The Complete Works of Stephen Crane (56 page)

As soon as we were out of their sight, Colonel Royale clasped my hands with rapture. “My boy,” he cried, “you are great! You are renowned! You are illustrious! What a game you could give Ponsonby! You would give him such a stir!”

“Never doubt me,” said I. “But I am now your legitimate grandfather, and I should be treated with great respect.”

When we came near the inn I began to glance up at the windows. I surely expected to see a face at one of them. Certainly she would care to know who was slain or who was hurt. She would be watching, I fondly hoped, to see who returned on his legs. But the front of the inn stared at us, chilly and vacant, like a prison wall.

When we entered, the Colonel bawled lustily for an immediate bottle of wine, and I joined him in its drinking, for I knew that it would be a bellows to my flagging spirits. I had set my heart upon seeing a face at the window of the inn.

And now I found out what it was to be a famous swordsman. All that day the inn seemed to hum with my name. I could not step down a corridor without seeing flocks of servants taking wing. They fled tumultuously. A silly maid coming from a chamber with a bucket saw me and shrieked. She dropped her bucket and fled back into the chamber. A man-servant saw me, gave a low moan of terror, and leaped down a convenient stairway. All attendants scuttled aside.

What was the matter with me? Had I grown in stature or developed a ferocious ugliness? No; I now was a famous swordsman. That was all. I now was expected to try to grab the maids and kiss them wantonly. I now was expected to clout the grooms on their ears if they so much as showed themselves in my sight. In fact, I was now a great blustering, overpowering, preposterous ass.

There was a crowd of people in the coffee-room, but the buzz of talk suddenly ceased as I entered.

“Is this your chair, sir?” said I civilly to a gentleman.

He stepped away from the chair as if it had tried to bite him.

“’Tis at your service, sir!” he cried hastily.

“No,” said I, “I would not be taking it if it be yours, for there are just as good chairs in the sea as ever were caught, and it would ill become me to deprive a gentleman of his chair when by exercising a little energy I can gain one for myself, although I am willing to admit that I have a slight hunger upon me. ’Tis a fine morning, sir.”

He had turned pale and was edging toward the door. “’Tis at your service, sir,” he repeated in a low and frightened voice. All the people were staring at us.

“No, good sir,” I remonstrated, stepping forward to explain. “I would not be having you think that I am unable to get a chair for myself, since I am above everything able and swift with my hands, and it is a small thing to get a chair for one’s self and not deprive a worthy gentleman of his own.”

“I did not think to deprive you, sir,” he ejaculated desperately. “The chair is at your service, sir!”

“Plague the man!” I cried, stamping my foot impatiently; and at the stamping of my foot a waiter let fall a dish, some women screamed, three or four people disappeared through the door, and a venerable gentleman arose from his seat in a corner and in a tremulous voice said:

“Sir, let us pray you that there be no bloodshed.”

“You are an old fool,” said I to him. “How could there be bloodshed with me here merely despising you all for not knowing what I mean when I say it.”

“We know you mean what you say, sir,” responded the old gentleman. “Pray God you mean peaceably!”

“Hoity-toity!” shouted a loud voice, and I saw a great, tall, ugly woman bearing down upon me from the doorway. “Out of my way,” she thundered at a waiter. The man gasped out: “Yes, your ladyship!”

I was face to face with the mother of my lovely Mary.

“Hoity-toity!” she shouted at me again. “A brawler, eh? A lively swordster, hey? A real damn-my-eyes swaggering bully!”

Then she charged upon me. “How dare you brawl with these inoffensive people under the same roof which shelters me, fellow? By my word, I would have pleasure to give you a box on the ear!”

“Madam,” I protested hurriedly. But I saw the futility of it. Without devoting further time to an appeal, I turned and fled. I dodged behind three chairs and moved them hastily into a rampart.

“Madam,” I cried, feeling that I could parley from my new position, “you labour under a misapprehension.”

“Misapprehend me no misapprehensions,” she retorted hotly. “How dare you say that I can misapprehend anything, wretch?”

She attacked each flank in turn, but so agile was I that I escaped capture, although my position in regard to the chairs was twice reversed. We performed a series of nimble manoeuvres which were characterized on my part by a high degree of strategy. But I found the rampart of chairs an untenable place. I was again obliged hurriedly to retreat, this time taking up a position behind a large table.

“Madam,” I said desperately, “believe me, you are suffering under a grave misapprehension.”

“Again he talks of misapprehension!”

We revolved once swiftly around the table; she stopped, panting.

“And this is the blusterer! And why do you not stand your ground, coward?”

“Madam,” said I with more coolness now that I saw she would soon be losing her wind, “I would esteem it very ungallant behaviour if I endured your attack for even a brief moment. My forefathers form a brave race which always runs away from the ladies.”

After this speech we revolved twice around the table. I must in all candour say that the Countess used language which would not at all suit the pages of my true and virtuous chronicle; but indeed it was no worse than I often heard afterward from the great ladies of the time. However, the talk was not always addressed to me, thank the Saints!

After we had made the two revolutions, I spoke reasonably. “Madam,” said I, “if we go spinning about the table in this fashion for any length of time, these gawking spectators will think we are a pair of wheels.”

“Spectators!” she cried, lifting her old head high. She beheld about seventy-five interested people. She called out loudly to them:

“And is there no gentleman among you all to draw his sword and beat me this rascal from the inn?”

Nobody moved.

“Madam,” said I, still reasonable, “would it not be better to avoid a possible scandal by discontinuing these movements, as the tongues of men are not always fair, and it might be said by some—”

Whereupon we revolved twice more around the table.

When the old pelican stopped, she had only enough breath left to impartially abuse all the sight-seers. As her eye fixed upon them, The O’Ruddy, illustrious fighting-man, saw his chance and bolted like a hare. The escape must have formed a great spectacle, but I had no time for appearances. As I was passing out of the door, the Countess, in her disappointed rage, threw a heavy ivory fan after me, which struck an innocent bystander in the eye, for which he apologized.

I wasted no time in the vicinity of the inn. I decided that an interval spent in some remote place would be consistent with the behaviour of a gentleman.

But the agitations of the day were not yet closed for me. Suddenly I came upon a small, slow-moving, and solemn company of men, who carried among them some kind of a pallet, and on this pallet was the body of Forister. I gazed upon his ghastly face; I saw the large blood blotches on his shirt; as they drew nearer I saw him roll his eyes and heard him groan. Some of the men recognized me, and I saw black looks and straight-pointing fingers. At the rear walked Lord Strepp with Forister’s sword under his arm. I turned away with a new impression of the pastime of duelling. Forister’s pallor, the show of bloody cloth, his groan, the dark stares of men, made me see my victory in a different way, and I even wondered if it had been absolutely necessary to work this mischief upon a fellow-being.

I spent most of the day down among the low taverns of the sailors, striving to interest myself in a thousand new sights brought by the ships from foreign parts.

But ever my mind returned to Lady Mary, and to my misfortune in being pursued around chairs and tables by my angel’s mother. I had also managed to have a bitter quarrel with the noble father of this lovely creature. It was hardly possible that I could be joyous over my prospects.

At noon I returned to the inn, approaching with some display of caution. As I neared it, a carriage followed by some horsemen whirled speedily from the door. I knew at once that Lady Mary had been taken from me. She was gone with her father and mother back to London. I recognized Lord Strepp and Colonel Royale among the horsemen.

I walked through the inn to the garden, and looked at the parrot. My senses were all numb. I stared at the bird as it rolled its wicked eye at me.

“Pretty lady! Pretty lady!” it called in coarse mockery.

“Plague the bird!” I muttered, as I turned upon my heel and entered the inn.

“My bill,” said I. “A horse for Bath!” said I.

Again I rode forth on a quest. The first had been after my papers. The second was after my love. The second was the hopeless one, and, overcome by melancholy, I did not even spur my horse swiftly on my mission. There was upon me the deep-rooted sadness which balances the mirth of my people, — the Celtic aptitude for discouragement; and even the keening of old women in the red glow of the peat fire could never have deepened my mood.

And if I should succeed in reaching London, what then? Would the wild savage from the rocky shore of Ireland be a pleasing sight to my Lady Mary when once more amid the glamour and whirl of the fashionable town? Besides, I could no longer travel on the guineas of Jem Bottles. He had engaged himself and his purse in my service because I had told him of a fortune involved in the regaining of certain papers. I had regained those papers, and then coolly placed them as a gift in a certain lovely white hand. I had had no more thought of Jem Bottles and his five guineas than if I had never seen them. But this was no excuse for a gentleman. When I was arrived at the rendezvous I must immediately confess to Jem Bottles, the highwayman, that I had wronged him. I did not expect him to demand satisfaction, but I thought he might shoot me in the back as I was riding away.

But Jem was not at the appointed place under the tree. Not puzzled at this behaviour, I rode on. I saw I could not expect the man to stay for ever under a tree while I was away in Bristol fighting a duel and making eyes at a lady. Still, I had heard that it was always done.

At the inn where Paddy holed Forister, I did not dismount, although a hostler ran out busily. “No,” said I. “I ride on.” I looked at the man. Small, sharp-eyed, weazened, he was as likely a rascal of a hostler as ever helped a highwayman to know a filled purse from a man who was riding to make arrangements with his creditors.

“Do you remember me?” said I.

“No, sir,” he said with great promptitude.

“Very good,” said I. “I knew you did. Now I want to know if Master Jem Bottles has passed this way to-day. A shilling for the truth and a thrashing for a lie.”

The man came close to my stirrup. “Master,” he said, “I know you to be a friend of him. Well, in day-time he don’t ride past our door. There be lanes. And so he ain’t passed here, and that’s the truth.”

I flung him a shilling. “Now,” I said, “what of the red giant?”

The man opened his little eyes in surprise. “He took horse with you gentlemen and rode on to Bristol, or I don’t know.”

“Very good; now I see two very fine horses champing in the yard. And who owns them?”

If I had expected to catch him in treachery I was wrong.

“Them?” said he, jerking his thumb. He still kept his voice lowered. “They belong to two gentlemen who rode out some hours agone along with some great man’s carriage. The officer said some pin-pricks he had gotten in a duel had stiffened him, and made the saddle ill of ease with him, and the young lord said that he would stay behind as a companion. They be up in the Colonel’s chamber, drinking vastly. But mind your life, sir, if you would halt them on the road. They be men of great spirit. This inn seldom sees such drinkers.”

And so Lord Strepp and Colonel Royale were resting at this inn while the carriage of the Earl had gone on toward Bath? I had a mind to dismount and join the two in their roystering, but my eyes turned wistfully toward Bath.

As I rode away I began to wonder what had become of Jem Bottles and Paddy. Here was a fine pair to be abroad in the land. Here were two jewels to be rampaging across the country. Separately, they were villains enough, but together they would overturn England and get themselves hung for it on twin gibbets. I tried to imagine the particular roguery to which they would first give their attention.

But then all thought of the rascals faded from me as my mind received a vision of Lady Mary’s fair face, her figure, her foot. It would not be me to be thinking of two such thieves when I could be dreaming of Lady Mary with her soft voice and the clear depth of her eyes. My horse seemed to have a sympathy with my feeling and he leaped bravely along the road. The Celtic melancholy of the first part of the journey had blown away like a sea-mist. I sped on gallantly toward Bath and Lady Mary.

But almost at the end of the day, when I was within a few miles of Bath, my horse suddenly pitched forward onto his knees and nose. There was a flying spray of muddy water. I was flung out of the saddle, but I fell without any serious hurt whatever. We had been ambushed by some kind of deep-sided puddle. My poor horse scrambled out and stood with lowered head, heaving and trembling. His soft nose had been cut between his teeth and the far edge of the puddle. I led him forward, watching his legs. He was lamed. I looked in wrath and despair back at the puddle, which was as plain as a golden guinea on a platter. I do not see how I could have blundered into it, for the daylight was still clear and strong. I had been gazing like a fool in the direction of Bath. And my Celtic melancholy swept down upon me again, and even my father’s bier appeared before me with the pale candle-flames swaying in the gusty room, and now indeed my ears heard the loud wailing keen of the old women.

“Rubbish,” said I suddenly and aloud, “and is it one of the best swordsmen in England that is to be beaten by a lame horse?” My spirit revived. I resolved to leave my horse in the care of the people of the nearest house and proceed at once on foot to Bath. The people of the inn could be sent out after the poor animal. Wheeling my eyes, I saw a house not more than two fields away, with honest hospitable smoke curling from the chimneys. I led my beast through a hole in the hedge, and I slowly made my way toward it.

Now it happened that my way led me near a haycock, and as I neared this haycock I heard voices from the other side of it. I hastened forward, thinking to find some yokels. But as I drew very close I suddenly halted and silently listened to the voices on the other side.

“Sure, I can read,” Paddy was saying. “And why wouldn’t I be able? If we couldn’t read in Ireland, we would be after being cheated in our rents, but we never pay them any how, so that’s no matter. I would be having you to know we are a highly educated people. And perhaps you would be reading it yourself, my man?”

“No,” said Jem Bottles, “I be not a great scholar and it has a look of amazing hardness. And I misdoubt me,” he added in a morose and envious voice, “that your head be too full of learning.”

“Learning!” cried Paddy. “Why wouldn’t I be learned, since my uncle was a sexton and had to know one grave from another by looking at the stones so as never to mix up the people? Learning! says you? And wasn’t there a convent at Ballygowagglycuddi, and wasn’t Ballygowagglycuddi only ten miles from my father’s house, and haven’t I seen it many a time?”

“Aye, well, good Master Paddy,” replied Jem Bottles, oppressed and sullen, but still in a voice ironic from suspicion, “I never doubt me but what you are a regular clerk for deep learning, but you have not yet read a line from the paper, and I have been waiting this half-hour.”

“And how could I be reading?” cried Paddy in tones of indignation. “How could I be reading with you there croaking of this and that and speaking hard of my learning? Bad cess to the paper, I will be after reading it to myself if you are never to stop your clatter, Jem Bottles.”

“I be still as a dead rat,” exclaimed the astonished highwayman.

“Well, then,” said Paddy. “Listen hard, and you will hear such learning as would be making your eyes jump from your head. And ’tis not me either that cares to show my learning before people who are unable to tell a mile-post from a church-tower.”

“I be awaiting,” said Jem Bottles with a new meekness apparently born of respect for Paddy’s eloquence.

“Well, then,” said Paddy, pained at these interruptions. “Listen well, and maybe you will gain some learning which may serve you all your life in reading chalk-marks in taprooms; for I see that they have that custom in this country, and ’tis very bad for hard-drinking men who have no learning.”

“If you would read from the paper—” began Jem Bottles.

“Now, will you be still?” cried Paddy in vast exasperation.

But here Jem Bottles spoke with angry resolution. “Come, now! Read! ’Tis not me that talks too much, and the day wanes.”

“Well, well, I would not be hurried, and that’s the truth,” said Paddy soothingly. “Listen now.” I heard a rustling of paper. “Ahem!” said Paddy, “Ahem! Are ye listening, Jem Bottles?”

“I be,” replied the highwayman.

“Ahem!” said Paddy. “Ahem! Are ye listening, Jem Bottles?”

“I be,” replied the highwayman.

“Then here’s for it,” said Paddy in a formidable voice. There was another rustling of paper. Then to my surprise I heard Paddy intone, without punctuation, the following words:

“Dear Sister Mary I am asking the good father to write this      because my hand is lame from milking the cows although we      only have one and we sold her in the autumn the four      shillings you owe on the pig we would like if convenient to      pay now owing to the landlord may the plague take him how      did your Mickey find the fishing when you see Peggy tell      her—”