HAMLICK.
Early in the following evening the yacht stopped at Pine Tree Island,
and after our boys had been received on board, proceeded on its way to
the Corners, where the entire party landed, and at once started up the
village street toward the town hall, where "Hamlick" was to make his
long-expected appearance.
It was soon discovered that many others were evidently going to the
same place, and along the dusty country roads teams could be seen
approaching from almost every direction. "Smart" appearing turnouts,
along with others which must have done duty for several generations
for the busy folk of the region, were seen, and Bob demurely pointed
out what he declared to be the original of the "wonderful one hoss
shay."
When our party climbed the rambling stairway which led to the room in
the third floor of the town hall where Hamlick was to appear, it was
an unusual sight upon which they looked. Old people and young were
entering the room; mothers with little babes in their arms; the
ever-present small boy, whose disposition does not vary materially
whether he dwells in country or city; bashful young fellows, who
apparently were wondering what they should do with those hands of
theirs which, somehow, would protrude too far below the short sleeves
of their coats; all these and many more were there.
In the front of the room the platform was hidden from sight by some
blue denim curtains hung on wires, which were to be manipulated by
some one behind the scenes. Some kerosene lamps were giving a faint
light from brackets on the walls, and a huge wood stove stood in one
corner of the room where it had done duty for years at the gatherings
in the bitter winter days.
There was no usher to show our party the way, but as they perceived
that no places had been reserved, and that all were free to go where
they chose, they at once turned toward the few remaining seats which
were well up in the front of the room and quietly seated themselves.
These seats were benches, across the backs of which narrow strips of
board had been nailed, and forced the occupant to maintain an attitude
which was anything but comfortable. The whole scene was so strange and
unlike anything which any of them had ever seen before, that the
novelty banished even the sense of discomfort, and all gazed about
them with an air of interest as keen as doubtless that of the good
people of the Corners would have been had they been privileged to
enter some spacious hall in the great city from which the summer
visitors had come.
To add to the interest, Ethan was discovered seated in the end of one
of the pews or benches which our friends appropriated, but his
appearance was so markedly different from that to which the boys had
been accustomed that they had some difficulty in really persuading
themselves that it was their boatman before them.
Ethan was dressed in a suit of rusty black broadcloth, which evidently
had seen other days if it had not seen better, and his bearing was so
solemn that at first the boys fancied that he was conducting himself
as he would have done in church.
"Aren't they almost ready to begin, Ethan?" inquired Jock, after he
had presented the sturdy boatman to his friends.
"I s'pose so. They were to begin at seven-thirty sharp," replied
Ethan, solemnly.
"Tom must be excited," suggested Jock, for want of something else to
say.
"I s'pose so."
It was plain that Ethan considered the occasion too solemn for such
trifling questions, and accordingly Jock turned to his other friends,
who were not troubled by any such scruples, and was soon talking and
laughing with them.
The interest in the scene did not decrease as the moments of waiting
passed. Boys entered and lurched heavily into their seats and began to
snap the peanuts, with which their pockets had been well supplied, or
industriously began to busy themselves with pieces of spruce gum which
the present owners had wrested from the trees by their own efforts.
Solemn-faced elderly people entered, and frequently a young mother
came, bringing with her a baby which was sleeping in her arms or
nodding its head sagely, as with wide-open eyes it looked out upon
the assembly.
The interest in the audience was speedily transferred to the stage,
from which the curtains now began to be drawn back. Apparently
something was wrong in the apparatus, for they "hitched" when about
half of the platform appeared in sight, and after a whispered
conversation had taken place, in tones so shrill that they could be
heard by the entire assembly, a well-grown lad stepped from behind the
scenes and adjusted the strings by which the screens were worked.
His appearance was greeted with a shout of delight from the small boys
in the audience, as they called him familiarly by his name, and
bestowed other signs of their approval upon him. The greeting,
however, was not received in the spirit in which it had been given,
and the "manager," after vainly striving for a moment to adjust the
workings, speedily retired in confusion. A yank upon the curtains
quickly followed, and though a sound as of tearing cloth was heard,
the view of the platform was soon unobstructed, and the audience
became silent, waiting for the performance to begin.
After a brief interval Bernardo appeared, gazing carefully about him
for Francisco, who, too tender-hearted to disappoint his commanding
officer, speedily strode forth upon the platform, prepared to do or
die.
"Who's there?" began Bernardo, in a loud stage whisper.
"Nay, answer me; stand, and unfold yourself!" thundered Francisco in
reply.
"Long live the King!" responded the officer, as if he were trying to
make the people in Alexandria Bay aware of his patriotic feeling.
"Bernardo?" exclaimed Francisco, in apparent surprise, though he had
been standing within a few feet of the man all the time.
The conversation continued until Horatio and Marcellus joined them,
and at once began to speak. Horatio was evidently master of the
situation, but poor Marcellus had an attack of stage fright. When it
came his turn to speak he began impulsively,--
"And liegemen to--to--to--to--" but he could go no further. Again he
began, in lower and more impressive tones: "A--a--and liegemen
to--to--" but the desired word would not come.
"To the Dane," whispered some one behind the scenes in a penetrating
voice which reached to the utmost corners of the room.
"And liegemen to the Dane," responded Marcellus, boldly.
Apparently he had recovered now, and all went well until the time came
when the Ghost was to enter. Whether it was the terrifying dread of
the nocturnal visitor, or the evident alarm of the four who were
conversing so eagerly upon the stage that produced the trouble which
followed, is not known; but no sooner had he glided in with his
unearthly tread, and no less unearthly glances, which he cast about
the room, than Marcellus, in his most awe-inspiring whisper, began,
"Peace! Break thee off; look where it comes again;" and then one of
the babies in the room began to scream.
Bernardo boldly continued, "In the same figure, like the king that's
dead."
"Thou art a scholar," responded Marcellus. "Speak to it, Horatio."
But the wailing infant in the front seat was not to be suppressed, and
his screams of terror or rage were becoming more and more shrill, and
were dividing the attention and sympathy of the audience and even
diverting their gaze from the stage.
Apparently human nature could not endure the strain, and suddenly
resuming an upright attitude and speaking in tones marvellously like
those of an angry man, the Ghost turned to the audience, and said
sharply, "Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, but we'll have to stop the
performance till the mother removes that yelling young 'un from this
hall."
Without a protest the young mother rose, and, despite the increased
lamentations of her offspring and his vigorous bodily contortions,
departed; and at last, when "the infant with no language but a cry,"
as Bob afterward described the scene, could no longer be heard, the
play was resumed.
No one had appeared to be surprised at the interruption, and Ethan had
never once glanced at the boys. Dignified and unmoved he sat watching
the stage as if such slight deviations from the words of the "Immortal
Shakespeare" were not able to divert his attention, and he had slight
sympathy for those who would even look about them to discover whose
baby it was that was now creating the disturbance.
[Illustration: "Without a protest the young mother rose."--_Page
356._]
Babies were expected to be present on such occasions, and if present
they were in duty bound to make themselves heard--that was a matter of
course; and which particular baby it was exercising its lungs at the
present moment was, in his opinion, too insignificant a matter to
interest any one.
The interruption seemed, however, to have wrought havoc once more with
Marcellus, for when the play was resumed he began to falter and
hesitate, and like all people who hesitate, was speedily lost.
After he had boldly bidden Horatio to question the terror-inspiring
visitor, and had declared "it was offended," he seemed to lose heart.
"'Tis gone, and will not--not--will not--not-- 'Tis gone and
will--will. 'Tis will and not gone. No," he added abruptly, apparently
as much to the surprise of the Ghost himself, who could be seen
peering from behind the curtain, as to that of his audience, "No,
'tisn't ''tis will,' it's ''tis gone.' 'Tis gone and--and--and--"
Poor Marcellus gazed about him in despair, as if he was looking for
help; but no help came, except from the side of the platform, where
the prompter tried in a loud whisper to aid the desperate player.
Horatio, to help his comrade, went back to the last line he had
spoken, and repeated, "Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee, speak!"
"That's what I'm trying to do, but can't," replied Marcellus, casting
Shakespeare and discretion aside at the same time.
The words were too much for our boys, who, up to this time, had been
striving desperately to remain quiet. Jock had stuffed his
handkerchief into his mouth, but the explosive force of the last
despairing speech of Marcellus had proved too much for him to bear,
and a prolonged squeal came from his lips which forced even the
handkerchief from its place.
"He-e-e-e-e-e!" he cried, and in a moment his companions were all
clinging to the back of the seat in front of them and shaking with
laughter. But few others in the audience seemed to be similarly
affected, and Ethan turned and gave them a look which greatly aided in
restoring their composure.
Marcellus was thoroughly angry now, however, and glared down upon the
offending Jock as if he were minded to add other words which
Shakespeare might perhaps have used, but which he certainly had not
incorporated in the tragedy.
In a moment he rushed from the stage, seized the book from the hands
of the prompter, and, returning to his place, read his part as the
play was resumed. Then for a time all went well, and the eager boys
found themselves looking forward to the time when "Hamlick" himself
should appear.
True to his part, in the second scene the hero appeared, and our boys
were soon all listening attentively. Tom's first words were uttered in
a voice that trembled, but he soon was master of himself and was
giving his mother that sage counsel which has done so much to make
both her and him remembered.
The king stalked about the stage with a crown that fairly glittered
with jewels upon his head, and as for the queen, her gorgeous train
was sadly in the way of Polonius and Laertes, and even "Hamlick"
himself once trod upon it and received a look from her which well
might have caused him to pause in his undutiful language.
Marcellus, too, returned; but this time he was equipped with a book,
as well as with a sword, and though he followed the lines with his
finger as he read, and seldom glanced at his companions, and once his
words, "my good lord," were evidently misunderstood by his audience,
still no further interruptions came until the Ghost once more joined
the group.
Then a fresh trouble arose. Just at the most impressive part, a
long-drawn-out sigh seemed to come from Ethan, who had remained
quietly in his seat at the end of the bench.
Marcellus had just been strongly warning Hamlet not to go with the
untimely visitor, and Horatio had added, "No, by no means," when the
sigh from Ethan's corner rose again, louder, longer, and more intense.
All in the audience could hear it, and as it came once more our four
boys glanced quickly at the boatman.
His head was thrown back against the wall, his eyes were closed, and
his mouth was wide open. It was evident that Ethan was sleeping.
"It will not speak; then I will follow it," Hamlet was just remarking
on the stage.
"O-o-o-h-h-h!" responded Ethan, in something more pronounced now than
a sigh. His voice trembled and quavered, and seemed to gather force as
on it went.
"Wake him up, Jock," whispered Ben.
"Stick a pin in him. He'll spoil the play," whispered Bert.
Jock turned to shake the boatman lightly and strive to restore him by
gentle means, but his efforts were not required; for one of the small
boys seated directly behind Ethan acted promptly, and at once produced
results as startling as they were unexpected.