STANARD’S STRANGE VISITOR.
Dress parade, which took place immediately after the above occupied
the time until supper. It was growing dark by the time the battalion
marched back from mess hall, and the plebes sighed and realized that
one more Saturday half holiday was gone. Parson Stanard, with whom we
have to do at present, looked around for his fellow members as soon as
the plebe company broke ranks. He found to his surprise that they had
disappeared suddenly, gone he knew not where. They had gone to put into
execution the plot to fool him, but Stanard did not know it. He turned
and strolled away by himself in the gathering dusk.
Near Trophy Point, just west of the camp, stands Battle Monument.
North of it stretches one of the finest views that the Hudson Valley
affords, a winding river reaching the horizon’s end with the mountains
of the Highlands sloping to its very shores. The Parson liked that view
especially at this “hour of peace.” The Parson was wont to preach long
sermons to himself upon the sublimity of nature and the insignificance
of man, etc., whenever he walked out there. And so now he seated
himself in a quiet nook and soon forgot where he was and everything
else about himself.
Others knew where he was, however, and from a safe distance were eying
his meditative form. It got darker and darker, stars began to come
out one by one, and the moon began to turn from white to golden. All
this was lost upon the solitary philosopher, who would probably have
remained hidden in his own thoughts until tattoo sounded, had it not
been for one unpleasant interruption.
Now the Parson did not like to be interrupted; he looked up with an
obvious expression of annoyance, when he became aware of the fact that
a figure was approaching him, had stopped and was staring at him. But
when the Parson surveyed the figure, he forgot to be annoyed, for it
was a very peculiar-looking figure, and moreover it was acting very
peculiarly too.
From what the Parson could see of him in the darkness he was an old
pack peddler. His figure was bent and stooping, and he bore upon his
back a heavy load. As to his face, it was so covered by a growth of
heavy black hair and beard that the Parson could see nothing but a
pair of twinkling eyes. Such was the man; to the Parson’s infinite
amazement he was setting down his pack and preparing to display his
wares to him--to him, the refined and cultured Boston scholar.
“Shoe laces, suspenders?” muttered the curious creature, in a low,
disagreeable voice.
“No!” said the other, emphatically.
“Matches, collar buttons?”
“No!” cried the Parson, this time angrily.
“Socks, combs, brushes?”
“No! Go away!”
“Hairpins, needles, necklaces?”
“I tell you I don’t want anything!” exclaimed the cadet. “You disturb
my meditations, yea, by Zeus, exceedingly! I have no money. I don’t
want anything!”
The strange old man paid not the least attention to these emphatic and
scholarly remonstrances. He was still fumbling at his pack, about to
display the contents. And so the Parson, who was exceedingly provoked
at having been interrupted in a most valuable train of thought, seeing
the man was persistent, sprang up and started to hurry away in disgust.
And then suddenly he was brought to a halt again, completely, as much
startled as if he had been shot through the back. For the old man had
raised his voice commandingly and called aloud:
“Stop!”
Completely mystified and not a little alarmed by that extraordinary
act, the Parson turned and stared at the weird figure. The peddler was
still bent half to the ground, but he had flung back his bushy head and
extended his hand in a gesture of command.
“Wh--why!” stammered the amazed cadet. “By Zeus!”
The old man continued to stand, his piercing eyes flashing. And then
suddenly he dropped his hand and in a low, singsong voice began to
mumble, as if to himself. His very first words rooted the Parson to the
spot in amazement and horror.
“Deep within a mountain dreary
Lies a cavern old and dark;
Where the bones of men lie bleaching
In a chamber, cold and stark.”
The Parson had turned as white as any bones; he was gasping, staring at
the horrible creature, who knew the secret that the Parson had thought
was his friends’ alone to tell. His consternation it is difficult
to imagine; the crouching figure saw it, and took advantage of it
instantly. Without making another sound, he backed away; beckoning,
the Parson following instinctively, helplessly. They stood beneath the
protecting shadow of some high bushes, and there once more the weird
figure raised his arms, and the amazed cadet quailed and listened:
“’Twas a secret not for mortals
Hidden by that cavern walls
For beyond those gloomy portals----”
“In the name of all that is holy!” cried the Parson, suddenly. “By
the nine Olympians, by the nine Heliconian muses, I abjure you! By
the three Cyclos, by the three Centimani, the three Fates, the three
Furies, the three Graces! By Acheron and the Styx! By the Pillars of
Hercules and the Palladium of Troy. By all that men can mention, yea,
by Zeus, I demand to know how you learned this!”
The Parson gasped after that; and the old man went on:
“Silence, rash, presumptuous mortal,
Seekest thou the Fates to know?
At whose word e’en Zeus doth tremble,
Sun and earth and moon below.”
There was nothing like a classical allusion to awe the Parson;
convinced of the strange man’s superiority, then, he dared not a word
more.
“Bold and reckless those who entered,
Risks they ran they never knew.
But, once entered their’s the secret,
Secret that I tell to you.
“At the hour of midnight venture
To that cavern black to go.
Fear not! I protection give thee,
Keep thee safe from every foe.
“Bear a spade upon thy shoulder;
Take thy friends to give thee aid,
Deep to dig in search of treasure
Once beneath its carpet laid.
“Find a lamp--by you ’twas lighted
When you first beheld those halls.
’Tis the secret I shall give thee--
Dig--where’er its shadow falls!”
The old man stopped abruptly. The amazed cadet was staring at him in
the utmost consternation. And then suddenly the man raised his hand
again.
“Go!” he said.
The Parson followed his finger; it was pointing to the camp; and
hesitating but a moment more Stanard turned and started away, his brain
reeling so that he could hardly walk, his ears still echoing the words:
“’Tis the secret I shall give thee--
Dig--where’er its shadow falls!”
He never once turned to look back at that mysterious figure. If he had
he might have been more surprised than ever. For the figure, hiding
behind the bush, flung off its pack, stepped out of the old man’s rags,
tore off a heavy false beard and wig and emerged----
Mark Mallory!
He whistled once, and a drum orderly, bribed for the occasion, ran out
and hurried off with the things. And Mark rushed over and burst into a
group of cadets that stood near.
“It worked! It worked!” he cried. “Oh, you should have seen how it took
him in! And he’ll go as sure as we’re alive.”
And just then tattoo sounded and the six villains set out on a run for
the camp.
Now Parson Stanard’s scholarly features were solemn enough under any
circumstances; when there was anything to make them still more so he
was a sight to behold. This was the case that evenings for the Parson,
when he fell into line, was looking as if the future destiny of the
universe were resting upon his shoulders, and his hilarious comrades
were scarcely able to keep from bursting into laughter every time they
glanced at him.
He was too busy with his own thoughts to notice them, however. He was
so much occupied by speculations upon the mystery of that weird old man
that he forgot for a moment to answer to his name at roll call, and
had to be poked in the ribs to wake him up. Then the line melted away,
and still solemn he marched into his tent and gathered his “wondering”
fellow-devils about him.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “I have a tale to tell you. I have this day, this
very hour, met with an adventure, preternatural or supernatural, that
exceeds the capacities of the human intellectualities to appreciate.
Gentlemen, I am no believer in signs or auguries; but never did the
oracle of Delphi or the Sibyl of Cumea promulgate a prophecy more
extraordinary than one----”
“What on earth’s the matter?” cried the six, in obvious amazement.
“You seen a ghost?” inquired Texas.
“No, gentlemen,” said the Parson. “But I have seen some one or
something that I should be glad to know was a ghost, something more
marvelous than any hitherto recorded, spiritualistic manifestation. And
I am sorely perplexed.”
After this and a little more of similar introduction the Parson
finally managed to get down to business and tell to his horrified (oh,
yes!) companions the tale of his adventure.
“Say look a-here, Parson,” demanded Texas, when he had finished, “you
expect us to believe that aire yarn?”
“That’s what I say!” added Mark. “He’s trying to fool us.”
“Gentlemen,” protested the other, “do I look like a man who was joking?”
He didn’t for a fact; he looked like a man who had been through a flour
mill.
“But that don’t make any difference,” vowed Mark. “You’re just putting
on thet face to help deceive us.”
“By Zeus!” exclaimed the Parson. “Gentlemen, I swear to you that I am
serious. I swear it by the bones of my grandfather. I swear----”
“Make it grandmother,” hinted Texas.
“I swear it by the poisons of Colchia,” continued the other
indignantly. “By the waters of the Styx, by the sands of the Pactolus,
by the spells of Medea, by the thunderbolts of Jove, by the sandals of
Mercury----”
The Parson would probably have continued swearing by everything known
to mythology, keeping up until “taps” stopped him. But by that time
the conspirators saw fit to believe him.
“This is an extraordinary state of affairs,” said Mark, solemnly.
“Really, fellows, do you know I think we ought to go?”
“B’gee, so do I,” cried Dewey.
“I was about to extend you an invitation,” said the Parson. “For my
part I am determined to go this very night. Nothing shall stop me,
gentlemen. My mind is made up. That treasure, revealed to me under such
circumstances, I am determined to secure, and that in spite of whatever
dangers I may meet, whatever foes may oppose me, whatever----”
“Bully for the Parson!” whispered Texas. “He’s gittin’ spunky.”
“We are by no means the first,” said the solemn scholar, “to undertake
a dangerous search for wealth. The ancient poets sang of Jason and the
Argonauts and the Search for the Golden Fleece.”
“This yere’s the biggest golden ‘fleece’ of any of ’em,” observed
Texas, slyly. But the Parson didn’t hear that.
He continued all innocent and unsuspecting as ever. And when the Seven
went to sleep at last it was with a solemn promise on their lips to be
up and doing in time to reach the “cave” by midnight.
As for the Parson, he did not sleep at all; he was too excited. The
Parson was in a regular Captain Kidd humor that night. Gold! Gold! He
waited impatiently until the “tac” had inspected after taps, and then
he turned over on his back and stared at the roof of the tent and lay
thinking over the extraordinary adventure he had met with, and the
still more extraordinary adventures that were likely to result from
it. He was even going so far as to speculate what he was going to do
with his wealth. He’d divide it among the rest, of course. And what
magnificent fossils he was going to purchase with his share!
He had not long to dwell over that, however. It was two good miles
through the woods to that cave, and it might take them some time to
find it besides. And not to be there at twelve would be a calamity
indeed. The Parson hadn’t a very clear idea why he must dig at
midnight particularly, but he thought it best to obey orders and ask
no questions. So very soon after he heard the sentry call the hour of
half-past ten he sprang up and awakened his fellow treasure hunters.
Indian was on guard that night; and so the six remaining who were to
conduct the expedition, found no trouble in stealing out of camp.
They arose and dressed hastily, and then, not without some little
nervousness lest their absence should be noticed, they stole across
their friend’s sentry beat and made a dash for the woods.
Parson Stanard’s gold-hunting expedition was started.