Chapter IV: The Brontës and the Ghosts

The glen, on the edge of which the Brontës lived, lay secluded among the hills, remote from the more frequented thoroughfares of the country. It was a beautiful and romantic spot by day, but lonesome and desolate at night. For miles round it had the reputation of being haunted, and few passed that way after dark. Those who were obliged to do so heard unnatural splashes in the stream, and rustlings among the bracken, and strange moanings and sobbings among the trees, when there was not a breath of air stirring.

Strange and fitful cries were said to be heard in the glen, and doleful wailings, as of some one in agony.

Long ago, according to tradition, a woman had been murdered in the glen by her false lover and betrayer. Hugh Brontë had told the story, with minute details and local color, till everybody who frequented the gatherings at the kiln knew it by heart.

The villain had enticed his victim to Rathfriland fair, on pretence of getting the wedding ring. He had there attempted to strangle her, but she had escaped from his grasp, and was making her way home to her mother, through fields and byways, when, according to one of Patrick Brontë’s unpublished songs:

“Over hedges and ditches he took the near way,
Until he got before her on that dismal day.”

He waylaid her in the lonely glen, and murdered her under circumstances of great atrocity. On that night the ghost of the murdered woman rushed upon the assassin, and, with a wild scream, dragged him from his bed and through the window of his cabin, and down, down, down, with unearthly yells, to the bottomless pit. The whole story was told in verse, I believe, by Patrick Brontë, and sung to a sad air at local gatherings. It ran partly thus:

“This young man he went to his bed all in a dreadful fright.
And Kitty’s ghost appeared to him, it was an awful sight.
She clasped her a-rums round him, saying, You’re a false young man,
But now I’ll be avenged of you, so do the best you can.”

The punishment was, according to local sentiment, well deserved; but both were doomed to walk the earth for a thousand years. They had made their abode in the glen, hence the doleful and dismal voices.

Another circumstance added to the horror with which the glen was regarded at night. It was said that, at a remote period, a man who had been robbed committed suicide, at a crossing of the brook. He was still living when found with his throat cut, and up to his last breath he continued to moan, with a gurgling sound, “There were ten tenpennies in my pocket at the river.”

I believe the story was founded on fact. A man had committed suicide under the circumstances narrated, but in quite a different part of the country. The deed, however, had come to be located in the Brontë glen, and increased the superstitious awe with which the place was then regarded. A snipe frequented the spot at night, and as people attempted to cross, it would start with a sudden screech from almost beneath their feet. The bird with the unearthly yell was supposed to be the spirit of the unfortunate man.

On one occasion Hugh Brontë was riding home with a neighbor. When they had reached the glen a headless man appeared on the road in front of them. The neighbor’s horse stood shivering, as if rooted to the ground, but Brontë’s horse, without any appearance of fear, walked up to the dreadful object, and Brontë, unmoved, and without pause or word, simply cracked his whip at it, and it disappeared in a flash of light.

Ghost baiting became a passion with the Brontës, and though they were too proud to associate much with their neighbors, they were not averse to being stared at and talked of by them.

The mill at the lower end of the glen, where now stand Mr. Ratcliffe’s dwelling-house and offices, was haunted. Lights flitted through it at night, and no one would go near it after sunset. When the terror was at its height Hugh Brontë armed himself with a sword and a Bible, and went alone to encounter the ghost or devil, or whatever it might be.

The neighbors, who saw Brontë marching to his doom, stood afar off in the darkness, and awaited the result. Unearthly noises were heard, and it was clear that a serious contest was proceeding. After a long delay Brontë returned, bruised and battered and greatly exhausted, but he would give no account of what had transpired.

His secrecy regarding his adventure increased the terror of the superstitious, for it was given out and believed that Brontë, having been worsted in the encounter, saved his life by making some compact with the fiend or ghost. And some even believed that he was ever after in league with the powers of darkness.

This fearsome theory seemed to be confirmed by Hugh Brontë’s subsequent action. One dark and dismal night, the ghost in the glen began to wail like a child in distress. The people barred their doors, covered their heads in bed with their blankets, and stopped their ears, to keep out the unearthly sounds; but Hugh Brontë went down quietly to the glen, and soothed the ghost until by little and little its moaning died away.

On several occasions it was believed that Hugh was actually seen in the glen, standing with his hand on the mane of a magnificent black horse, but when any neighbor drew near, the black horse dwindled into a great black cat, which kept purring around Brontë, and rubbing itself against his legs. As soon as the neighbor withdrew, the cat would again develop into the large black horse, and Brontë was often seen riding up and down upon it, near precipices and ravines where there was no path!

There was also supposed to be a white-sheeted figure that used to frequent the glen, carrying a little child in her arms. It was said that she was in the habit of asking for a night’s lodging, but never seemed disposed to accept it. She generally kept her face covered, or averted, but when it was exposed it proved to be a toothless, grinning skull, with a light shining from each eyeless socket.

One of the Brontë sisters and her daughter lived in a house near by, in which a man called Fraser had hanged himself. The house was declared to be haunted. Apparitions appeared in it, both by day and night, but especially at night. Noises were heard in the rooms during the hours of darkness. When the inmates slept at night, something like a huge frog with claws used to rush up the clothes from the foot of the bed, settle on their chests, and almost suffocate them.

Hugh went to his sister’s house one night, taking his gun with him. He upbraided Fraser for his ungallant and mean conduct in frightening lone women, and then called on him to come out like a man and face him. But nothing appeared, the ghost evidently declining to face a loaded musket.

Brontë was importunate in his challenge, taunting Fraser’s ghost with all kinds of sarcastic gibes and accusations, that he might irritate it into appearing, but the ghost would not be drawn. Then he fired off his gun, and challenged the ghost to meet him face to face, using every scornful and reproachful epithet to drive it into a passion, but all in vain.

On the following night Hugh returned to the haunted house with a fiddle, and tried to coax the ghost to appear in response to the music. The ghost, however, remained obdurate, regardless alike of threats, reproaches, and blandishments. Brontë returned home that night in a state of wild excitement. All the way he incessantly called on Fraser to come and shake hands with him, and make up their quarrel.

He retired to bed in a delirium of frenzy, and during the night the ghost appeared to him, and gave him a terrific squeeze, from which he never recovered. He died shortly after in great suffering, upbraiding Fraser for his heartless cruelty and cowardice, and he declared, dying, that when he reached the land of shadows he would take measures to prevent Fraser from haunting his sister and niece. After Hugh’s death the rumblings and apparitions ceased to trouble his sister’s house.

The great horror, however, of the haunted glen was the _Headless Horseman_. The phantom generally made its appearance among thickets of tangled bushes, which no horse could penetrate, and glided silently over uneven and broken ground, where no horse could have gone.

It always appeared to be ridden and guided by a man in flowing robes, whose feet were firmly in the stirrups and whose hands held the bridle, but whose head had been chopped off, leaving only a red and jagged stump.

The ghastly spectacle was so minutely described by the Brontës that others carried the picture of it in their imaginations, and it is not to be wondered at if many thought they saw the spectre among the shimmering shadows of the trees.

A neighbor of the Brontës, Kaly Nesbit, a very old and, I believe, a very good man, once gave to a number of us a vivid account of the apparition. He told the story with great earnestness, and with apparent conviction as to its truth. I give his account as nearly as I can in his own quaint language:

“I heerd the horse nichering in the glen. It was not the voice of a horse but of a fiend, for it came out of the bowels of the earth, and shook the hills, and made the trees quake. Besides, there was no room for a horse on the steep bank, and among the bushes and brablack.

”I had just had a drap of whiskey, about a noggin, and I wasn’t a bit afeard of witch or warlock, ghost or devil, and so I stepped into the glen to see for myself whatever was to be seen.

“At first I could not see any inkling of a horse, but I heerd the branches swishing along his sides, at the lower end of the glen. Then I saw a large dark object as big as a haystack coming nixt me, and walking straight through trees and bushes as if they were mere shadows.

“I juked down behind a hedge of broom, and as I hunkered in the shadow he came on in the slightly dusk light. The horse was as big as four horses, and at a distance I thought the rider was a huge blackavised man; but when he came fornenst me the moon fell full upon him through a break in the trees, and then I saw that he was crulged up on the saddle, and that only a red and ghastly stump stuck up between his shoulders, where his head should have been.

”I escaped unseen, but just as the terrible thing passed me it nichered again horribly, and I saw sparks of fire darting out of its mouth.

“It then turned and cut triangle across the valley, passing over the cockpit, and walking upon the air, as it emerged into the moonlight. It walked up straight against the steep edge of the quarry-pit, and vanished into the bank. I saw it vanishing by degrees, like a shadow, at first black, but growing lighter and lighter, till it entirely disappeared, and there was nothing on the high bank where it stopped but the bright moonlight.”

Kaly Nesbit had the reputation of being a very good man. I knew him pretty well, especially as a near relative of his had been my kind old nurse, who imparted to me much Brontë lore. I am sure he believed the fascinating story he told; but a noggin of whiskey is a rather indefinite quantity, and Kaly Nesbit, on that night, may have had his faculties for hearing and seeing in a rather sensitive condition.

However that may have been, his sober and earnest account of the monstrous spectre, confirming, as it did, the wildest stories of the Brontës, created a profound impression.

THE HYPNOTIC EXPERIMENTS OF DOCTOR LUYS.

BY R. H. SHERARD.

(Illustrated with photographs of Doctor Luys’s patients, taken at the Charity Hospital in Paris.)

The scientific world is greatly interested in the dispute between the believers in the value of hypnotic experiments for purposes of therapeutics and psychology, and those who stigmatize the wonderful results which the former claim to have obtained, as the mere outcome of delusion or fraud.

Ever since the possibility of producing phenomena by the effect of animal magnetism was established, and their medical value asserted, by Frederick Anthony Mesmer, in his theory of mesmeric cures, the most violent hostility has been provoked. Volumes of controversy have been written, the most ardent of the writers being Nees Von Esenbeck, Kieser, Enemoser, Carus and Kluge amongst the Germans, and Deleaze and Foissac among the French.

The report made by the commission appointed by the French Academy of Sciences, the principal members of which were Benjamin Franklin, Lavoisier, Bailly, and Guillotin, pronounced the whole theory of Mesmer charlatanry, asserting that “there is no proof of the existence of the animal magnetic fluid; that this fluid, having no existence, is consequently without utility; and that the violent effects to be observed are due to the manipulations, to the excitement of the imagination, and to that sort of mechanical imitation which leads us to repeat anything which produces an impression on the senses.”

The consensus of opinion among scientists was opposed to the soundness of the theory of hypnotism. Yet such men as Laplace, Agassiz, Hufeland, Sir William Hamilton, and Doctor William Carpenter were always among its stanch supporters, so far as the fundamental facts were concerned.

THE NEW MESMERISM.

The novel development of the subject on sharply defined lines of scientific method owes itself to J. Braid, a surgeon of Manchester, England, who first published the results of his studies in 1840. But it was many years before his studies became widely known and had their due weight. He now shines _primus inter pares_ among those who have shed most light on a perplexing problem. But just as the modern French art school built itself upon the work of the Englishman Constable, so it took the genius and enthusiasm of such investigators as Doctors Charcot and Luys, and of Colonel Rochas d’Aiglun to carry on Braid’s beginnings. These three scientists of recognized worth never proclaimed that the secrets of hypnotism have been solved, or that its possibilities have been more than foreshadowed; they simply asserted that the results already obtained, many being practical in an eminent degree, give encouragement to pursue their investigations.

It is my purpose to simply set forth that which has come under my personal observation at the Charité Hospital, whose doctor-in-chief, Doctor Luys, is to-day the most enthusiastic believer in experiments on the hypnotic phenomena.

METHODS OF LA CHARITÉ HOSPITAL.

The hypnotic experiments practised by the doctor-in-chief of the Charité Hospital, may be roughly divided into two classes. The first are experiments of a speculative kind, that is to say, such as do not produce practical effects. The second class includes such as often produce such results. These last experiments are mainly the diagnosis of patients by subjects in the hypnotic state, the cure of nervous disorders by the transfer of the same from patients to subjects in the hypnotic state, and the cure of moral and physical maladies by the power of suggestion.

The hypnotic state is divided by Doctor Luys into five phases of intensity: somnambulism, fascination, catalepsy, lethargy, and hypo-lethargy, with various intermediary phases which have not yet been tabulated. The hypnotic state in one or other of its phases is produced in the subject or patient in two ways; by word of command or by the use of the rotative mirror. The rotative mirror is often used where hypnotic influence is first applied to an individual. This mirror much resembles that used by bird catchers for snaring larks. It is composed of four arms, overlaid with bright, polished metal. The arms revolve by clockwork on a pivot, at a tremendous rate of speed. The patient is seated in a high-backed chair with his back to the light, which shines full on the mirror, and is bidden to keep his eyes fixed upon it, and simultaneously to desire to be sent to sleep. The clockwork sets the mirror in rotary motion with a dazzling effect. Sleep is not invariably produced. Many persons are refractory; but, as a rule, in about twenty per cent. of the cases the operation is successful, and after a period varying from five to twenty minutes the patient is seen to drop to sleep.

“The eyes,” says a writer on the subject, “are first attracted by the rays of light which flash from the wings of the mirror, then little by little, and at the end of a period which varies according to the temperament of the patient, a kind of fascination is produced, the lids get tired and imperceptibly close, the head falls back, and the patient sleeps a sleep which seems natural, but which is really one of the first phases of the hypnotic sleep.” In other cases, that is to say, in the case of patients who are more predisposed, a slight shock is manifested during the state of fascination, due, no doubt, to the sudden contraction of some muscle or system of muscles, and the patient falls into a deep sleep, breathing hard. He is then completely insensible, and apt for the reception of suggestion, having passed quickly through the several stages of the hypnotic sleep, sometimes to the last. In most cases, however, where the doctor has to do with subjects who have often been hypnotized, the simple word of command, without passes or gestures of any kind, suffices. With these he has but to say, “Go to sleep,” and they fall at once into a hypnotic state of greater or lesser profundity. Doctor Luys is, however, the sole possessor of hypnotism I have seen who has this power; and both Charcot and his assistant, Doctor Encausse, as well as Colonel Rachas, are obliged to enforce their commands with certain gestures of the hands and influence of the eyes.

THE DANGER OF HYPNOTISM.

Doctor Luys says: “From the social point of view, these new states of instantaneous loss of consciousness into which hypnotic or merely fascinated subjects may be made to pass deserve to be considered with lively interest. As I shall have to explain to you later, the individual in these novel conditions no longer belongs to himself; he is surrendered, an inert being, to the enterprise of those who surround him. He may be induced to become a homicide, an incendiary or suicide, and all these impulses deposited in his brain during sleep become forces stored up silently, which will then burst forth at a given moment, causing acts like those performed by the really insane. All these are real facts which you may meet with this very day in ordinary life.”

This is, indeed, one of the most dangerous features of hypnotism, that a being, apparently in perfect possession of himself, may be forced to do things by the potency of a command given to him in a trance, a fatal edict which he does not in the least remember, but is constrained mechanically to obey. Doctor Luys and his _confrères_ insist that, unjust as it may appear, the plea of having acted irresponsibly under the effect of a hypnotic suggestion cannot, when the safety of society is involved, be admitted as an excuse any more than drunkenness. This justifies the French law that none but licensed physicians should practise hypnotic experiments.

Fortunately for the science of hypnotism the same energy towards useful acts can be stimulated, and it is just this entire obedience of which the professors take advantage for the practice of their healing art. Thus the confirmed drunkard, the man of vicious habits, the lazy child, the kleptomaniac, the suicidal or homicidal maniac can be cured. More wonderful things have been achieved. The patient’s willpower can be so intensified as to enable him to resume mastery of parts of the body which, as the result of such nervous disorders as paralysis, he may have entirely lost. Cases of ague, tic nerveux, neuralgia, and analogous disorders have been cured by repeatedly enjoining the patient, while in the hypnotic state, to conquer his trouble.

HOW CURATIVE PROCESSES ARE PURSUED.

These cures may be divided into two classes, the first effected by auto-suggestion, that is to say, by inspiring the patient with the determination to get the better of his disorder; and, second, those effected by the transfer of the disorder from the patient in his ordinary state to a subject in the hypnotic state.

In the same class may be named numerous cases of persons to whom hypnotism has been administered, just as chloroform is in other cases, as an anæsthetic: as, for instance, the case of a girl who came to the hospital maddened with toothache, and who, once in the hypnotic state, into which she was thrown by the influence of the revolving mirrors, allowed two molar teeth, which till then had caused her the most excruciating agony, to be removed without a sign of discomfort.

The second class of cures are, however, by far the most interesting and the most wonderful. These are the “direct cures,” which are called cures by transfer. This is the method used. One of the subjects attached to Doctor Luys’ clinic--such subjects being persons who have proved themselves very susceptible--is sent to sleep by a word of command from the doctor, and in this state grasps the hands of the patient who desires to be cured. In some cases the hands of the subject are laid upon the patient’s head. The subject is now described as “tapping” the patient of the nervous disorder that affects him. During the process of the transfer an assistant passes a magnetized iron bar over the arms and bodies of both patient and subject. The transfer usually lasts about three minutes. During this period the subject, or the person in the hypnotic state, assumes the individuality of the patient for the nonce, and can answer the doctor’s questions as to the patient’s state and progress. Thus it is the former and not the latter whom the doctor will question how the case is progressing and what ameliorations may be felt, and the subject will answer. In the cases which I saw, the patient in every case described what the subject had said about his state, symptoms, and progress as absolutely true and exact. It is further stated that no injury whatever is wrought on the substitute. While relieving the patient from whom the transfer is made, this vicarious agent is considerably benefited.

The detection of imposture on the part of the subject has invariably resulted in immediate dismissal.

EXTRAORDINARY PHENOMENA.

All the experiments described above are, if genuine (but scientific camps are divided on the question of their genuineness), of practical value. The same thing may be said of another series of test studies, which are also being pursued, though the value is less in degree. Doctor Luys says that the subject in the hypnotic state has an intensely increased visual faculty. Indeed, one of the symptoms of this state is a very noticeable alteration of the appearance of the eye. It is stated by the doctor, and the experiments publicly made may be considered as convincing, that, thanks to this increased visual faculty, the hypnotic subject is able to see in the human face what is entirely hidden to ordinary sight.

For some time past the doctor had established that when a magnet is presented to a hypnotic subject in one of the phases of trance, the effect produced varies, according as the north or south pole, that is to say, the negative or the positive end of the magnet, is offered. The north pole in all cases produces a state of intense delight, expressed by gestures and outcries of pleasure. The subjects in this case declare that they see at the end of the magnet emanations of a beautiful blue light. When the bar is reversed the greatest horror and disgust at once affect the subject. If asked what it is that causes this dismay the subject will answer that it is the sight of a fearful red light playing around the end of the magnet.

Investigating further in this direction the doctor has discovered that the same subjects can detect in the human face emanations corresponding to those seen at the ends of the magnetic bar. Thus from the left eye and left ear and left corner of the mouth in persons in a good state of health, blue emanations can be seen by the hypnotized person, according to the declarations of such subjects.

In cases of persons, however, suffering from nervous disorders, or from the results of diseases or accidents, the colors vary. Thus, according to one of the subjects, the red light proceeding from the right eye of a person affected with shortsightedness and fatigue of the organ was largely spotted with violet. Violet is the characteristic color in all cases of great nervous fatigue. Black, green, and multi-colored flames have been described by the subjects as showing from persons suffering with various forms of nervous disorder. A man who had been wounded in the eye with a rapier was characterized, at an interval of three months, by two different subjects, who, according to Doctor Luys, had had no means of inter-communication, as emitting a green light from the injured organ.

If it can be established that certain diseases produce in those suffering from them a variation in the color of the emanations, which are perceptible to the hypnotic subject, the existence and nature of the disease will be certified by the tint.

Amongst the experiments which have been classified as of a speculative kind, and distinct from those of practical worth, none are more interesting than those that involve the presentation to subjects in the hypnotic state, of various substances and medicines contained in hermetically sealed tubes. The manifestations, according as the tube is presented on the right or the left side of the subject, indicate emotions of a diametrically opposite nature. Thus, when a tube containing ordinary red pepper was offered to the left, or, as the doctor calls it, the blue side, of a girl subject in the hypnotic state, symptoms of keen pleasure were discernible, which changed suddenly to an expression of violent disgust when the tube was carried to the red or right side. According to the doctor, the human being is double, and does not feel the same on his red as on his blue side. Thyme presented to one patient produced terrifying hallucinations; in another it called forth an expression of calm delight. Singularly, in the application of thyme there was a physiological effect, also, on the thyroid gland of the throat, the size of the neck being increased from thirty to thirty-three centimetres, or somewhat more than an inch. Morphine in one patient bred fancies of an evidently terrifying nature; in another, an intense drowsiness. The effect of frankincense presented to the left of the neck was an emotion of terror. Some water in a tube, held near the left side of a hypnotic subject’s head, caused a series of spasms resembling those usual to patients suffering from hydrophobia.

The doctor maintains that in each case the patient was in total ignorance of the contents of the tube. Indeed, in looking over the illustrations of this article, which are direct reproductions from _unretouched_ photographs, one can hardly help believing, with Doctor Luys, that the effect is actual, not simulated. In conclusion, who can tell but that these strange experiments will be looked upon some day as the first lisps of a new science?

THE SURGEON’S MIRACLE.

BY JOSEPH KIRKLAND,

Author of “Zury,” “The Captain of Company K,” etc.

“Poor Abe Dodge.”

That’s what they called him, though he wasn’t any poorer than other folks--not so poor as some. How could he be poor, work as he did and steady as he was? Worth a whole grist of such bait as his brother, Ephe Dodge, and yet they never called Ephe poor--whatever worse name they might call him. When Ephe was off at a show in the village, Abe was following the plough, driving a straight furrow, though you wouldn’t have thought it to see the way his nose pointed. In winter, when Ephe was taking the girls to singing school or spelling bee or some other foolishness--out till after nine o’clock at night, like as not--Abe was hanging over the fire, holding a book so the light would shine, first on one page and then on the other, and he turning his head as he turned the book, and reading first with one eye and then with the other.

There, the murder’s out! Abe couldn’t read with both eyes at once. If Abe looked straight ahead he couldn’t see the furrow--nor anythin’ else, for that matter. His best friend couldn’t say but what Abe Dodge was the cross-eyedest cuss that ever was. Why, if you wanted to see Abe, you’d stand in front of him; but if you wanted Abe to see you, you’d got to stand behind him, or pretty near it. Homely? Well, if you mean downright “humbly,” that’s what he was. When one eye was in use the other was out of sight, all except the white of it. Humbly ain’t no name for it. The girls used to say he had to wake up in the night to rest his face, it was so humbly. In school you’d ought to have seen him look down at his copybook. He had to cant his head clear over and cock up his chin till it pointed out of the winder and down the road. You’d really ought to have seen him, you’d have died. Head of the class, too, right along; just as near to the head as Ephe was to the foot; and that’s sayin’ a good deal. But to see him at his desk! he looked for all the world like a week-old chicken, peekin’ at a tumblebug! And him a grown man, too, for he stayed to school winters so long as there was anything more the teacher could teach him. You see, there wasn’t anything to draw him away; no girl wouldn’t look at him--lucky, too, seein’ the way he looked.

Well, one term there was a new teacher come--regular high-up girl, down from Chicago. As bad luck would have it, Abe wasn’t at school the first week--hadn’t got through his fall work. So she got to know all the scholars, and they was awful tickled with her--everybody always was that knowed her. The first day she come in and saw Abe at his desk, she thought he was squintin’ for fun, and she upped and laughed right out. Some of the scholars laughed too, at first; but most of ’em, to do ’em justice, was a leetle took back; young as they was, and cruel by nature. (Young folks is most usually always cruel--don’t seem to know no better.)

Well, right in the middle of the hush, Abe gathered up his books and upped and walked outdoors, lookin’ right ahead of him, and consequently seeing the handsome young teacher unbeknown to her.

She was the worst cut up you ever did see; but what could she do or say? Go and tell him she thought he was makin’ up a face for fun? The girls do say that come noon-spell, when she found out about it, she cried--just fairly cried. Then she tried to be awful nice to Abe’s ornery brother Ephe, and Ephe he was tickled most to death; but that didn’t do Abe any good--Ephe was jest ornery enough to take care that Abe shouldn’t get any comfort out of it. They do say she sent messages to Abe, and Ephe never delivered them, or else twisted ’em so as to make things worse and worse. Mebbe so, mebbe not--Ephe was ornery enough for it.

’Course the school-ma’am she was boardin’ round, and pretty soon it come time to go to ol’ man Dodge’s, and she went; but no Abe could she ever see. He kept away, and as to meals, he never set by, but took a bite off by himself when he could get a chance. (’Course his mother favored him, being he was so cussed unlucky.) Then when the folks was all to bed, he’d come in and poke up the fire and peek into his book, but first one side and then the other, same as ever.

Now what does school-ma’am do but come down one night when she thought he was abed and asleep, and catch him unawares. Abe knowed it was her, quick as he heard the rustle of her dress, but there wasn’t no help for it, so he just turned his head away and covered his cross-eyes with his hands, and she pitched in. What she said I don’t know, but Abe he never said a word; only told her he didn’t blame her, not a mite; he knew she couldn’t help it--no more than he could. Then she asked him to come back to school, and he answered to please excuse him. After a bit she asked him if he wouldn’t come to oblige her, and he said he calculated he was obligin’ her more by stayin’ away.

Well, come to that she didn’t know what to say or do, so, woman-like, she upped and cried; and then she said he hurt her feelings. And the upshot of it was he said he’d come, and they shook hands on it.

Well, Abe kept his word and took up schoolin’ as if nothing had happened; and such schoolin’ as there was that winter! I don’t believe any regular academy had more learnin’ and teachin’ that winter than what that district school did. Seemed as if all the scholars had turned over a new leaf. Even wild, ornery, no-account Ephe Dodge couldn’t help but get ahead some--but then he was crazy to get the school-ma’am; and she never paid no attention to him, just went with Abe. Abe was teachin’ her mathematics, seeing that was the one thing where he knowed more than she did--outside of farmin’. Folks used to say that if Ephe had Abe’s head, or Abe had Ephe’s face, the school-ma’am would have half of the Dodge farm whenever ol’ man Dodge got through with it; but neither of them did have what the other had, and so there it was, you see.

Well, you’ve heard of Squire Caton, of course; Judge Caton, they call him, since he got to be Judge of the Supreme Court--and Chief Justice at that. Well, he had a farm down there not far from Fox River, and when he was there he was just a plain farmer like the rest of us, though up in Chicago he was a high-up lawyer, leader of the bar. Now it so happened that a young doctor named Brainard--Daniel Brainard--had just come to Chicago and was startin’ in, and Squire Caton was helpin’ him, gave him desk-room in his office and made him known to the folks--Kinzies, and Butterfields, and Ogdens, and Hamiltons, and Arnolds, and all of those folks--about all there was in Chicago in those days. Brainard had been to Paris--Paris, France, not Paris, Illinois, you understand--and knew all the doctorin’ there was to know then. Well, come spring Squire Caton had Doc Brainard down to visit him, and they shot ducks and geese and prairie chickens and some wild turkeys and deer, too--game was just swarmin’ at that time. All the while Caton was doin’ what law business there was to do; and Brainard thought he ought to be doin’ some doctorin’ to keep his hand in, so he asked Caton if there wasn’t any cases he could take up--surgery cases especially he hankered after, seein’ he had more carving tools than you could shake a stick at. He asked him particularly if there wasn’t anybody he could treat for “strabismus.” The squire hadn’t heard of anybody dying of that complaint; but when the doctor explained that strabismus was French for cross-eyes, he naturally thought of poor Abe Dodge, and the young doctor was right up on his ear. He smelled the battle afar off; and ’most before you could say Jack Robinson the squire and the doctor were on horseback and down to the Dodge farm, tool-chest and all.

Well, it so happened that nobody was at home but Abe and Ephe, and it didn’t take but few words before Abe was ready to set right down, then and there, and let anybody do anything he was a mind to with his misfortunate eyes. No, he wouldn’t wait till the old folks come home; he didn’t want to ask no advice; he wasn’t afraid of pain, nor of what anybody could do to his eyes--couldn’t be made any worse than they were, whatever you did to ’em. Take ’em out and boil ’em and put ’em back if you had a mind to, only go to work. He knew he was of age and he guessed he was master of his own eyes--such as they were.

Well, there wasn’t nothing else to do but go ahead. The doctor opened up his killing tools and tried to keep Abe from seeing them; but Abe he just come right over and peeked at ’em, handled ’em, and called ’em “splendid”--and so they were, barrin’ havin’ them used on your own flesh and blood and bones.

Then they got some cloths and a basin, and one thing and another, and set Abe right down in a chair. (No such thing as chloroform in those days, you’ll remember.) And Squire Caton was to hold an instrument that spread the eyelid wide open, while Ephe was to hold Abe’s head steady. First touch of the lancet, and first spirt of blood, and what do you think? That ornery Ephe wilted, and fell flat on the floor behind the chair!

“Squire,” said Brainard, “step around and hold his head.”

“I can hold my own head,” says Abe, as steady as you please. But Squire Caton, he straddled over Ephe and held his head between his arms, and the two handles of the eye-spreader with his hands.

It was all over in half a minute, and then Abe he leaned forward, and shook the blood off his eyelashes, and looked straight out of that eye for the first time since he was born. And the first words he said were:

“Thank the Lord! She’s mine!”

About that time Ephe he crawled outdoors, sick as a dog; and Abe spoke up, says he:

“Now for the other eye, doctor.”

“Oh,” says the doctor, “we’d better take another day for that.”

“All right,” says Abe; “if your hands are tired of cuttin’, you can make another job of it. My face ain’t tired of bein’ cut, I can tell you.”

“Well, if you’re game, I am.”

So, if you’ll believe me, they just set to work and operated on the other eye, Abe holding his own head, as he said he would, and the squire holding the spreader. And when it was all done, the doctor was for putting a bandage on to keep things quiet till the wounds all healed up, but Abe just begged for one sight of himself, and he stood up and walked over to the clock and looked in the glass, and says he:

“So that’s the way I look, is it? Shouldn’t have known my own face--never saw it before. How long must I keep the bandage on, doctor?”

“Oh, if the eyes ain’t very sore when you wake up in the morning, you can take it off, if you’ll be careful.”

“Wake up! Do you s’pose I can sleep when such a blessing has fallen on me? I’ll lay still, but if I forget it, or you, for one minute this night, I’ll be so ashamed of myself that it’ll wake me right up!”

Then the doctor bound up his eyes and the poor boy said “Thank God!” two or three times, and they could see the tears running down his cheeks from under the cloth. Lord! It was just as pitiful as a broken-winged bird!

How about the girl? Well; it was all right for Abe--and all wrong for Ephe--all wrong for Ephe! But that’s all past and gone--past and gone. Folks come for miles and miles to see cross-eyed Abe with his eyes as straight as a loon’s leg. Doctor Brainard was a great man forever after in those parts. Everywhere else, too, by what I heard.

When the doctor and the squire come to go, Abe spoke up, blindfolded as he was, and says he:

“Doc, how much do you charge a feller for savin’ his life--making a man out of a poor wreck--doin’ what he never thought could be done but by dyin’ and goin’ to kingdom come?”

“Oh,” says Doc Brainard, says he, “that ain’t what we look at as pay practice. You didn’t call me in; I come of myself, as though it was what we call a clinic. If all goes well, and if you happen to have a barrel of apples to spare, you just send them up to Squire Caton’s house in Chicago, and I’ll call over and help eat ’em.”

What did Abe say to that? Why, sir, he never said a word; but they do say the tears started out again, out from under the bandage and down his cheeks. But then Abe he had a five-year-old pet mare he’d raised from a colt--pretty as a picture, kind as a kitten, and fast as split lightning; and next time Doc come down Abe he just slipped out to the barn and brought the mare round and hitched her to the gate-post, and when Doc come to be going, says Abe:

“Don’t forget your nag, doctor; she’s hitched at the gate.”

Well, sir, even then Abe had the hardest kind of a time to get Doc Brainard to take that mare; and when he did ride off, leadin’ her, it wasn’t half an hour before back she came, lickety-split. Doc said she broke away from him and put for home, but I always suspected he didn’t have no use for a hoss he couldn’t sell nor hire out, and couldn’t afford to keep in the village--that was what Chicago was then. But come along toward fall Abe he took her right up to town, and then the doctor’s practice had growed so much that he was pretty glad to have her; and Abe was glad to have him have her, seeing all that had come to him through havin’ eyes like other folks--that’s the school-ma’am, I mean.

How did the school-ma’am take it? Well, it was this way. After the cuttin’ Abe didn’t show up for a few days, till the inflammation got down and he’d had some practice handlin’ his eyes, so to speak. He just kept himself to himself, enjoying himself. He’d go around doin’ the chores, singing so you could hear him a mile. He was always great on singin’, Abe was, though ashamed to go to singin’-school with the rest. Then, when the poor boy began to feel like other folks, he went right over to where school-ma’am happened to be boardin’ round, and walked right up to her and took her by both hands, and looked her straight in the face, and said:

“Do you know me?”

Well, she kind of smiled and blushed, and then the corners of her mouth pulled down, and she pulled one hand away, and--if you believe me--that was the third time that girl cried that season, to my certain knowledge--and all for nothin’ either time!

What did she say? Why, she just said she’d have to begin all over again to get acquainted with Abe. But Ephe’s nose was out of joint, and Ephe knowed it as well as anybody, Ephe did. It was Abe’s eyes to Ephe’s nose.

Married? Oh, yes, of course; and lived on the farm as long as the old folks lived, and afterwards, too; Ephe staying right along, like the fool he always had been. That feller never did have as much sense as a last year’s bird’s nest.

Alive yet? Abe? Well, no. Might have been if it hadn’t been for Shiloh. When the war broke out Abe thought he’d ought to go, old as he was, so he went into the Sixth. Maybe you’ve seen a book written about the captain of Company K of the Sixth. It was Company K he went into--him and Ephe. And he was killed at Shiloh--just as it always seems to happen. He got killed, and his worthless brother come home. Folks thought Ephe would have liked to marry the widow, but, Lord! she never had no such an idea! Such bait as he was compared to his brother. She never chirked up, to speak of, and now she’s dead too, and Ephe he just toddles round, taking care of the children--kind of a he dry-nurse; that’s about all he ever was good for, anyhow.

My name? Oh, my name’s Ephraim--Ephe they call me, for short; Ephe Dodge. Abe was my brother.