Chapter VI

After the visit to the monument, Chevillere daily inquired concerning the health of the interesting invalid; and as regularly was indisposition pleaded for her non-appearance. Late in the evening of the third day, he was slowly pacing the pavement in front of the hotel; now and then throwing a wistful glance at the lighted window of the lady, when all at once he suddenly wheeled round, and grasping in the dark, was surprised to find that a person whom he had supposed to be impertinently dogging his steps, had eluded his grasp. He grimly smiled at his own exasperation for an imaginary cause, hastily adjusted his cloak, and turned down the street leading most directly to the bay.

When he arrived at the quiet and deserted wharf, and the rapid flow of his impetuous blood was retarded by the cool invigorating breeze which swept over the face of the water, he saw an old yawl lying on the dock, with its broad bottom turned to the bay. Negligently leaning his person at full length against its weather-beaten bottom, and drawing down his hat close over his brows, he surrendered himself to one of those habitual reveries which the southern well knows how to enjoy. Had his mind and feelings been attuned to such things at the time, the scene itself would have furnished no uninteresting subject, with its hundred little lights, gleaming in the intense fog and darkness, and the numberless vessels that lay upon the bosom of the waters, with their dark outlines dimly visible, like slumbering monsters of their own element. He heeded them not; yet were his feelings insensibly impressed with the surrounding objects, and deeply tinctured with the profound gloom of the time and scene. The direct current of his thoughts pointed, however, in the direction of the invalid. Her extreme youth, beauty, and apparent innocence,--her deep distress and profound melancholy, naturally produced a corresponding depression in his own otherwise elastic spirits. He was perfectly unconscious of the time he had spent in this way, when accidentally turning his head to one side, he was struck with the appearance of something intercepting the line of vision in that direction. He was just about to approach the cause of his surprise, when a deep voice, issuing from the very spot, added not a little to his superstitious mood, by the exact manner in which it chimed in with the present subject of his meditations.

"A beautiful young woman in affliction is a very dangerous subject of meditation, under some circumstances."

"An honest heart fears no danger from any earthly source," was the reply.

"Honesty is no guard against external danger in this world, whether moral or physical," said the figure.

"Discernment may lend a hand to honesty in such a case."

"Ha! ha! ha!" hideously retorted the intruder; "Discernment, said you? Man's discernment is a mighty thing; by it he reads the past, the present, and the future; what can withstand his mighty vision? He can descry danger at a distance, and bring happiness within his grasp; he can tell the objects of his own creation, and his Creator's first beginning; he can read the starry alphabet in yonder heavens, and fathom the great deep; he can laugh at the instinct of grovelling creation, and thunder the dogmas of reason in the teeth of revelation itself! Discernment, indeed! ha! ha! ha! why, man is not half so well off as the brutes. What is their instinct but God's ever present and supporting hand; but man--he has neither perfect reason nor instinct! He has the conscience of an angel, and the impulses of a devil; and reason sits between them, for an umpire, with a fool's cap upon her head! Impulse bribes reason, and reason laughs at conscience. Impulse leads downward, like the power of gravity; and conscience struggles upward like the nightmare: but reason and discernment will traffic and bargain with impulse for one moment, and blind or cheat conscience the next! Turn mankind loose with all their reason without providence, and they will butt each other's foolish brains out! Bribed conscience makes hypocrites,--frightened conscience makes fanatics,--but reason-drilled conscience makes incarnate devils!"

"But," said Chevillere, involuntarily interested by this wild rhapsody, "a tender, conscience-instructed reason, and christianized impulses, make an honest and a discerning man, too."

"Instructed reason! who teaches man's reason, but the inward devils of his impulses? A few good parents may point upward, periodically, but the impulses pull down! down! down! for ever! no intermission. If they would let go, I myself could plunge into the sea; but the deeper we plunge, the harder they pull! The farther we sink, the heavier they become. Oh! man! of what a cursed race art thou! Think you the inhabitants of the moon are likewise under the ban of God's displeasure?"

"I indulge in no such impracticable dreams," said Chevillere.

"No! no! _you_ dream of paradise; but remember what I now tell you, your paradise will not be without its Eve, and its serpent too!"

"To whom do you allude?"

"To the lady of whom you were thinking but now."

"You know not what you say," said Chevillere.

"Do I not? Perhaps you would have me speak more plainly! Perhaps you could screw up your resolution to the point, that I might amputate your hopes one by one, as a poor fellow sees the surgeon carrying off his bloody limbs; nay, I could do it!"

"Why, sir, you never saw me till within the hour."

"Have I not? perhaps not; I would to heaven I could say as much about the lady."

"To what lady do you so often allude?"

"To the lady with the _black mantle_."

"Hold, she is all innocence and purity."

"Innocence and purity! Eve was innocent and pure too! yea, and surpassingly beautiful! but she fell! Alas! her daughters are like her."

"Come, sir," said Chevillere, with some exasperation, "let us put a stop to this discourse; it is not pleasing to me, and I feel sure it is not useful to you."

"Be it so," said the intruder, drawing up his long goat's-hair cloak, and pulling a flat cloth cap closely over his gray locks, as they for a moment became visible by the reflection of the long horizontal rays of a lamp from the deck of a neighbouring vessel; "be it so, sir; there is no convincing a child that a _beautiful_ candle will burn until it scorches its fingers."

"In God's name, then, out with it, sir! what is it that seems to burn so upon your tongue? come, out with it!" said Chevillere, sharply.

"For what do you take me, young man? a gossip or a stripling! I am neither one nor the other; I am old enough to be your father; as well born and as well educated as he ever was; and (notwithstanding your southern blood and aristocratic notions) it may be as proud; farewell, sir, and the next time I offer to pull you from the edge of a precipice, perhaps you will listen with more respect to one of double your age, who can have no interest in deceiving you. Farewell, sir!"

"Stay! stay! a moment,--one word more. Did you not visit Washington's monument three days ago, and see me there for the first time?"

"I could answer either yes or no to that question. How do you know, sir, that we have not met before, centuries ago? Do you not sometimes foresee a whole scene, just as it afterward takes place? Do you not sometimes look upon a strange face with a shudder? Does not a feature--a smile--or an expression of them combined--sometimes awake the slumbering memory of ages? Is it not so? have you never communed with the dead?"

"Never, sir."

"I have, often! often!--and many times have I been warned of approaching evils, by these dreamy conversations; I never dream of seeing my father smile upon me, that something good does not speedily follow; nor of snakes and serpents, unattended by bad news or bad fortune. Of these things I usually dream the night before meeting the lady yonder, after a long absence."

"I supposed as much," said Chevillere.

"How, sir."

"I supposed that you had _dreamed_ something against that pure and unfortunate young lady."

"Would to Heaven it were all a dream! Sunshine would again break into the dark regions of my thoughts."

"Suppose I should undertake and pledge my life to convince you that it is so."

"You might convince me of your sincerity, but not of your power. Can you raise the dead?"

"No, but what has raising the dead to do with the lady?"

"More than you imagine, perhaps."

"Ah, I see it is useless to attempt what I proposed and hoped to effect for the sake of the lady's peace. Have you no friends with you in this city?"

"Yes, I have a dog! there sits the best friend I ever had, save one!"

"My dear sir! permit me to say I think you far from being well."

"I never felt better in health than I do at this moment."

"But we are not judges of our own ailments: Physicians do not often prescribe for themselves."

"I tell you, sir, I am well!"

"Have it so, sir! but if you are the person whom I met a few days since at the monument, I would mildly and respectfully recommend to you to think no more of the lady you saw there with me. You certainly labour under some grievous error, with regard to her, at least."

"You will find, when it is too late, perhaps, that others instead of me are labouring under _fatal_ errors concerning that young lady! Farewell, sir, farewell. When next we meet, you will listen with a more attentive ear to what I have to say; you will have observed many strange things yourself, and you will naturally seek, rather than repel a solution of the mystery." Then with a signal to his dog, he hastily went from the wharf, leaving Chevillere in no enviable state of mind.

Youthful thoughts will not long voluntarily dwell upon the gloomy aspect even of the circumstances surrounding themselves; it was very natural, therefore, that Chevillere should reflect with much complacency upon the tendency of his friend Lamar's laughing philosophy; nor was he long in threading his way to the lodgings of the Kentuckian. He had calculated with great certainty upon finding his friend there, and on ascending the three flights of stairs, he heard the voices of both in full chorus of laughter, that of Lamar indicating his most joyful mood. He rapped at the door once or twice before he was heard. "Come in!" shouted the backwoodsman, "what the devil's the use of knocking with every mug of punch." Lamar sprang to his feet at the sight of his friend, with volumes of smoke rolling over his head, and laying one hand on Chevillere's back and another on his breast, cried in the true mock heroic;--"'Be thy intents wicked or charitable, thou com'st in such a questionable shape, that I will speak to thee.' 'Revisit'st thou thus the glimpses of the moon, making night hideous, and us fools of' liquor--'so horribly to shake our dispositions, with thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls; say, why is this?' But, by old Shakspeare's beard, you look like a ghost indeed! why, whence com'st thou, man? see his cloak, too! it is covered with sawdust!"

"Hurrah for old Kentuck!" said Damon, "he's been to the circus! I say, stranger, was there any knockin down and draggin out there. O! black eyes and bruises! what a rascally appetite I've got now for a knock down; I swear I think my hands will git as tender as a woman's, if I don't git a little now and then jist to keep 'em in."

"I may be soiled from leaning against a boat at the dock," said Chevillere.

"You certainly have the air of one who had tried a few perils by land and sea," said Lamar.

"The fact is, I do not feel well, nor in high spirits, and I came here on purpose to see if Damon could not brighten me up a little."

"To be sure I can," said he; "but why didn't you come sooner, and then we could all have gone to the circus together; that's the place for my money; you see you want something to make your blood circulate: a small taste or two would soon bring you round."

"A taste of what?" asked Chevillere.

"A small bit of a regular row, to be sure; all in good-nature, you know; a man needn't git in a passion, in takin a little exercise after bein cooped up here all day, in one of these cocklofts--why, if I sit here an hour, and go down in the street, by hokies, but I want to snort directly; I feel like old Pete when he's been stabled up for a week or two, and jist turned loose to graze a little; and I'll tell you what it is, stranger, I'm for making a straight coat-tail out of this place, and that in a hurry, for I've got through all my business now, and I'm keen to be among the Yorkers; for I've heard tell there's smashin work there every night."

"Have you any acquaintances there?" asked Lamar.

"No; but I expect to find some of our Kentuck boys there, who come round by the lakes; and if I do, I rather reckon we'll weed a wide row."

"Take care you do not run against old Hays in your mad pranks," said Chevillere.

"They say he's a little touched with the snappin-turtle, but I'm thinkin he'd hardly try old Kentuck at a fight or a foot-race."

"He has had a good many fights and foot-races in his day," said Chevillere.

"Yes," said Damon, "but always with rogues; he'd find it rather a different business at an honest ground-scuffle, where every man had to take care of his own ears."

"You think, then, he could not be so successful in Kentucky as he is in New-York, at his occupation," said Lamar.

"He'd be off the scent there, and I rather think he'd soon look like the babes in the woods; you see he has the rogues in the city like a coon when he's treed; an old dog's better than a young one in such a fix."

"But come, Damon, go on with your adventures of the day which Chevillere's entrance interrupted."

"Not till we have wet our whistles; come, stranger (to Chevillere), you have'nt drank nothin since you came into the room, nor into the city either, for what I know."

"You know," said Chevillere, "that I am a cold water man, upon taste and principle both."

"And that's what I call ra'al hard drink; well, here's to the little gal of the circus, and the little gal down yonder at the hotel; cold water's but a sorry drink to pledge such warm-hearted creters--but I see talking of them makes you look solemncholy again, and so here goes for my day's work; let me see--where did I leave off?"

"At the commission house where you carried the letter," said Lamar.

"Ah, by the hokies! so it was. Well, you see, I marched into the great store, as they had told me it was, with my nose uppermost, like a pig in the wind, I had an order on them for some of the eel-skins--but I soon brought my snout down agin; ho! ho! thought I, here's a pretty spot of work! I'm a Turk if I aint tetotally dished."

"What was the matter?" said Chevillere.

"Why, instead of all the fine things loomin out in the wind as I expected for such great marchants, I found nothing but a long empty store, and no shelves even, and there sat two or three starched lookin dogs, on so many old rum bar'ls; I swear I thought in a minute about our old still-house, and the school-master, and the miller, and the blacksmith, and the stiller, talkin politics over the bar'ls, and takin a swig every now and then out of the old proof-vial."

"Well! you presented your draft," said Lamar, "and what then?"

"No I did'nt--I got a straddle of a bar'l too; I thought I would take a dish of chat, for that was about the most I expected to get. Rat me! but I began to feel a little particular about the gizzard in thoughts of sellin old Pete to get home on; I put on a long face. It's everlastin dull times for business, said I. 'O sir, you are quite mistaken, business is taking a look up--it's getting very brisk indeed.' And he rubbed his hands, and looked as glad as if he had had a drink of that hot punch. So, thought I, I'm off the trail; but I thought I would tree him next time. 'The best horses, said I, will stumble sometimes.' 'Sir?' said he, I said 'the honestest men sometimes make bad speculations.' 'Oh!' said he, 'I understand you! but I hope business is brisk and money plenty this season in the west.' Now, thought I, he's got the boot on the wrong leg this time; 'yes, said I, we can't complain, but I must say I thought it looked a little dull hereabouts.' 'O, you western men are such driving fellows, that you can't put up with our slow way of makin money.' He's feedin me on soft corn, thought I. 'We do a little now and then, but getting the money afterward is all our trouble,' said I. 'Why, sir, you have hit the nail upon the head; that's the difficulty everywhere,' said he. I thought I would run him into a stand 'fore long; but he hoisted his tail and flung me clean off the trail agin. 'Can't I sell you half a dozen bar'ls of cognac brandy to-day,' said he. I snapped my fingers and jumped up, and by the long Harry I was near raisin the whoop; for I thought old Pete and the money was all safe, and so it was. 'O! the hunters of Kentucky! old Kentucky;' and he began to sing and caper round the table.

"Did he pay the money?" asked Chevillere.

"Not exactly; these city chaps keep their money buried, I believe, for you never see none of it; I reckon they're 'fraid it'll spile; howsomever, he gave me an order on the bank for the eel-skins."

"Then you took your leave," said Lamar.

"No; he asked me if I had ever seen an auction of a ship's cargo; I said no, I had never seen more nor a Kentuck vendue: he asked me to go along; I'm your man, said I, for I expected there would be smashin work if a whole ship-load was to be sold, for I have seen some very clever little skrimmages at a vendue; well, when we got there, there was boxes and bags all laying in rows, and little troughs laying under them, like them we catch sugar-water in. Some had little long spoons made on purpose to suck sugar with, and some had little augers for boring holes; presently the crier began. '_Seven, seven, seven--eight, eight, eight cents a pound, going, going_,' and smash went the little mallet; 'how many do you take, sir? twenty, or the hundred boxes?' said he. 'Take the hundred,' said a man, that looked like he wasn't worth the powder that would blow him up."

"Could you always tell who bid?"

"No; they mostly did it by winkin, I believe; sometimes one fellow would grunt this side and another that side; I kept my head bobbin after them first one side and then the other; but whenever I looked in their faces their eyes looked as sleepy as a dog in fly-time, just waitin to snap a fellow that was buzzin about his ears."

"Did you find out at last who were the bidders?"

"No; they shut up their faces like steel-traps. Once or twice, maybe, I saw a dyin-away wrinkle round a feller's mouth, like the rings in the water when you throw a stone in; but they soon faded away, and they looked as smooth and deceitful as a pool of deep water itself agin."

"They tasted and tried the articles, of course, before they bought?"

"Yes; some of them had their mouths daubed, like children suckin 'lasses candy; and some of their big noses was stuck full of Bohea tea, outside and in, like old Pete when he's had a good feed of chopped rye and cut straw."

"And what sort of a man was the auctioneer?"

"Why, his mouth went so fast when he got to '_going, going, going_,' that you couldn't say _stop_, if you had had your mouth fixed; but his face I didn't like at all."

"What was there in his face objectionable?"

"O! I can't tell exactly, it looked out of all sort of nature; a good deal I don't know howish. One thing I'll be sworn to, you would never see such a one in old Kentuck; there every man wears his Sunday face on week days."

"I suppose you mean that the man was disfigured with affectation," said Chevillere.

"You've hit it, stranger, you've hit it; that's the very word I wanted to be at, but I couldn't get it out. Well, from the vendue I took a stroll round town, to see the lads and lasses; how they carried their heads in these parts, and maybe to see how they carried on their _sparkin_ in a big town like this; for, to tell you the truth, that's one of the things I never could see how they carried on here."

"How did you manage such things in the west? Is there any thing peculiar in your method?"

"I can't say we're different from other folks in the country, but you see we have abundance of chances to court the gals a little; for there's our weddings."

"There are weddings here, too, I hope," said Lamar.

"Yes, and a pretty business they make of 'em; I blundered into a church the other day, and what should be goin on there but a weddin; and smash my apple-cart, if there wasn't more cryin and snifflin than I've seen at many an honest man's funeral, and all in broad daylight, too; and when the parson had got through his flummery, with his long white mornin gown, they all jumped into carriages, and off they went away into the country somewhere, to hide themselves. I rather suspect they had stole a march on the old folks, else they wouldn't have run so as if the devil was at their heels."

"How do you conduct such things in the west?" asked Lamar.

"Oh! there we have quiltings, skutchings, and sewin frolics, and makin apple butter, and all such like; and they always wind up at the little end with a rip-sneezin dance, and that's where we do the sparkin; well, presently a weddin grows out of it, and maybe then there isn't a little fun agoing, dance all night, and play all sort of games, at least all them sort that wind up in kissin the gals, and that they manage to bring about by sellin pawns, and one thing or other. For my part, I never could see into any but the kissin part, and that you know was the cream of the joke."

"They do not often go to church to get married then," said Chevillere.

"No; I never saw anybody married at church before t'other day, and I hope it'll be a long time before their new-fangled ways travels out to old Kentuck; there our gals and boys stands up before the parson a few minutes, and he rolls his tobacco two or three times over his teeth, and _chaws_ a few words, and it's all over before you could say 'God save the commonwealth' three times; and what's the use in makin three bites of a cherry?"

"But you have wandered from your point," said Lamar; "you started out on an expedition to see how the lads and lasses carried themselves here."

"O! ay, sure enough; well, one of the first things I come across was a parcel of gals and boys on horseback, and I'm flummucked if it wouldn't have been a pretty tolerable show in the land of hogs and homminy. The gals rode well enough, considering how they were hampered with clothes and trumpery; but the men! O smashy! how they rode! bobbin up and down on the saddle, with three motions to the horse's one. I'm an Injin if old Pete Ironsides wouldn't have kicked up his heels and squealed at the very first motion of the rider goin ahead of him; and then the saddles were stuck on the shoulders of the animals, like a hump on a man's back, or a pair of _haims_ to hitch traces to. One of them chaps would ride a saddle about twice as hard as a horse. I was lookin evry minute for one of 'em to light behind his saddle."

"Did all the gentlemen and ladies you met carry themselves so unnaturally?" said Lamar.

"No; I met one young lady dressed in black that I thought I had seen before somewhere, and her spark too; but they were too busy to see me. _She_ looked more coy and shamefaced, like our country gals, than any of them."

"How did the gentleman bear himself? was he polite and respectful in his carriage?" said Lamar, smiling, and looking at Chevillere.

"Oh, yes! he bowed his head close down to the bonnet of the pretty little lady, and walked that way all through the street, as if he was afraid to lose so much as a word; sometimes she seemed to be just ready to cry, and looked pale and frightened. I rather suppose her old dad's a little sour or cross, maybe; but for all I couldn't help thinkin what a clever nice young couple they would make to stand up before the parson."

Chevillere attempted reserve of manner, but blushed and smiled in spite of himself, as he asked Damon, "Not your chaw-tobacco parson, I hope?"

"And why not? what if he _would_ roll his chaw-tobacco into one cheek at you, while he coupled you up with the other? I'll be bound you'd look at somebody else's pretty cheeks more nor you would at the parson's chaw-tobacco; besides, what harm is there in a parson's chawin? I know an old one who would no more git up into his pulpit of a Sunday without a good smart plug in his mouth, than I would strike my own brother when he's down. I've seen him afore now, when his wind held out longer than his tobacco, run his finger first into one jacket-pocket, and then into the other, and at last he'd draw a little piece of pigtail, just up to the top of the water (as you may say), and then he'd let it go again."

"Some virtuous shame, in view of the congregation, I suppose," said Chevillere.

"Yes, that was it; but I never heard any of the sarmont after the old boy's ammunition run out."

"Why, what had his tobacco to do with your listening?"

"A great deal; no sooner would the old feller begin to fumble in his pockets, than my hand always run into mine, of its own accord, and lugged out a chunk of a twist just ready to hand to the old man, and then when I'd find it couldn't be, I naturally took a plug myself, and chawed for the old boss till his wind _flagg'd_."

"Or, in other words, his desire for the weed made you desire it, to cure which you chewed for yourself, and flattered your conscience all the while that you were rendering him a service," said Chevillere.

"Very like! very like! for I know it makes a feller husky dry to see another famishin for a little of the cretur."

"Not so much so, perhaps, as if a dry person, as you call him, should see another drinking, and could get none himself."

"Oh! but that's a case out of all nature, as one may say, in these parts, anyhow, where liquor runs down the streets, after a manner."

Chevillere and Lamar, both rising, exchanged the usual salutations, and the _good night! good night!_ went the rounds of all present.