why, what in thunder does the fellow mean?" soliloquized the captain,
audibly. "Women--and a preacher--for dead roustabouts? What do you mean,
Mr. Bell?"
"Red's a woman," briefly responded the mate.
The passengers all started--the captain brought his hands together with
a tremendous clap, and exclaimed:
"Murder will out! But who'd have thought _I_ was to be the man to find
out the secret of the Carmi Chums? Guess I'll be the biggest man on the
New Orleans levee, after all. Yes, certainly--of course some ladies'll
go--and a preacher, too, if there's such a man aboard. Hold up,
though--we'll _all_ go. Take your soundings, quick, and we'll drop the
steamer just below the point, and tie up. I wonder if there's a preacher
aboard?"
No one responded for the moment; then the Judge spoke.
"Before I went into the law I was the regularly settled pastor of a
Presbyterian Church," said he. "I'm decidedly rusty now, but a little
time will enable me to prepare myself properly. Excuse me, ladies and
gentlemen."
The sounding-boat pulled away, and the Judge retired to his stateroom.
The ladies, with very pale faces, gathered in a group and whispered
earnestly with each other; then ensued visits to each other's
staterooms, and the final regathering of the ladies with two or three
bundles. The soundings were taken, and, as the steamer dropped
down-stream, men were seen cutting a path down the rather steep clay
bank. The captain put his hands to his mouth and shouted:
"Dig only _one_ grave--make it wide enough for two."
And all the passengers nodded assent and satisfaction.
Time had been short since the news reached the steamer, but the
_Bennett's_ carpenter, who was himself a married man, had made a plain
coffin by the time the boat tied up, and another by the time the grave
was dug. The first one was put upon a long handbarrow, over which the
captain had previously spread a tablecloth, and, followed by the ladies,
was deposited by the side of the body of Red. Half an hour later, the
men placed Black in the other coffin, removed both to the side of the
grave, and signalled the boat.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen," said the captain.
The Judge appeared with a very solemn face, his coat buttoned tight to
his throat, and the party started. Colonel May, of Missouri, who read
Voltaire and didn't believe in anything, maliciously took the Judge's
arm, and remarked:
"You didn't finish your story, Judge."
The Judge frowned reprovingly.
"But, really," persisted the colonel, "I don't want curiosity to divert
my mind from the solemn services about to take place. Do tell me if they
ever caught the rascals."
"They never did," replied the Judge. "The sheriff hunted and advertised,
but he could never hear a word of either of them. But I'd know either
one of them at sight. Sh--h--here we are at the grave."
The passengers, officers, and crew gathered about the grave. The Judge
removed his hat, and, as the captain uncovered the faces of the dead,
commenced:
"'I am the resurrection and the life'--Why, there's the horse-thief now,
colonel! I beg your pardon, ladies and gentlemen. 'He that believeth
in--'"
Just then the Judge's eye fell upon the dead woman's face, and he
screamed:
"And there's the sheriff's assailant!"
LITTLE GUZZY.
Bowerton was a very quiet place. It had no factories, mills, or mines,
or other special inducements to offer people looking for new localities;
and as it was not on a railroad line, nor even on an important
post-road, it gained but few new inhabitants.
Even of travelers Bowerton saw very few. An occasional enterprising
peddler or venturesome thief found his way to the town, and took away
such cash as came in their way while pursuing their respective callings;
but peddlers were not considered exactly trustworthy as news-bearers,
while house-breakers, when detained long enough to be questioned, were
not in that communicative frame of mind which is essential to one who
would interest the general public.
When, therefore, the mail-coach one day brought to Bowerton an old lady
and a young one, who appeared to be mother and daughter, excitement ran
high.
The proprietor of the Bowerton House, who was his own clerk, hostler,
and table-waiter, was for a day or two the most popular man in town;
even the three pastors of the trio of churches of Bowerton did not
consider it beneath their dignity to join the little groups which were
continually to be seen about the person of the landlord, and listening
to the meagre intelligence he was able to give.
The old lady was quite feeble, he said, and the daughter was very
affectionate and very handsome. He didn't know where they were going,
but they registered themselves from Boston. Name was Wyett--young lady's
name was Helen. He hoped they wouldn't leave for a long time--travelers
weren't any too plenty at Bowerton, and landlords found it hard work to
scratch along. Talked about locating at Bowerton if they could find a
suitable cottage. Wished 'em well, but hoped they'd take their time, and
not be in a hurry to leave the Bowerton House, where--if _he_ did say it
as shouldn't--they found good rooms and good board at the lowest living
price.
The Wyetts finally found a suitable cottage, and soon afterward they
began to receive heavy packages and boxes from the nearest railway
station.
Then it was that the responsible gossips of Bowerton were worked nearly
to death, but each one was sustained by a fine professional pride which
enabled them to pass creditably through the most exciting period.
For years they had skillfully pried into each other's private affairs,
but then they had some starting-place, some clue; now, alas! there was
not in all Bowerton a single person who had emigrated from Boston, where
the Wyetts had lived. Worse still, there was not a single Bowertonian
who had a Boston correspondent.
To be sure, one of the Bowerton pastors had occasional letters from a
missionary board, whose headquarters were at the Hub, but not even the
most touching appeals from members of his flock could induce him to
write the board concerning the newcomers.
But Bowerton was not to be balked in its striving after accurate
intelligence.
From Squire Brown, who leased Mrs. Wyett a cottage, it learned that Mrs.
Wyett had made payment by check on an excellent Boston bank. The poor
but respectable female who washed the floors of the cottage informed the
public that the whole first floor was to be carpeted with Brussels.
The postmaster's clerk ascertained and stated that Mrs. Wyett received
_two_ religious papers per week, whereas no else in Bowerton took more
than one.
The grocer said that Mrs. Wyett was, by jingo, the sort of person _he_
liked to trade with--wouldn't have anything that wasn't the very best.
The man who helped to do the unpacking was willing to take oath that
among the books were a full set of Barnes, Notes, and two sets of
commentaries, while Mrs. Battle, who lived in the house next to the
cottage, and who was suddenly, on hearing the crashing of crockery next
door, moved to neighborly kindness to the extent of carrying in a nice
hot pie to the newcomers, declared that, as she hoped to be saved, there
wasn't a bit of crockery in that house which wasn't pure china.
Bowerton asked no more. Brussels carpets, religious tendencies, a bank
account, the ability to live on the best that the market afforded, and
to eat it from china, and china only--why, either one of these
qualifications was a voucher of respectability, and any two of them
constituted a patent of aristocracy of the Bowerton standard.
Bowerton opened its doors, and heartily welcomed Mrs. and Miss Wyett.
It is grievous to relate, but the coming of the estimable people was the
cause of considerable trouble in Bowerton.
Bowerton, like all other places, contained lovers, and some of the young
men were not so blinded by the charms of their own particular lady
friends as to be oblivious to the beauty of Miss Wyett.
She was extremely modest and retiring, but she was also unusually
handsome and graceful, and she had an expression which the young men of
Bowerton could not understand, but which they greatly admired.
It was useless for plain girls to say that they couldn't see anything
remarkable about Miss Wyett; it was equally unavailing for good-looking
girls to caution their gallants against too much of friendly regard even
for a person of whose antecedents they really knew scarcely anything.
Even casting chilling looks at Miss Wyett when they met her failed to
make that unoffending young lady any less attractive to the young men
of Bowerton, and critical analysis of Miss Wyett's style of dressing
only provoked manly comparisons, which were as exasperating as they were
unartistic.
Finally Jack Whiffer, who was of a first family, and was a store-clerk
besides, proposed to Miss Wyett and was declined; then the young ladies
of Bowerton thought that perhaps Helen Wyett had some sense after all.
Then young Baggs, son of a deceased Congressman, wished to make Miss
Wyett mistress of the Baggs mansion and sharer of the Baggs money, but
his offer was rejected.
Upon learning this fact, the maidens of Bowerton pronounced Helen a
noble-spirited girl to refuse to take Baggs away from the dear, abused
woman who had been engaged to him for a long time.
Several other young men had been seen approaching the Wyett cottage in
the full glory of broadcloth and hair-oil, and were noticeably depressed
in spirits for days afterward, and the native ladies of marriageable age
were correspondingly elated when they heard of it.
When at last the one unmarried minister of Bowerton, who had been the
desire of many hearts, manfully admitted that he had proposed and been
rejected, and that Miss Wyett had informed him that she was already
engaged, all the Bowerton girls declared that Helen Wyett was a darling
old thing, and that it was perfectly shameful that she couldn't be let
alone.
After thus proving that their own hearts were in the right place, all
the Bowerton girls asked each other who the lucky man could be.
Of course he couldn't be a Bowerton man, for Miss Wyett was seldom seen
in company with _any_ gentleman. He must he a Boston man--he was
probably very literary--Boston men always were.
Besides, if he was at all fit for her, he must certainly be very
handsome.
Suddenly Miss Wyett became the rage among the Bowerton girls.
Blushingly and gushingly they told her of their own loves, and they
showed her their lovers, or pictures of those gentlemen.
Miss Wyett listened, smiled and sympathized, but when they sat silently
expectant of similar confidences, they were disappointed, and when they
endeavored to learn even the slightest particular of Helen Wyett's love,
she changed the subject of conversation so quickly and decidedly that
they had not the courage to renew the attempt.
But while most Bowertonians despaired of learning much more about the
Wyetts, and especially about Helen's lover, there was one who had
resolved not only to know the favored man, but to do him some frightful
injury, and that was little Guzzy.
Though Guzzy's frame was small, his soul was immense, and Helen's
failure to comprehend Guzzy's greatness when he laid it all at her feet
had made Guzzy extremely bilious and gloomy.
Many a night, when Guzzy's soul and body should have been taking their
rest, they roamed in company up and down the quiet street on which the
Wyetts' cottage was located, and Guzzy's eyes, instead of being fixed on
sweet pictures in dreamland, gazed vigilantly in the direction of Mrs.
Wyett's gate.
He did not meditate inflicting personal violence on the hated wretch who
had snatched away Helen from his hopes--no, personal violence could
produce suffering but feeble compared with that under which the victim
would writhe as Guzzy poured forth the torrent of scornful invective
which he had compiled from the memories of his bilious brain and the
pages of his "Webster Unabridged."
At length there came a time when most men would have despaired.
Love is warm, but what warmth is proof against the chilling blasts and
pelting rains of the equinoctial storm?
But then it was that the fervor of little Guzzy's soul showed itself;
for, wrapped in the folds of a waterproof overcoat, he paced his
accustomed beat with the calmness of a faithful policeman.
And he had his reward.
As one night he stood unseen against the black background of a high
wall, opposite the residence of Mrs. Wyett, he heard the gate--_her_
gate--creak on its hinges.
It could be no ordinary visitor, for it was after nine o'clock--it must
be _he_.
Ha! the lights were out! He would be disappointed, the villain! Now was
the time, while his heart would be bleeding with sorrow, to wither him
with reproaches. To be sure, he seemed a large man, while Guzzy was very
small, but Guzzy believed his own thin legs to be faithful in an
emergency.
The unknown man knocked softly at the front-door, then he seemed to tap
at several of the windows.
Suddenly he raised one of the windows, and Guzzy, who had not until then
suspected that he had been watching a house-breaker, sped away like the
wind and alarmed the solitary constable of Bowerton.
That functionary requested Guzzy to notify Squire Jones, justice of the
peace, that there was business ahead, and then hastened away himself.
Guzzy labored industriously for some moments, for Squire Jones was very
old, and very cautious, and very stupid; but he was at last fully
aroused, and then Guzzy had an opportunity to reflect on the greatness
which would be his when Bowerton knew of his meritorious action.
And Helen Wyett--what would be her shame and contrition when she learned
that the man whose love she had rejected had become the preserver of her
peace of mind and her portable personal property?
He could not exult over _her_, for that would be unchivalrous; but would
not her own conscience reproach her bitterly?
Perhaps she would burst into tears in the court-room, and thank him
effusively and publicly! Guzzy's soul swelled at the thought, and he
rapidly composed a reply appropriate to such an occasion. Suddenly Guzzy
heard footsteps approaching, and voices in earnest altercation.
Guzzy hastened into the squire's office, and struck an attitude
befitting the importance of a principal witness.
An instant later the constable entered, followed by two smart-looking
men, who had between them a third man, securely handcuffed.
The prisoner was a very handsome, intelligent-looking young man, except
for a pair of restless, over-bright eyes.
"There's a difference of opinion 'bout who the prisoner belongs to,"
said the constable, addressing the squire; "and we agreed to leave the
matter to you. When I reached the house, these gentlemen already had him
in hand, and they claim he's an escaped convict, and that they've
tracked him from the prison right straight to Bowerton."
The prisoner gave the officers a very wicked look, while these officials
produced their warrants and handed them to the justice for inspection.
Guzzy seemed to himself to grow big with accumulating importance.
"The officers seem to be duly authorized," said the squire, after a long
and minute examination of their papers; "but they should identify the
prisoner as the escaped convict for whom they are searching."
"Here's a description," said one of the officers, "in an advertisement:
'Escaped from the Penitentiary, on the ----th instant, William Beigh,
_alias_ Bay Billy, _alias_ Handsome; age, twenty-eight; height, five
feet ten; complexion dark, hair black, eyes dark brown, mole on left
cheek; general appearance handsome, manly, and intelligent. A skillful
and dangerous burglar. Sentenced in 1866 to five years'
imprisonment--two years yet to serve.' That," continued the officer,
"describes him to a dot; and, if there's any further doubt, look here!"
As he spoke, he unclasped a cloak which the prisoner wore, and disclosed
the striped uniform of the prison.
"There seems no reasonable doubt in this case, and the prisoner will
have to go back to prison," said the justice. "But I must detain him
until I ascertain whether he has stolen anything from Mrs. Wyett's
residence. In case he has done so, we can prosecute at the expiration of
his term."
The prisoner seemed almost convulsed with rage, though of a sort which
one of the officers whispered to the other, he did not exactly
understand.
Guzzy eyed him resentfully, and glared at the officers with considerable
disfavor.
Guzzy was a law-abiding man, but to have an expected triumph belittled
and postponed because of foreign interference was enough to blind almost
_any_ man's judicial eyesight.
"Well," said one of the officers, "put him in the lock-up' and
investigate in the morning; we won't want to start until then, after the
tramp he's given us. Oh, Bay Billy, you're a smart one--no mistake about
that. Why in thunder don't you use your smartness in the right
way?--there's more money in business than in cracking cribs."
"Besides the moral advantage," added the squire, who was deacon as well,
and who, now that he had concluded his official duties, was not adverse
to laying down the higher law.
"Just so," exclaimed the officer; "and for his family's sake, too. Why,
would you believe it, judge? They say Billy has one of the finest wives
in the commonwealth--handsome, well-educated, religious, rich, and of
good family. Of course she didn't know what his profession was when she
married him."
Again the prisoner seemed convulsed with that strange rage which the
officer did not understand. But the officers were tired, and they were
too familiar with the disapprobation of prisoners to be seriously
affected by it; so, after an appointment by the squire, and a final
glare of indignation from little Guzzy, they started, under the
constable's guidance, to the lock-up.
Suddenly the door was thrown open, and there appeared, with uncovered
head, streaming hair, weeping yet eager eyes, and mud-splashed garments,
Helen Wyett.
[Illustration: "WE MAY AS WELL FINISH THIS CASE TO-NIGHT, IF MISS WYETT
IS PREPARED TO TESTIFY," SAID THE JUDGE.]
Every one started, the officers stared, the squire looked a degree or
two less stupid, and hastened to button his dressing-gown; the restless
eyes of the convict fell on Helen's beautiful face, and were restless
no longer; while little Guzzy assumed a dignified pose, which did not
seem at all consistent with his confused and shamefaced countenance.
"We may as well finish this case to-night, if Miss Wyett is prepared to
testify," said the squire, at length. "Have you lost anything, Miss
Wyett?"
"No," said Helen; "but I have found my dearest treasure--my own
husband!"
And putting her arms around the convict's neck, she kissed him, and
then, dropping her head upon his shoulder, she sobbed violently.
The squire was startled into complete wakefulness, and as the moral
aspect of the scene presented itself to him, he groaned:
"Onequally yoked with an onbeliever."
The officers looked as if they were depraved yet remorseful convicts
themselves, while little Guzzy's diminutive dimensions seemed to
contract perceptibly.
At length the convict quieted his wife, and persuaded her to return to
her home, with a promise from the officers that she should see him in
the morning.
Then the officers escorted the prisoner to the jail, and Guzzy sneaked
quietly out, while the squire retired to his slumbers, with the firm
conviction that if Solomon had been a justice of the peace at Bowerton,
his denial of the newness of anything under the sun would never have
been made.