[["\n\n\n\nProduced by Greg Bergquist, Charlie Howard, and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This\nfile was produced from images generously made available\nby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: KIT CARSON.]\n\n\n\n\n LIFE\n OF\n KIT CARSON,\n\n THE\n GREAT WESTERN HUNTER AND GUIDE:\n\n COMPRISING\n\n WILD AND ROMANTIC EXPLOITS AS A HUNTER AND TRAPPER IN\n THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS; THRILLING ADVENTURES AND\n HAIRBREADTH ESCAPES AMONG THE INDIANS AND\n MEXICANS; HIS DARING AND INVALUABLE\n SERVICES AS A GUIDE TO SCOUTING\n AND OTHER PARTIES, ETC., ETC.\n\n WITH AN ACCOUNT OF VARIOUS GOVERNMENT EXPEDITIONS\n TO THE FAR WEST.\n\n BY CHARLES BURDETT.\n\n ILLUSTRATED.\n\n PHILADELPHIA:\n PORTER & COATES,\n\n NO. 822 CHESTNUT STREET.\n\n\nCopyright, 1869, by JOHN E. POTTER & CO.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nIn offering to the public a revised and complete history of the most\nremarkable of American frontiersmen, we perform a pleasing task. All the\nattainable circumstances connected with his life, adventures and death\nare fully set forth, and we offer this in confidence as a reliable\nauthority for the reader.\n\nNo one should hesitate to familiarize himself with the exploits of the\nsubject of this volume. They evince a magnanimity and an uprightness of\ncharacter that is rarely found in one leading so daring and intensely\nwild a life, and cannot but contribute their share of lustre to the\ninteresting records of the Far West. We regret that his modesty, equally\nproverbial with his daring, prompted him to withhold many of the\nexciting incidents of his career from the public.\n\nWe have compiled a portion of this work from such official reports of\nhis great skill, indomitable energy, and unfaltering courage as have\nbeen communicated by his friend and commander, Col. Fremont, who has\ninvariably awarded to him all the best attributes of manhood, when\nopportunity afforded. Added to these, our hero had been prevailed upon\nby a few of his friends to communicate some of the records of the most\nimportant passages in his extraordinary and eventful life, which are\nembodied in this volume.\n\nHis has indeed been a life of peculiarly exciting personal hazards, bold\nadventures, daring coolness, and moral and physical courage, such as has\nseldom transpired in the world, and we have been greatly impressed, in\nits preparation, with the necessity for a thorough work of this kind.\nAll are aware that the young, and even matured, often seek for books of\nwild adventure, and if those of an unhurtful and truthful character are\nnot found, they are apt to betake themselves to trashy and damaging\nliterature. In this view, this work has a purpose which, we trust, will\ncommend it to every family throughout the land.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n CHAPTER I.\n PAGE\n Hero of the narrative -- from what race descended -- his fame\n -- theater of his exploits-nativity -- his father emigrates to\n Missouri -- father's occupation -- Kit's apprenticeship --\n dissatisfaction with his trade -- joins an expedition to Santa\n Fe -- surgical operation -- Santa Fe, its situation, business,\n style of buildings, water, appearance, altitude, scenery,\n population -- spends the winter at Taos -- learns the Spanish\n language -- joins a party bound to Missouri -- returns to\n Santa Fe -- becomes a teamster -- El Paso, its grape culture,\n style of living of its people, name -- youth of traveler --\n new occupation for the winter -- becomes interpreter for a\n trader. 13\n\n\n CHAPTER II.\n\n Chihuahua, cathedral, statues, public buildings, convent,\n mint, trade, age, population -- Carson longs for the prairie\n -- changes employment -- returns to Taos -- joins a party of\n hunters and trappers to punish the Indians -- result of the\n affray -- Indian style of fighting -- method of trapping for\n beaver -- beaver signs -- setting the traps -- bait --\n fastening the traps -- caution in setting the traps. 21\n\n\n CHAPTER III.\n\n Carson's qualifications for a trapper -- starts for California\n -- desert in the route -- Mohave Indians, non-intercourse with\n whites, appearance, dress, ornaments, painting their bodies,\n money -- Mission San Gabriel, cattle, horses, sheep, mules,\n vineyards, income -- other Missions in California, when\n founded, laborers -- Missions of Upper California --\n Missionary subscriptions -- management of the fund --\n Commandante-general -- the Monks -- golden age of the\n Missions. 29\n\n\n CHAPTER IV.\n\n New Mexico and Arizona -- their desert prairies -- Carson in\n California -- traps on the San Joaquin -- the valley of the\n Sacramento. 40\n\n\n CHAPTER V.\n\n The Digger Indians, a description of them, and their mode of\n living -- Carson's visit to a ranche in search of a cow -- his\n journey to the camp with his prize. 45\n\n\n CHAPTER VI.\n\n Carson at the Mission San Gabriel -- recovers sixty stolen\n horses after a fight with the Indians -- \"Los Angelos\" --\n climate of California. 54\n\n\n CHAPTER VII.\n\n Visit to a ranche -- likes California, but likes buffalo\n better -- leaves Los Angelos, and traps on the Colorado -- in\n a tight place, but gets out of it. 66\n\n\n CHAPTER VIII.\n\n Trapping with Young upon the Colorado -- captures cattle and\n horses from the Indians -- goes to Santa Fe, disposes of furs,\n and sows his wild oats -- _coureurs des bois_, travels,\n dress, habits -- joins Mr. Fitzpatrick trapping among the Nez\n Perces -- winters in the New Park -- punishes the Crow Indians\n for horse-stealing -- pursues and punishes robbers of a\n _cache_ -- flies from a party of sixty Indians. 76\n\n\n CHAPTER IX.\n\n Hunts with two companions -- saving his money -- trading with\n Captain Lee -- pursues an Indian horse-thief and recovers the\n horses without assistance -- traps on the Laramie -- fight\n with two grizzlies -- description of the grizzly bear, his\n food -- traps among the Blackfeet -- unsuccessful attempt to\n chastise Blackfeet horse-thieves -- Carson is wounded --\n Bridger's pursuit without finding them. 83\n\n\n CHAPTER X.\n\n Carson, recovered, attends summer rendezvous on Green River --\n description of the rendezvous -- camp, traders, charges --\n British Fur Company -- the Indians bringing in furs --\n appearance of Montreal at a fair for the Indians -- trappers\n and traders from the States -- purchases of the trappers,\n necessaries, luxuries, Indian wife. 93\n\n\n CHAPTER XI.\n\n Green River rendezvous again -- the backwoodsman -- Carson the\n peace-maker -- Sherman the bully, his punishment -- cause of\n the duel -- trapping and parley with the Blackfeet -- on\n Humboldt River -- explores the desert -- discovers the river\n afterwards named for him. 101\n\n\n CHAPTER XII.\n\n Dreary prospect on the Humboldt -- Humboldt Lake -- sinks of\n other rivers -- overflow of Humboldt Lake and River -- station\n at the sink, the traders -- Humboldt Indians -- Fourth of July\n on the Humboldt -- Humboldt sinking -- land available for\n agriculture on this river. 109\n\n\n CHAPTER XIII.\n\n Carson on the Humboldt -- sufferings of the return party --\n Pyramid Circle -- a horse purchased for food -- buffalo hunt,\n meat jerked -- horses stolen by the Indians -- extent of\n buffalo ranges -- buffalo upon the Platte in 1857, numbers,\n trails crossing the river, animals killed. 116\n\n\n CHAPTER XIV.\n\n Carson traps with a party of a hundred in the Blackfeet\n country -- winter camp among the Crows -- Indian lodges --\n winter life of the trappers -- fight with the Blackfeet --\n Carson saves the life of a friend, dislodges the Indians from\n a rocky fastness, and compels their flight -- no more\n molestation -- the rendezvous -- trade with the Navajos\n Indians -- fort at Brown's Hole -- goes again against the\n Blackfeet, a thousand warriors assemble, retire without an\n engagement -- traps on the Salmon River -- among the\n Blackfeet, another fight, leaves their country -- Chinook and\n Flathead Indians -- process of flattening the head. 126\n\n\n CHAPTER XV.\n\n Carson continues trapping -- the trade becomes unprofitable --\n war of extermination upon the beaver, silk for hats prevents\n -- Carson's experience enables him to aid one who should\n explore in behalf of science -- knowledge of the country --\n comes to Bent's Fort, forsaking trapping -- becomes hunter for\n the fort -- his employers -- his business -- reputation as a\n hunter -- fulfills the early hopes of him -- knowledge of the\n country -- regard shown him, especially by the Indians --\n diplomatist between the Sioux and the Camanches -- marriage --\n death of his wife -- takes his child to St. Louis for\n education -- changes at his old home -- reception at St. Louis\n -- meets Col. Fremont -- engages to guide Fremont's exploring\n party to the South Pass in the Rocky Mountains. 139\n\n\n CHAPTER XVI.\n\n Party of explorers starting -- style of encamping -- defense\n -- morning in camp -- ford of the Kansas -- India-rubber boat\n -- accident from overloading the boat -- Carson ill -- lies in\n camp on the prairie. 152\n\n\n CHAPTER XVII.\n\n Road over rolling prairie -- Pawnee country -- false alarm of\n the presence of Indians -- Carson rides to discover the cause\n -- coast of the Platte River -- party of trappers from Fort\n Laramie -- one of this party joins Fremont's company --\n buffalo -- appearance of the herds -- feasting in the camp --\n Carson's mishap in the hunt -- Carson, Maxwell, and Fremont\n join in the chase. 157\n\n\n CHAPTER XVIII.\n\n Fremont divides his party -- attempt to lasso a wild horse --\n Maxwell prevents an Indian attack -- Indians on a buffalo hunt\n -- return laden with meat -- Cheyenne village -- tripod\n support for their weapons -- Fremont entertained by the chief\n -- tribute to the Great Spirit on taking the pipe -- Jim\n Beckwith -- other settlers on the mountain streams -- St.\n Vrain's Fort -- Fort Laramie -- Carson's camp -- excitement in\n the company -- hostile intentions of the Indians --\n preparations for continuing the explorations -- one of the\n command dismissed. 167\n\n\n CHAPTER XIX.\n\n The growth of Artemisia -- fate of the Indian party so much\n dreaded -- cache of wagons and other effects -- value of\n Carson's aid to Fremont -- propriety of calling this an\n exploring party -- ascent to the South Pass -- exploration up\n a tributary of Green River -- lake at its source -- continue\n to explore in the mountains -- Fremont climbs the highest\n summit -- why Carson was not with him. 179\n\n\n CHAPTER XX.\n\n Party returns to Fort Laramie -- Carson remains -- marriage --\n joins Fremont -- a second exploring expedition -- object of\n the expedition -- Great Salt Lake -- Fremont's description --\n current impressions in regard to the lake -- Beer Springs --\n Hot Springs -- Standing Rock. 188\n\n\n CHAPTER XXI.\n\n A part of Fremont's men return East -- leave Fort Hall, en\n route for the valley of the Columbia -- difficulty of finding\n camping places -- Carson kills buffalo -- melancholy looking\n country -- crossing Snake River -- fish-eating Indians --\n refitting equipage at the Dalles -- proposed return route --\n spirits of the party -- Tlamath Lake -- sufferings of the\n party. 208\n\n\n CHAPTER XXII.\n\n Fremont's story of the difficulties and exposures of his party\n -- hot springs -- explorations for grass -- mountain lake --\n central ridge of the Sierra Nevada -- Indians -- talks by\n signs -- Indian guide -- encouragement afforded by Carson's\n descriptions of California -- provisions low -- snow deep --\n animals weak -- Indian harangue -- guide deserts -- Carson\n recognizes Sacramento valley and the coast range -- taking the\n horses through the snow -- sleds for the baggage -- pine nuts\n the food of the Indians -- glorious sunrise. 217\n\n\n CHAPTER XXIII.\n\n Thunder storm -- view of the Sacramento, and Bay of San\n Francisco -- mauls to path the snow -- Carson saves Fremont\n from drowning -- rapid river, snow, grass, pines, live oak,\n mistletoe -- division of the party -- horses lost -- members\n of the party wander, return -- horses killed for food --\n country improving in beauty -- arrival at Sutter's Fort --\n description of a _cache_. 237\n\n\n CHAPTER XXIV.\n\n Carson at home in Taos -- decides to commence farming --\n preparations -- Fremont requests his service for a third\n expedition -- meeting at Bent's Fort -- head-waters -- Great\n Salt Lake -- expedition divides -- Horse-Thief Indians -- the\n skirmish. 250\n\n\n CHAPTER XXV.\n\n Arrival at Sutter's Fort -- command of Gen. Castro to leave\n the country -- his march against Fremont -- Fremont departs\n for Oregon -- Indians instigated by the Mexicans, Fremont's\n march against them -- he returns to California -- another\n Indian fight. 264\n\n\n CHAPTER XXVI.\n\n Loss to Fremont's party -- Carson's attack upon Indian village\n -- start for the Sacramento -- Fremont's campaign against the\n Mexicans -- captures Sonoma -- calls American settlers into\n his service -- Gen. Castro leaves San Francisco -- Fremont\n garrisons Sutter's Fort -- marches to Monterey -- Commodore\n Sloat in possession -- hoists the flag of the United States. 273\n\n\n CHAPTER XXVII.\n\n Fremont marches on, and occupies Los Angelos -- appointed\n Governor of California -- Carson starts for Washington as\n bearer of dispatches -- unexpected meeting with Apache Indians\n -- meets the expedition of Gen. Kearney -- returns to\n California as guide. 280\n\n\n CHAPTER XXVIII.\n\n March to California -- Mexicans intercept Kearney's troops --\n American attack on the Mexican force -- disastrous result --\n Carson and Lieut. Beale reach San Diego -- reinforcements sent\n by Com. Stockton -- capture of Los Angelos -- Mexicans\n surrender to Fremont -- want of harmony in the American camps. 285\n\n\n CHAPTER XXIX.\n\n Graphic description of the entrance into Monterey, of Fremont,\n Carson, and party -- indiscretions of American officers --\n Kearney's dispatch to the War Department -- Fremont's\n extraordinary ride. 302\n\n\n CHAPTER XXX.\n\n Fremont visits his Mariposa purchase -- grand hunt and ball --\n the fandango -- Carson and Beale ordered to Washington -- kind\n reception -- appointed to a lieutenancy -- encounter with\n Camanches -- arrival at Los Angelos -- sent to the Tejon Pass\n -- again to Washington -- arrival at home -- the warlike\n Apaches -- Carson entertains Fremont and suffering explorers. 315\n\n\n CHAPTER XXXI.\n\n Dreadful sufferings endured by Fremont and party -- error in\n engaging a guide -- Fremont's letter to his wife -- horrible\n details. 330\n\n\n CHAPTER XXXII.\n\n Mr. Carvalho's narrative -- cravings of hunger -- disgusting\n food considered a delicacy -- Death of Mr. Fuller -- Carson\n joins Col. Beale as guide -- the Apache and Camanche Indians. 341\n\n\n CHAPTER XXXIII.\n\n Carson and Maxwell's settlement -- exploits in defense of his\n neighbors -- encounter with the Cheyennes -- rescue. 341\n\n\n CHAPTER XXXIV.\n\n Grand trapping expedition -- the Mountain Parks -- Pike's Peak\n -- Carson drives sheep to California -- San Francisco --\n appointed Indian Agent -- habits -- services in New Mexico --\n his death at Fort Lyon -- summing up. 369\n\n\n\n\nLIFE OF CHRISTOPHER CARSON.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\nAs, for their intrepid boldness and stern truthfulness, the exploits and\ndeeds of the old Danish sea-kings, have, since the age of Canute, been\njustly heralded in song and story; so now by the world-wide voice of the\npress, this, their descendant, as his name proves him, is brought before\nthe world: and as the stern integrity of the exploits and deeds of the\nold Danes in the age of Canute were heralded by song and story; so too,\nin this brief and imperfect memoir, are those of one who by name and\nbirthright claims descent from them. The subject of the present memoir,\nChristopher Carson, familiarly known under the appellation of Kit\nCarson, is one of the most extraordinary men of the present era. His\nfame has long been established throughout this country and Europe, as a\nmost skillful and intrepid hunter, trapper, guide, and pilot of the\nprairies and mountains of the far West, and Indian fighter. But his\ncelebrity in these characters is far surpassed by that of his individual\npersonal traits of courage, coolness, fidelity, kindness, honor, and\nfriendship. The theatre of his exploits is extended throughout the whole\nwestern portion of the territory of the United States, from the\nMississippi to the Pacific, and his associates have been some of the\nmost distinguished men of the present age, to all of whom he has become\nan object of affectionate regard and marked respect. The narrative which\nfollows will show his titles to this distinction, so far as his modesty\n(for the truly brave are always modest) has permitted the world to learn\nanything of his history.\n\nIt appears, from the various declarations of those most intimate with\nChristopher Carson, as well as from a biography published a number of\nyears before his death, that he was a native of Madison county,\nKentucky, and was born on the 24th of December, 1809. Colonel Fremont in\nhis exhaustive and interesting Report of his Exploring Expedition to\nOregon and North California, in 1843-44, says that Carson is a native\nof Boonslick county, Missouri; and from his long association with the\nhunter, he probably makes the statement on Carson's own authority. The\nerror, if it is an error, may have arisen from the fact stated by Mr.\nPeters, that Carson's father moved from Kentucky to Missouri, when\nChristopher was only one year old. He settled in what is now Howard\ncounty, in the central part of Missouri.\n\nAt the time of Mr. Carson's emigration, Missouri was called Upper\nLouisiana, being a part of the territory ceded to the United States by\nFrance in 1803, and it became a separate State, under the name of\nMissouri, in 1821. When Mr. Carson removed his family from Kentucky, and\nsettled in the new territory, it was a wild region, naturally fertile,\nthus favoring his views as a cultivator; abounding in wild game, and\naffording a splendid field of enterprise for the hunter, but infested on\nall sides with Indians, often hostile, and always treacherous.\n\nAs Mr. Carson united the pursuits of farmer and hunter, and lived in a\nsort of block-house or fort, as a precaution against the attacks of the\nneighboring Indians, his son became accustomed to the presence of\ndanger, and the necessity of earnest action and industry from his\nearliest childhood.\n\nAt the age of fifteen, Kit Carson was apprenticed to Mr. Workman, a\nsaddler. This trade requiring close confinement, was, of course, utterly\ndistasteful to a boy already accustomed to the use of the rifle, and the\nstirring pleasures of the hunter's life, and at the end of two years,\nhis apprenticeship was terminated, for Kit, who, with his experience as\nthe son of a noted hunter, himself perfectly familiar with the rifle,\nand, young as he was, acknowledged to be one of the best and surest\nshots, even in that State, where such merit predominated at that time\nover almost every other, could not bear in patience the silent,\nsedentary monotony of his life, voluntarily abandoned the further\npursuit of the trade, and sought the more active employment of a\ntrader's life.\n\nHis new pursuit was more congenial. He joined an armed band of traders\nin an expedition to Santa Fe, the capital of New Mexico. This, at that\nperiod, (1826,) was rather a perilous undertaking, on account of the\nIndian tribes who were ever ready to attack a trading caravan, when\nthere was any prospect of overcoming it. No attack was made on the\nparty, however, and no incident of importance occurred, if we except\nthe accident to one of the teamsters who wounded himself by carelessly\nhandling a loaded rifle, so as to render it necessary to amputate his\narm. In this operation Carson assisted, the surgical instruments being a\nrazor, an old saw, and an iron bolt, heated red hot, in order to apply\nthe actual cautery. Notwithstanding this rough surgery, the man\nrecovered.[A]\n\nIn November (1826) the party arrived at Santa Fe, the capital, and the\nlargest town in the then Mexican province of New Mexico. This place is\nsituated on the Rio Chiuto, or Santa Fe river, an affluent of the Rio\nGrande, from which it is distant about 20 miles. It was then, as now,\nthe great emporium of the overland trade, which, since 1822, has been\ncarried on with the State of Missouri. The houses are chiefly built of\n_adobes_, or unburnt bricks, each dwelling forming a square, with a\ncourt in the centre upon which the apartments open. This mode of\nbuilding, originally Moorish, prevails in all the colonies settled by\nthe Spaniards, as well as in Old Spain, and the oriental countries. It\nmakes each house a sort of fortress, as General Taylor's troops learned\nto their cost at the siege of Monterey. The front entrance of each\nhouse is large enough to admit animals with their packs.\n\nSanta Fe is well supplied with cool water from springs within its\nlimits, and from fountains above the city near the neighbouring\nmountain. The appearance of the place is inviting and imposing, as it\nstands on a plateau elevated more than 7000 feet above the sea, and near\na snow capped mountain, which rises 5000 feet above the level of the\ntown; but the population is said to be exceedingly depraved. The present\npopulation is about 5000; but at the time of Carson's first visit, it\nwas comparatively a small town.\n\nSoon after their arrival at Santa Fe, Carson left the trading band,\nwhich he had joined when he abandoned the saddlery business, or trade,\nas the reader may choose to term it, and of which we have previously\nspoken, and proceeded to Fernandez de Taos. In this place Carson passed\nthe winter of 1826-7, at the house of a retired mountaineer. And it was\nwhile residing there, that he acquired that thorough familiarity with\nthe Spanish language, which, in after years, proved of such essential\nservice to him. In the spring he joined a party bound for Missouri, but\nmeeting another band of Santa Fe traders, he joined them and returned\nto that place. Here his services being no longer required by the\ntraders, he was again thrown out of employment. He now engaged himself\nas teamster to a party bound to El Paso, a settlement, or more properly\na line of settlements, embracing a population of about 5,000, situated\nin the rich, narrow valley which extends 9 or 10 miles along the right\nbank of the Rio Grande, in the Mexican State of Chihuahua, 350 miles S.\nby W. of Santa Fe. Here the grape is extensively cultivated, and\nconsiderable quantities of light wine and brandy, (called by the traders\n_Pass wine_ and _Pass brandy_,) are made. The houses are like those of\nSanta Fe, built of _adobes_ with earthen floors. With abundance of\nnatural advantages, the people are content to live without those\nappliances of civilized life, considered indispensable by the poorest\nAmerican citizens. Glazed windows, chairs, tables, knives and forks, and\nsimilar every day conveniences are unknown even to the rich among the\npeople of El Paso. The place is the chief emporium of the trade between\nNew Mexico and Chihuahua, and its name, \"the passage\" is derived from\nthe passage of the river through a gorge or gap in the mountain just\nabove the town.\n\nOn his arrival at this place, young Carson might justly be considered\nin view of his age, (not yet 18,) more than an ordinary traveler. He had\narrived at a spot where everything was strange to him. New people, new\ncustoms, a new climate, a wine country, a population of mixed breed,\nhalf Indian, half Spaniard--everything wearing a foreign aspect;\neverything totally different from his home in Missouri.\n\nHe did not remain long in this place, but returned to Santa Fe, whence\nhe again found his way to Taos, where he passed the winter in the\nservice of Mr. Ewing Young, in the humble capacity of cook; this he soon\nforsook for the more pleasant and profitable position of Spanish\ninterpreter to a trader named Tramell, with whom he, for the second\ntime, made the long journey to El Paso and Chihuahua.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\nChihuahua, where Carson had now arrived, is the capital of the Mexican\nprovince bearing the same name. It is situated on a small tributary of\nthe Conchos river, in the midst of a plain. It is regularly laid out and\nwell built; the streets are broad and some of them paved. Like other\ncities built by the Spaniards, it has its great public square, or Plaza\nMajor, on one side of which stands the cathedral, an imposing edifice of\nhewn stone, built at a cost of $300,000. It is surmounted with a dome\nand two towers, and has a handsome facade with statues of the twelve\napostles, probably the first statues that Carson had ever seen. Other\npublic buildings surround the square, and there is a fountain in the\nmiddle. The city contains a convent founded by the Jesuits, and an\naqueduct 3-1/2 miles long, supported by vast arches and communicating\nwith the river Chihuahua. It has also its mint, and in the neighborhood\nare silver mines with furnaces for melting the ore. It carries on an\nextensive trade with the United States by means of caravans to St. Louis\nin Missouri, and San Antonio in Texas. It was founded in 1691, and\nduring the time when the silver mines were in successful operation, it\ncontained 70,000 inhabitants. The population at present is 14,000.\n\nAs he had come with one of the trading caravans in the service of\nColonel Tramell as Spanish interpreter, we might naturally expect that\nthe engagement would be a permanent one. But such was not the case. The\nmonotony of this life soon disgusted him, and after weary weeks passed\nin comparative idleness, he longed again for the freedom of the prairie\nand the forest, and gladly abandoning the rather dignified position of\ninterpreter to Colonel Tramell, entered into the service of Mr. Robert\nM. Knight, in the more humble capacity of teamster in an expedition to\nthe copper mines on the river Gila, whence he soon after found his way\nback to Taos.\n\nIt was during this visit to Taos that Carson was first enabled to\ngratify the desire which he had long entertained of becoming a regular\nhunter and trapper. A party of trappers in the service of Carson's old\nfriend, Mr. Ewing Young, had returned to Taos, having been beaten off\nfrom their hunting and trapping grounds by a hostile band of Indians.\nMr. Young raised a party of forty men, for the double purpose of\nchastising the Indians, and resuming the business of trapping, and\nCarson joined them. The fact that he was accepted for this service was a\nmarked token of esteem for his valor, as well as his skill in hunting,\nparties of this description always avoiding the enlistment of\ninexperienced recruits, as likely to embarrass their operations in the\nfield.\n\nThe ostensible object of the expedition was to punish the Indians, but\nits ultimate purpose was to trap for beavers. The Mexicans by an express\nlaw had forbidden granting licenses to any American parties, and in this\ninstance a circuitous route was chosen to conceal their real design.\n\nThey did not fall in with the Indians of whom they were in pursuit,\nuntil they had reached the head of one of the affluents of the Rio Gila,\ncalled Salt River. Once in presence of their enemies they made short\nwork with them, killing fifteen of their warriors, and putting the whole\nband to rout. Such occurrences were by no means unfrequent, as we shall\nsee in the course of this narrative. A small body of experienced\nhunters and trappers, confident in their superior skill and discipline,\nnever hesitates to attack a greatly superior number of Indians, and it\nwas a rare thing that success did not attend their daring. The Indian is\nnot fond of a \"fair stand up fight.\" He prefers stratagem and ambush,\nand reverences as a great \"brave,\" the warrior who is most successful in\ncircumventing his enemies, and bringing off many scalps without the loss\nof a man; but when a considerable number of Indians are shot down in the\nfirst onset, the remainder are very apt to take to flight in every\ndirection.\n\nWe have said that Carson joined the party of trappers under the command\nof Mr. Ewing Young, and it may not be out of place to describe briefly\nthe mode of life which parties in that pursuit have to adopt, with a few\nremarks upon the habits and haunts of the animal, for whose sake men\nwere then so willing to risk their lives, and to undergo such hardships.\n\nThe method of trapping for beaver formerly employed by the trappers in\nthe western country, is thus described by one who has had considerable\nexperience in the art; and we quote it as illustrating the severe\ntraining to which Carson had voluntarily subjected himself:\n\n\"To be a successful trapper, required great caution as well as a perfect\nknowledge of the habits of the animal. The residence of the beaver was\noften discovered by seeing bits of green wood, and gnawed branches of\nthe bass-wood, slippery elm, and sycamore, their favorite food, floating\non the water, or lodged on the shores of the stream below, as well as by\ntheir tracks or foot-marks. These indications were technically called\n_beaver sign_. They were also sometimes discovered by their dams, thrown\nacross creeks and small sluggish streams, forming a pond in which were\nerected their habitations.\n\n\"The hunter, as he proceeded to set his traps, generally approached by\nwater, in his canoe. He selected a steep, abrupt spot in the bank of the\ncreek, in which a hole was excavated with his paddle, as he sat in the\ncanoe, sufficiently large to hold the trap, and so deep as to be about\nthree inches below the surface of the water, when the jaws of the trap\nwere expanded. About two feet above the trap, a stick, three or four\ninches in length, was stuck in the bank. In the upper end of this, the\ntrapper excavated a small hole with his knife, into which he dropped a\nsmall quantity of the essence, or perfume, which was used to attract\nthe beaver to the spot. This stick was attached by a string of horse\nhair to the trap, and with it was pulled into the water by the beaver.\nThe reason for this was, that it might not remain after the trap was\nsprung, and attract other beavers to the spot, and thus prevent their\ngoing to where there was another trap ready for them.\n\n\"The scent, or essence, was made by mingling the fresh castor of the\nbeaver, with an extract of the bark of the roots of the spice-bush, and\nkept in a bottle for use. The making of this essence was held a profound\nsecret, and often sold for a considerable sum to the younger trappers,\nby the older proficients in the mystery of beaver hunting. Where they\nhad no proper bait, they sometimes made use of the fresh roots of\nsassafras, or spice-bush; of both these the beaver was very fond.\n\n\"It is said by old trappers that they will smell the well-prepared\nessence the distance of a mile. Their sense of smell is very acute, or\nthey would not so readily detect the vicinity of man by the smell of his\ntrail. The aroma of the essence having attracted the animal into the\nvicinity of the trap, in his attempt to reach it, he has to climb up on\nto the bank where it is sticking. This effort leads him directly over\nthe trap, and he is usually taken by one of the fore legs. The trap was\nconnected by a chain of iron, six feet in length, to a stout line made\nof the bark of the leather-wood, twisted into a neat cord, of fifteen or\ntwenty feet. These were usually prepared by the trappers at home or at\ntheir camps, for cords of hemp or flax were scarce in the days of beaver\nhunting. The end of the line was secured to a stake driven into the bed\nof the creek under water, and in his struggles to escape, the beaver was\nusually drowned before the arrival of the trapper. Sometimes, however,\nhe freed himself by gnawing off his own leg, though this was rarely the\ncase. If there was a prospect of rain, or it was raining at the time of\nsetting the trap, a leaf, generally of sycamore, was placed over the\nessence stick, to protect it from the rain.\n\n\"The beaver being a very sagacious and cautious animal, it required\ngreat care in the trapper in his approach to its haunts to set his\ntraps, that no scent of his feet or hands was left on the earth, or\nbushes that he touched. For this reason he generally approached in a\ncanoe. If he had no canoe, it was necessary to enter the stream thirty\nor forty yards below, and walk in the water to the place, taking care\nto return in the same manner, lest the beaver should take alarm and not\ncome near the bait, as his fear of the vicinity of man was greater than\nhis sense of appetite for the essence. It also required caution in\nkindling a fire near their haunts, as the smell of smoke alarmed them.\nThe firing of a gun, also, often marred the sport of the trapper, and\nthus it will be seen that to make a successful beaver hunter, required\nmore qualities or natural gifts than fall to the share of most men.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\nCarson's previous habits and pursuits had eminently qualified him to\nbecome an useful and even a distinguished member of Mr. Young's company\nof trappers. He had lived in the midst of danger from his childhood. He\nwas familiar with the use of arms; and several years of travel and\nadventure had already given him more knowledge of the western wilds in\nthe neighborhood of the region which was the scene of their present\noperations, than was possessed by many who had seen more years than\nhimself. Added to this, he had become well acquainted with the peculiar\ncharacter and habits of the western Indians, who were now prowling\naround their camp, and occasionally stealing their traps, game, and\nanimals.\n\nThe party pursued their business successfully for some time on the Salt\nand San Francisco rivers, when a part of them returned to New Mexico,\nand the remainder, eighteen in number, under the lead of Mr. Young,\nstarted for the valley of Sacramento, California, and it was to this\nlatter party Carson was attached. Their route led them through one of\nthe dry deserts of the country, and not only did they suffer\nconsiderably from the want of water, but their provisions giving out,\nthey were often happy when they could make a good dinner on horse-flesh.\nNear the Canyon of the Colorado they encountered a party of Mohave\nIndians, who furnished them with some provisions, which relieved them\nfrom the apprehension of immediate want.\n\nThe Mohave Indians are thus described by a recent visitor:\n\n\"These Indians are probably in as wild a state of nature as any tribe on\nAmerican territory. They have not had sufficient intercourse with any\ncivilized people, to acquire a knowledge of their language, or their\nvices. It was said that no white party had ever before passed through\ntheir country without encountering hostility; nevertheless they appear\nintelligent, and to have naturally amiable dispositions. The men are\ntall, erect, and well-proportioned; their features inclined to European\nregularity; their eyes large, shaded by long lashes, and surrounded by\ncircles of blue pigment, that add to their apparent size. The apron, or\nbreech-cloth for men, and a short petticoat, made of strips of the inner\nbark of the cotton-wood, for women, are the only articles of dress\ndeemed indispensable; but many of the females have long robes, or\ncloaks, of fur. The young girls wear beads; but when married, their\nchins are tattooed with vertical blue lines, and they wear a necklace\nwith a single sea-shell in front, curiously wrought. These shells are\nvery ancient, and esteemed of great value.\n\n\"From time to time they rode into the camp, mounted on spirited horses;\ntheir bodies and limbs painted and oiled, so as to present the\nappearance of highly-polished mahogany. The dandies paint their faces\nperfectly black. Warriors add a streak of red across the forehead, nose,\nand chin. Their ornaments consist of leathern bracelets, adorned with\nbright buttons, and worn on the left arm; a kind of tunic, made of\nbuckskin fringe, hanging from the shoulders; beautiful eagles' feathers,\ncalled 'sormeh'--sometimes white, sometimes of a crimson tint--tied to a\nlock of hair, and floating from the top of the head; and, finally,\nstrings of wampum, made of circular pieces of shell, with holes in the\ncentre, by which they are strung, often to the length of several yards,\nand worn in coils about the neck. These shell beads, which they call\n'pook,' are their substitute for money, and the wealth of an individual\nis estimated by the 'pook' cash he possesses.\"\n\nSoon after leaving the Mohave Indians, Mr. Young's party, proceeding\nwestward, arrived at the Mission of San Gabriel. This is one of these\nextensive establishments formed by the Roman Catholic clergy in the\nearly times of California, which form so striking a feature in the\ncountry. This Mission of San Gabriel, about the time of Carson's visit,\nwas in a flourishing condition. By statistical accounts, in 1829, it had\n70,000 head of cattle, 1,200 horses, 3,000 mares, 400 mules, 120 yoke of\nworking cattle, and 254,000 sheep. From the vineyards of the mission\nwere made 600 barrels of wine, the sale of which produced an income of\nupwards of $12,000. There were between twenty and thirty such missions\nin California at that time, of which San Gabriel was by no means the\nlargest. They had all been founded since 1769, when the first, San\nDiego, was established. The labor in these establishments was performed\nby Indian converts, who received in return a bare support, and a very\nsmall modicum of what was called religious instruction. Each mission had\nits Catholic priests, a few Spanish or Mexican soldiers, and hundreds,\nsometimes thousands of Indians.\n\nThe following interesting account of those of Upper California, we\ntranscribe from a recent work of high authority.[B]\n\n\"The missions of Upper California were indebted for their beginning and\nchief success to the subscriptions which, as in the case of the\nmissionary settlements of the lower province, were largely bestowed by\nthe pious to promote so grand a work as turning a great country to the\nworship of the true God. Such subscriptions continued for a long period,\nboth in Old and New Spain, and were regularly remitted to the City of\nMexico, where they were formed into what was called '_The Pious Fund of\nCalifornia_.' This fund was managed by the convent of San Fernando and\nother trustees in Mexico, and the proceeds, together with the annual\nsalaries allowed by the Crown to the missionaries, were transmitted to\nCalifornia. Meanwhile, the Spanish court scarcely interfered with the\ntemporal government of the country. It was true that some of the\nordinary civil offices and establishments were kept up; but this was\nonly in name, and on too small a scale to be of any practical\nimportance. A commandante-general was appointed by the Crown to command\nthe garrisons of the presidios; but as these were originally established\nsolely to protect the missions from the dreaded violence of hostile\nIndians, and to lend them, when necessary, the carnal arm of offence, he\nwas not allowed to interfere in the temporal rule of the Fathers. He\nresided at Monterey, and his annual salary was four thousand dollars.\n\n\"In every sense of the word, then, these monks were practically the\nsovereign rulers of California--passing laws affecting not only\nproperty, but even life and death--declaring peace and war against their\nIndian neighbors--regulating, receiving, and spending the finances at\ndiscretion--and, in addition, drawing large annual subsidies not only\nfrom the pious among the faithful over all Christendom, but even from\nthe Spanish monarchy itself, almost as a tribute to their being a\nsuperior state. This surely was the golden age of the missions--a\ncontented, peaceful, believing people, abundant wealth for all their\nwants, despotic will, and no responsibility but to their own\nconsciences and heaven! Their horn was filled to overflowing; but soon\nan invisible and merciless hand seized it, and slowly and lingeringly,\nas if in malicious sport, turned it over, and spilled the nectar of\ntheir life upon the wastes of mankind, from whence it can never again be\ncollected. The golden age of another race has now dawned, and with it\nthe real prosperity of the country.\n\n\"The missions were originally formed on the same general plan, and they\nwere planted at such distances from each other as to allow abundant room\nfor subsequent development. They were either established on the\nsea-coast, or a few miles inland. Twenty or thirty miles indeed seems\nall the distance the missionaries had proceeded into the interior;\nbeyond which narrow belt the country was unexplored and unknown. Each\nmission had a considerable piece of the best land in the neighborhood\nset aside for its agricultural and pastoral purposes, which was commonly\nabout fifteen miles square. But besides this selected territory, there\nwas generally much more vacant land lying between the boundaries of the\nmissions, and which, as the increase of their stocks required more space\nfor grazing, was gradually occupied by the flocks and herds of the\nFathers, nearest to whose mission lay the previously unoccupied\ndistrict. Over these bounds the Fathers conducted all the operations of\na gigantic farm. Their cattle generally numbered from ten thousand to\ntwenty thousand and their sheep were nearly as numerous--though some\nmissions had upwards of thrice these numbers--which fed over perhaps a\nhundred thousand acres of fertile land.\n\n\"Near the centre of such farms were placed the mission buildings. These\nconsisted of the church--which was either built of stone, if that\nmaterial could be procured in the vicinity, or of _adobes_, which are\nbricks dried in the sun; and was as substantial, large, and richly\ndecorated an erection as the means of the mission would permit, or the\nskill and strength of their servants could construct. In the interior,\npictures and hangings decorated the walls; while the altars were\nornamented with marble pillars of various colors, and upon and near them\nstood various articles of massy gold and silver plate. A profusion of\ngilding and tawdry sparkling objects caught and pleased the eye of the\nsimple congregations. Around, or beside the church, and often in the\nform of a square, were grouped the habitations of the Fathers and their\nhousehold servants, and the various granaries and workshops of the\npeople; while, at the distance of one or two hundred yards, stood the\nhuts of the Indians. The former buildings were constructed of _adobes_,\nand covered with brick tiles, frail and miserable materials at the best.\nThe huts of the Indians were occasionally made of the same materials,\nbut more commonly were formed only of a few rough poles, stuck in the\nground, with the points bending towards the centre like a cone, and were\ncovered with reeds and grass. An _adobe_ wall of considerable height\nsometimes inclosed the whole village. The direction of the affairs of\nthe settlement was in the hands of one of the Fathers, originally called\na president, but afterwards a _prefect_; and each prefect was\nindependent in his own mission, and practically supreme in all its\ntemporal, and nearly in all its spiritual matters, to any human\nauthority.\n\n\"Thus the Fathers might be considered to have lived something in the\nstyle of the patriarchs of the days of Job and Abraham. They indeed were\ngenerally ignorant and unlettered men, knowing little more than the\nmechanical rites of their church, and what else their manuals of\ndevotion and the treasuries of the lives of the saints taught them; but\nthey seem to have been personally devout, self-denying, and beneficent\nin their own simple way. They thought they did God service, and perhaps\nmuch more the Indians themselves, in catching, taming, and converting\nthem to Christianity. That was their vocation in the world, and they\nfaithfully obeyed its calls of duty. Towards the converts and actually\ndomesticated servants, they always showed such an affectionate kindness\nas a father pays to the youngest and most helpless of his family. The\nherds and flocks of the Fathers roamed undisturbed over numberless hills\nand valleys. Their servants or slaves were true born children of the\nhouse, who laboured lightly and pleasantly, and had no sense of freedom\nnor desire for change. A rude but bounteous hospitality marked the\nmaster's reception of the solitary wayfarer, as he traveled from mission\nto mission, perhaps bearing some scanty news from the outer world, all\nthe more welcome that the Fathers knew little of the subject, and could\nnot be affected by the events and dangers of distant societies. All\nthese things have now passed away. The churches have fallen into decay,\ndeserted by the old worshipers, and poverty-stricken; the _adobe_\nhouses of the Fathers are in ruins--and there is scarcely any trace\nleft of the slightly erected huts of the Indians, who themselves have\ndeserted their old hearths and altars, and are silently, though rapidly,\ndisappearing from the land. But the memory of the patriarchal times, for\nthey were only as yesterday, still remains fresh in the minds of the\nearly white settlers.\"\n\nMr. Young's party did not remain long to enjoy the sumptuous fare at the\nMission of San Gabriel; but pushed on to that of San Fernando, and\nthence to the river and fertile valley of Sacramento. In this\nneighborhood they trapped for beaver, and Carson displayed his activity\nand skill as a hunter of deer, elk, and antelope.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n\nOnly familiarity with one of like character, by actually seeing it, can\ngive a just idea of the country through which they were traveling.\nLivingston's descriptions of localities in Central Africa might be\ntransferred to our pages _verbatim_, to give a word-painting of the\ndesiccated deserts of what is now New Mexico and Arizona. Carson's\ncuriosity, as well as care to preserve the knowledge for future use, led\nhim to note in memory, every feature of the wild landscape, its mountain\nchains, its desert prairies, with only clumps of the poor artemisia for\nvegetation, its rivers, and the oases upon their banks, where there were\nbottom-lands--nor were beaver found elsewhere--with its river beds whose\nstreams had found a passage beneath the surface of the earth, and each\nother general feature that would attract the eye of the natural, rather\nthan the scientific observer.\n\nIn our day, the note book of the pioneer furnishing the data, the\ntraveler carries a guide-book to direct his course from point to point,\nupon a well trodden road, to those places where grass and water will\nfurnish refreshment for his animals, while he regales himself, not upon\nthe spare-rib of a starved mule, killed because it could go no longer,\nbut upon a variety of good things from the well stocked larder of the\npouches of the saddle-bags his pack mule carries, or the provision box\nof his wagon. Or, instead of the meat-diet of the trapper, when he has\nbeen in luck in a fertile locality, the traveler--not trapper--of\nto-day, perhaps has shot a prairie chicken, and prepares his dinner by\nmaking a stew of it, which he consumes with hard bread he has purchased\nat a station not ten miles away.\n\nFamiliarity with the features of the country does not restore the\nexperience of the pioneer of these wilds. The Indian, now, is advised by\nauthority he seldom dares defy, to keep off the roads of the emigrants;\nand seldom does a party leave the road for any great distance; nor are\nthese roads infrequent, but the country is intersected with them, and\nthe guide-books protect against mistake in taking the wrong direction.\nThe test of character, however, with the trappers, was their ability to\nendure hardships when they had to be encountered; and to guard against\nthem, when they could be avoided, by a wise foresight in taking\nadvantage of every favor of fortune, and turning each freak or whim of\nthe wily dame to best account.\n\nCarson was delighted with California from the first, and realizing\nintense satisfaction in his position, yet a youth, on terms of easy\nfamiliarity with the other seventeen old trappers, especially selected\nfor this expedition, circumstances conspired to call into play all the\nactivities of his nature, and nothing intruded to prevent his resigning\nhimself to the impulses of the time, and making the most of every\noccasion that offered.\n\nHe had the confidence of Capt. Young and of all his men, who permitted\nhim to do precisely as he chose, for they found him not only intending\nalways to do what was best, but possessed of foresight to know always\n\"just the things that ought to be done,\" almost without effort, as it\nseemed to them.\n\nAfter leaving the Mission of San Fernando, Young's party trapped upon\nthe San Joaquim, but they found that another party of trappers had been\nthere before them, employed by the Hudson Bay Company, in Oregon. There\nwas however, room for them both, and they trapped near each other for\nweeks. The friendly intercourse kept up between the two parties, was not\nonly one of pleasant interchange of social kindness, but in one sense\nwas essentially useful to Kit, who lost no opportunity of improving\nhimself in the profession (for in those days trapping was a profession)\nwhich he had embraced, and he had the benefit of the experience by way\nof example, not only of his own companions, but of those who were\nconnected with the greatest and most influential company then in\nexistence on this Continent. It is hardly necessary to say that he lost\nno opportunity of acquiring information, and it is quite probable that\nhe would, if called on, allow that the experience acquired on this\nexpedition was among the most valuable of any which he had previously\ngained.\n\nWhen Mr. Young went to the Sacramento, he separated from the Hudson Bay\nparty. The beautiful Sacramento, as its waters glided toward the chain\nof bays that take it to the ocean through the Bay of San Francisco out\nat the Golden gate, had not the aspect of the eastern river's immediate\ntributaries of the Missouri. Its waters then were clear as crystal, and\nthe salmon floated beneath, glistening in the sunlight, as the canoe\nglided through them.\n\nThe very air of this valley is luxurious; and in speaking of it, we will\ninclude the valley of the San Joaquim, for both these streams run\nparallel with the coast, the Sacramento from the north, the San Joaquim\nfrom the south, and both unite at the head of the chain of bays which\npour their waters into the Pacific.\n\nThe Sacramento drains nearly three hundred miles of latitude, and the\nSan Joaquim an hundred and fifty miles of the country bounded by the\nSierra Nevada (snow mountains) on the east, and the coast range on the\nwest, the whole forming a great basin, with the mountains depressed on\nthe north and south, but with no outlet except through the Golden gate.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n\nNo climate could be more congenial to a full flow of animal spirits,\nthan this region, where, upon the vegetation of the rich black\nsoil--often twenty feet deep--game of the better class in great\nabundance found support. Deer in no part of the world was ever more\nplenty, and elk and antelope bounded through the old oak groves, as they\nmay have done in Eden.\n\nCarson had many opportunities of exploring the country, which he gladly\nembraced, and thus became familiar with many localities, the knowledge\nof which was in after years of such essential service to him and others.\n\nThere were many large tribes of Indians scattered through this country,\nin these and smaller valleys, beside those which the missions had\nattached to them. We know not that any record has been kept of the names\nof these tribes and their numbers; but since the white men intruded,\nthey have melted away as did earlier those east of the Mississippi.\n\nThese Indians were all of the variety called Diggers, but in better\ncondition than we see them, since the small remnants of large tribes\nhave adopted the vices of the white men, and learned improvidence, by\nsometimes having plenty without much toil; so that they can say to-day,\n\"No deer, no acorn; white man come! poor Indian hungry,\" as the happiest\nstyle of begging.\n\nA brief description of the Tlamath or Digger Indians, and their mode of\nliving, may not now be out of place, and having been visited by Carson\nin his earlier years, may not be uninteresting. We quote from the\nlanguage of one who has paid a recent visit to the tribe:\n\n\"There were a dozen wigwams for the nearly hundred that composed the\ntribe, one of which was much larger than the rest, and in the centre of\nthe group, the temple, or \"medicine lodge.\" As we entered, the bones of\ngame consumed, and other offal lay about; and to our inquiry why they\ndid not clear away and be more tidy, only a grunt was returned. The men\nhad gone fishing, said the Indian woman we addressed, so we saw but two\nor three; but in one wigwam which we entered there were fourteen with\nourselves--the rest, besides the boy who went before to announce us,\nwere women and children.\n\n\"We ascended a mound of earth, as it seemed, about six feet high, and\nthrough a circular hole, perhaps two feet and a half in diameter,\ndescended a perpendicular ladder about ten feet. This opening, through\nwhich we entered, performed the double office of door and window to the\nspace below, which was circular, about fourteen feet across, with\narrangements for sleeping, like berths in a steamboat, one over another,\non two sides, suspended by tying with bark a rough stick to upright\nposts, which served to hold the sticks that sustained the roof. The\nwhole was substantially built, the covering being the earth which was\ntaken from the spot beneath, heaped upon a layer of rushes, the floor of\nthe wigwam being four feet below the surface of the ground. On the two\nsides of the wigwam not occupied by the berths, were barrels filled with\nfish--dried salmon, seeds, acorns, and roots.\n\n\"On hooks from the rush lined ceiling hung bags and baskets, containing\nsuch luxuries as dried grasshoppers and berries. About the berths hung\ndeer skins and some skins of other game, seemingly prepared for wear.\nThere was no appearance of other dress, yet in the berths sat three\nwomen, braiding strips of deer skin, and attaching the braids to a\nstring, in the form of long fringe. Each of the women wore an apron of\nthis kind about the waist, and only the dress of nature beside. The\nchildren were dressed '_in puris naturalibus_.'\n\n\"After stopping ten minutes, we were glad to ascend to the open air, for\na sickness came over us from which we did not recover for several hours.\nHow human beings live in such an atmosphere we cannot tell, but this is\nthe way they habitate.\n\n\"When the grasshoppers were abundant, for this insect is one of the\nluxuries of the Diggers, they scoured the valley, gathering them in\nimmense quantities. This is done by first digging holes or pits in the\nground at the spot chosen. Then the whole party of Indians, each with\nthe leafy branch of a tree, form a circle about it and drive in the\ngrasshoppers till they heap them upon each other in the pits: water is\nthen poured in to drown them. Their booty gathered, they proceed to\nanother place and perform the same operation. These insects are prepared\nfor food by kindling a fire in one of these pits, and when it is heated,\nfilling it with them and covering it with a heated stone, where they\nare left to bake. They are now ready for use at any time, and eaten with\ngusto, or they are powdered, and mixed with the acorn meal in a kind of\nbread, which is baked in the ashes.\"\n\nTo return to the camp of trappers, and witness one day's duties, may be\ngratifying to the reader. With early dawn the traps are visited, and the\nbeaver secured. The traps are re-adjusted, and the game brought into\ncamp--or left to be skinned where it is if the camp is far away.\nMeantime breakfast has been prepared by one of the party; others have\nlooked after the animals, relieving the watch which is still kept up\nlest a stampede occur while all are sleeping. Carson could not be cook\nfor the party constantly, but takes his turn with the rest, and by the\nnice browning of his steak, and the delicacy of his acorn coffee, and\nthe addition to their meal of roasted kamas root, he proves the value of\nthe apprenticeship of his earlier years. He has a dish of berries, too,\nand surprises the party with this tempting dessert, as well as with the\ninformation that in his rambles the day before he had dined with an old\nCalifornian, with his wife and daughters, and had the promise from them\nof a cow, if he would call for it on the morrow.\n\nBreakfast over, and the remains put by for lunch at noon, Carson mounts\nhis pony, and riding a few miles down the bank swims the river, and\ndashing out among the hills with a high round mountain peak in view,\nstill miles away, is lost among the oak groves for a score of miles, and\nat length emerges on Susan bay, and doffs his hat and makes his bow to\nthe young Senorita who greets him at the door with a smile of welcome.\nThe sun is low; dinner waits--hot bread, and butter, and cheese, and\ncoffee with sugar, are added to the venison and beef, and Irish and\nsweet potatoes. Amid the civilities and pleasant chat, the hour passes\nhappily, and Carson proposes returning to his party.\n\nThe ladies will not allow him to depart. Will he not accept the\nhospitality of their mansion for a single night? They do not urge after\none refusal, because his every feature indicates the decision of his\ncharacter. He must go. His horse is brought--a young and beautiful\nanimal--and the cow, this object of his second journey thither, given\nhim in charge as he mounts, with a rope attached to her horns, by which\nto lead her. The full moon is rising, on which he had calculated, as he\ntold his hostesses, and with words of pleasant compliment, with which\nthe Spanish language so much more than ours abounds, and a _Buenos\nnoches, senor_, from his entertainers, and _Buenos noches, senoritas_,\nin return, he slowly winds his silent way on and on through the oak\ngroves and the wild oats covering the hill-sides, hearing only the song\nof the owl and the whippoorwill, the music of the insects, and the\nwhispering leaves, but with ear ever open to detect the stealthy tread\nof the monster of the wood and hills--the grizzly bear. Off on the\ndistant hill he sees one, with a cub following her; but game is plenty,\nand deer is good enough food for her. On, on he goes at slow pace, for\nhe has a delicate charge, and already is she restive from very\nweariness, though his pace is slow.\n\nHalf his journey is completed as the gray of dawn and the twinkle of the\nstar of morning relieves the tedium and anxiety of his loneliness. He\nhas made the circuit of the bay. The river is before him as he descends\nthe hill which he has ascended for observation. Morning broadens. The\nflowers glow with variegated beauty as he tramples them, and in some\npatches the odor of the crushed dewy beauties fills the air to satiety.\n\nA few miles more of travel and he crosses the river, and is again in the\nriver-bottom where the party have taken the beaver. He stops at an\nIndian village, and dines from the liberal haunch and the acorn bread\nthe chief presents, and with good feelings displayed on either side,\ntakes in his arms a young papoose, the digger's picaninny, and salutes\nit with a kiss. Kit leaves there a trifling, but to them, valuable\nmemorial of his visit, mounts his sorrel which is restive under the slow\ngait to which he has restrained him, takes the rope again which secures\nhis treasure, the cow, and plods towards home at evening. The camp fire\nsmokes in the distance, while the few horses that remain are staked\nabout, and the sentinel paces up and down to keep off the drowsiness\ninduced by fatigue and a hearty meat supper. The eastern and the western\nhorizon are lighted with pale silver by the departing god of day, and\nthe approaching goddess of the night, and the still river divides the\nplain, bounded only by the horizon, except he look behind him. Such is\nthe scene as, approaching, the sentinel raises his gun and gives the\nchallenge to halt. But the rest of the camp are not yet sleeping, and a\ndozen voices shout in the still evening a glad welcome to Carson, for\nwhom they were not concerned, for they well knew there was not one of\nthe party so well able to take care of himself as he.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n\nPeters, in his \"Life of Carson,\" tells the story of two expeditions\nwhich Carson led against the Indians, while they trapped upon the\nSacramento, which give proof of his courage, and thorough education in\nthe art of Indian warfare, which had become a necessity to the\n_voyageur_ on the plains, and in the mountains of the western wilds.\nWith his quick discrimination of character, and familiarity with the\nhabits of the race, he could not but know the diggers were less bold\nthan the Apaches and Camanches, with whom he was before familiar.\n\nThe Indians at the Mission San Gabriel, were restive under coerced\nlabor, and forty of them made their escape to a tribe not far away.\n\nThe mission demanded the return of these fugitives, and being refused,\ngave battle to the neighboring tribe, but were defeated. The Padre sent\nto the trappers for assistance to compel the Indians not to harbor their\npeople. Carson and eleven of his companions volunteered to aid the\nmission, and the attack upon the Indian village resulted in the\ndestruction of a third of its inhabitants, and compelled them to\nsubmission. Capt. Young found at this mission a trader to take his furs,\nand from them purchased a drove of horses. Directly after his return, a\nparty of Indians contrived to drive away sixty horses from the trappers,\nwhile the sentinel slept at night. Carson with twelve men were sent in\npursuit. It was not difficult to follow the fresh trail of so large a\ndrove, yet he pursued them a hundred miles, and into the mountains,\nbefore coming up with them. The Indians supposed themselves too far away\nto be followed, and were feasting on the flesh of the stolen horses they\nhad slaughtered. Carson's party arranged themselves silently and without\nbeing seen, and rushing upon the Indian camp, killed eight men, and\nscattered the remainder in every direction. The horses were recovered,\nexcept the six killed, and partly consumed, and with three Indian\nchildren left in camp, they returned to the joyful greetings of their\nfriends.\n\nEarly in the autumn of 1829, Mr. Young and his party of trappers set out\non their return home. On their route they visited Los Angelos, formerly\ncalled Pueblo de los Angelos, \"the city of the angels,\" a name which it\nreceived on account of the exceedingly genial climate, and the beauty of\nthe surrounding country. It is situated on a small river of the same\nname, 30 miles from its mouth, and on the road between the cities of San\nJose and San Diego. It is about three hundred and fifty miles east of\nSan Francisco, and a hundred miles to the south.\n\nAlthough to very many thousands of readers, anything on the subject of\nthe climate of California may seem superfluous, yet there are as many\nthousands who have no really distinct idea of the country or the\nclimate, and we therefore quote from Rev. Dr. Bushnell, whose article on\nthose topics in the \"New Englander,\" in 1858, attracted justly such\nuniversal attention:\n\n\"The first and most difficult thing to apprehend respecting California\nis the climate, upon which, of course, depend the advantages of health\nand physical development, the growths and their conditions and kinds,\nand the _modus operandi_, or general cast, of the seasons. But this,\nagain, is scarcely possible, without dismissing, first of all, the word\n_climate_, and substituting the plural, climates. For it cannot be said\nof California, as of New England, or the Middle States, that it has a\nclimate. On the contrary, it has a great multitude, curiously pitched\ntogether, at short distances, one from another, defying too, not seldom,\nour most accepted notions of the effects of latitude and altitude and\nthe defences of mountain ranges. The only way, therefore, is to dismiss\ngeneralities, cease to look for a climate, and find, if we can, by what\nprocess the combinations and varieties are made; for when we get hold of\nthe manner and going on of causes, all the varieties are easily\nreducible.\n\n\"To make this matter intelligible, conceive that Middle California, the\nregion of which we now speak, lying between the head waters of the two\ngreat rivers, and about four hundred and fifty or five hundred miles\nlong from north to south, is divided lengthwise, parallel to the coast,\ninto three strips, or ribands of about equal width. First, the\ncoast-wise region, comprising two, three, and sometimes four parallel\ntiers of mountains from five hundred to four thousand, five thousand, or\neven ten thousand feet high. Next, advancing inward, we have a middle\nstrip, from fifty to seventy miles wide, of almost dead plain, which is\ncalled the great valley; down the scarcely perceptible s of which,\nfrom north to south, and south to north, run the two great rivers, the\nSacramento and the San Joaquim, to join their waters at the middle of\nthe basin and pass off to the sea. The third long strip, or riband, is\nthe of the Sierra Nevada chain, which bounds the great valley on\nthe east, and contains in its foot-hills, or rather in its lower half,\nall the gold mines. The upper half is, to a great extent, bare granite\nrock, and is crowned at the summit, with snow, about eight months of the\nyear.\n\n\"Now the climate of these parallel strips will be different almost of\ncourse, and subordinate, local differences, quite as remarkable, will\nresult from subordinate features in the local configurations,\nparticularly of the seaward strip or portion. For all the varieties of\nclimate, distinct as they become, are made by variations wrought in the\nrates of motion, the courses, the temperature, and the dryness of a\nsingle wind; viz., the trade wind of the summer months, which blows\ndirectly inward all the time, only with much greater power during that\npart of the day when the rarefaction of the great central valley comes\nto its aid; that is, from about ten o'clock in the morning, to the\nsetting of the sun. Conceive such a wind, chilled by the cold waters\nthat have come down from the Northern Pacific, perhaps from Behring's\nStraits, combing the tops and wheeling round through the valleys of the\ncoastwise mountains, crossing the great valley at a much retarded rate,\nand growing hot and dry, fanning gently the foot-hills and sides of the\nSierra, still more retarded by the piling necessary to break over into\nUtah, and the conditions of the California climate, or climates, will be\nunderstood with general accuracy. Greater simplicity in the matter of\nclimate is impossible, and greater variety is hardly to be imagined.\n\n\"For the whole dry season, viz., from May to November, this wind is in\nregular blast, day by day, only sometimes approaching a little more\nnearly to a tempest than at others. It never brings a drop of rain,\nhowever thick and rain-like the clouds it sometimes drives before it.\nThe cloud element, indeed, is always in it. Sometimes it is floated\nabove, in the manner commonly designated by the term _cloud_. Sometimes,\nas in the early morning, when the wind is most quiet, it may be seen as\na kind of fog bank resting on the sea-wall mountains or rolling down\nlandward through the interstices of their summits. When the wind begins\nto hurry and take on less composedly, the fog becomes blown fog, a kind\nof lead dust driven through the air, reducing it from a transparent to a\nsemi-transparent or merely translucent state, so that if any one looks\nup the bay, from a point twenty or thirty miles south of San Francisco,\nin the afternoon, he will commonly see, directly abreast of the Golden\nGate where this wind drives in with its greatest power, a pencil of the\nlead dust shooting upwards at an angle of thirty or forty degrees,\n(which is the aim of the wind preparing to leap the second chain of\nmountains, the other side of the bay,) and finally tapering off and\nvanishing, at a mid-air point eight or ten miles inland, where the\nincreased heat of the atmosphere has taken up the moisture, and restored\nits complete transparency. This wind is so cold, that one who will sit\nupon the deck of the afternoon steamer passing up the bay, will even\nrequire his heaviest winter clothing. And so rough are the waters of the\nbay, landlocked and narrow as it is, that sea-sickness is a kind of\nregular experience, with such as are candidates for that kind of\nfelicity.\n\n\"We return now to the middle strip of the great valley where the engine,\nor rather boiler power, that operates the coast wind in a great part of\nits velocity, is located. Here the heat, reverberated as in a forge, or\noven (whence _Cali--fornia_) becomes, even in the early spring, so much\nraised that the ground is no longer able, by any remaining cold there is\nin it, to condense the clouds, and rain ceases. A little further on in\nthe season, there is not cooling influence enough left to allow even the\nphenomena of cloud, and for weeks together, not a cloud will be seen,\nunless, by chance, the skirt of one may just appear now and then,\nhanging over the summit of the western mountains. The sun rises, fixing\nhis hot stare on the world, and stares through the day. Then he returns\nas in an orrery, and stares through another, in exactly the same way.\nThe thermometer will go up, not seldom, to 100 deg. or even 110 deg., and\njudging by what we know of effects here in New England, we should\nsuppose that life would scarcely be supportable. And yet there is much\nless suffering from heat in this valley than with us, for the reason\nprobably that the nights are uniformly cool. The thermometer goes down\nregularly with the sun, and one or two blankets are wanted for the\ncomfort of the night. This cooling of the night is probably determined\nby the fact that the cool sea wind, sweeping through the upper air of\nthe valley, from the coast mountains on one side, over the mountains\nand mountain passes of the Sierra on the other, is not able to get down\nto the ground of the valley during the day, because of the powerfully\nsteaming column of heat that rises from it; but as soon as the sun goes\ndown, it drops immediately to the level of the plain, bathing it for the\nnight with a kind of perpendicular sea breeze, that has lost for the\ntime a great part of its lateral motion. The consequence is that no one\nis greatly debilitated by the heat. On the contrary, it is the general\ntestimony, that a man can do as much of mental or bodily labor in this\nclimate, as in any other. And it is a good confirmation of this opinion,\nthat horses will here maintain a wonderful energy, traveling greater\ndistances, complaining far less of heat, and sustaining their spirit a\ngreat deal better than with us. It is also to be noted that there is no\nspecial tendency to fevers in this hot region, except in what is called\nthe _tule_ bottom, a kind of giant bulrush region, along the most\ndepressed and marshiest portions of the rivers.\n\n\"Passing now to the eastern strip or portion, the of the Nevada,\nthe heat, except in those deep canyons where the reverberation makes it\nsometimes even insupportable, is qualified in degree, according to the\naltitude. A gentle west wind, warmer in the lower parts or foothills by\nthe heat of the valley, fans it all day. At points which are higher, the\nwind is cooler; but here also, on the of the Nevada, the nights\nare always cool in summer, so cool that the late and early frosts leave\ntoo short a space for the ordinary summer crop to mature, even where the\naltitude is not more than 3,000 or 4,000 feet. Meantime, at the top of\nthe Sierra, where the west wind, piling up from below, breaks over into\nUtah, travelers undertake to say that in some of the passes it blows\nwith such stress as even to polish the rocks, by the gravel and sand\nwhich it drives before it. The day is cloudless on the of the\nSierra, as in the valley; but on the top there is now and then, or once\nin a year or two, a moderate thunder shower. With this exception, as\nreferring to a part uninhabitable, thunder is scarcely ever heard in\nCalifornia. The principal thunders of California are underground.\n\n\"We return now to the coast-wise mountain region, where the multiplicity\nand confusion of climates is most remarkable. Their variety we shall\nfind depends on the courses of the wind currents, turned hither and\nthither by the mountains; partly also on the side any given place\noccupies of its valley or mountain; and partly on the proximity of the\nsea. Sprinkled in among these mountains, and more or less inclosed by\nthem, are valleys, large and small, of the highest beauty. But a valley\nin California means something more than a scoop, or depression. It means\na rich land-lake, leveled between the mountains, with a sharply defined,\npicturesque shore, where it meets the sides and runs into the\nindentations of the mountains. What is called the Bay of San Francisco,\nis a large salt water lake in the middle of a much larger land-lake,\nsometimes called the San Jose valley. It extends south of the city forty\nmiles, and northward among islands and mountains, about twenty-five\nmore, if we include what is called San Pueblo Bay. Three beautiful\nvalleys of agricultural country, the Petaluma, Sonora, and Napa valleys,\nopen into this larger valley of the bay, on the north end of it, between\nfour mountain barriers, having each a short navigable creek or inlet.\nStill farther north is the Russian River valley, opening towards the\nsea, and the Clear Lake valley and region, which is the Switzerland of\nCalifornia. East of the San Jose valley, too, at the foot of Diabola,\nand up among the mountains, are the large Amador and San Ramon valleys,\nalso the little gem of the Sunole. Now these valleys, which, if we\nexcept the great valley of the two rivers, comprise the plow-land of\nMiddle California, have each a climate of its own, and productions that\ncorrespond. We have only to observe further, that the east side of any\nvalley will commonly be much warmer than the west; for the very\nparadoxical reason that the cold coast-wind always blows much harder on\nthe side or steep even, of a mountain, opposite or away from the\nwind, than it does on the side towards it, reversing all our notions of\nthe sheltering effects of mountain ridges.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n\nDuring this brief tarry at Los Angelos, Carson had not been idle, but\nentirely without thought that his confidence could be deemed\npresumption, arranging his dress with as much care as its character\npermitted, early in the morning he mounted his horse--always in\nexcellent trim--and rode to the residence of the man he had been\ninformed owned the best _ranche_ in the vicinity, and dismounting at the\nwicket gate, entered the yard, which was fenced with a finely arranged\ngrowth of club cactus; and passing up the gravel walk several rods,\nbetween an avenue of fig trees, with an occasional patch of green\nshrubs, and a few flowers, he stood at the door of the spacious old\nSpanish mansion, which was built of _adobe_ one story in height and\nnearly a hundred feet in length, its roof covered with asphaltum mingled\nwith sand--like all the houses in Los Angelos, a spring of this material\nexisting a little way from the town. After waiting a few moments for an\nanswer to his summons, made with the huge brass knocker, an Indian\nservant made his appearance, and ushered him to an elegantly furnished\nroom, with several guitars lying about as if recently in use. The lordly\nowner of the ranche soon appeared in morning gown and slippers, the\npicture of a well to do old time gentleman, with an air evincing an\nacquaintance with the world of letters and of art, such as only travel\ncan produce.\n\nHe asked the name of his stranger guest, as Carson approaching addressed\nhim, and at once commenced a conversation in English, saying with a look\nof satisfied pleasure, \"I address you in your native tongue, which I\npresume is agreeable, though you speak very good Spanish;\" to which\nCarson, much more surprised to hear his native language so fluently\nspoken, than his host was to be addressed in Spanish, replied,\n\n\"It is certainly agreeable to find you can give me the information\nwhich, as an American, I seek, in the language my mother taught me,\" and\nat once they were on terms of easy familiarity.\n\nAs it was early morning, his host asked Carson to take a cup of coffee\nwith him, and conducting him to the breakfast room, presented him to\nthe family--a wife and several grown sons and daughters.\n\nCarson enjoyed the social part of this treat, more than the tempting\nviands with which the board was loaded. Though Spanish was the language\nmost used by the family, all spoke English, and a young man from\nMassachusetts was with them as a tutor to some of the younger children.\nBreakfast over, the host invited him to visit the vineyard, which he\nsaid was hardly in condition to be exhibited, as the picking had\ncommenced two weeks before. He said his yard, of a thousand varas,\nyielded him more grapes than he could manage to dispose of, though last\nyear he had made several butts of wine, and dried five thousand pounds\nof raisins. The vines were in the form of little trees, so closely had\nthey been trimmed, and were still loaded with the purple clusters.\nTasting them, Carson justly remarked that he had never eaten so good a\ngrape.\n\n\"No,\" said his host, \"I think not; neither have I, though I have\ntraveled through Europe. The valley of the Rhine, nor of the Tagus,\nproduces anywhere a grape like ours. I think that the Los Angelos grape\nis fit food indeed for angels--is quite equal to the grapes of\nEshcol--you remember the heavy clusters that were found there, so that\ntwo men carried one between them on a pole resting upon their shoulders.\nSee that now,\" and he drew Carson to a vine whose trunk was six inches\nthrough, and yet it needed a prop to sustain the weight of the two\nclusters of grapes it bore.\n\nA species of the cactus, called the prickly pear, enclosed the vineyard,\nand this really bore pears, or a fruit of light orange color, in the\nform of a pear, but covered with a down of prickles. The Indian boy\nbrought a towel, and wiping the fruit until it shone, gave to Carson to\ntaste. It was sweetish, juicy, and rich, but with less of flavor than a\npear. Beyond the vineyard were groves of fig and orange trees. The figs\nwere hardly ripe, being the third crop of the season, while the oranges\nwere nearly fit for picking. The host said that his oranges were better\nthan usual this season, but he did not know what he should do with them.\nHe was in the habit of shipping them to Santa Barbara and Monterey, and\nthence taking some to San Jose; but latterly oranges had been brought to\nMonterey from the Sandwich islands by ships in the service of the Hudson\nBay Company, returning from the China trade to the mouth of the\nColumbia, which, arriving before his were ripe, he found the fruit\nmarket forestalled.\n\n\"This is the finest country the sun shines upon,\" said he, \"and we can\nlive luxuriously upon just what will grow on our own farms; but we\ncannot get rich. Our cattle will only bring the value of the hides; our\nhorses are of little value, for there are plenty running wild which good\nhuntsmen can take with the lasso; and, as for fruit, from which I had\nhoped to realize something, the market is cut off by Yankee competition.\nI think we shall have the Americans with us before many years, and for\nmy part I hope we shall. The idea of Californians generally, as well as\nof other Mexicans, that they are too shrewd for them, is true enough;\nbut certainly there is plenty of room for a large population, and I\nshould prefer that the race that has most enterprise, should come and\ncultivate the country with us.\"\n\nCarson's youth commanded him to listen, rather than to advance his own\nsentiments; but he expressed his pleasure at hearing his host compliment\nthe Americans, and said in reply, \"I have not been an extensive\ntraveler, and have chosen the life of a mountaineer, for a time\ncertainly; but since I came to California, I am half inclined to decide\nto make this my home when I get tired of trapping. I like the hunt, and\nhave found game exceedingly plenty here, but there is no buffalo, and I\nwant that. Give me buffalo, and I would settle in California.\"\n\nHe described to his host a buffalo hunt in which he engaged with the\nSioux Indians, before he left his father's home, at fifteen years of\nage, and another later, since he came into the mountains. He had hunted\nbuffalo every year since he was twelve years old.\n\nThe Don was charmed with the earnestness and the frankness, and manifest\nintegrity of the youth, and turning his glance upon him, with the\nslightly quizzical expression the face a Spaniard so readily assumes, he\ninquired how many buffalo he had ever killed.\n\n\"Not so many as I have deer, because I was always in a deer country; but\nin the eight years since I commenced going in the buffalo ranges, I must\nhave killed five hundred. The hunter does not kill without he wishes to\nuse. I was often permitted to take a shot at the animals before I was\nable to help in dressing them.\"\n\nBut Carson felt it might seem like boasting, for him to tell his own\nexploits, and changing the theme, remarked,\n\n\"Your horses would make excellent buffalo hunters, with the proper\ntraining, and I have some at camp that I intend shall see buffalo. But\nwhy do you not deal gently with them when they are first caught, and\nkeep the fire they have in the herd? Pardon me, but I think in taming\nyour horses, you break their spirits.\"\n\n\"My tutor has said the same, and I too have thought so in regard to the\nMexican style of training our horses. We mount one just caught from the\ndrove, and ride him till he becomes gentle from exhaustion. The French\ndo not train horses in that way, nor the English; I have not been in the\nUnited States. Our custom is brought from Spain; and it answers well\nenough with us, where our horses go in droves, and when one is used up,\nwe turn him out and take up another; but when we take this animal again,\nhe is just as wild as at the first; we cannot afford to spend time on\nbreaking him when it must be done over again directly.\"\n\nAnd so the two hours, which Carson had allotted for his visit, passed in\neasy chat, and when he took his leave, his host expressed his thanks\nfor his visit, and promised to return it at the camp.\n\nCarson did not again see his courteous host, for early on the following\nmorning, Mr. Young found it necessary that he should get his men away\nfrom Los Angelos as speedily as possible. They had been indulging to\nexcess in bad liquors, and having none of the best feelings towards the\nMexicans, many quarrels, some ending in bloodshed, had ensued.\n\nHe therefore despatched Carson ahead with a few men, promising to follow\nand overtake him at the earliest moment, and waiting another day, he\nmanaged to get his followers in a tolerably sober condition, and\nsucceeded, though not without much trouble, in getting away without the\nloss of a man, though the Mexicans were desperately enraged at the death\nof one of their townsmen, who had been killed in a chance fray. In three\ndays he overtook Carson, and the party, once more reunited, advanced\nrapidly towards the Colorado River, his men working with a heartiness\nand cheerfulness, resulting from a consciousness of their misconduct at\nLos Angelos, which, but for the prudent discretion of Young and Carson,\nmight have resulted disastrously to all concerned.\n\nIn nine days they were ready to commence trapping on the Colorado, and\nin a short time added here to the large stock of furs they had brought\nfrom California.\n\nHere while left in charge of the camp, with only a few men, Carson found\nhimself suddenly confronted by several hundred Indians. They entered the\ncamp with the utmost assurance, and acted as though they felt the power\nof their numbers. Carson at once suspected that all was not right, and\nattempting to talk with them, he soon discovered that, with all their\n_sang froid_, each of them carried his weapons concealed beneath his\ngarments, and immediately ordered them out of camp. Seeing the small\nnumber of the white men, the Indians were not inclined to obey, but\nchose to wait their time and do as they pleased, as they were accustomed\nto do with the Mexicans. They soon learned that they were dealing with\nmen of different mettle, for Carson was a man not to be trifled with.\n\n[Illustration: CARSON GOES AHEAD WITH THE PARTY.]\n\nHis men stood around him, each with his rifle resting in the hollow of\nthe arm, ready to be dropped to deadly aim on the sign from their young\ncommander. Carson addressed the old chief in Spanish, (for he had\nbetrayed his knowledge of that language,) and warned him that though\nthey were few, they were determined to sell their lives dearly. The\nIndians awed, it would seem, by the bold and defiant language of Carson,\nand finding that any plunder they might acquire, would be purchased at a\nheavy sacrifice, sullenly withdrew, and left the party to pursue their\njourney unmolested.\n\nAny appearance of fear would have cost the lives of Carson and probably\nof the whole party, but the Indian warriors were too chary of their\nlives to rush into death's door unprovoked, even for the sake of the\nrich plunder they might hope to secure. Carson's cool bravery saved the\ntrappers and all their effects; and this first command in an Indian\nengagement is but a picture of his conduct in a hundred others, when the\nbattles were with weapons other than the tongue. The intention of the\nIndians had been to drive away the animals, first causing a stampede,\nwhen they would become lawful plunder, but they dared not undertake it.\n\nThe wily craftiness of the Indians induced the necessity for constant\nvigilance against them, and in the school this youth had been in all his\nlife, he had shown himself an apt scholar.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n\nWhile on the Colorado, Young's party discovered a company of Indians,\n(with whom they had had a previous skirmish,) as they were coming out\nfrom Los Angelos, and charging suddenly among them, succeeded in taking\na large herd of cattle from them in the Indians' own style. The same\nweek an Indian party came past their camp in the night, with a drove of\na hundred horses, evidently just stolen from a Mexican town in Sonora.\nThe trappers, with their guns for their pillows, were ready in an\ninstant for the onslaught, and captured these horses also, the Indians\nhurrying away for fear of the deadly rifle. The next day they selected\nsuch as they wanted from the herd, choosing of course the finest, and\nturning the rest loose, to be taken again by the Indians, or to become\nthe wild mustangs that roamed the plains of Northern Mexico, in droves\nof tens of thousands, and which could be captured and tamed only by the\nuse of the lasso.\n\nMr. Young and his party trapped down the Colorado and up the Gila with\nsuccess, then crossed to the vicinity of the New Mexican copper mines,\nwhere they left their furs and went to Santa Fe. Having procured there\nlicense to trade with the Indians about the copper mines, they returned\nthither for their furs, went back to Santa Fe and disposed of them to\ngreat advantage. The party disbanded with several hundred dollars\napiece, which most of them expended as sailors do their earnings when\nthey come into port. Of course Carson was hail fellow well met with them\nfor a time. He had not hitherto taken the lesson that all have to learn,\nviz., that the ways of pleasure are deceitful paths; and to resist\ntemptation needs a large amount of courage--larger perhaps than to\nencounter any physical danger; at least the moral courage it requires is\nof a higher tone than the physical courage which would carry one through\na fight with a grizzly bear triumphantly; that the latter assists the\nformer; indeed that the highest moral courage must be aided by physical\nbravery, but that the latter may exist entirely independently of the\nformer.\n\nCarson learned during this season of hilarity the necessity of saying\nNo! and he did so persistently, knowing that if he failed in this he\nwould be lost to himself and to everything dear in life. He was now\ntwenty-one, and though the terrible ordeal of poverty had been nobly\nborne, and he had conquered, the latter ordeal of temptation from the\nsudden possession of what was to him a large sum of money, had proved\nfor once, too much. And it is well for him perhaps it was so; as it\nenabled him to sow his wild oats in early youth.\n\nIt is not improbable that some of this party belonged to the class of\nCanadians called _coureurs des bois_, whose habits Mr. Irving thus\ndescribes in his Astoria:\n\n\"A new and anomalous class of men gradually grew out of this trade.\nThese were called _coureurs des bois_, rangers of the woods; originally\nmen who had accompanied the Indians in their hunting expeditions, and\nmade themselves acquainted with remote tracts and tribes; and who now\nbecame, as it were, pedlers of the wilderness. These men would set out\nfrom Montreal with canoes well stocked with goods, with arms and\nammunition, and would make their way up the mazy and wandering rivers\nthat interlace the vast forests of the Canadas, coasting the most remote\nlakes, and creating new wants and habitudes among the natives.\nSometimes they sojourned for months among them, assimilating to their\ntastes and habits with the happy facility of Frenchmen; adopting in some\ndegree the Indian dress, and not unfrequently taking to themselves\nIndian wives.\n\n\"Twelve, fifteen, eighteen months would often elapse without any tidings\nof them, when they would come sweeping their way down the Ottawa in full\nglee, their canoes laden down with packs of beaver skins. Now came their\nturn for revelry and extravagance. 'You would be amazed,' says an old\nwriter already quoted, 'if you saw how lewd these pedlers are when they\nreturn; how they feast and game, and how prodigal they are, not only in\ntheir clothes, but upon their sweethearts. Such of them as are married\nhave the wisdom to retire to their own houses; but the bachelors do just\nas an East Indiaman and pirates are wont to do; for they lavish, eat,\ndrink, and play all away as long as the goods hold out; and when these\nare gone, they even sell their embroidery, their lace, and their\nclothes. This done, they are forced upon a new voyage for subsistence.'\"\n\nMany of these _coureurs des bois_ became so accustomed to the Indian\nmode of living, and the perfect freedom of the wilderness, that they\nlost all relish for civilization, and identified themselves with the\nsavages among whom they dwelt, or could only be distinguished from them\nby superior licentiousness.\n\nIn the autumn Carson joined another trapping party under Mr.\nFitzpatrick, whom we shall have frequent occasion to mention hereafter.\nThey proceeded up the Platte and Sweet Water past Goose Creek to the\nSalmon River, where they wintered, like other parties, sharing the good\nwill of the Nez Perces Indians, and having the vexations of the\nBlackfeet for a constant fear. Mr. Fitzpatrick, less daring than Carson,\ndeclined sending him to punish this tribe for their depredations.\n\nIn the spring they came to Bear river, which flows from the north to\nSalt Lake. Carson and four men left Mr. Fitzpatrick here, and went ten\ndays to find Captain Gaunt in the place called the New Park, on the head\nwaters of the Arkansas, where they spent the trapping season, and\nwintered. While the party were wintering in camp, being robbed of some\nof their horses by a band of sixty Crow Indians, Carson, as usual, was\nappointed to lead the party sent in pursuit of the plunderers. With only\ntwelve men he took up the trail, came upon the Indians in one of their\nstrongholds, cut loose the animals, which were tied within ten feet of\nthe fort of logs in which the enemy had taken shelter, attacked them,\nkilled five of their warriors, and made good his retreat with the\nrecovered horses; an Indian of another tribe who was with the trappers\nbringing away a Crow scalp as a trophy.[C]\n\nIn the spring, while trapping on the Platte River, two men belonging to\nthe party deserted and robbed a _cache_, or underground deposit of furs,\nwhich had been made by Captain Gaunt, in the neighborhood. Carson, with\nonly one companion, went off in pursuit of the thieves, who, however,\nwere never heard of afterwards.\n\nNot finding the plunderers, Carson and his companion remained at the old\ncamp on the Arkansas, where the _cache_ had been made, until they were\nrelieved by a party sent out from the United States with supplies for\nCaptain Gaunt's trappers. They were soon after joined by a party of\nGaunt's men, and started to his camp. On their way they had repeated\nencounters with Indians attempting to steal their horses, but easily\nbeat them off and saved their property.\n\nOn one occasion when Carson and the other trappers were out in search\nof _beaver sign_, they came suddenly upon a band of sixty warriors well\narmed and mounted. In the presence of such a force their only safety was\nin flight. Amid a shower of bullets from the Indian rifles, they made\ngood their escape. Carson considered this one of his narrowest escapes.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n\nIn the spring of 1832, Mr. Gaunt's party had been unsuccessful, and were\nnow upon a stream where there was no beaver, therefore Carson announced\nhis intention of hunting on his own account. Two of his companions\njoined him, and the three for the whole season pursued their work\nsuccessfully, high up in the mountain streams, while the Indians were\ndown in the plains hunting buffalo; and taking their fur to Taos,\ndisposed of them at a remunerative price. While the two former spent\ntheir money in the usual way, Carson saved his hard earnings which his\ncompanions were so recklessly throwing away. This self-discipline, and\nschooling himself to virtue and temperance, was not without effort on\nthe part of Kit Carson, for he loved the good will and kindly civilities\nof his companions; but he knew also that he could not have his cake and\neat it too, and chose to save his money and his strength for future use.\n\nWhile remaining at Taos, Captain Lee, formerly of the United States\narmy, now a partner of Bent and St. Vrain, at Bent's Fort, invited\nCarson to join an expedition which he was arranging. Carson accepted his\noffer, starting in October. Going northward they came up with a party of\ntwenty traders and trappers, upon a branch of the Green River, and all\nentered winter quarters here together.\n\nMr. Robideau had in his employ a Californian Indian, very skillful in\nthe chase--whether for game or for human prey--very courageous, and able\nto endure the greatest hardships, and whose conduct hitherto had won the\nconfidence of all. This Indian had left clandestinely, taking with him\nsix of Mr. Robideau's most valuable horses, which were worth at least\ntwelve hundred dollars. Mr. Robideau, determined to recover them if\npossible, solicited Carson to pursue and overtake the Indian. Kit asked\nhis employer, Mr. Lees', permission to serve Mr. Robideau, which was\nreadily granted, when he at once prepared himself for hard riding and\nsturdy resistance.\n\nFrom a Utah village near he obtained an intelligent and brave young\nwarrior to join him--for Carson's reputation for courage, skill, and\nefficiency, were known to the tribes, and many of its braves were\nattached to him, and afterwards proved that they cherished a lasting\nfriendship for him.\n\nFor a time the blindness of the trail compelled them to go slowly, but\nonce sure of its direction, they pursued it with the utmost speed, down\nGreen river, Carson concluding the Indian was directing his course\ntoward California. When they had gone a hundred miles on their way, the\nIndian's horse was suddenly taken sick. The Indian would not consent to\ncontinue the pursuit, as Carson suggested, on foot, and he therefore\ndetermined to go on alone, and putting spurs to his horse revolved not\nto return until he had succeeded in recovering Mr. Robideau's property.\nWith practiced eye ever upon the trail, he revolved in his mind the\nexpert skill he might need to exercise in encountering the wily savage.\nThis desperate expedition Carson had boldly entered into, not with\nrashness, but he had accepted it as an occasion that demanded the\nhazard. At the distance of thirty miles from where he left his Utah\ncompanion, he discovered the object of his chase. The Indian too had\ndiscovered him, and to prepare himself for the attack, turned to seek a\nshelter whence he might fire and reload without exposure to the shot\nfrom Carson's rifle--which he had unslung when first he discovered the\nIndian.\n\nWith his horse at full speed, at the moment the Indian reached his\ncover, Carson fired with aim so true that the Indian gave one bound and\nfell dead beside his horse, while his gun went off at the same instant.\nNo further particulars of description or speculation can add to the\ninterest of this picture. We leave it to the imagination of the reader,\nas an illustration of the daring and fidelity of Kit Carson. Collecting\nthe horses, he soon had the pleasure, after a few minor difficulties, of\npresenting to Mr. Robideau, the six animals he had lost, in as good\ncondition as when they were stolen, and of announcing to him the fact\nthat there lived one less rogue.\n\nSoon after Carson's return to camp, some trappers brought them news that\nMessrs. Fitzpatrick and Bridger were camped fifteen miles from them.\nCaptain Lee and Carson at once concluded that to them they might sell\ntheir goods. They started for their camp and were as successful as they\nhad hoped, for they sold their whole stock of goods to this party, and\ntook their pay in furs. Their contract being now completed, Carson\njoined Mr. Fitzpatrick again in a trapping expedition, but did not\nremain long with him, because the party was too large to make it pay, or\neven to work harmoniously together. With three men whom he chose from\nthe many who wished to join him, Carson again commenced trapping on his\nown account. They trapped all summer on the Laramie, with unusual\nsuccess. It was while Carson was out on this tramp that he had the\nadventure with the grizzly bears,[D] which he considered the most\nperilous that he ever passed through. He had gone out from the camp on\nfoot to shoot game for supper, and had just brought down an elk, when\ntwo grizzly bears came suddenly upon him. His rifle being empty, there\nwas no way of escape from instant death but to run with his utmost speed\nfor the nearest tree. He reached a sapling with the bears just at his\nheels. Cutting off a limb of the tree with his knife, he used that as\nhis only weapon of defence. When the bears climbed so as nearly to reach\nhim, he gave them smart raps on the nose, which sent them away growling;\nbut when the pain ceased they would return again only to have the raps\nrepeated. In this way nearly the whole night was spent, when finally\nthe bears became discouraged, and retired from the contest. Waiting\nuntil they were well out of sight, Carson descended from his unenviable\nposition, and made the best of his way into camp, which he reached about\ndaylight. The elk had been devoured by wolves before it could be found,\nand his three companions were only too glad to see him, to be troubled\nabout breakfasting on beaver, as they had supped the night before; for\ntrappers in camp engaged in their business had this resort for food when\nall others failed.\n\nLaramie river flows into the North Platte, upon the south side. The\ncountry through which it flows is open, yet the stream is bordered with\na variety of shrubbery, and in many spots the cottonwood grows\nluxuriantly, and for this reason, the locality is favorable for the\ngrizzly bear.\n\n[Illustration: \"WHEN THE BEARS CLIMBED SO NEAR AS TO REACH HIM, HE GAVE\nTHEM SMART RAPS ON THE NOSE.\"]\n\nBaird says of this bear: \"While the black bear is the bear of the\nforest, the grizzly is the bear of the chapparal, the latter choosing an\nopen country, whether plain or mountain, whose surface is covered with\ndense thickets of manzanita or shrub oak, which furnish him with his\nfavorite food, and clumps of service bushes, and low cherry; and whose\nstreams are lined with tangled thickets of low grape vine and wild\nplumb.\" The grizzly is not so good at climbing as the black bear, and\ncan best manage by resting upon his haunches and mounting with his fore\narms upon the bushes that he cannot pull over, to gather the berries, of\nwhich he is very fond.\n\n\"Only in a condition of hunger will he attack a man unprovoked, but when\nhe does, the energy with which he fights, prevents the Indians from\nseeking the sport of a hunt for the grizzly bear. He is monarch of the\nplain, with only their opposition, and has departed only before the\nrifle of the white hunter. An Indian, who would, alone, undertake to\nconquer a dozen braves of another tribe, would shrink from attacking a\ngrizzly bear; and to have killed one, furnishes a story for a life time,\nand gives a reputation that descends to posterity. The mounted hunter\ncan rarely bring his horse to approach him near enough for a shot.\"\n\nSoon after his encounter with the bears, Carson and his men were\nrejoiced by the arrival of Capt. Bridger, so long a mountaineer of note,\nand with him his whole band. Carson and his three companions joined with\nthem, and were safe; and now for the first time he attended the summer\nrendezvous of trappers on the Green River, where they assembled for the\ndisposal of their furs, and the purchase of such outfit as they needed.\n\nCarson for the Fall hunt joined a company of fifty, and went to the\ncountry of the Blackfeet, at the head waters of the Missouri; but the\nIndians were so numerous, and so determined upon hostility, that a white\nman could not leave his camp without danger of being shot down;\ntherefore, quitting the Blackfeet country, they camped on the Big Snake\nRiver for winter quarters.\n\nDuring the winter months, the Blackfeet had in the night run off\neighteen of their horses, and Kit Carson, with eleven men, was sent to\nrecover them, and chastise their temerity. They rode fifty miles through\nthe snow before coming up with the Indians, and instantly made an\nattempt to recover their animals, which were loose and quietly grazing.\n\nThe Indians, wearing snow shoes, had the advantage, and Carson readily\ngranted the parley they asked. One man from each party advanced, and\nbetween the contending ranks had a talk. The Indians informed them that\nthey supposed they had been robbing the Snake Indians, and did not\ndesire to steal from white men. Of course this tale was false, and\nCarson asked why they did not lay down their arms and ask for a smoke,\nbut to this they had no reply to make. However, both parties laid aside\ntheir weapons and prepared for the smoke; and the lighted calumet was\npuffed by every one of the savages and the whites alternately, and the\nhead men of the savages made several long non-committal speeches, to\nwhich, in reply, the trappers came directly to the point, and said they\nwould hear nothing of conciliation from them until their property was\nreturned.\n\nAfter much talk, the Indians brought in five of the poorest horses. The\nwhites at once started for their guns, which the Indians did at the same\ntime, and the fight at once commenced. Carson and a comrade named\nMarkland having seized their rifles first, were at the lead, and\nselected for their mark two Indians who were near each other and behind\ndifferent trees; but as Kit was about to fire, he perceived Markland's\nantagonist aiming at him with death-like precision, while Markland had\nnot noticed him, and on the instant, neglecting his own adversary, he\nsent a bullet through the heart of the other savage, but at the moment\nsaw that his own enemy's rifle was aimed at his breast. He was not\nquite quick enough to dodge the ball, and it struck the side of his\nneck, and passed through his shoulder, shattering the bone.\n\nCarson was thenceforward only a spectator of the fight, which continued\nuntil night, when both parties retired from the field of battle and went\ninto camp.\n\nCarson's wound was very painful, and bled freely, till the cold checked\nthe flow of blood. They dared not light a fire, and in the cold and\ndarkness, Carson uttered not a word of complaint, nor did even a groan\nescape him. His companions were earnest in their sympathy, but he was\ntoo brave to need it, or to allow his wound to influence the course they\nshould pursue. In a council of war which they held, it was decided that,\nas they had slain several Indians, and had themselves only one wounded,\nthey had best return to camp, as they were in unfit condition to\ncontinue the pursuit. Arriving at camp, another council was held, at\nwhich it was decided to send thirty men under Capt. Bridger, to pursue\nand chastise these Blackfeet thieves. This party followed the Indian\ntrail several days, but finally returned, concluding it was useless to\nsearch further, as they had failed to overtake them.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n\nThe Spring hunt opened on the Green river, and continuing there a while,\nthe party went to the Big Snake; and after trapping with extraordinary\nsuccess for a few weeks, returned to the Summer rendezvous, held again\nupon the Green River. Meantime Carson had recovered from his wound.\n\nAn unusually large number of trappers and traders, with great numbers\nfrom the neighboring Indian tribes, assembled at this rendezvous,\nmade up of Canadians, Frenchmen, Dutchmen, Spaniards, and many a\nbackwoodsman, who had lived upon the borders, perhaps, for three\ngenerations, removing when a neighbor came within ten miles, because\n_near_ neighbors were a nuisance to him. Let us see the parties as they\ncome in, the leader, or the one to whom fitness accords this position,\nhaving selected the spot for the camp, so remote from every other, as to\nhave plenty of grass about it for the animals of the party. Perhaps a\ntent is spread, at least, everything is put in proper order, according\nto the notions and the tastes of the men who make up the party; for the\ncamp is the home of its members, and here they will receive visitors,\nand exchange courtesies.\n\nThe party or parties that have made the special arrangements for the\nrendezvous--traders with a full supply of goods--have spread a large\ntent in a central spot of the general encampment, where the whole\ncompany, save those detained at each camp in charge of the animals\nbelonging to it, will assemble, at certain hours each day, the time upon\nwhich the sales are announced to take place, and the exchanges commence.\n\nThe several parties arriving first, have been obliged to wait until all\nexpected for the season have arrived, because there is a feeling of\nhonor as well as a care for competition, that compels the custom. The\ntraders take furs or money for their goods, which bring prices that seem\nfabulous to those unaccustomed to the sight or stories of mountain life.\nThe charge, of course, is made upon the ground of the expense and risk\nof bringing goods eight hundred and a thousand miles into the\nwilderness, from the nearest points in western Missouri and St. Louis.\n\nIrving opens his Astoria with the following: \"Two leading objects of\ncommercial gain, have given birth to wide daring and enterprise in the\nearly history of the Americas; the precious metals of the South and the\nrich peltries of the North.\" When he wrote this, it was true of the\nlocalities he named--the gold was not yet an attraction, except in the\nsouth, and only the British Fur Company in Canada had become an object\nof history in this branch of trade. He says, \"While the fiery and\nmagnificent Spaniard, influenced with the mania for gold, has extended\nhis discoveries and conquests over those brilliant countries, scorched\nby the ardent sun of the tropics, the adroit Frenchman, and the cool and\ncalculating Briton, have pursued the less splendid, but no less\nlucrative, traffic in furs, amidst the hyper-borean regions of the\nCanadas, until they advanced even within the Artic Circle.\n\n\"These two pursuits have thus, in a manner, been the pioneers and\nprecursors of civilization. Without pausing on the borders, they have\npenetrated at once, in defiance of difficulties and dangers, to the\nheart of savage countries; laying open the hidden secrets of the\nwilderness; leading the way to remote regions of beauty and fertility,\nthat might have remained unexplored for ages, and beckoning after them\nthe slow and pausing steps of agriculture and civilization. It was the\nfur trade, in fact, that gave early sustenance and vitality to the great\nCanadian provinces.\n\n\"Being destitute of the precious metals, they were for a long time\nneglected by the parent country. The French adventurers, however, who\nhad settled on the banks of the St. Lawrence, soon found that in the\nrich peltries of the interior, they had sources of wealth that might\nalmost rival the mines of Mexico and Peru.\" The Indians, as yet\nunacquainted with the artificial value given to some descriptions of\nfurs, in civilized life, brought quantities of the most precious kinds\nand bartered them away for European trinkets and cheap commodities.\nImmense profits were thus made by the early traders, and the traffic was\npursued with avidity.\n\n\"As the valuable furs became scarce in the neighborhood of the\nsettlements, the Indians of the vicinity were stimulated to take a wider\nrange in their hunting expeditions; they were generally accompanied on\nthese expeditions by some of the traders or their dependants, who\nshared in the toils and perils of the chase, and at the same time, made\nthemselves acquainted with the best hunting grounds, and with the remote\ntribes whom they encouraged to bring peltries to the settlements. In\nthis way the trade augmented, and was drawn from remote quarters to\nMontreal. Every now and then a large body of Ottawas, Hurons, and other\ntribes who hunted the countries bordering on the great lakes, would come\ndown in a squadron of light canoes, laden with beaver skins and other\nspoils of the year's hunting. The canoes would be unladen, taken on\nshore, and their contents disposed in order. A camp of birch-bark would\nbe pitched outside of the town, and a kind of primitive fair opened with\nthat grave ceremonial so dear to the Indians.\n\n\"Now would ensue a brisk traffic with the merchants, and all Montreal\nwould be alive with naked Indians, running from shop to shop, bargaining\nfor arms, kettles, knives, axes, blankets, bright- cloths, and\nother articles of use or fancy; upon all which, the merchants were sure\nto clear two hundred per cent.\n\n\"Their wants and caprices being supplied, they would take leave, strike\ntheir tents, launch their canoes, and ply their way up the Ottawa to\nthe lakes.\"\n\nLater, the French traders, _couriers des bois_, penetrated the remote\nforests, carrying such goods as the Indians required, and held\nrendezvous among them, on a smaller scale, but similar to the one Carson\nhad attended, so far as the Indian trade was concerned. But the Yankee\nelement of character preponderated among the traders and trappers from\nthe States; besides the greater difficulty and expense necessarily\nincurred to reach the hunting grounds by land than in canoe, called into\nthe work only men of energy and higher skill than the employees, mostly\nFrench, in the service of the Hudson Bay Fur Company, and a score of\nsmaller parties, each owning no authority outside itself, adopted the\nplan of these summer encampments, during the season when the fur of the\nbeaver and the otter was not good, as an arrangement for mutual\nconvenience; and the Indians of this more southern section availed\nthemselves of the occasion, for their own pleasure and profit, and to\nthe advantage and satisfaction of the traders, whose prices ruled high\nin proportion to the difficulty of transit, as well as the monopoly in\ntheir hands of the articles deemed necessary to the trapper's dress,\nculinary establishment, and outfit. These consisted of a woolen shirt, a\nsash or belt, and with some stockings, coffee, and black pepper, and\nsalt, unless he could supply himself from the licks the buffalo visits;\nwith tin kettle, and cup, and frying pan; the accoutrements of the\nhorse, saddle and packsaddle, bridle, spurs, and horse-shoes; with\nmaterial for bait; and last, but not least, tobacco, which if he did not\nuse, he carried to give to the Indians--made up not only the\nnecessaries, but the luxuries which the Indian and the white man\nindulged in, and for which, at such times, they paid their money or\ntheir furs.\n\nPerhaps the trapper took an Indian wife, and then she must be made fine\nwith dress, denoting the dignity of her position as wife of a white man,\nand presents must be given to the friends of his bride. This was usually\nan expensive luxury, but indulged in most frequently by the French and\nCanadian trappers, many of whom are now living quietly upon their farms\nin Oregon and California, and the numerous valleys of the West. Indeed\nwe might give the names of many a mountain ranger, and pioneer of note,\nfirst a trapper, who still lives surrounded by his Indian wife and\ntheir children, and finds himself thus connected with this people,\nhaving their utmost confidence, chosen the chief of his tribe, and able\nto care for them as no one not in such association could.\n\nAt almost any point upon Green River the grass upon the bottom lands is\nsufficient for a night's encampment for a small party; but at the place\nselected for the rendezvous, in the space of two or three miles upon\neither side of the river, the bottom spreads out in a broad prairie, and\nthe luxuriant growth of grass, with the country open all about it, made\nthe spot desirable for a large encampment.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\n\nEarly in the summer the grass is green, but later it is hay made\nnaturally, root and branch dried on the ground--there is no sod--and\nthis, though less agreeable, is more nutritious for the animals than\nfresh grass.\n\nA scattered growth of fine old trees furnishes shade at every camp, and\nimmediately about the great tent they afford protection from the sun to\nparties of card players, or a \"Grocery stand,\" at which the principal\narticle of sale is \"whiskey by the glass;\" and perhaps, further on is a\n_monte_ table, parties from several Indian tribes, and the pioneer of\nsemi-civilization--the back-woodsman--has come in \"with his traps,\" a\nfew bags of flour, and possibly some cheese and butter, and the never\nfailing cask of whiskey. Perhaps his wagon is the grocery stand, to\nwhich we have just alluded. Without extenuation, these encampments were\ngrand occasions of which a few descriptions may be found written at the\ntime by men of science and intellectual culture, like Sir Wm. Stewart,\nwho traveled upon these plains for pleasure, or the Rev. Samuel Parker,\nwho happened at a Green River rendezvous, in 1835, while on his way to\nthe Columbia River, under the auspices of the American Board of\nCommissioners for Foreign Missions. This was long before Brigham Young\ncame West--before his scheme of religious colonization had its birth.\n\nThere is now--has been for years--a trading post where a Canadian\nFrenchman and an American partner, with Indian wives, have provided\nentertainment or furnished supplies to emigrants and Indians. It is near\nthe Green River crossing, on the road from the South Pass to great Salt\nLake City, via Fort Bridger.\n\nAmid the motley company it might be expected that quarrels would arise,\nand disorderly conduct, growing out of the feuds among the tribes of\nIndians. These were kept in abeyance as much as possible, and already\nCarson's popularity with them enabled him to act the part of peace-maker\nbetween them and the quarrelsome whites, as well as between each other,\nfor many of them recognized him as the brave who had led excursions,\nwhose success they had felt and suffered, and even though leader of\nvictorious parties against themselves, they admired his prowess still;\nfor the party of Blackfeet came to the rendezvous under the protection\nof the white flag, and for the time, no one more truly buried the\nhatchet than Carson, though just recovered from a wound given by a party\nof that tribe, which had nearly cost him his life, and of which we have\nwritten in a previous chapter.\n\nThere was belonging to one of the trapping parties a Frenchman by the\nname of Shuman, known at the rendezvous as \"the big bully of the\nmountains,\" exceedingly annoying on account of his boasts and taunts, a\nconstant exciter of tumult and disorder, especially among the Indians.\nBad enough at any time, with the means now for intoxication, he was even\nmore dangerous.\n\nThe habits of the mountaineers, without law save such as the exigency of\nthe moment demanded, required a firm, steady hand to rule. Carson had\nfeared the results of this man's lawlessness, and had often desired to\nbe rid of him, but he had not as yet found the proper opportunity. The\nmischiefs he committed grew worse and worse, and yet for the sake of\npeace they were borne unresistingly. At length an opportunity offered to\ntry his courage. One day Shuman, boasting of his exploits, was\nparticularly insolent and insulting toward all Americans, whom he\ndescribed as only fit to be whipped with switches. Carson was in the\ncrowd, and immediately stepped forward, saying, \"I am an American, the\nmost inconsiderable one among them, but if you wish to die, I will\naccept your challenge.\"\n\n[Illustration: CARSON WAS IN THE CROWD, AND IMMEDIATELY STEPPED FORWARD\nSAYING, \"I AM AN AMERICAN.\"]\n\nShuman defied him. He was sitting upon his horse, with his loaded rifle\nin his hand. Carson leaped upon his horse with a loaded pistol, and both\nrushed into close combat. They fired, almost at the same moment, but\nCarson an instant before his boasting antagonist. Their horses' heads\ntouched, Shuman's ball just grazing Carson's cheek, near the left eye,\nand cutting off some locks of his hair. Carson's ball entered Shuman's\nhand, came out at the wrist, and passed through his arm above the elbow.\nThe bully begged for his life, and it was spared; and from that time\nforward, Americans were no more insulted by him.\n\nIf, as in other duels, we were to go back to remoter causes, and find in\nthis too, the defence of woman--a Blackfoot beauty--whom Shuman had\ndetermined to abuse, which Carson's interference only had prevented, for\nthe sake of truth, of honor, and virtue, as against insolence,\nfalsehood, and treachery, although the girl did belong to a tribe that\nwas treacherous; we shall be but giving a point to the story that it\nneeds for completeness, and show Carson in the exalted manliness and\nfidelity of his character.\n\nThe trappers made arrangements at the rendezvous for the fall hunt; and\nthe party who were so fortunate as to secure Carson's services, went to\nthe Yellowstone River, in the Blackfeet country, but met with no\nsuccess. Crossing through the Crows' country to the Big Horn River, they\nmet the party of Blackfeet returning from Green River. Carson held a\nparley with them, as was his custom whenever it was safe to go to an\nIndian camp. He told them he had seen none of their people, and that the\ntomahawk was buried if they were faithful to him. \"But,\" said he, \"the\nCrows are my friends, and while I am with them, they must be yours.\"\n\nOn the Big Horn, too, their success was no better, and Carson did not\nmeet his Crow friends. On the Big Snake, too, which they next visited,\nthe result was the same.\n\nThey here met a party from the Hudson Bay Company, led by a Mr. McCoy.\nCarson and five of his companions accepted the offer he made them, and\nwent with him to the Humboldt river, trapping with little success from\nits source to the desert where it loses itself, and where the termini of\nseveral other large rivers are all within a day's ride, according to the\nstatement of residents at this point. Capt. McCoy said to Carson, as he\nand two of the company started off upon the desert,\n\n\"Do not be gone longer than to-morrow night, and if you strike a stream\nwhere there is beaver--there must be water between here and those snow\nmountains--we will trap a few days longer.\"\n\nOn they rode over the artemisia plain till the lake was out of view from\nan eminence which Carson climbed; then struck a tract of country\nentirely destitute of every sign of animal or vegetable life, with\nsurface as smooth as the floor for miles in extent, then broken by a\nridge a few feet high, like the rim to a lake, whose bottom they had\npassed, to plunge immediately upon another like it, with perhaps a white\nand glistening crystalization spread thinly over it.\n\nCarson knew he must be upon the celebrated Mud Lakes of which he had\nheard, and of which he had seen miniature specimens further east. Over\nthese lake bottoms of earth, that broken, seemed like mingled sand and\nashes, but which bore the tread of their horses, and over which they\nseemed to fly rather than to step, so fragrant and exhilarating was the\natmosphere, they traveled thirty miles, then struck the artemisia plains\nagain, only there was less of even this worthless production for the\nnext ten miles than he had seen before for long a distance.\n\nThrough a heavy sand, the weary horses plod, for they had come forty or\nfifty miles beneath a burning sun without food and without water. On\nthey ride, for rest and refreshment to themselves was not to be thought\nof till they have it for the animals. The river is gained! a broad, deep\ncurrent of water, muddy like that of the Platte, supplies the moisture\nto the trees, whose tops ascend only a few feet above the desert level,\nand whose trunks rise from green meadows but little above the surface of\nthe water. The bottom lands are narrow, and the abrupt bank descends to\nthe water perpendicularly twenty feet or more, seemingly of clayey\nearth, so soft, the water constantly wore upon it, and evidently the\nriver channel was settling, as the years advanced. There were no signs\nof beaver, and, from the nature of the banks, there could be none,\nunless high up on the stream.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\n\nCapt. McCoy had calculated that he would soon find game in the country\nthrough which his route lay, and therefore he had turned over to Carson,\nand the division of the party under his command, nearly all the food\nwhich was left, but this was insufficient to give them full meals for\nmore than three days. Their prospect was a dreary one indeed, for at the\nearlier season of coming down the river, they had not half enough to\neat, even with the few beaver they had taken, to add to the supply, and\neven this was now denied them. And now, that the reader may understand\nCarson's position, we invite him to enjoy with us a few of the incidents\npassed through, and views observed in our passage up this river, which\nthe untraveled eastern man would find so entirely new, and the man of\ntravel and of letters would find so full of interest, as did the man\nwhose name the river bears, for it was named by Fremont, after Carson,\nwhom he had learned to love and respect, long before he reached it. We\nshall speak especially of the features of this country, common to so\nmuch that lies between the civilizations of the Atlantic and the Pacific\ns, though the latter was not a civilization; and when from the\ndesert Carson gazed with admiration at the snow mountains, he surmised,\nas he afterwards realized through hunger, cold, danger, and suffering,\nthat this was the chain of mountains which separated him from\nCalifornia.\n\nAt the station-house, upon the lake, called the Sink of the Humboldt, we\nwere told that the Humboldt did not connect with this lake, except in\nthe spring season, after the rains; and that for the last two years it\nhad not been connected even at that time; and that in the autumn one\ncould pass between the lake and the limit of the marsh in which the\nriver loses itself, upon dry ground; and that the sinks, or the margins\nof the lakes or marshes in which the Carson, the Walker, and the Susan\nRivers, neither of them less than a hundred miles in length, and some of\nthem several hundred, in the wet season empty or lose themselves, were\nall within the limit of a single day's ride, and in the direct vicinity\nof the desert upon which the reader last saw Carson.\n\nIt was the evening of the second of July, during a rain storm, (an\nunusual occurrence at this season of the year, no traveler having ever\nreported a similar one so far as we had heard,) that, weary, and wet,\nand cold, we found our way in the dark to this river in the wilderness.\nThe house of the traders at the sink was made of logs, with two\nrooms--the logs having been drawn from the mountains, forty miles\ndistant. There was no timber in sight, and nothing that was green except\nsome grass about the lake, which we were told was poison, and on\nexamining, we found it encrusted with a crystalization of potash, left\non it by the subsiding water in which the grass had started.\n\nDuring the wet season, the water of the lake overflows its banks, and\nthe banks of the river are also overflowed, while the water standing\nupon the surface of the ground is strongly impregnated with potash, not\nonly near the sink, but far up the stream, nearly to its source, the\nsame cause existing, though only in occasional spots is it exhibited to\nthe same degree as about the lake. It is not improbable that some\nimmense coal formation might have been consumed here in some remote\npast age, though that is a matter for more scientific examination than\nbecomes this work.\n\nBut, to leave speculation; the occupants of the station, whilom trappers\nin the mountains, furnished barley for our animals, and we might have\npurchased coffee, or a rusty gun, or bad whiskey, but little else, for\ntheir regular supplies for the emigrants who were soon expected to\narrive, had not yet come in. The parties bound east had passed, and the\nMormons, with their herds of cattle for the California markets, had been\nmet beyond the desert. A party of Pah Utah or Piete Indians, a tribe of\nDiggers, were hanging about the encampment, and possibly had caused the\nstampede of the Mormon oxen, which one of their herdsmen had reported to\nus as occurring here. The traders on the plains are charged with\nconniving at such expeditions of the Indians, and of sharing with them\nthe plunder. These traders may not have been privy to any thing of the\nkind, but certain it is they always stood ready to purchase the worn out\nstock of the overland emigrants, much of which is worthless to cross the\ndesert, after the prior fifteen hundred miles of travel.\n\nThis is made a lucrative business, as will be readily imagined, when\nthe number of animals driven over is taken into consideration, which has\namounted to a hundred thousand annually, by this route, during several\nof the years since the quest for gold.\n\nThe traders said they had twenty-five hundred horses and as many oxen,\nin charge of herdsmen in a mountain valley. Shrewd men they were, one of\nthem with an eye we would not warrant to look out from a kindly soul.\n\nMiserable wretches were these Humboldt Diggers, with scarcely a trace of\nhumanity in their composition, for they have not improved since Carson\nfirst met them, many years ago. The old chief was delighted with a lump\nof sugar, which one of our party gave him. He wore a long coat made of\nrabbit skins, warm and durable, strips of the skin with the hair out\nbeing wound around a deerskin thong, and these rolls woven into a\ngarment, but the rest of the party were nearly naked.\n\nPassing Lassen's meadows where the party lunched at a spring, indicated,\nas we approached, by a growth of willows, and striking upon the\nartemisia plain that constitutes the larger portion of the river valley,\nwhen about fifty miles from the station, we left the road by a blind\ntrail, and approached the river, descending to the bottom land by a\nprecipitous bluff thirty feet in height. The mountains approached close\non the opposite side of the river, probably a mile distant, and enclosed\nus in a semi-circle, while the bluff was lined with a scattered growth\nof alders.\n\nIt rained, was raining violently when we halted, and stretching a rope\nfrom alder to alder, with a blanket thrown over it, we thus made a tent,\nand established ourselves cosily to spend here the nation's Sabbath-day,\nthe 4th of July.\n\nThe rain turned into snow towards evening, and covered the mountains to\ntheir base, but melting as it fell where we were encamped, and with the\ncooing of the doves which filled the alders, the croaking of the frogs\nin the marsh next the river, and the patter of the rain upon the bushes,\nwe had other music--nature's deep bass--in a constant roaring sound,\nlike that of old ocean at full tide on a sand beach of the open coast of\nthe Pacific; or like the sound of Niagara, heard half a mile away, but\nthere was no discoverable cause.\n\nGoing a mile up and down the river from the camp--if there is up and\ndown to a dead river--we still heard the sound, the same in tone and\npower. Our Wyandotte--a member of the party who had crossed the plains\nwith Col. Fremont--suggested that it was \"the Humboldt sinking.\"\n\nAll the day of the 4th of July we rested here, with our animals in\nclover, amid the snow which reached even to the foot of the mountains\nopposite, and the dirge played for us by the unseen hand. It was a\nquiet, still sweetly sad day--pleasant in memory, and such an one as we\nshall never spend again--so far from civilized humanity, and in a place\nso remote from human footsteps, it seemed a natural wonder which had\nnever been properly examined and explained.\n\nSooner than the old trappers anticipated, will the Humboldt be lined\nwith farms, and the little mountain valleys filled with grazing herds,\nand the church spire and the cross upon an unassuming building in the\ncentre of a six mile square prairie, indicate the advance of\ncivilization. Yet, except in the mud-lake localities, there is no tract\nof country that can well be more unpromising than that about the\nHumboldt; and not many years will elapse before science will make plain\nand palpable that wonder of the world, \"the sinking of the Humboldt.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\n\nThrough the country we have thus briefly described, Carson and his men\nhad trapped taking some small game, intending to return late in the\nseason when the cold of this high altitude, with the sun low, was\nbecoming terribly severe, while the grass was dead, and the birds of\npassage had all departed. Their prospects were cheerless and\nunpromising, nor were they at all improved after they left the Humboldt;\nfor their route lay through an artemisia desert, varied only by an\noccasional little valley, where springs of water in the early season had\ninduced the growth of grass.\n\nOn reaching Goose Creek, they found it frozen, so that there was no\npossibility of finding even roots, to satisfy their hunger. Though\nto-day this is the trail of California emigration, with plenty of grass,\nfor a great portion of the way, in its season; now all was desolate,\nand inured as they were to hardship, Carson's men had never before\nsuffered so much from hunger, nor did their animals fare much better.\nCapt. McCoy had taken with him all not needed by Carson's party, because\nhe could give them food, and it was fortunate for them he had adopted\nthis course.\n\nThe magnificent mountain scenery on the route could scarcely excite\nadmiration or remark from this company of hungry, toil-worn men; even\nthat unique exhibition of nature's improvised ideality, done in\nstone--pyramid circle--with its pagodas, temples, obelisks, and altars,\nwithin a curiously wrought rock wall, they only wished were the _adobe_\nwalls and houses of Fort Hall. However, nothing daunted by the dreary\nprospect before them, they here bled their horses, and drank the\nprecious draught, well knowing they were taking the wind from the sails\nupon which they must rely to waft them into port, if they ever reached\nit.\n\nThe next day, they were meditating the slaughter of one of their horses,\nwhen a party of Snake Indians fortunately came in sight. They had been\nout on the war trail, and returning, had little food, but Carson managed\nto purchase a fat horse, which they killed at once, and thus managed to\nlive luxuriously till they reached the fort, able now to walk and give\nthe horses the advantage of their diet.\n\nEpicureans of civilization, when the squeamishness of an appetite,\nperverted by too delicate fare, is invited to such a repast, may rest\nassured that they know not the satisfaction such fare afforded to Kit\nCarson and his party. Horse beef was sweeter food to these starving men,\nthan epicures had ever tasted.\n\nAfter recruiting for a few days at the fort, and learning that there\nwere large herds of the game, which they gloried most in hunting, the\nbuffalo, near by, Carson and his party started for the stream on which\nthey could be found, and were not long in discovering a large herd of\nfine fat buffalo. Stretching lines on which to hang the strips, they\nkilled, and dressed, and cut; and soon had dried all the meat their\nanimals could carry, when they returned to the fort.\n\nThree days before reaching the fort, a party of Blackfeet Indians were\nagain upon their trail, and watching for their return.\n\nOn the third morning after their arrival, just as day dawned, two of the\nIndians came past their camp to the _corral_ of the fort in which their\nanimals were confined, let down the bars and drove them all away; the\nsentinel thinking the Indians were men of his party who had come to\nrelieve his watch, had gone into camp and was soundly sleeping before\nthe animals were missed. By this time the Indians had driven them many\nmiles away, and as a similar _ruse_ had been played upon the people at\nthe fort a few days before, by which all their animals were run off,\nthere was no possibility of giving chase.\n\nOf course there was now no alternative but to wait the return of Capt.\nMcCoy from Walla Walla, which he did in about four weeks, bringing\nanimals enough to supply Carson and his party, besides, the men at the\nfort, which had been obtained of the Kiowas, or Kaious Indians, in\nOregon. These Indians range between the Cascade and the Rocky Mountains,\nin what is now the eastern portion of Washington and Oregon Territories,\nliving by the chase, and owning immense herds of horses, of which the\nchief of this tribe owned ten thousand. In this same locality the Indian\nbands reported by the parties of trappers in the American Fur Company,\nhad abundance of horses, with which they hunted deer, \"ringing or\nsurrounding them, and running them down in a circle.\" But while\nantelope, and elk, and deer, as well as beaver, were abundant, their\nlocality was not frequented by the buffalo, its ranges being further\ntoward the south and west.\n\nMany suppose that buffalo never existed west of the Rocky Mountains; but\nto attempt a correction of this impression with our readers, is no\nlonger necessary, as we have seen Carson killing them on the Salmon\nRiver, on the Green River, and lastly, in the valley of a stream that\nflows into the Salmon.\n\nFrom Baird's General Repository, published in 1857, we quote,\n\n\"It will perhaps excite surprise that I include the buffalo in the fauna\nof the Pacific States, as it is common to imagine that the buffalo has\nalways been confined to the Atlantic s, because it does not now\nextend beyond the Rocky mountains. This is not true. They once abounded\non the Pacific.\"\n\nThis animal has not been found in California nor in Oregon, west of the\nCascade mountains, within the present generation of men, and the limit\nof its ranges, narrowing every year, is now far this side of the Rocky\nMountains. Really a wild animal, incapable of being domesticated, as the\ncountry is more and more traversed, he retires--is killed by thousands\nby the hunter--and seems destined, as really as the Indian race, to\nbecome extinct. Could either be induced to adopt the modes of life which\nresidence among the races of civilized men requires, their existence\nmight be prolonged perhaps for centuries, but there seems to be no care,\non the part of anybody who has the power, to preserve either the Indian\nor the buffalo as a distinct race of man, and quadruped.\n\nA writer who reports his trip from California in the summer of '57, by\nHumboldt River and Fort Laramie, says:\n\n\"I watched for buffalo, expecting to see them in the valleys of the\nstreams, the head-waters of the Platte. But the hundred miles upon the\nSweet-water revealed no buffalo; upon the North Platte above Laramie\nthere were none, and on to Fort Kearney we looked in vain for this noble\ngame. If we had been a wagon party, and therefore confined to the road,\nthis would not have surprised us, as the immense emigration to\nCalifornia first, to Salt Lake next, and the United States army\nfollowing, might be supposed to have driven them away. Then, too, Col.\nSumner had been through, and with a war party of three hundred mounted\nriflemen, had followed the Cheyennes from Fort Laramie south to the\nhead-waters of the Arkansas. But we frequently left the road for days\ntogether, in pursuit of game and the finer scenery of the immediate\nriver valley, or the hills as it happened.\n\n\"Only until three days after passing Fort Kearney, did the glad sight\ngreet us.\n\n\"In the broad bottom--ten miles at least between the hills that shut in\nthe river valley--they were scattered thickly and quietly grazing.\n\n\"In two hours after coming in sight of them, we pitched our camp upon\nthe river bank, and were soon prepared for the hunt. Though ten thousand\nwere in sight, we had not yet approached within half a mile of one, so\nshy are they, moving off when we came in sight.\n\n\"The Platte was three quarters of a mile wide where we were camped, and\nabove and below us were numerous trails running from the river back into\nthe hills. These were like the cow-paths running to a spring in a New\nEngland pasture. We camped about three o'clock, and soon after the\nbuffalo upon one side of the stream commenced moving towards the river\nby these paths, and following each other close, to wade across it in a\ncontinuous line by half a dozen paths in sight from where we were.\nThese moving lines of huge animals were continued till slumber closed\nour eyes, at ten o'clock in the evening, and we knew not how much\nlonger.\n\n\"Having no fresh animals, and only one that had not made the distance\nfrom the other side the Sierra Nevada within the last fifty days, we\ncould not hunt by the chase. Accordingly, with nicely loaded double\nbarrelled rifle, we crept through the under-brush that lined the bank\nabove us, and came near a line of buffalo crossing the river, and\nchoosing our opportunity, as the animal pauses from the brisk trot\nbefore plunging into the stream, we were able to take good aim, and soon\nhad lodged a ball in the breast of a fine cow, who with a bound leaped\ninto the water, but was not able to proceed, nor needed the other shot\nwhich we lodged in the brain, to float her down the stream.\n\n\"Calling help, we had her dressed directly, and the nicest steaks upon\nthe coals already kindled at the camp, and found them exceedingly\ndelicious--of course more so from the fact that we had taken it. Others\nof the party came in without success; some had shot at a buffalo, others\nhad got a sight of one, and at two of the crossings the line was broken\ntemporarily by an unsuccessful attempt to kill an animal, but without\nhurting him. Most of us had no practice with this kind of game, though\nthey had killed grouse, and some of them had shot antelope during our\njourney. But now their guns would not go off, or they shot too high, or\ncould not get near enough. Just at dark, however, the old gentleman came\nin for help. His French rifle--a gun of Revolutionary times--had done\nexecution, and a big bull was the prize he announced. We invited him to\nour prepared repast, but 'no! he would sup to-night upon his own game,\nhe thanked us.' Of course he had the tongue from the animal he killed,\nnor were the tender-loin and other choice bits bad eating, and taking\nthe tongue ourself, with the rest of the party, (of ten,) we managed to\ncarry away in the morning nearly all of the cow that we had not already\neaten.\n\n\"All night long the bellowing from the other side the river greeted our\ntired senses. The situation was novel, and really in imagination, quite\nterrific. Would they return across the river and stampede our animals?\nWe got a little sleep before midnight, but not much later.\n\n\"In the morning the buffalo were indeed returning in the style they\nwent, but as we rode on over their track, the lines were always broken,\nand the animals scattered before we could approach them, and only once\ndid we come within pistol shot of any of them; nor did the rest of the\nparty do any better.\n\n\"Of course we might have done it had we made this our business; but we\nwere hastening from the El Dorado, after a four years' absence from our\nhomes. So much for our _extemporised_ buffalo hunting. In twenty-four\nhours after striking them, we had passed the buffalo, and saw no more of\nthem. As we estimated it, we had seen in that time at least fifty\nthousand; we had crossed the trail of fifteen lines of them crossing the\nriver after we left camp this morning.\"\n\nWe have quoted this to show the way in which travelers--emigrants\nnow--meet the buffalo. Sometimes a huge drove of them overrun an\nemigrant party; but this seldom occurs, nor do parties often see more of\nthem than did the one we have just presented, though usually they see\nthem for a longer time. So much have the times changed since Carson was\na trapper.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\n\nWith fresh animals, and men well fed and rested, McCoy and Carson and\nall their party soon started from Fort Hall, for the rendezvous again\nupon Green River, where they were detained some weeks for the arrival of\nother parties, enjoying as they best might the occasion, and preparing\nfor future operations.\n\nA party of an hundred was here organized, with Mr. Fontenelle and Carson\nfor its leaders, to trap upon the Yellowstone, and the head waters of\nthe Missouri. It was known that they would probably meet the Blackfeet\nin whose grounds they were going, and it was therefore arranged, that,\nwhile fifty were to trap and furnish the food for the party, the\nremainder should be assigned to guard the camp and cook. There was no\ndisinclination on the part of any to another meeting with the Blackfeet,\nso often had they troubled members of the party, especially Carson, who,\nwhile he could be magnanimous towards an enemy, would not turn aside\nfrom his course, if able to cope with him; and now he was in a company\nwhich justly felt itself strong enough to punish the \"thieving\nBlackfeet,\" as they spoke of them, he was anxious to pay off some old\nscores.\n\nThey saw nothing, however, of these Indians; but afterwards learned that\nthe small-pox had raged terribly among them, and that they had kept\nthemselves retired in mountain valleys, oppressed with fear and severe\ndisease.\n\nThe winter's encampment was made in this region, and a party of Crow\nIndians which was with them, camped at a little distance, on the same\nstream. Here they had secured an abundance of meat, and passed the\nsevere weather with a variety of amusements in which the Indians joined\nthem in their lodges, made of buffalo hides. These lodges, very good\nsubstitutes for houses, are made in the form of a cone, spread by the\nmeans of poles spreading from a common centre, where there was a hole at\nthe top for the passage of the smoke. These were often twenty feet in\nheight, and as many feet in diameter, where they were pinned to the\nground with stakes. In a large village the Indians often had one lodge\nlarge enough to hold fifty persons, and within were performed their war\ndances around a fire made in the centre. During the palmy days of the\nBritish Fur Company, in a lodge like this only made, instead, of\nbirch-bark, Irving says the Indians of the north held their \"primitive\nfairs,\" outside the city of Montreal, where they disposed of their furs.\n\nThere was one drawback upon conviviality for this party, in the extreme\ndifficulty of getting food for their animals; for the food and fuel so\nabundant for themselves did not suffice for their horses. Snow covered\nthe ground, and the trappers were obliged to gather willow twigs, and\nstrip the bark from cottonwood trees, in order to keep them alive. The\ninner bark of the cottonwood is eaten by the Indians when reduced to\nextreme want. Beside, the cold brought the buffalo down upon them in\nlarge herds, to share the nourishment they had provided for their\nhorses.\n\nSpring at length opened, and gladly they again commenced trapping; first\non the Yellowstone, and soon on the head waters of the Missouri, where\nthey learned that the Blackfeet were recovered from the sickness of last\nyear, which had not been so severe as it was reported, and that they\nwere still anxious and in condition for a fight, and were encamped not\nfar from their present trapping grounds.\n\nCarson and five men went forward in advance \"to reconnoitre,\" and found\nthe village preparing to remove, having learned of the presence of the\ntrappers. Hurrying back, a party of forty-three was selected from the\nwhole, and they unanimously selected Carson to lead them, and leaving\nthe rest to move on with the baggage, and aid them if it should be\nnecessary when they should come up with the Indians, they hastened\nforward, eager for a battle.\n\nCarson and his command were not long in overtaking the Indians, and\ndashing among them, at the first fire killed ten of their braves, but\nthe Indians rallied, and retreated in good order. The white men were in\nfine spirits, and followed up their first attack with deadly result for\nthree full hours, the Indians making scarce any resistance. Now their\nfiring became less animated as their ammunition was getting low, and\nthey had to use it with extreme caution. The Indians, suspecting this\nfrom the slackness of their fire, rallied, and with a tremendous whoop\nturned upon their enemies.\n\nNow Carson and his company could use their small arms, which produced a\nterrible effect, and which enabled them again to drive back the\nIndians. They rallied yet again, and charged with so much power, and in\nsuch numbers, they forced the trappers to retreat.\n\nDuring this engagement, the horse of one of the mountaineers was killed,\nand fell with his whole weight upon his rider. Carson saw the condition\nof the man, with six warriors rushing to take his scalp, and reached the\nspot in time to save his friend. Leaping from the saddle, he placed\nhimself before his fallen companion, shouting at the same time for his\nmen to rally around him, and with deadly aim from his rifle, shot down\nthe foremost warrior.\n\nThe trappers now rallied about Carson, and the remaining five warriors\nretired, without the scalp of their fallen foe. Only two of them reached\na place of safety; for the well aimed fire of the trappers leveled them\nwith the earth.\n\nCarson's horse was loose, and as his comrade was safe, he mounted behind\none of his men, and rode back to the ranks, while, by general impulse,\nthe firing upon both sides ceased. His horse was captured and restored\nto him, but each party, now thoroughly exhausted, seemed to wait for the\nother to renew the attack.\n\nWhile resting in this attitude, the other division of the trappers came\nin sight, but the Indians, showing no fear, posted themselves among the\nrocks at some distance from the scene of the last skirmish, and coolly\nwaited for their adversaries. Exhausted ammunition had been the cause of\nthe retreat of Carson and his force, but now with a renewed supply, and\nan addition of fresh men to the force, they advanced on foot to drive\nthe Indians from their hiding places. The contest was desperate and\nsevere, but powder and ball eventually conquered, and the Indians, once\ndislodged, scattered in every direction. The trappers considered this a\ncomplete victory over the Blackfeet, for a large number of their\nwarriors were killed, and many more were wounded, while they had but\nthree men killed, and a few severely wounded.\n\nFontenelle and his party now camped at the scene of the engagement, to\nrecruit their men, and bury here their dead. Afterward they trapped\nthrough the whole Blackfeet country, and with great success; going where\nthey pleased without fear or molestation. The Indians kept off their\n_route_, evidently having acquaintance with Carson and his company\nenough to last them their life time. With the small-pox and the white\nman's rifles the warriors were much reduced, and the tribe which had\nformerly numbered thirty thousand, was already decimated, and a few more\nblows, like the one dealt by this dauntless band, would suffice to break\nits spirit, and destroy its power for future evil.\n\nDuring the battle with the trappers, the women and children of the\nBlackfeet village were sent on in advance, and when the engagement was\nover, and the braves returned to them so much reduced in numbers, and\nwithout a single scalp, the big lodge that had been erected for the war\ndance, was given up for the wounded, and in hundreds of Indian hearts\ngrew a bitterer hatred for the white man.\n\nAn express, despatched for the purpose, announced the place of the\nrendezvous to Fontenelle and Carson, who were now on Green River, and\nwith their whole party and a large stock of furs, they at once set out\nfor the place upon Mud River, to find the sales commenced before their\narrival, so that in twenty days they were ready to break up camp.\n\nCarson now organized a party of seven, and proceeded to a trading post\ncalled Brown's Hole, where he joined a company of traders to go to the\nNavajoe Indians. He found this tribe more assimilated to the white man\nthan any Indians he had yet seen, having many fine horses and large\nflocks of sheep and cattle. They also possessed the art of weaving, and\ntheir blankets were in great demand through Mexico, bringing high\nprices, on account of their great beauty, being woven in flowers with\nmuch taste. They were evidently a remnant of the Aztec race.\n\nThey traded here for a large drove of fine mules, which, taken to the\nfort on the South Platte, realized good prices, when Carson went again\nto Brown's Hole, a narrow but pretty valley about sixteen miles long,\nupon the Colorado River.\n\nAfter many offers for his services from other parties, Carson at length\nengaged himself for the winter, to hunt for the men at this fort, and as\nthe game was abundant in this beautiful valley, and in the canyon country\nfurther down the Colorado, in its deer, elk, and antelope, reminding him\nof his hunts upon the Sacramento, the task was a delightful one to him.\n\nIn the spring, Carson trapped with Bridger and Owen's with passable\nsuccess, and went to the rendezvous upon Wind River, at the head of the\nYellowstone, and from thence, with a large part of the trappers at the\nrendezvous, to the Yellowstone, where they camped in the vicinity for\nthe winter, without seeing their old enemy, the Blackfeet Indians, until\nmid-winter, when they discovered that they were near their principal\nstronghold.\n\nA party of forty was selected to give them battle, with Carson, of\ncourse, for their captain. They found the Indians already in the field,\nto the number of several hundred, who made a brave resistance, until\nnight and darkness admonished both parties to retire. In the morning\nwhen Carson and his men went to the spot whither the Indians had\nretired, they were not to be found. They had given them a \"wide berth,\"\ntaking their all away with them, even their dead.\n\nCarson and his command returned to camp, where a council of war decided\nthat as the Indians would report, at the principal encampment, the\nterrible loss they had sustained, and others would be sent to renew the\nfight, it was wise to prepare to act on the defensive, and use every\nprecaution immediately; and accordingly a sentinel was stationed on a\nlofty hill near by, who soon reported that the Indians were upon the\nmove.\n\nTheir plans matured, they at once threw up a breastwork, under Carson's\ndirection, and waited the approach of the Indians, who came in slowly,\nthe first parties waiting for those behind. After three days, a full\nthousand had reached the camp, about half a mile from the breastwork of\nthe trappers. In their war paint--stripes of red across the forehead,\nand down either cheek--with their bows and arrows, tomahawks, and\nlances, this army of Indians presented a formidable appearance to the\nsmall body of trappers who were opposed to them.\n\nThe war dance was enacted in sight and hearing of the trappers, and at\nearly dawn the Indians advanced, having made every preparation for the\nattack. Carson commanded his men to reserve their fire till the Indians\nwere near enough to have every shot tell; but seeing the strength of the\nwhite men's position, after a few ineffectual shots, the Indians\nretired, camped a mile from them, and finally separated into two\nparties, and went away, leaving the trappers to breathe more freely,\nfor, at the best, the encounter must have been of a desperate character.\n\nThey evidently recognized the leader who had before dealt so severely\nwith them, in the skill with which the defence was arranged, and if the\nname of Kit Carson was on their lips, they knew him for both bravery\nand magnanimity, and had not the courage to offer him battle.\n\nAnother winter gone, saddlery, moccasin-making, lodge-building, to\ncomplete the repairs of the summer's wars and the winter's fight, all\ncompleted, Carson with fifteen men went, past Fort Hall, again to the\nSalmon River, and trapped part of the season there and upon Big Snake,\nand Goose Creeks, and selling his furs at Fort Hall, again joined\nBridger in another trapping excursion into the Blackfeet country.\n\nThe Blackfeet had molested the traps of another party who had arrived\nthere before them, and had driven them away. The Indian assailants were\nstill near, and Carson led his party against them, taking care to\nstation himself and men in the edge of a thicket, where they kept the\nsavages at bay all day, taking a man from their number with nearly every\nshot of their well directed rifles. In vain the Indians now attempted to\nfire the thicket; it would not burn, and sullenly they retired, forced\nagain to acknowledge defeat at the hands of Kit Carson, the \"Monarch of\nthe Prairies.\"\n\nCarson's party now joined with the others, but concluding that they\ncould not trap successfully with the annoyance the Indians were likely\nto give them, as their force was too small to hope to conquer, they left\nthis part of the country for the north fork of the Missouri.\n\nNow they were with the friendly Flatheads, one of whose chiefs joined\nthem in the hunt, and went into camp near them, with a party of his\nbraves. This tribe of Indians, like several other tribes which extend\nalong this latitude to the Pacific, have the custom which gives them\ntheir name, thus described by Irving, in speaking of the Indians upon\nthe Lower Columbia, about its mouth.\n\n\"A most singular custom,\" he says, \"prevails, not only among the\nChinooks, but among most of the tribes about this part of the coast,\nwhich is the flattening of the forehead. The process by which this\ndeformity is effected, commences immediately after birth. The infant is\nlaid in a wooden trough, by way of cradle. The end on which the head\nreposes is higher than the rest. A padding is placed on the forehead of\nthe infant, with a piece of bark above it, and is pressed down by cords\nwhich pass through holes upon the sides of the trough. As the tightening\nof the padding and the pressure of the head to the board is gradual,\nthe process is said not to be attended with pain. The appearance of the\ninfant, however, while in this state of compression is whimsically\nhideous, and 'its little black eyes,' we are told, 'being forced out by\nthe tightness of the bandages, resemble those of a mouse choked in a\ntrap.'\n\n\"About a year's pressure is sufficient to produce the desired effect, at\nthe end of which time, the child emerges from its bandages, a complete\nflathead, and continues so through life. It must be noted, however, that\nthis flattening of the head has something in it of aristocratic\nsignificance, like the crippling of the feet among the Chinese ladies of\nquality. At any rate, it is the sign of freedom. No slave is permitted\nto bestow this deformity upon the head of his children; all the slaves,\ntherefore, are roundheads.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\n\nIn the spring, Kit Carson proposed a different plan of operations; he\nwent to hunt on the streams in the vicinage of his winter's camp with\nonly a single companion. The Utah Indians, into whose country he came,\nwere also friends of Carson, and, unmolested in his business, his\nefforts were crowned with abundant success. He took his furs to Robideau\nfort, and with a party of five went to Grand River, and thence to\nBrown's Hole on Green River for the winter.\n\nIn the following spring he went to the Utah country, to the streams that\nflow into Great Salt Lake on the South, which was rich in furs and of\nexceeding beauty, with the points of grand old snow mountains ever in\nsight, around him.\n\nFrom here he went to the New Fork, and as it was afterward described by\na party for whom Carson was the guide, we shall not give the\ndescription at this point of our narrative. Again he trapped among the\nUtahs, and disposed of his furs at Robideau Fort; but now the prices did\nnot please him. Beaver fur was at a discount, and the trade of the\ntrapper becoming unprofitable.\n\nBaird, in his general report upon mammals, uses the following language,\nwhich is appropriate in this connection:\n\n\"The beaver once inhabited all of the globe lying in the northern\ntemperate zone; yet from Europe, China, and all the eastern portion of\nthe United States, it has been entirely exterminated, and a war so\nuniversal and relentless has been waged upon this defenceless animal,\nhis great intelligence has been so generally opposed by the intelligence\nof man, it has seemed certain, unless some kind providence should\ninterpose, that the castor, like its congener, the Castorides, would\nsoon be found only in a fossil state.\n\n\"Happily that providence did interpose, through a certain ingenious\nsomebody, who first suggested the use of silk in the place of fur for\nthe covering of hats. The beaver were not yet exterminated from Western\nAmerica, and now, since they are not \"worth killing,\" in those\ninhospitable regions, where there is no encouragement for American\nenterprise or cupidity, we may hope that the beaver will there retain\nexistence, in a home exclusively their own.\n\n\"The price of beaver skins has so much diminished that they were offered\nto some of the party at twenty-five cents by the bale.\"\n\nCarson had pursued the business of trapping for eight years, and his\nlife had been one of unceasing toil, of extreme hardship, full of\ndanger, yet withal full of interest. More than this, while the lack of\nearly scientific training had prevented him from making that record of\nhis travels, which would have given the world the benefit of his\nexplorations, he had treasured in his memory the knowledge of\nlocalities, of their conditions, and seasons, and advantages, which in\nthe good time coming, would enable him to associate his labors with\nanother, who possessed the scientific attainments which Carson lacked,\nand who with Carson's invaluable assistance would come to be known world\nwide as a bold explorer, and who, but for Carson's experience, where\nsuch experience was a chief requisite to success, might have failed in\nhis first efforts in the grand enterprise entrusted to him.\n\nCarson knew the general features of the country, its mountains, plains,\nand rivers, and the minor points of animal and vegetable productions,\nfrom the head waters of the \"monarch of rivers,\" to the mouth of the\nColorado, and from the southern Arkansas to the Columbia, better,\nperhaps, than any one living, though yet but twenty-five years of age.\n\nWe left Carson at Robideau Fort, tired of the pursuit of trapping, as\nsoon as it had become unprofitable, and while there, he arranged with\nthree or four other trappers, to come down to Bent's Fort. The trip was\nlike others made at this season, through a country where the rifle would\nsupply food for the party, and arriving at Bent's Fort, where his name\nwas already well-known, Carson could not long be idle. He engaged\nhimself to Messrs. Bent and St. Vrain, as hunter to the fort, preferring\nthis by far to the idea of seeking employment nearer civilized life.\nIndeed no situation could have pleased him better, if we may judge from\nthe fact that he continued in it for eight years, and until the\nconnection with his employers was broken by the death of one of the\npartners, Col. Bent.\n\nGov. Bent, since appointed to the office of chief magistrate of New\nMexico, by the United States Government, had been killed by Mexican\nIndians, and was universally mourned by Americans and Indians wherever\nhe was known. Mr. St. Vrain, the other partner, was active during the\nMexican war, since the date of which we write, still lives, and is\nesteemed, as a father, by many an early mountaineer. Carson owed him\ngratitude for kindly sympathy and words of counsel, when yet a youth he\nwas commencing his mountain life, and Dr. Peters, the first biographer\nof Kit Carson, dedicates his book to Col. St. Vrain, asserting that he\nwas the first to discover and direct Carson's talents to the path in\nwhich they were employed. For both of these gentlemanly proprietors,\nCarson cherished a warm friendship, nor was there ever an unpleasant\noccurrence between them.\n\nWhen game was plenty, he supplied the forty mouths to be filled with\nease, but when it was scarce, his task was sometimes difficult, but\nskill and experience enabled him to triumph over every obstacle.\n\nIt is not strange that with such long experience Carson became the most\nskillful of hunters, and won the name of the \"Nestor of the Rocky\nMountains.\" Among the Indians he had earned the undisputed title of\n\"Monarch of the Prairies.\"\n\nBut while he killed thousands of elk, deer, and antelope, nor disdained\nthe rabbit and the grouse, and took the wild goose on the wing, of all\nthe game of beast or bird, he liked the best to hunt the buffalo, for\nthere was an excitement in the chase of that noble animal which aroused\nhis spirits to the highest pitch of excitement.\n\nAssuredly, Christopher Carson's _is_ \"a life out of the usual routine,\nand checkered with adventures which have sorely tested the courage and\nendurance of this wonderful man.\" Col. St. Vrain, in the preface to\nPeters' Life of Carson, says,\n\n\"Entering upon his life work at the age of seventeen, choosing now to\nthink for himself, nor follow the lead of those who would detain him in\na quiet life, while he felt the restless fire 'in his bones,' that\nforbade his burying his energy in merely mechanical toil, he had yet\nbeen directed in his choice, by the fitness for it the pursuits of youth\nhad given, and spurning the humdrum monotony of the shop, gave himself\nentirely to what would most aid him in attaining the profession he had\nchosen. We must admire such spirit in a youth, for it augurs well for\nthe energy and will power of the manhood; therefore, when the biographer\nsays of Christopher Carson, that the neighbors who knew him, predicted\nan uncommon life in the child with whom they hunted, and conceded to him\npositions, as well as privileges, that were not accorded to common men,\nwith his life till thirty-three before us, we feel that he has fulfilled\nthe hope of early promise, with a noble manhood.\"\n\nWe have followed Carson's pathway, without much of detail, to the\nlocalities where he practised the profession he had chosen, until we saw\nhim leave it because it ceased longer to afford compensation for his\ntoil, and during as long a period we have written of his quiet pursuit\nof the, to him, pleasant, but laborious life of a hunter; unless we must\nclass the latter eight years with the former, and assume each as a part\nof the profession he had chosen.\n\nIn all, with perhaps the exception of a few weeks at Santa Fe, when\nstill in his minority, we have found him ever strong to resist the\nthousand temptations to evil with which his pathway was beset, and which\ndrew other men away. Strong ever in the maintenance of the integrity of\nhis manhood, even when the convivial circle and the game had a brief\nfascination for him, they taught him the lesson which he needed to\nlearn, that only by earnest resistance, can evil be overcome; and thus\nhe was enabled to admonish others against those temptations which had\nonce overcome even his powers of resistance; and so he learned to school\nhimself to the idea, that good comes ever through the temptation to evil\nto all those who have the courage to extract it.\n\nWe have followed him up and down all the streams of our great central\nwestern wilds, and indicated the store of geographic knowledge which he\nhad acquired by hard experience before they were known so far to any one\nbesides; and then for eight years more we have seen that this knowledge\nwas digested and reviewed in the social circle with other mountain\ntrappers, and beside the lonely mountain river, and 'neath the wild,\nsteep cliff; or on the grassy bottom, or the barren plain, and in the\nless sterile places where the sage hen found a covert, and up among the\noak openings, and in the gigantic parks, where, as a hunter, he\nrevisited old haunts.\n\nIn all his toilsome and adventurous enterprises, while he sought to\nbenefit himself, he never turned away, nor failed to lend a helping hand\nto a needy, suffering brother, or to encourage one who needed such a\nlesson, to turn his youth to the most account; and if affectionate\nregard is a recompense for such service, he had his compensation, as he\npassed along the path he had marked out for himself, not from the white\nman alone, but from the Indian who everywhere came to look upon Kit\nCarson as his friend.\n\nThe Camanches, the Arapahoes, the Utahs, and the Cheyennes, besides\nseveral smaller tribes, knew him personally in the hunt, and he had sat\nby their camp fires, and dandled their children, and sung to them the\nditty,\n\n \"What makes the lamb love Mary so?\n The eager children cry;\n Why Mary loves the lamb, you know,\n And that's the reason why.\"\n\nThe Indians feared, and reverenced, and loved him, and that this latter\nmay be proved to the reader we relate the following story of private\nhistory, nor will it be esteemed out of taste:\n\nThe powerful Sioux had come from the north beyond their usual hunting\ngrounds, and had had skirmishes with several Indian bands, some of whom\nsent for Carson to the Upper Arkansas to come over and help them drive\nback the Sioux. As the larder at the fort was full, he consented to go\nwith the war-painted Camanche messengers to a camp of their tribe,\nunited with a band of Arapahoes. They told him the Sioux had a thousand\nwarriors and many rifles, and they feared them, but knew that the\n\"Monarch of the Prairies\" could overcome them. Carson sat in council\nwith the chiefs, and finally, instead of encouraging them to fight,\npersuaded them to peace, and acted so successfully the part of mediator,\nthat the Sioux consented to retire from the hunting grounds of the\nCamanches when the season was over, and they separated without a\ncollision.\n\nIt was while engaged as hunter for Messrs. Bent and St. Vrain, Carson\ntook to himself an Indian wife, by whom he had a daughter still living,\nand who forms the connecting link between his past hardships, and his\npresent greatness; for that he is emphatically a great man, the whole\ncivilized world has acknowledged.\n\nThe mother died soon after her birth, and Carson feeling that his rude\ncabin was scarcely the place to rear his child, determined, when of a\nsuitable age, to take her to St. Louis, and secure for her those\nadvantages of education which circumstances had denied to him; and\naccordingly, when his engagement at the fort had expired, he determined\nto go to St. Louis for that purpose, embracing on the route the\nopportunity of visiting the home of his boyhood, which he had not seen\nfor sixteen years.\n\nOf course he found everything changed. Many of those whom he had known\nas men and heads of families, were now grown old, while more had died\noff; but by those to whom he was made known, he was recognized with a\nheartiness of welcome which brought tears to his eyes, though his heart\nwas saddened at the changes which time had wrought. His fame had\npreceded him, and his welcome was therefore doubly cordial, for he had\nmore than verified the promise of his youth.\n\nThence he proceeded to St. Louis, with the intention of placing his\ndaughter at school, but here, to his great amazement, he found himself a\nlion; for the advent of such a man in such a city, which had so often\nrung with his deeds of daring and suffering, could not be permitted to\nremain among its citizens unknown or unrecognized. He was courted and\nfeted and though gratified at the attentions showered upon him, found\nhimself so thoroughly out of his element, that he longed to return to\nmore pleasant and more familiar scenes, his old hunting grounds.\n\nHaving accomplished the object of his visit to St. Louis, in placing his\ndaughter under proper guardianship, he left the city, carrying with him\npleasing, because merited remembrances of the attentions paid to him,\nand leaving behind him impressions of the most favorable character.\n\nSoon after he reached St. Louis, he had the good fortune to fall in with\nLieut. Fremont, who was there organizing a party for the exploration of\nthe far western country, as yet unknown, and who was anxiously awaiting\nthe arrival of Captain Drips, a well known trader and trapper, who had\nbeen highly recommended to him as a guide.\n\nKit Carson's name and fame were familiar as household words to Fremont,\nand he gladly availed himself of his proffered services in lieu of those\nof Capt. Drips. It did not take long for two such men as John C. Fremont\nand Kit Carson to become thoroughly acquainted with each other, and the\naccidental meeting at St. Louis resulted in the cementing of a\nfriendship which has never been impaired,--won as it was on the one part\nby fidelity, truthfulness, integrity, and courage, united to vast\nexperience and consummate skill in the prosecution of the duty he had\nassumed--on the other by every quality which commands honour, regard,\nesteem, and high personal devotion.\n\nAnd now Carson's life has commenced in earnest, for heretofore he has\nonly been fitting himself to live. His name is embodied in the archives\nof our country's history, and no one has been more ready to accord to\nhim the credit he so well earned, as has he who had the good fortune to\nsecure, at the same time, the services of the most experienced guide of\nhis day, and the devotion of a friend.\n\nLieut. Fremont had instructions to explore and report upon the country\nlying between the frontiers of Missouri and the South Pass in the Rocky\nMountains, on the line of the Kansas and Great Platte Rivers, and with\nhis party, leaving St. Louis on the 22nd of May, 1842, by steamboat for\nChouteau's Landing on the Missouri, near the mouth of the Kansas, at a\npoint twelve miles beyond at Chouteau's trading post, he encamped there\nto complete his arrangements for this important expedition.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\n\nFremont was delayed several days at Chouteau's Landing, by the state of\nthe weather, which prevented the necessary astronomical observations,\nbut finally all his arrangements being completed, and the weather\npermitting, the party started in the highest spirit, and filled with\nanticipations of an exciting and adventurous journey.\n\nHe had collected in the neighborhood of St. Louis twenty-one men,\nprincipally Creole and Canadian _voyageurs_, who had become familiar\nwith prairie life in the service of the fur companies in the Indian\ncountry. Mr. Charles Preuss, a native of Germany, was his assistant in\nthe topographical part of the survey. L. Maxwell, of Kaskaskia, had been\nengaged as hunter, and Christopher Carson as guide.\n\nMr. Cyprian Chouteau, to whose kindness, during their stay at his house,\nall were much indebted, accompanied them several miles on their way,\nuntil they met an Indian, whom he had engaged to conduct them on the\nfirst thirty or forty miles, where he was to consign them to the ocean\nprairie, which stretched, without interruption, almost to the base of\nthe Rocky Mountains.\n\nDuring the journey, it was the customary practice to encamp an hour or\ntwo before sunset, when the carts were disposed so as to form a sort of\nbarricade around a circle some eighty yards in diameter. The tents were\npitched, and the horses hobbled and turned loose to graze; and but a few\nminutes elapsed before the cooks of the messes, of which there were\nfour, were busily engaged in preparing the evening meal. At nightfall,\nthe horses, mules, and oxen, were driven in and picketed--that is,\nsecured by a halter, of which one end was tied to a small steel-shod\npicket, and driven into the ground; the halter being twenty or thirty\nfeet long, which enabled them to obtain a little food during the night.\nWhen they had reached a part of the country where such a precaution\nbecame necessary, the carts being regularly arranged for defending the\ncamp, guard was mounted at eight o'clock, consisting of three men, who\nwere relieved every two hours; the morning watch being horse guard for\nthe day. At daybreak, the camp was roused, the animals turned loose to\ngraze, and breakfast generally over between six and seven o'clock, when\nthey resumed their march, making regularly a halt at noon for one or two\nhours. Such was usually the order of the day, except when accident of\ncountry forced a variation, which, however, happened but rarely.\n\nThey reached the ford of the Kansas late in the afternoon of the 14th,\nwhere the river was two hundred and thirty yards wide, and commenced\nimmediately preparations for crossing. The river had been swollen by the\nlate rains, and was sweeping by with an angry current, yellow and turbid\nas the Missouri. Up to this point, the road traveled was a remarkably\nfine one, well beaten and level--the usual road of a prairie country. By\nthis route, the ford was one hundred miles from the mouth of the Kansas\nriver, on reaching which several mounted men led the way into the\nstream, to swim across. The animals were driven in after them, and in a\nfew minutes all had reached the opposite bank in safety, with the\nexception of the oxen, which swam some distance down the river, and,\nreturning to the right bank, were not got over until the next morning.\nIn the meantime, the carts had been unloaded and dismantled, and an\nIndia-rubber boat, which had been brought for the survey of the Platte\nRiver, placed in the water. The boat was twenty feet long and five\nbroad, and on it were placed the body and wheels of a cart, with the\nload belonging to it, and three men with paddles.\n\nThe velocity of the current, and the inconvenient freight, rendering it\ndifficult to be managed, Basil Lajeunesse, one of the best swimmers,\ntook in his teeth a line attached to the boat, and swam ahead in order\nto reach a footing as soon as possible, and assist in drawing her over.\nIn this manner, six passages had been successfully made, and as many\ncarts with their contents, and a greater portion of the party, deposited\non the left bank; but night was drawing near, and in his great anxiety\nto complete the crossing before darkness set in, he put on the boat,\ncontrary to the advice of Carson, the last two carts with their loads.\nThe consequence was, the boat was capsized, and everything on board was\nin a moment floating down stream. They were all, however, eventually\nrecovered, but not without great trouble. Carson and Maxwell, who had\nbeen in the water nearly all the succeeding day, searching for the lost\narticles, were taken so ill in consequence of the prolonged exposure,\nthe party was obliged to lie by another day to enable them to recruit,\nfor to proceed without them would have been folly.\n\nThe dense timber which surrounded their camp, interfering with\nastronomical observations, and the wet and damaged stores requiring\nexposure to the sun, the tents were struck early the next day but one\nafter this disaster and the party moved up the river about seven miles,\nwhere they camped upon a handsome open prairie, some twenty feet above\nthe water, and where the fine grass afforded a luxurious repast to the\nweary animals. They lay in camp here two days, during which time the men\nwere kept busy in drying the provisions, painting the cart covers, and\notherwise completing their equipage, until the afternoon when powder was\ndistributed to them, and they spent some hours in firing at a mark, as\nthey were now fairly in the Indian country, and it began to be time to\nprepare for the chances of the wilderness.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\n\nLeaving the river bottom, the road which was the Oregon trail, past Fort\nLaramie,--ran along the uplands, over a rolling country, upon which were\nscattered many boulders of red sand-stone, some of them of several tons\nweight; and many beautiful plants and flowers enlivened the prairie. The\nbarometer indicated fourteen hundred feet above the level of the sea,\nand the elevation appeared to have its influence on vegetation.\n\nThe country became more broken, rising still and covered everywhere with\nfragments of silicious limestone, strewn over the earth like pebbles on\nthe sea shore; especially upon the summits and exposed situations; and\nin these places but few plants grew, while in the creek bottoms, and\nravines, a great variety of plants flourished.\n\nFor several days they continued their journey, annoyed only by the lack\nof water, and at length reached the range of the Pawnees who infested\nthat part of the country, stealing horses from companies on their way to\nthe mountains, and when in sufficient force, openly attacking them, and\nsubjecting them to various insults; and it was while encamped here, that\na regular guard was mounted for the first time, but the night passed\nover without annoyance.\n\nSpeaking of the constant watchfulness required when in the neighborhood\nof hostile or thieving Indians, Fremont says,\n\n\"The next morning we had a specimen of the false alarms to which all\nparties in these wild regions are subject. Proceeding up the valley,\nobjects were seen on the opposite hills, which disappeared before a\nglass could be brought to bear upon them. A man, who was a short\ndistance in the rear, came spurring up in great haste, shouting,\nIndians! Indians! He had been near enough to see and count them,\naccording to his report, and had made out twenty-seven. I immediately\nhalted; arms were examined and put in order; the usual preparations\nmade; and Kit Carson, springing upon one of the hunting horses, crossed\nthe river, and galloped off into the opposite prairies, to obtain some\ncertain intelligence of their movements.\n\n\"Mounted on a fine horse, without a saddle, and scouring bareheaded over\nthe prairies, Kit was one of the finest pictures of a horseman I have\never seen. A short time enabled him to discover that the Indian war\nparty of twenty-seven consisted of six elk, who had been gazing\ncuriously at our caravan as it passed by, and were now scampering off at\nfull speed. This was our first alarm, and its excitement broke agreeably\non the monotony of the day. At our noon halt, the men were exercised at\na target; and in the evening we pitched our tents at a Pawnee encampment\nof last July. They had apparently killed buffalo here, as many bones\nwere lying about, and the frames where the hides had been stretched were\nyet standing.\"\n\nLeaving the fork of the \"Blue,\" upon a high dividing ridge, in about\ntwenty-one miles they reached the coast of the Platte, or Nebraska River\nas it is called, a line of low hills, or the break from the prairie to\nthe river bottom. Cacti here were numerous, and the _amorpha_,\nremarkable for its large and luxuriant purple clusters, was in full\nbloom. From the foot of the coast, two miles across the level bottom,\nbrought them to the shore of the river twenty miles below the head of\nGrand Island, and more than three hundred from the mouth of the Kansas.\nThe elevation of the Platte valley here was about two thousand feet\nabove the level of the sea.\n\nThe next day they met a party of fourteen, who had started sixty days\nbefore from Fort Laramie, in barges laden with furs for the American Fur\nCompany, hoping to come down the Platte without difficulty, as they left\nupon the annual flood, and their boats drew only nine inches of water.\nBut at Scott's bluffs, one hundred and thirty miles below Fort Laramie,\nthe river became so broad and shallow, and the current so changeful\namong the sandbars, that they abandoned their boats and _cached_ their\ncargoes, and were making the rest of their journey to St. Louis on foot,\neach with a pack as large as he could carry.\n\nIn the interchange of news, and the renewal of old acquaintanceships,\nthey found wherewithal to fill a busy hour. Among them Fremont had found\nan old companion on the northern prairie, a hardened and hardly served\nveteran of the mountains, who had been as much hacked and scarred as an\nold _moustache_ of Napoleon's \"old guard.\" He flourished in the\nsobriquet of La Tulipe, and his real name no one knew. Finding that he\nwas going to the States only because his company was bound in that\ndirection, and that he was rather more willing to return with Fremont,\nhe was taken again into his service.\n\nA few days more of travel, whose monotony was not relieved by any\nincident worth narrating, brought the party in sight of the buffalo,\nswarming in immense numbers over the plains, where they had left\nscarcely a blade of grass standing. \"Mr. Preuss,\" says Fremont, \"who was\nsketching at a little distance in the rear, had at first noted them as\nlarge groves of timber. In the sight of such a mass of life, the\ntraveler feels a strange emotion of grandeur. We had heard from a\ndistance a dull and confused murmuring, and when we came in view of\ntheir dark masses, there was not one among us who did not feel his heart\nbeat quicker. It was the early part of the day, when the herds are\nfeeding; and everywhere they were in motion. Here and there a huge old\nbull was rolling in the grass, and clouds of dust rose in the air from\nvarious parts of the bands, each the scene of some obstinate fight.\nIndians and buffalo make the poetry and life of the prairie, and our\ncamp was full of their exhilaration. In place of the quiet monotony of\nthe march, relieved only by the cracking of the whip, and an '_avance\ndonc! enfant de garce!_' shouts and songs resounded from every part of\nthe line, and our evening camp was always the commencement of a feast,\nwhich terminated only with our departure on the following morning. At\nany time in the night might be seen pieces of the most delicate meat,\nroasting _en appolas_, on sticks around the fire, and the guard were\nnever without company. With pleasant weather, and no enemy to fear, an\nabundance of the most excellent meat, and no scarcity of bread or\ntobacco, they were enjoying the oasis of a voyageur's life.\"\n\nThree cows were killed on that day, but a serious accident befell Carson\nin the course of the chase, which had nearly cost him his life. Kit had\nshot one, and was continuing the chase, in the midst of another herd,\nwhen his horse fell headlong, but sprang up and joined the flying band.\nThough considerably hurt, he had the good fortune to break no bones; and\nMaxwell, who was mounted on a fleet hunter, captured the runaway after a\nhard chase. He was on the point of shooting him, to avoid the loss of\nhis bridle, (a handsomely mounted Spanish one,) when he found that his\nhorse was able to come up with him.\n\nThis mishap, however, did not deter Kit from his favorite pursuit of\nbuffalo hunting, for on the following day, notwithstanding his really\nserious accident, we find him ready and eager for another chase. Fremont\nin his narrative thus relates the occurrence:--\n\n\"As we were riding quietly along the bank, a grand herd of buffalo, some\nseven or eight hundred in number, came crowding up from the river, where\nthey had been to drink, and commenced crossing the plain slowly, eating\nas they went. The wind was favorable; the coolness of the morning\ninvited to exercise; the ground was apparently good, and the distance\nacross the prairie (two or three miles) gave us a fine opportunity to\ncharge them before they could get among the river hills. It was too fine\na prospect for a chase to be lost; and halting for a few moments, the\nhunters were brought up and saddled, and Kit Carson, Maxwell, and I,\nstarted together. They were now somewhat less than half a mile distant,\nand we rode easily along until within about three hundred yards, when a\nsudden agitation, a wavering in the band, and a galloping to and fro of\nsome which were scattered along the skirts, gave us the intimation that\nwe were discovered. We started together at a hard gallop, riding\nsteadily abreast of each other, and here the interest of the chase\nbecame so engrossingly intense, that we were sensible to nothing else.\nWe were now closing upon them rapidly, and the front of the mass was\nalready in rapid motion for the hills, and in a few seconds the movement\nhad communicated itself to the whole herd.\n\n\"A crowd of bulls, as usual, brought up the rear, and every now and then\nsome of them faced about, and then dashed on after the band a short\ndistance, and turned and looked again, as if more than half inclined to\nstand and fight. In a few moments, however, during which we had been\nquickening our pace, the rout was universal, and we were going over the\nground like a hurricane. When at about thirty yards, we gave the usual\nshout (the hunter's _pas de charge_), and broke into the herd. We\nentered on the side, the mass giving way in every direction in their\nheedless course. Many of the bulls, less active and less fleet than the\ncows, paying no attention to the ground, and occupied solely with the\nhunter, were precipitated to the earth with great force, rolling over\nand over with the violence of the shock, and hardly distinguishable in\nthe dust. We separated on entering, each singling out his game.\n\n[Illustration: \"IN A FEW MOMENTS HE BROUGHT ME ALONG SIDE OF HER, AND\nRISING IN THE STIRRUPS, I FIRED.\"]\n\n\"My horse was a trained hunter, famous in the west under the name of\nProveau, and with his eyes flashing, and the foam flying from his mouth,\nsprang on after the cow like a tiger. In a few moments he brought me\nalongside of her, and rising in the stirrups, I fired at the distance of\na yard, the ball entering at the termination of the long hair, and\npassing near the heart. She fell headlong at the report of the gun, and,\nchecking my horse, I looked around for my companions.\n\n\"At a little distance, Kit was on the ground, engaged in tying his horse\nto the horns of a cow which he was preparing to cut up. Among the\nscattered bands, at some distance below, I caught a glimpse of Maxwell;\nand while I was looking, a light wreath of white smoke curled away from\nhis gun, from which I was too far to hear the report. Nearer, and\nbetween me and the hills, towards which they were directing their\ncourse, was the body of the herd, and giving my horse the rein, we\ndashed after them. A thick cloud of dust hung upon their rear, which\nfilled my mouth and eyes, and nearly smothered me. In the midst of this\nI could see nothing, and the buffalo were not distinguishable until\nwithin thirty feet.\n\n\"They crowded together more densely still as I came upon them, and\nrushed along in such a compact body, that I could not obtain an\nentrance--the horse almost leaping upon them. In a few moments the mass\ndivided to the right and left, the horns clattering with a noise heard\nabove everything else, and my horse darted into the opening.\n\n\"Five or six bulls charged on us as we dashed along the line, but were\nleft far behind; and singling out a cow, I gave her my fire, but struck\ntoo high. She gave a tremendous leap, and scoured on swifter than\nbefore. I reined up my horse, and the band swept on like a torrent, and\nleft the place quiet and clear. Our chase had led us into dangerous\nground. A prairie-dog village, so thickly settled that there were three\nor four holes in every twenty yards square, occupied the whole bottom\nfor nearly two miles in length. Looking around, I saw only one of the\nhunters, nearly out of sight, and the long dark line of our caravan\ncrawling along, three or four miles distant.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\n\nThe encampment of the party on the 4th of July, was a few miles from\nwhere the road crosses over to the north fork of the Platte, where a\ngrand dinner was prepared, toasts drank, and salutes fired; and it was\nhere Fremont decided to divide his party, wishing, himself, to explore\nthe south fork of the Platte, as far as St. Vrain's Fort; and taking\nwith him Maxwell and two others of his men, and the Cheyenne Indians,\nwhose village was upon this river, he left the rest of the party to\nproceed under the direction of Clement Lambert up the north fork to Fort\nLaramie, where they were to wait his arrival, as he intended to cross\nthe country between the two forts.\n\nBuffalo were still plenty upon Fremont's route, and the Indians with him\nmade an unsuccessful attempt to lasso the leader of a drove of wild\nhorses, which they passed. They met a band of two or three hundred\nArapahoe Indians, and were only saved from an attack by Maxwell, who\nsecured a timely recognition from the old chief who led the party, which\nproved to be from a village among whom he had resided as a trader, and\nwhose camp the chief pointed out to them some six miles distant. They\nhad come out to surround a band of buffalo which was feeding across the\nriver, and were making a large circuit to avoid giving them the wind,\nwhen they discovered Fremont's party, whom they had mistaken for\nPawnees. In a few minutes the women came galloping up, astride of their\nhorses, and naked from their knees down, and the hips up. They followed\nthe men to assist in cutting up and carrying off the meat.\n\nThe wind was blowing directly across the river, and the chief having\nrequested Fremont to remain where he then was, to avoid raising the\nherd, he readily consented, and having unsaddled their horses, they sat\ndown to view the scene. The day had become very hot, the thermometer\nstanding at 108 deg. The Indians commenced crossing the river, and as soon\nas they were upon the other side, separated into two bodies.\n\nFremont thus describes this exciting hunt, or massacre, as the reader\nmay choose to designate it,--and his subsequent visit to the Arapahoe\nvillage:\n\n\"One party proceeded directly across the prairie, towards the hills, in\nan extended line, while the other went up the river; and instantly, as\nthey had given the wind to the herd, the chase commenced. The buffalo\nstarted for the hills, but were intercepted and driven back toward the\nriver, broken and running in every direction. The clouds of dust soon\ncovered the whole scene, preventing us from having any but an occasional\nview. It had a very singular appearance to us at a distance, especially\nwhen looking with the glass.\n\n\"We were too far to hear the report of the guns, or any sound, and at\nevery instant, through the clouds of dust, which the sun made luminous,\nwe could see for a moment two or three buffalo dashing along, and close\nbehind them an Indian with his long spear, or other weapon, and\ninstantly again they disappeared. The apparent silence, and the dimly\nseen figures flitting by with such rapidity, gave it a kind of dreamy\neffect, and seemed more like a picture than a scene of real life.\n\n\"It had been a large herd when the _cerne_ commenced, probably three or\nfour hundred in number; but though I watched them closely, I did not\nsee one emerge from the fatal cloud where the work of destruction was\ngoing on. After remaining here about an hour, we resumed our journey in\nthe direction of the village.\n\n\"Gradually, as we rode on, Indian after Indian came dropping along,\nladen with meat; and by the time we had reached the lodges, the backward\nroad was covered with the returning horsemen. It was a pleasant contrast\nwith the desert road we had been traveling. Several had joined company\nwith us, and one of the chiefs invited us to his lodge.\n\n\"The village consisted of about one hundred and twenty-five lodges, of\nwhich twenty were Cheyennes; the latter pitched a little apart from the\nArapahoes. They were disposed in a scattering manner on both sides of a\nbroad, irregular street, about one hundred and fifty feet wide, and\nrunning along the river. As we rode along, I remarked near some of the\nlodges a kind of tripod frame, formed of three slender poles of birch,\nscraped very clean, to which were affixed the shield and spear, with\nsome other weapons of a chief. All were scrupulously clean, the spear\nhead was burnished bright, and the shield white and stainless. It\nreminded me of the days of feudal chivalry; and when, as I rode by, I\nyielded to the passing impulse, and touched one of the spotless shields\nwith the muzzle of my gun, I almost expected a grim warrior to start\nfrom the lodge and resent my challenge.\n\n\"The master of the lodge spread out a robe for me to sit upon, and the\nsquaws set before us a large wooden dish of buffalo meat. He had lit his\npipe in the meanwhile, and when it had been passed around, we commenced\nour dinner while he continued to smoke. Gradually, five or six other\nchiefs came in, and took their seats in silence. When we had finished,\nour host asked a number of questions relative to the object of our\njourney, of which I made no concealment; telling him simply that I had\nmade a visit to see the country, preparatory to the establishment of\nmilitary posts on the way to the mountains.\n\n\"Although this was information of the highest interest to them, and by\nno means calculated to please them, it excited no expression of\nsurprise, and in no way altered the grave courtesy of their demeanor.\nThe others listened and smoked. I remarked, that in taking the pipe for\nthe first time, each had turned the stem upward, with a rapid glance,\nas in offering to the Great Spirit, before he put it in his mouth.\"\n\nRiding near the river, Fremont and Maxwell had an interview with Jim\nBeckwith, who had been chief of the Crow Indians, but had left them some\ntime before, and was now residing in this river bottom, with his wife, a\nSpanish woman from Taos. They also passed a camp of four or five New\nEnglanders, with Indian wives--a party of independent trappers, and\nreached St. Vrain's Fort on the evening of July 10th, where they were\nhospitably entertained by Mr. St. Vrain, and received from him such\nneeded assistance as he was able to render. Maxwell was at home here, as\nhe had spent the last two or three years between the fort and Taos.\n\nOn the evening of the fifteenth, they arrived at Fort Laramie, a post of\nthe American Fur Company, near the junction of the Laramie Creek with\nthe Platte River, which had quite a military appearance, with its lofty\nwalls whitewashed and picketed, and large bastions at the angles. A\ncluster of lodges belonging to the Sioux Indians was pitched under the\nwalls. He was received with great hospitality by the gentleman in charge\nof the fort, Mr. Boudeau, having letters of introduction to him from\nthe company at St. Louis, and it is hardly necessary to say that he was\nhospitably received and most kindly treated. He found Carson with the\nparty under his command camped on the bank near the fort, by whom they\nwere most warmly welcomed, and in the enjoyment of a bountiful supper,\nwhich coffee and bread converted almost into a luxury, they forgot the\ntoils and sufferings of the past ten days.\n\nThe news brought by Mr. Preuss, who it will be remembered was with\nCarson's party, was as exciting as it was unpleasant. He had learned\nthat the Sioux who had been badly disposed, had now broken out into open\nhostility, and his informant, a well known trapper, named Bridger, had\nbeen attacked by them, and had only defeated them after serious losses\non both sides. United with the Cheyennes and Gros Ventre Indians, they\nwere scouring the country in war parties, declaring war upon every\nliving thing which should pass the _Red Buttes_; their special hostility\nbeing, however, directed against the white men. In fact the country was\nswarming with hostile Indians, and it was but too evident that any party\nwho should attempt to enter upon the forbidden grounds, must do so at\nthe certain hazard of their lives. Of course such intelligence created\ngreat commotion throughout the camp, and it formed the sole subject of\nconversation and discussion during the evenings around the camp fires.\n\nSpeaking of this report, and the effect produced upon his men, Fremont\nuses the following language:\n\n\"Carson, one of the best and most experienced mountaineers, fully\nsupported the opinion given by Bridger of the dangerous state of the\ncountry, and openly expressed his conviction that we could not escape\nwithout some sharp encounters with the Indians. In addition to this, he\nmade his will; and among the circumstances which were constantly\noccurring to increase their alarm, this was the most unfortunate; and I\nfound that a number of my party had become so much intimidated that they\nhad requested to be discharged at this place.\"\n\nCarson's apprehensions were fully justified by the circumstances\nsurrounding them; and while we might have omitted the above quotation,\nas tending to exhibit him in a false light, doubtless unintentionally,\nwe choose rather to say a few words which will rob the insinuation of\nits sting.\n\nWhile there was reason to expect an encounter with Indians, in whom it\nwas reported the spirit of revenge was cherished towards the whites,\nmore than ever it had been before, and whom numbers and acquisition of\nfire-arms rendered really formidable foes, he felt that the party with\nwhom he was now associated, were not the men upon whom he could rely\nwith certainty in an engagement against such terrible odds. In the days\nof his earlier experiences, the old trappers with him were men who had\nas little fear as himself, and were also experienced in such little\naffairs, for such they considered them. Now, except Maxwell, an old\nassociate, and two or three others, the men of the party were half\nparalyzed with fear at the prospect which this report presented to them;\nand it was the knowledge of their fear, which they made no attempt to\nconceal, which excited in his mind apprehensions for the worst, for he\ndid not choose to guide others into danger recklessly, even if he had no\ncare for himself.\n\nHeadlong rashness, which some might mistake for courage, was not a trait\nof his character; but the voice of a whole country accords to him cool\nbravery, presence of mind, and courage to meet whatever danger\nforethought could not guard against.\n\nWith a party of men like those he had led several times against the\nBlackfeet, nothing could have persuaded him to turn back from any\nenterprise which he had undertaken, from a fear of hostile Indians. Of\ncourse he could not state his reason for his apprehensions even to his\nemployer, because it would reflect upon his ability to arrange for such\nan enterprise, or his courage to conduct it to a successful termination,\nneither of which he could doubt; and it is therefore with something of\nregret we read in an official report, emanating from one who owed more\nto Kit Carson, of the fame and reputation so justly earned, than to any\nother living man, the assertion that Carson, stimulated by fear, made\nhis will. The best contradiction which can be afforded, is found in the\nfact, that notwithstanding his _apprehensions_, he did accompany the\nparty, discharging with his usual zeal, ability, and fidelity, the\nduties which devolved upon him; and we have yet to learn that Kit Carson\never shrunk from any danger.\n\nHis reputation has, however, outlived this covert insinuation, and we\npresume that no man on this continent would hesitate to award to Kit\nCarson, the highest attributes of moral and physical courage.\n\n\"During our stay here,\" says Fremont in continuation, \"the men had been\nengaged in making numerous repairs, arranging pack-saddles, and\notherwise preparing for the chances of a rough road, and mountain\ntravel, all of which Carson had superintended, urging upon the men that\ntheir comfort and their safety required it. All things of this nature\nbeing ready, I gathered them around me in the evening, and told them\nthat 'I had determined to proceed the next day. They were all well armed.\nI had engaged the services of Mr. Bissonette as interpreter, and had\ntaken, in the circumstances, every possible means to insure our safety.\nIn the rumors we had heard, I believed there was much exaggeration, and\nthen they were men accustomed to this kind of life, and to the country;\nand that these were the dangers of every day occurrence, and to be\nexpected in the ordinary course of their service. They had heard of the\nunsettled condition of the country before leaving St. Louis, and\ntherefore could not make it a reason for breaking their engagements.\nStill, I was unwilling to take with me, on a service of some certain\ndanger, men on whom I could not rely; and as I had understood that there\nwere among them some who were disposed to cowardice, and anxious to\nreturn, they had but to come forward at once, and state their desire,\nand they would be discharged with the amount due to them for the time\nthey had served.' To their honor, be it said, there was but one among\nthem who had the face to come forward and avail himself of the\npermission. I asked him some few questions, in order to expose him to\nthe ridicule of the men, and let him go. The day after our departure, he\nengaged himself to one of the forts, and set off with a party to the\nUpper Missouri.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\n\nAs our explorers advanced, one of the most prominent features of the\ncountry was the abundance of artemisia growing everywhere, on the hills\nand in the river bottoms, in twisted wiry clumps, filling the air with\nthe odor of mingled camphor and spirits of turpentine, and impeding the\nprogress of the wagons out of the beaten track.\n\nThey met a straggling party of the Indians which had followed the trail\nof the emigrants, and learned from them that multitudes of grasshoppers\nhad consumed the grass upon the road, so that they had found no game,\nand were obliged to kill even their horses, to ward off starvation. Of\ncourse danger from these Indians was no longer to be apprehended, though\nthe prospect was a gloomy one, but new courage seemed to inspire the\nparty when the necessity of endurance seemed at hand.\n\nThe party now followed Carson's advice, given at Fort Laramie, to\ndisencumber themselves of all unnecessary articles, and accordingly they\nleft their wagons, concealing them among low shrubbery, after they had\ntaken them to pieces, and made a _cache_ of such other effects as they\ncould leave, among the sand heaps of the river bank, and then set to\nwork to mend and arrange the pack saddles, and packs, the whole of which\nwas superintended by Carson, and to him was now assigned the office of\nguide, as they had reached a section of the country, with a great part\nof which long residence had made him familiar. Game was found in great\nabundance after they reached the river bottom, off the traveled road,\nboth upon the Platte and after they crossed over the _divide_ to the\nSweet Water.\n\nSpeaking of the gorge where the Platte River issues from the Black\nHills, changing its character abruptly from a mountain stream to a river\nof the plain, Fremont says, \"I visited this place with _my favorite\nman_, Basil Lajeunesse;\" and this extraordinary expression, left\nunexplained, would lead the casual reader to believe or think that\nCarson had lost the confidence of the _official_ leader of the party.\n\nIt has seemed to us, in reading Fremont's narrative of this first\nexpedition to the Rocky Mountains, that in view of some failures to\nachieve what was sought, and to avoid what was suffered, Carson's\nadvice, given with a larger experience, and with less of impetuosity\nthan that of the young Huguenot's, would, if followed, have secured\ndifferent results, both for the comfort of the party, and the benefit of\nscience; and while those of like temperament were chosen for companions\nby Lieutenant Fremont, it detracts nothing from his reputation for\nscientific analysis and skill, or for high courage, but only gives to\nCarson the deserved meed of praise to say, his was the hand that\nsteadied the helm, and kept the vessel on her way, at times when,\nwithout his judgment, sagacity, and experience, it must have been\nseriously damaged, if not destroyed; and with this balance wheel, a part\nof his machinery, the variety of difficulties that might have defeated\nthe scientific purpose of the expedition, or have made it the last\nFremont would desire, or the Government care to have him undertake, were\navoided; and no one inquired to know the cause.\n\nIt often happens that the quiet, simpler offices of life become\nimperative, and first duties, to one who feels that all the\nqualifications fitting for more honorable place, are possessed by him,\nin much larger measure than by the occupant of the higher official\nposition,--as men are wont to esteem it--and, as there is no explanation\ngiven, nor, by declaration, even the fact stated that this was true now\nin respect to Christopher Carson, we shall give no reason, further than\nto say, that the care of finding suitable places for camping, of seeing\nthat the party were all in, and the animals properly cared for, their\nsaddles in order, and the fastenings secure; of finding game, and\nwatching to see that the food is properly expended, so that each supply\nshall last till it can be replenished; of seeing that the general\nproperty of the party is properly guarded, and a variety of other\nmatters, which pertain to the success of an enterprise like this, and\nwithout which it must be a failure, could not all be borne by Fremont;\nand while he had assigned to each his position in the labor of the camp,\nthe place of general care-taker, which comes not by appointment, fell\nnaturally to the lot of Carson; and such supervision was cheerfully\nperformed, though it brought no other reward than the satisfaction of\nknowing that the essential elements of success were not neglected.\n\nShall we not then deem him worthy of all praise for being content to\noccupy such a position? Employed to guide the party, he had hoped to\nshare the confidence of its leader, but the latter had already other\nfriends, jealous of his attentions; he had another hunter, jealous of\nhis own reputation in his profession, and of his knowledge of the\ncountry; then there were two youths in the party, one of whom wished to\nbe amused, and both to be instructed; and in becoming the general\nprovidence of the party, which is scarcely thought of, because it seems\nto come of itself, we find the reason why Fremont's first narrative\nshows Carson so little like the brave, bold hunter we have known him\nhitherto. We allude to two lads, one a son of the Hon. T. H. Benton, who\naccompanied him out during a portion of his first expedition, and for\nwhom it is evident he made many sacrifices.\n\nBuffalo were numerous, and they saw many tracks of the grizzly bear\namong the cherry trees and currant bushes that lined the river banks,\nwhile antelope bounded fitfully before them over the plains.\n\nBut the reader is already familiar with this condition of things in the\ncountry, because the hero of our story has been here before, and to\napply the term explorer here to Fremont, and to call this an exploring\nexpedition, seems farcical, only as we remember that there had not been\nyet any written scientific description of this region, so long familiar\nto the trappers, and to none more than Carson.\n\nThey had now approached the road at what is called the South Pass. The\nascent had been so gradual, that, with all the intimate knowledge\npossessed by Carson, who had made this country his home for seventeen\nyears, they were obliged to watch very closely to find the place at\nwhich they reached the culminating point. This was between two low\nhills, rising on either hand fifty or sixty feet.\n\nApproaching it from the mouth of the Sweet Water, a sandy plain, one\nhundred and twenty miles long, conducts, by a gradual and regular\nascent, to the summit, about seven thousand feet above the sea; and the\ntraveler, without being reminded of any change by toilsome ascents,\nsuddenly finds himself on the waters which flow to the Pacific ocean. By\nthe route they had traveled, the distance from Fort Laramie was three\nhundred and twenty miles, or nine hundred and fifty from the mouth of\nthe Kansas.\n\nThey continued on till they came to a tributary of the Green River, and\nthen followed the stream up to a lake at its source in the mountains,\nand had here a view of extraordinary magnificence and grandeur, beyond\nwhat is seen in any part of the Alps, and here, beside the placid lake,\nthey left the mules, intending to ascend the mountains on foot, and\nmeasure the altitude of the highest point.\n\nFremont had wished to make a circuit of a few miles in the mountains,\nand visit the sources of the four great streams, the Colorado, the\nColumbia, the Missouri, and the Platte, but game was scarce, and his men\nwere not accustomed to their entirely meat fare, and were discontented.\n\nWith fifteen picked men, mounted on the best mules, was commenced the\nascent of the mountains, and amid views of most romantic beauty,\noverlooking deep valleys with lakes nestled in them, surrounded by\nprecipitous ridges, hundreds of feet high, they wound their way up to\nthe summits of the ridges, to descend again, and plod along the valley\nof a little stream on the other side.\n\nFor two days they continued upon their mules, through this magnificent\nregion, when the peak appeared so near, it was decided to leave the\nmules beside a little lake, and proceed on foot; and as the day was\nwarm, some of the party left their coats. But at night they had reached\nthe limit of the piney region, when they were ten thousand feet above\nthe waters of the Gulf of Mexico, and still the peak rose far above\nthem, so that they camped without suffering, in a little green ravine,\nbordered with plants in bloom, and the next morning continued the\nascent. Carson had led this day, and succeeded in reaching the summit of\na snowy peak, supposed to be the highest, but saw from it the one they\nhad been seeking, towering eight hundred or a thousand feet above him.\nThey now descended off the snow, and sent back for mules, and food, and\nblankets, and by a blazing fire all slept soundly until morning.\n\nCarson had understood that they had now done with the mountains, and by\ndirections had gone at day break to the camp, taking with him all but\nfour or five men, who were to remain with Fremont, and take back the\nmules and instruments. But after their departure, the programme was\nchanged, and now understanding the topography of the country better, the\nparty left, continued with the mules as far as possible, and then on\nfoot, over chasms, leaping from point to point of crags, until they\ncame, with extreme difficulty, in the intense cold and rarified air, to\nthe height of the crest, and Fremont stood alone upon the pinnacle, and\nable to tell the story of this victory of Science to the world. He had\nbeen sick the day before, and Carson could not urge the prosecution of\nthe enterprise, to reach the highest point, when the leader of the\nexpedition was too ill to climb the summit, and therefore had not\nobjected to the arrangement of returning to the camp.\n\nBut we have nothing more to say. The reader of the story, as Fremont\ntells it, wishes there were evidences of higher magnanimity, which are\nwanting. Carson finds no fault, seems to notice none. He performed\nfaithfully the duty assigned to him, utters no complaint, but is content\nin carrying out a subordinate's first obligation, that of obeying\norders.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\n\nFremont succeeded, but not without much danger and suffering, in\nreaching the highest peak of the Rocky Mountains, and waved over it his\ncountry's flag, in triumph. The return trip to Fort Laramie was not\nmarked by any incident of special note, and Carson's services being no\nlonger required, he left his commander here, and set out for New Mexico.\nIn 1843, he married a Spanish lady, and his time was occasionally\nemployed by Messrs. Bent and St. Vrain, his old and tried friends.\n\nWhile thus engaged at Bent's Fort, he learned that his old commander and\nfriend had passed two days before, on another exploring expedition, and\nbeing naturally anxious to see again one to whom he was so strongly\nattached, he started on his trail, and after following it for seventy\nmiles, came up with him. The meeting was mutually pleasing, but resulted\nquite contrary to Carson's anticipations, for, instead of merely\nmeeting and parting, Fremont, anxious to regain the services of one\nwhose experience, judgment, and courage, had been so well tried,\npersuaded him to join this second expedition, and again we find him\nlaunched as guide and hunter.\n\nCarson was at once despatched to the fort with directions to procure a\nsupply of mules which the party much needed, and to meet him with the\nanimals at St. Vrain's Fort. This was accomplished to Fremont's entire\nsatisfaction. The object of this second exploration was to connect the\nsurvey of the previous year with those of Commander Wilkes on the\nPacific coast, but Fremont's first destination was the Great Salt Lake,\nwhich has since become so famous in the annals of our country.\n\nFremont's description of this journey, and of his passage across the\nlake in a frail India rubber boat, which threatened at every moment\ndestruction to the entire party, is so true to life, and so highly\ninteresting, we quote it entire. The party reached, on the 21st of\nAugust, the Bear River, which was the principal tributary of the lake,\nand from this point we quote Fremont's words:\n\n\"We were now entering a region, which for us, possessed a strange and\nextraordinary interest. We were upon the waters of the famous lake\nwhich forms a salient point among the remarkable geographical features\nof the country, and around which the vague and superstitious accounts of\nthe trappers had thrown a delightful obscurity, which we anticipated\npleasure in dispelling, but which, in the meantime, left a crowded field\nfor the exercise of our imagination.\n\n\"In our occasional conversations with the few old hunters who had\nvisited the region, it had been a subject of frequent speculation; and\nthe wonders which they related were not the less agreeable because they\nwere highly exaggerated and impossible.\n\n\"Hitherto this lake had been seen only by trappers, who were wandering\nthrough the country in search of new beaver streams, caring very little\nfor geography; its islands had never been visited; and none were to be\nfound who had entirely made the circuit of its shores, and no\ninstrumental observations, or geographical survey of any description,\nhad ever been made anywhere in the neighboring region. It was generally\nsupposed that it had no visible outlet; but, among the trappers,\nincluding those in my own camp, were many who believed that somewhere on\nits surface was a terrible whirlpool, through which its waters found\ntheir way to the ocean by some subterranean communication. All these\nthings had been made a frequent subject of discussion in our desultory\nconversations around the fires at night; and my own mind had become\ntolerably well filled with their indefinite pictures, and insensibly\n with their romantic descriptions, which, in the pleasure of\nexcitement, I was well disposed to believe, and half expected to\nrealize.\n\n\"In about six miles' travel from our encampment, we reached one of the\npoints in our journey to which we had always looked forward with great\ninterest--the famous Beer Springs, which, on account of the effervescing\ngas and acid taste, had received their name from the voyageurs and\ntrappers of the country, who, in the midst of their rude and hard lives,\nare fond of finding some fancied resemblance to the luxuries they rarely\nhave the good fortune to enjoy.\n\n\"Although somewhat disappointed in the expectations which various\ndescriptions had led me to form of unusual beauty of situation and\nscenery, I found it altogether a place of very great interest; and a\ntraveler for the first time in a volcanic region remains in a constant\nexcitement, and at every step is arrested by something remarkable and\nnew. There is a confusion of interesting objects gathered together in a\nsmall space. Around the place of encampment the Beer Springs were\nnumerous; but, as far as we could ascertain, were entirely confined to\nthat locality in the bottom. In the bed of the river, in front, for a\nspace of several hundred yards, they were very abundant; the\neffervescing gas rising up and agitating the water in countless bubbling\ncolumns. In the vicinity round about were numerous springs of an\nentirely different and equally marked mineral character. In a rather\npicturesque spot, about 1,300 yards below our encampment and immediately\non the river bank, is the most remarkable spring of the place. In an\nopening on the rock, a white column of scattered water is thrown up, in\nform like a _jet-d'eau_, to a variable height of about three feet, and,\nthough it is maintained in a constant supply, its greatest height is\nattained only at regular intervals, according to the action of the force\nbelow. It is accompanied by a subterranean noise, which, together with\nthe motion of the water, makes very much the impression of a steamboat\nin motion; and, without knowing that it had been already previously so\ncalled, we gave to it the name of the Steamboat Spring. The rock through\nwhich it is forced is slightly raised in a convex manner, and gathered\nat the opening into an urn-mouthed form, and is evidently formed by\ncontinued deposition from the water, and bright red by oxide of\niron.\n\n\"It is a hot spring, and the water has a pungent, disagreeable metallic\ntaste, leaving a burning effect on the tongue. Within perhaps two yards\nof the _jet-d'eau_, is a small hole of about an inch in diameter,\nthrough which, at regular intervals, escapes a blast of hot air with a\nlight wreath of smoke, accompanied by a regular noise.\n\n\"As they approached the lake, they passed over a country of bold and\nstriking scenery, and through several 'gates,' as they called certain\nnarrow valleys. The 'standing rock' is a huge column, occupying the\ncentre of one of these passes. It fell from a height of perhaps 3,000\nfeet, and happened to remain in its present upright position.\n\n\"At last, on the 6th of September, the object for which their eyes had\nlong been straining was brought to view.\n\n\"_Sept. 6._--This time we reached the butte without any difficulty; and,\nascending to the summit, immediately at our feet beheld the object of\nour anxious search, the waters of the Inland Sea, stretching in still\nand solitary grandeur far beyond the limit of our vision. It was one of\nthe great points of the exploration; and as we looked eagerly over the\nlake in the first emotions of excited pleasure, I am doubtful if the\nfollowers of Balboa felt more enthusiasm when, from the heights of the\nAndes, they saw for the first time the great Western Ocean. It was\ncertainly a magnificent object, and a noble _terminus_ to this part of\nour expedition; and to travelers so long shut up among mountain ranges,\na sudden view over the expanse of silent waters had in it something\nsublime. Several large islands raised their high rocky heads out of the\nwaves; but whether or not they were timbered was still left to our\nimagination, as the distance was too great to determine if the dark hues\nupon them were woodland or naked rock. During the day the clouds had\nbeen gathering black over the mountains to the westward, and while we\nwere looking, a storm burst down with sudden fury upon the lake, and\nentirely hid the islands from our view.\n\n\"On the edge of the stream a favorable spot was selected in a grove, and\nfelling the timber, we made a strong _corral_, or horse-pen, for the\nanimals, and a little fort for the people who were to remain. We were\nnow probably in the country of the Utah Indians, though none reside upon\nthe lake. The India-rubber boat was repaired with prepared cloth and\ngum, and filled with air, in readiness for the next day.\n\n\"The provisions which Carson had brought with him being now exhausted,\nand our stock reduced to a small quantity of roots, I determined to\nretain with me only a sufficient number of men for the execution of our\ndesign; and accordingly seven were sent back to Fort Hall, under the\nguidance of Francois Lajeunesse, who, having been for many years a\ntrapper in the country, was an experienced mountaineer.\n\n\"We formed now but a small family. With Mr. Preuss and myself, Carson,\nBernier, and Basil Lajeunesse had been selected for the boat\nexpedition--the first ever attempted on this interior sea; and Badau,\nwith Derosier, and Jacob (the man), were to be left in charge of\nthe camp. We were favored with most delightful weather. To-night there\nwas a brilliant sunset of golden orange and green, which left the\nwestern sky clear and beautifully pure; but clouds in the east made me\nlose an occultation. The summer frogs were singing around us, and the\nevening was very pleasant, with a temperature of 60 deg.--a night of a more\nsouthern autumn. For our supper, we had _yampah_, the most agreeably\nflavored of the roots, seasoned by a small fat duck, which had come in\nthe way of Jacob's rifle. Around our fire to-night were many\nspeculations on what to-morrow would bring forth; and in our busy\nconjectures we fancied that we should find every one of the large\nislands a tangled wilderness of trees and shrubbery, teeming with game\nof every description that the neighboring region afforded, and which the\nfoot of a white man or Indian had never violated. Frequently, during the\nday, clouds had rested on the summits of their lofty mountains, and we\nbelieved that we should find clear streams and springs of fresh water;\nand we indulged in anticipations of the luxurious repasts with which we\nwere to indemnify ourselves for past privations. Neither, in our\ndiscussions, were the whirlpool and other mysterious dangers forgotten,\nwhich Indian and hunters' stories attributed to this unexplored lake.\nThe men had discovered that, instead of being strongly sewed, (like that\nof the preceding year, which had so triumphantly rode the canyons of the\nUpper Great Platte,) our present boat was only pasted together in a very\ninsecure manner, the maker having been allowed so little time in the\nconstruction that he was obliged to crowd the labor of two months into\nseveral days. The insecurity of the boat was sensibly felt by us; and\nmingled with the enthusiasm and excitement that we all felt at the\nprospect of an undertaking which had never before been accomplished, was\na certain impression of danger, sufficient to give a serious character\nto our conversation. The momentary view which had been had of the lake\nthe day before, its great extent, and rugged islands, dimly seen amidst\nthe dark waters in the obscurity of the sudden storm, were well\ncalculated to heighten the idea of undefined danger with which the lake\nwas generally associated.\n\n\"_Sept. 8._--A calm, clear day, with a sunrise temperature of 41 deg. In\nview of our present enterprise, a part of the equipment of the boat had\nbeen made to consist of three air-tight bags, about three feet long, and\ncapable each of containing five gallons. These had been filled with\nwater the night before, and were now placed in the boat, with our\nblankets and instruments, consisting of a sextant, telescope,\nspy-glass, thermometer, and barometer.\n\n\"In the course of the morning we discovered that two of the cylinders\nleaked so much as to require one man constantly at the bellows, to keep\nthem sufficiently full of air to support the boat. Although we had made\na very early start, we loitered so much on the way--stopping every now\nand then, and floating silently along, to get a shot at a goose or a\nduck--that it was late in the day when we reached the outlet. The river\nhere divided into several branches, filled with fluvials, and so very\nshallow that it was with difficulty we could get the boat along, being\nobliged to get out and wade. We encamped on a low point among rushes and\nyoung willows, where there was a quantity of driftwood, which served for\nour fires. The evening was mild and clear; we made a pleasant bed of the\nyoung willows; and geese and ducks enough had been killed for an\nabundant supper at night, and for breakfast next morning. The stillness\nof the night was enlivened by millions of water-fowl.\n\n\"_Sept. 9._--The day was clear and calm; the thermometer at sunrise at\n49 deg. As is usual with the trappers on the eve of any enterprise, our\npeople had made dreams, and theirs happened to be a bad one--one which\nalways preceded evil--and consequently they looked very gloomy this\nmorning; but we hurried through our breakfast, in order to make an early\nstart, and have all the day before us for our adventure. The channel in\na short distance became so shallow that our navigation was at an end,\nbeing merely a sheet of soft mud, with a few inches of water, and\nsometimes none at all, forming the low-water shore of the lake. All this\nplace was absolutely covered with flocks of screaming plover. We took\noff our clothes, and, getting overboard, commenced dragging the\nboat--making, by this operation, a very curious trail, and a very\ndisagreeable smell in stirring up the mud, as we sank above the knee at\nevery step. The water here was still fresh, with only an insipid and\ndisagreeable taste, probably derived from the bed of fetid mud. After\nproceeding in this way about a mile, we came to a small black ridge on\nthe bottom, beyond which the water became suddenly salt, beginning\ngradually to deepen, and the bottom was sandy and firm. It was a\nremarkable division, separating the fresh water of the rivers from the\nbriny water of the lake, which was entirely _saturated_ with common\nsalt. Pushing our little vessel across the narrow boundary, we sprang\non board, and at length were afloat on the waters of the unknown sea.\n\n\"We did not steer for the mountainous islands, but directed our course\ntowards a lower one, which it had been decided we should first visit,\nthe summit of which was formed like the crater at the upper end of Bear\nRiver valley. So long as we could touch the bottom with our paddles, we\nwere very gay; but gradually, as the water deepened, we became more\nstill in our frail batteau of gum cloth distended with air, and with\npasted seams. Although the day was very calm, there was a considerable\nswell on the lake; and there were white patches of foam on the surface,\nwhich were slowly moving to the southward, indicating the set of a\ncurrent in that direction, and recalling the recollection of the\nwhirlpool stories. The water continued to deepen as we advanced; the\nlake becoming almost transparently clear, of an extremely beautiful\nbright green color; and the spray, which was thrown into the boat and\nover our clothes, was directly converted into a crust of common salt,\nwhich covered also our hands and arms. 'Captain,' said Carson, who for\nsome time had been looking suspiciously at some whitening appearances\noutside the nearest islands, 'what are those yonder?--won't you just\ntake a look with the glass?' We ceased paddling for a moment, and found\nthem to be the caps of the waves that were beginning to break under the\nforce of a strong breeze that was coming up the lake. The form of the\nboat seemed to be an admirable one, and it rode on the waves like a\nwater bird; but, at the same time, it was extremely slow in its\nprogress. When we were a little more than half away across the reach,\ntwo of the divisions between the cylinders gave way, and it required the\nconstant use of the bellows to keep in a sufficient quantity of air. For\na long time we scarcely seemed to approach our island, but gradually we\nworked across the rougher sea of the open channel, into the smoother\nwater under the lee of the island, and began to discover that what we\ntook for a long row of pelicans, ranged on the beach, were only low\ncliffs whitened with salt by the spray of the waves; and about noon we\nreached the shore, the transparency of the water enabling us to see the\nbottom at a considerable depth.\n\n\"The cliffs and masses of rock along the shore were whitened by an\nincrustation of salt where the waves dashed up against them; and the\nevaporating water, which had been left in holes and hollows on the\nsurface of the rocks, was covered with a crust of salt about one-eighth\nof an inch in thickness.\n\n\"Carrying with us the barometer and other instruments, in the afternoon\nwe ascended to the highest point of the island--a bare, rocky peak, 800\nfeet above the lake. Standing on the summit, we enjoyed an extended view\nof the lake, inclosed in a basin of rugged mountains, which sometimes\nleft marshy flats and extensive bottoms between them and the shore, and\nin other places came directly down into the water with bold and\nprecipitous bluffs.\n\n\"As we looked over the vast expanse of water spread out beneath us, and\nstrained our eyes along the silent shores over which hung so much doubt\nand uncertainty, and which were so full of interest to us, I could\nhardly repress the almost irresistible desire to continue our\nexploration; but the lengthening snow on the mountains was a plain\nindication of the advancing season, and our frail linen boat appeared so\ninsecure that I was unwilling to trust our lives to the uncertainties of\nthe lake. I therefore unwillingly resolved to terminate our survey here,\nand remain satisfied for the present with what we had been able to add\nto the unknown geography of the region. We felt pleasure also in\nremembering that we were the first who, in the traditionary annals of\nthe country, had visited the islands, and broken, with the cheerful\nsound of human voices, the long solitude of the place.\n\n\"I accidentally left on the summit the brass cover to the object end of\nmy spy-glass; and as it will probably remain there undisturbed by\nIndians, it will furnish matter of speculation to some future traveler.\nIn our excursions about the island, we did not meet with any kind of\nanimal; a magpie, and another larger bird, probably attracted by the\nsmoke of our fire, paid us a visit from the shore, and were the only\nliving things seen during our stay. The rock constituting the cliffs\nalong the shore where we were encamped, is a talcous rock, or steatite,\nwith brown spar.\n\n\"At sunset, the temperature was 70 deg. We had arrived just in time to\nobtain a meridian altitude of the sun, and other observations were\nobtained this evening, which place our camp in latitude 41 deg. 102' 42\",\nand longitude 112 deg. 21' 05\" from Greenwich. From a discussion of the\nbarometrical observations made during our stay on the shores of the\nlake, we have adopted 4,200 feet for its elevation above the Gulf of\nMexico. In the first disappointment we felt from the dissipation of our\ndream of the fertile islands, I called this Disappointment Island.\n\n\"Out of the driftwood, we made ourselves pleasant little lodges, open to\nthe water, and, after having kindled large fires to excite the wonder of\nany straggling savage on the lake shores, lay down, for the first time\nin a long journey, in perfect security; no one thinking about his arms.\nThe evening was extremely bright and pleasant; but the wind rose during\nthe night, and the waves began to break heavily on the shore, making our\nIsland tremble. I had not expected in our inland journey to hear the\nroar of an ocean surf; and the strangeness of our situation, and the\nexcitement we felt in the associated interests of the place, made this\none of the most interesting nights I remember during our long\nexpedition.\n\n\"In the morning, the surf was breaking heavily on the shore, and we were\nup early. The lake was dark and agitated, and we hurried through our\nscanty breakfast, and embarked--having first filled one of the buckets\nwith water from which it was intended to make salt. The sun had risen by\nthe time we were ready to start; and it was blowing a strong gale of\nwind, almost directly off the shore, and raising a considerable sea, in\nwhich our boat strained very much. It roughened as we got away from the\nisland, and it required all the efforts of the men to make any head\nagainst the wind and sea; the gale rising with the sun; and there was\ndanger of being blown into one of the open reaches beyond the island. At\nthe distance of half a mile from the beach, the depth of water was\nsixteen feet, with a clay bottom; but, as the working of the boat was\nvery severe labor, and during the operation of sounding, it was\nnecessary to cease paddling, during which, the boat lost considerable\nway, I was unwilling to discourage the men, and reluctantly gave up my\nintention of ascertaining the depth and character of the bed. There was\na general shout in the boat when we found ourselves in one fathom, and\nwe soon after landed on a low point of mud, where we unloaded the boat,\nand carried the baggage to firmer ground.\"\n\nRoughly evaporated over the fire, the five gallons of water from this\nlake yielded fourteen pints of very fine-grained and very white salt, of\nwhich the whole lake may be regarded as a saturated solution.\n\nOn the 12th they resumed their journey, returning by the same route, and\nat night had a supper of sea gulls, which Carson killed near the lake.\n\nThe next day they continued up the river, hunger making them very quiet\nand peaceable; and there was rarely an oath to be heard in the camp--not\neven a solitary _enfant de garce_. It was time for the men with\nan expected supply of provisions from Fitzpatrick to be in the\nneighborhood; and the gun was fired at evening, to give notice of their\nlocality, but met with no response.\n\nThey killed to-day a fat young horse, purchased from the Indians, and\nwere very soon restored to gaiety and good humor. Fremont and Mr.\nPreuss, not having yet overcome the prejudices of civilization, did not\npartake, preferring to turn in supperless.\n\nThe large number of emigrants constantly encamping here, had driven the\ngame into the mountains, so that not an elk or antelope was seen upon\nthe route; but an antelope was purchased from an Indian, for a little\npowder and some ball, and they camped early to enjoy an abundant supper;\nwhich, while not yet prepared, was interrupted by the arrival of a\ntrapper, who startled and rejoiced all by announcing the glad news, that\nMr. Fitzpatrick was in camp a little way from them, with a plentiful\nsupply of provisions, flour, rice, dried meat, and even butter.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\n\nThe difficulty, in view of the approaching winter season, of supporting\na large party, determined Fremont to send back a number of the men who\nhad become satisfied that they were not fitted for the laborious service\nand frequent privation to which they were necessarily exposed, and which\nthere was reason to believe would become more severe in the further\nextension of the voyage. They were accordingly called together, and\nafter being fully informed as to the nature of the duties imposed upon\nthem, and the hardships they would have to undergo, eleven of the party\nconsented to abandon Fremont, and return; but Carson was not one of\nthese.\n\nTaking leave of the homeward party, they resumed their journey down the\nvalley, the weather being very cold, and the rain coming in hard gusts,\nwhich the wind blew directly in their faces. They forded the Portneuf in\na storm of rain, the water in the river being frequently up to the\naxles.\n\nFremont in his official report thus enumerates some of the difficulties\nand sufferings the party had to encounter:\n\n\"_September 27._--It was now no longer possible, as in our previous\njourney, to travel regularly every day, and find at any moment a\nconvenient place for repose at noon, or a camp at night; but the halting\nplaces were now generally fixed along the road, by the nature of the\ncountry, at places where, with water, there was a little scanty grass.\nSince leaving the American falls, the road had frequently been very bad;\nthe many short, steep ascents exhausting the strength of our worn out\nanimals, requiring always at such places the assistance of the men to\nget up each cart, one by one; and our progress with twelve or fourteen\nwheeled carriages, though light and made for the purpose, in such a\nrocky country, was extremely slow.\n\n\"Carson had met here three or four buffalo bulls, two of which were\nkilled. They were among the pioneers which had made the experiment of\ncolonizing in the valley of the Columbia.\n\n\"Opposite to the encampment, a subterranean river bursts out directly\nfrom the face of the escarpment, and falls in white foam to the river\nbelow. The main river is enclosed with mural precipices, which form its\ncharacteristic feature, along a great portion of its course. A\nmelancholy and strange-looking country--one of fracture, and violence,\nand fire.\n\n\"We had brought with us, when we separated from the camp, a large gaunt\nox, in appearance very poor; but, being killed to-night, to the great\njoy of the people, he was found to be remarkably fat. As usual at such\noccurrences, the evening was devoted to gaiety and feasting; abundant\nfare now made an epoch among us; and in this laborious life, in such a\ncountry as this, our men had but little else to enjoy.\"\n\nOn arriving at the ford where the road crosses to the right bank of\nSnake River, an Indian was hired to conduct them through the ford, which\nproved impracticable; the water sweeping away the howitzer and nearly\ndrowning the mules. Fortunately they had a resource in a boat, which was\nfilled with air and launched; and at seven o'clock were safely encamped\non the opposite bank, the animals swimming across, and the carriage,\nhowitzer, and baggage of the camp being carried over in the boat.\n\nIt was while at Fort Boise where Fremont first met Mons. Payette, an\nemployee of the Hudson Bay Co., that he came across the \"Fish-eating\nIndians,\" a class lower if possible in the scale of humanity than the\n\"Diggers.\" He says:\n\n\"Many little accounts and scattered histories, together with an\nacquaintance which I gradually acquired of their modes of life, had left\nthe aboriginal inhabitants of this vast region pictured in my mind as a\nrace of people whose great and constant occupation was the means of\nprocuring a subsistence.\n\n\"While the summer weather and the salmon lasted, they lived contentedly\nand happily, scattered along the different streams where the fish\nwere to be found; and as soon as the winter snows began to fall,\nlittle smokes would be seen rising among the mountains, where they\nwould be found in miserable groups, starving out the winter; and\nsometimes, according to the general belief, reduced to the horror of\ncannibalism--the strong, of course, preying on the weak. Certain it is,\nthey are driven to an extremity for food, and eat every insect, and\nevery creeping thing, however loathsome and repulsive. Snails, lizards,\nants--all are devoured with the readiness and greediness of mere\nanimals.\"\n\nThe remainder of the overland journey, until they reached Nez Perce, one\nof the trading establishments of the Hudson Bay Company, was not marked\nby any incident bringing Carson into special notice.\n\nHaving now completed the connection of his explorations with those of\nCommander Wilkes, and which was the limit of his instructions, Fremont\ncommenced preparations for his return, Carson being left at the _Dalles_\nwith directions to occupy the people in making pack-saddles, and\nrefitting the equippage; while Fremont continued his journey to the\nMission, a few miles down the Columbia River, where he passed a few days\nin comparative luxury.\n\nThe few days of rest, added to an abundance of wholesome food, had so\nfar recruited the party, that they were soon prepared to encounter and\nconquer the difficulties of this overland journey in mid-winter. Three\nprincipal objects were indicated by Fremont for exploration and\nresearch, and which, despite the obstacles which the season must so\nsurely interpose, he had determined to visit.\n\nThe first of these points was the _Tlamath_ Lake, on the table-land\nbetween the head of Fall River, which comes to the Columbia, and the\nSacramento, which goes to the bay of San Francisco; and from which lake\na river of the same name makes its way westwardly direct to the ocean.\n\nFrom this lake their course was intended to be about southeast, to a\nreported lake called Mary's, at some days' journey in the Great Basin;\nand thence, still on southeast, to the reputed _Buenaventura_ River,\nwhich has had a place in so many maps, and countenanced the belief of\nthe existence of a great river flowing from the Rocky Mountains to the\nBay of San Francisco. From the Buenaventura, the next point was intended\nto be in that section of the Rocky Mountains which includes the heads of\nArkansas River, and of the opposite waters of the Californian Gulf; and\nthence down the Arkansas to Bent's Fort, and home. This was the\nprojected line of return--a great part of it absolutely new to\ngeographical, botanical, and geological science--and the subject of\nreports in relation to lakes, rivers, deserts, and savages, hardly above\nthe condition of mere wild animals, which inflamed desire to know what\nthis _terra incognita_ really contained.\n\nIt was a serious enterprise at the commencement of winter to undertake\nthe traverse of such a region, and with a party consisting only of\ntwenty-five persons, and they of many nations--American, French, German,\nCanadian, Indian, and --and most of them young, several being\nunder twenty-one years of age. All knew that a strange country was to be\nexplored, and dangers and hardships to be encountered; but no one\nblenched at the prospect. On the contrary, courage and confidence\nanimated the whole party. Cheerfulness, readiness, subordination, prompt\nobedience, characterized all; nor did any extremity of peril and\nprivation, to which they were afterwards exposed, ever belie, or\nderogate from, the fine spirit of this brave and generous commencement.\n\nFor the support of the party, he had provided at Vancouver a supply of\nprovisions for not less than three months, consisting principally of\nflour, peas, and tallow--the latter being used in cooking; and, in\naddition to this, they had purchased at the mission, some California\ncattle, which were to be driven on the hoof. They had one hundred and\nfour mules and horses--part of the latter procured from the Indians\nabout the mission; and for the sustenance of which, their reliance was\nupon the grass which might be found, and the soft porous wood, which was\nto be substituted when there was no grass.\n\nMr. Fitzpatrick, with Mr. Talbot and the remainder of the party, arrived\non the 21st; and the camp was now closely engaged in the labor of\npreparation. Mr. Perkins succeeded in obtaining as a guide, to the\nTlamath Lake, two Indians--one of whom had been there, and bore the\nmarks of several wounds he had received from some of the Indians in the\nneighborhood.\n\nTlamath Lake, however, on examination, proved to be simply a shallow\nbasin, which, for a short period at the time of melting snows, is\ncovered with water from the neighboring mountains; but this probably\nsoon runs off, and leaves for the remainder of the year a green\nsavannah, through the midst of which, the river Tlamath, which flows to\nthe ocean, winds its way to the outlet on the southwestern side.\n\nAfter leaving Tlamath Lake the party headed for Mary's Lake, which,\nhowever, after incredible sufferings and hardships, they failed to\ndiscover, but they found one which was appropriately christened \"Pyramid\nLake,\" and here the record of toils, dangers and sufferings, undergone\nby the whole party, can only be told in the language of him, who\ncheerfully toiled and suffered with those under his command, and it is\nnot too much to say, that with the exception of the \"Strain expedition,\"\nacross the Isthmus of Darien, no party of men have ever lived to narrate\nsuch sad experiences. We therefore let Fremont, in his own modest way,\ntell the tale of his own and his companions' sufferings.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\n\n\"_January 3._--A fog, so dense that we could not see a hundred yards,\ncovered the country, and the men that were sent out after the horses\nwere bewildered and lost; and we were consequently detained at camp\nuntil late in the day. Our situation had now become a serious one. We\nhad reached and run over the position where, according to the best maps\nin my possession, we should have found Mary's Lake or river. We were\nevidently on the verge of the desert which had been reported to us; and\nthe appearance of the country was so forbidding, that I was afraid to\nenter it, and determined to bear away to the southward, keeping close\nalong the mountains, in the full expectation of reaching the\nBuenaventura River. This morning I put every man in the camp on\nfoot--myself, of course, among the rest--and in this manner lightened by\ndistribution the loads of the animals.\n\n\"_January 4._--The fog to-day was still more dense, and the people again\nwere bewildered. We traveled a few miles around the western point of the\nridge, and encamped where there were a few tufts of grass, but no water.\nOur animals now were in a very alarming state, and there was increasing\nanxiety in the camp.\n\n\"_January 5._--Same dense fog continued, and one of the mules died in\ncamp this morning. We moved to a place where there was a little better\ngrass, about two miles distant. Taplin, one of our best men, who had\ngone out on a scouting excursion, ascended a mountain near by, and to\nhis great surprise emerged into a region of bright sunshine, in which\nthe upper parts of the mountain were glowing, while below all was\nobscured in the darkest fog.\n\n\"_January 6._--The fog continued the same, and with Mr. Preuss and\nCarson, I ascended the mountain, to sketch the leading features of the\ncountry, as some indication of our future route, while Mr. Fitzpatrick\nexplored the country below. In a very short distance we had ascended\nabove the mist, but the view obtained was not very gratifying. The fog\nhad partially cleared off from below when we reached the summit; and in\nthe south-west corner of a basin communicating with that in which we\nhad encamped, we saw a lofty column of smoke, 16 miles distant,\nindicating the presence of hot springs. There, also, appeared to be the\noutlet of those draining channels of the country; and, as such places\nafforded always more or less grass, I determined to steer in that\ndirection. The ridge we had ascended appeared to be composed of\nfragments of white granite. We saw here traces of sheep and antelope.\n\n\"Entering the neighboring valley, and crossing the bed of another lake,\nafter a hard day's travel over ground of yielding mud and sand, we\nreached the springs, where we found an abundance of grass, which, though\nonly tolerably good, made this place, with reference to the past, a\nrefreshing and agreeable spot.\n\n\"This is the most extraordinary locality of hot springs we had met\nduring the journey. The basin of the largest one has a circumference of\nseveral hundred feet; but there is at one extremity a circular space of\nabout fifteen feet in diameter, entirely occupied by the boiling water.\nIt boils up at irregular intervals, and with much noise. The water is\nclear, and the spring deep; a pole about sixteen feet long was easily\nimmersed in the centre, but we had no means of forming a good idea of\nthe depth.\n\n\"Taking with me Godey and Carson, I made to-day a thorough exploration\nof the neighboring valleys, and found in a ravine in the bordering\nmountains a good camping place, where was water in springs, and a\nsufficient quantity of grass for a night. Overshadowing the springs were\nsome trees of the sweet cotton-wood, which, after a long interval of\nabsence, we saw again with pleasure, regarding them as harbingers of a\nbetter country. To us, they were eloquent of green prairies and buffalo.\nWe found here a broad and plainly marked trail, on which there were\ntracks of horses, and we appeared to have regained one of the\nthoroughfares which pass by the watering places of the country. On the\nwestern mountains of the valley, with which this of the boiling spring\ncommunicates, we remarked scattered cedars--probably an indication that\nwe were on the borders of the timbered region extending to the Pacific.\nWe reached the camp at sunset, after a day's ride of about forty miles.\n\n\"_January 10._--We continued our reconnoissance ahead, pursuing a south\ndirection in the basin along the ridge; the camp following slowly\nafter. On a large trail there is never any doubt of finding suitable\nplaces for encampments. We reached the end of the basin, where we found,\nin a hollow of the mountain which enclosed it, an abundance of good\nbunch grass. Leaving a signal for the party to encamp, we continued our\nway up the hollow, intending to see what lay beyond the mountain. The\nhollow was several miles long, forming a good pass, the snow deepening\nto about a foot as we neared the summit. Beyond, a defile between the\nmountains descended rapidly about two thousand feet; and, filling up all\nthe lower space, was a sheet of green water, some twenty miles broad. It\nbroke upon our eyes like the ocean. The neighboring peaks rose high\nabove us, and we ascended one of them to obtain a better view. The waves\nwere curling in the breeze, and their dark-green color showed it to be a\nbody of deep water. For a long time we sat enjoying the view, for we had\nbecome fatigued with mountains, and the free expanse of moving waves was\nvery grateful. It was set like a gem in the mountains, which, from our\nposition, seemed to enclose it almost entirely. At the western end it\ncommunicated with the line of basins we had left a few days since; and\non the opposite side it swept a ridge of snowy mountains, the foot of\nthe great Sierra. Its position at first inclined us to believe it Mary's\nLake, but the rugged mountains were so entirely discordant with\ndescriptions of its low rushy shores and open country, that we concluded\nit some unknown body of water; which it afterwards proved to be.\n\n\"We saw before us, in descending from the pass, a great continuous\nrange, along which stretched the valley of the river; the lower parts\nsteep, and dark with pines, while above it was hidden in clouds of snow.\nThis, we felt instantly satisfied was the central ridge of the Sierra\nNevada, the great California mountain, which only now intervened between\nus and the waters of the bay. We had made a forced march of 26 miles,\nand three mules had given out on the road. Up to this point, with the\nexception of two stolen by Indians, we had lost none of the horses which\nhad been brought from the Columbia river, and a number of these were\nstill strong and in tolerably good order. We had now sixty-seven animals\nin the band.\n\n\"We had scarcely lighted our fires, when the camp was crowded with\nnearly naked Indians. There were two who appeared particularly\nintelligent--one, a somewhat old man. He told me that, before the snows\nfell, it was six sleeps to the place where the whites lived, but that\nnow it was impossible to cross the mountain on account of the deep snow;\nand showing us, as the others had done, that it was over our heads, he\nurged us strongly to follow the course of the river, which he said would\nconduct us to a lake in which there were many large fish. There, he\nsaid, were many people; there was no snow on the ground; and we might\nremain there until spring. From their descriptions, we were enabled\nto judge that we had encamped on the upper water of the Salmon-trout\nRiver. It is hardly necessary to say that our communication was only by\nsigns, as we understood nothing of their language; but they spoke,\nnotwithstanding, rapidly and vehemently, explaining what they considered\nthe folly of our intentions, and urging us to go down to the lake.\n_Tah-ve_, a word signifying snow, we very soon learned to know, from its\nfrequent repetition. I told him that the men and the horses were strong,\nand that we would break a road through the snow; and spreading before\nhim our bales of scarlet cloth, and trinkets, showed him what we would\ngive for a guide. It was necessary to obtain one, if possible; for I\nhad determined here to attempt the passage of the mountain. Pulling a\nbunch of grass from the ground, after a short discussion among\nthemselves, the old man made us comprehend, that if we could break\nthrough the snow, at the end of three days we would come down upon\ngrass, which he showed us would be about six inches high, and where the\nground was entirely free. So far he said he had been in hunting for elk;\nbut beyond that (and he closed his eyes) he had seen nothing; but there\nwas one among them who had been to the whites, and, going out of the\nlodge, he returned with a young man of very intelligent appearance.\nHere, said he, is a young man who has seen the whites with his own eyes;\nand he swore, first by the sky, and then by the ground, that what he\nsaid was true. With a large present of goods, we prevailed upon this\nyoung man to be our guide, and he acquired among us the name Melo--a\nword signifying friend, which they used very frequently. He was thinly\nclad, and nearly barefoot; his moccasins being about worn out. We gave\nhim skins to make a new pair, and to enable him to perform his\nundertaking to us. The Indians remained in camp during the night, and we\nkept the guide and two others to sleep in the lodge with us--Carson\nlying across the door, and having made them comprehend the use of our\nfire-arms.\"\n\nFremont here, after a consultation with some Indians who came into his\ncamp, made up his mind to attempt the passage of the mountains at every\nhazard. He therefore, to quote his own words, called his men together,\nand \"reminded them of the beautiful valley of the Sacramento, with which\nthey were familiar from the descriptions of Carson, who had been there\nsome fifteen years ago, and who, in our late privations, had delighted\nus in speaking of its rich pastures and abounding game, and drew a vivid\ncontrast between its summer climate, less than a hundred miles distant,\nand the falling snow around us. I informed them (and long experience had\ngiven them confidence in my observations and good instruments) that\nalmost directly west, and only about seventy miles distant, was the\ngreat farming establishment of Captain Sutter--a gentleman who had\nformerly lived in Missouri, and, emigrating to this country, had become\nthe possessor of a principality. I assured them that, from the heights\nof the mountain before us, we should doubtless see the valley of the\nSacramento River, and with one effort place ourselves again in the\nmidst of plenty. The people received this decision with the cheerful\nobedience which had always characterized them; and the day was\nimmediately devoted to the preparations necessary to enable us to carry\nit into effect. Leggins, moccasins, clothing--all were put into the best\nstate to resist the cold. Our guide was not neglected. Extremity of\nsuffering might make him desert; we therefore did the best we could for\nhim. Leggins, moccasins, some articles of clothing, and a large green\nblanket, in addition to the blue and scarlet cloth, were lavished upon\nhim, and to his great and evident contentment. He arrayed himself in all\nhis colors; and, clad in green, blue, and scarlet, he made a gay-looking\nIndian; and, with his various presents, was probably richer and better\nclothed than any of his tribe had ever been before.\n\n\"I have already said that our provisions were very low; we had neither\ntallow nor grease of any kind remaining, and the want of salt became one\nof our greatest privations. The poor dog which had been found in the\nBear River valley, and which had been a _compagnon de voyage_ ever\nsince, had now become fat, and the mess to which it belonged requested\npermission to kill it. Leave was granted. Spread out on the snow, the\nmeat looked very good; and it made a strengthening meal for the greater\npart of the camp.\n\n\"The people were unusually silent; for every man knew that our\nenterprise was hazardous, and the issue doubtful.\n\n\"The snow deepened rapidly, and it soon became necessary to break a\nroad. For this service, a party of ten was formed, mounted on the\nstrongest horses; each man in succession opening the road on foot, or on\nhorseback, until himself and his horse became fatigued, when he stepped\naside; and, the remaining number passing ahead, he took his station in\nthe rear.\n\n\"The camp had been all the day occupied in endeavoring to ascend the\nhill, but only the best horses had succeeded; the animals, generally,\nnot having sufficient strength to bring themselves up without the packs;\nand all the line of road between this and the springs was strewed with\ncamp stores and equipage, and horses floundering in snow. I therefore\nimmediately encamped on the ground with my own mess, which was in\nadvance, and directed Mr. Fitzpatrick to encamp at the springs, and send\nall the animals, in charge of Tabeau, with a strong guard, back to the\nplace where they had been pastured the night before. Here was a small\nspot of level ground, protected on one side by the mountain, and on the\nother sheltered by a little ridge of rock. It was an open grove of\npines, which assimilated in size to the grandeur of the mountain, being\nfrequently six feet in diameter.\n\n\"To-night we had no shelter, but we made a large fire around the trunk\nof one of the huge pines; and covering the snow with small boughs, on\nwhich we spread our blankets, soon made ourselves comfortable. The night\nwas very bright and clear, though the thermometer was only at 10 deg. A\nstrong wind which sprang up at sundown, made it intensely cold; and this\nwas one of the bitterest nights during the journey.\n\n\"Two Indians joined our party here; and one of them, an old man,\nimmediately began to harangue us, saying that ourselves and animals\nwould perish in the snow; and that, if we would go back, he would show\nus another and a better way across the mountain. He spoke in a very loud\nvoice, and there was a singular repetition of phrases and arrangement of\nwords, which rendered his speech striking, and not unmusical.\n\n\"We had now begun to understand some words, and, with the aid of signs,\neasily comprehended the old man's simple ideas. 'Rock upon rock--rock\nupon rock--snow upon snow--snow upon snow,' said he; 'even if you get\nover the snow, you will not be able to get down from the mountains.' He\nmade us the sign of precipices, and showed us how the feet of the horses\nwould slip, and throw them off from the narrow trails which led along\ntheir sides. Our Chinook, who comprehended even more readily than\nourselves, and believed our situation hopeless, covered his head with\nhis blanket, and began to weep and lament. 'I wanted to see the whites,'\nsaid he; 'I came away from my own people to see the whites, and I\nwouldn't care to die among them; but here'--and he looked around into\nthe cold night and gloomy forest, and, drawing his blanket over his\nhead, began again to lament.\n\n\"Seated around the tree, the fire illuminating the rocks and the tall\nbolls of the pines round about, and the old Indian haranguing, we\npresented a group of very serious faces.\n\n\"_February 5._--The night had been too cold to sleep, and we were up\nvery early. Our guide was standing by the fire with all his finery on;\nand seeing him shiver in the cold, I threw on his shoulders one of my\nblankets. We missed him a few minutes afterwards, and never saw him\nagain. He had deserted. His bad faith and treachery were in perfect\nkeeping with the estimate of Indian character, which a long intercourse\nwith this people had gradually forced upon my mind.\n\n\"While a portion of the camp were occupied in bringing up the baggage to\nthis point, the remainder were busied in making sledges and snow shoes.\nI had determined to explore the mountain ahead, and the sledges were to\nbe used in transporting the baggage.\n\n\"Crossing the open basin, in a march of about ten miles we reached the\ntop of one of the peaks, to the left of the pass indicated by our guide.\nFar below us, dimmed by the distance, was a large, snowless valley,\nbounded on the western side, at the distance of about a hundred miles,\nby a low range of mountains, which Carson recognized with delight as the\nmountains bordering the coast. 'There,' said he, 'is the little\nmountain--it is fifteen years ago since I saw it; but I am just as sure\nas if I had seen it yesterday.' Between us, then, and this low coast\nrange, was the valley of the Sacramento; and no one who had not\naccompanied us through the incidents of our life for the last few\nmonths, could realize the delight with which at last we looked down\nupon it. At the distance of apparently thirty miles beyond us were\ndistinguished spots of prairie; and a dark line, which could be traced\nwith the glass, was imagined to be the course of the river; but we were\nevidently at a great height above the valley, and between us and the\nplains extended miles of snowy fields and broken ridges of pine-covered\nmountains.\n\n\"It was late in the day when we turned towards the camp; and it grew\nrapidly cold as it drew towards night. One of the men became fatigued,\nand his feet began to freeze, and building a fire in the trunk of a dry\nold cedar, Mr. Fitzpatrick remained with him until his clothes could be\ndried, and he was in a condition to come on. After a day's march of\ntwenty miles, we straggled into camp, one after another, at nightfall;\nthe greater number excessively fatigued, only two of the party having\never traveled on snow-shoes before.\n\n\"All our energies were now directed to getting our animals across the\nsnow; and it was supposed that, after all the baggage had been drawn\nwith the sleighs over the trail we had made, it would be sufficiently\nhard to bear our animals.\n\n\"At several places, between this point and the ridge, we had discovered\nsome grassy spots, where the wind and sun had dispersed the snow from\nthe sides of the hills, and these were to form resting places to support\nthe animals for a night in their passage across. On our way across, we\nhad set on fire several broken stumps and dried trees, to melt holes in\nthe snow for the camp. Its general depth was five feet; but we passed\nover places where it was twenty feet deep, as shown by the trees.\n\n\"With one party drawing sleighs loaded with baggage, I advanced to-day\nabout four miles along the trail, and encamped at the first grassy spot,\nwhere we expected to bring our horses. Mr. Fitzpatrick, with another\nparty, remained behind, to form an intermediate station between us and\nthe animals.\n\n\"Putting on our snow-shoes, we spent the afternoon in exploring a road\nahead. The glare of the snow, combined with great fatigue, had rendered\nmany of the people nearly blind; but we were fortunate in having some\nblack silk handkerchiefs, which, worn as veils, very much relieved the\neye.\n\n\"In the evening I received a message from Mr. Fitzpatrick, acquainting\nme with the utter failure of his attempt to get our mules and horses\nover the snow--the half-hidden trail had proved entirely too slight to\nsupport them, and they had broken through, and were plunging about or\nlying half buried in snow. He was occupied in endeavoring to get them\nback to his camp; and in the mean time sent to me for further\ninstructions. I wrote to him to send the animals immediately back to\ntheir old pastures; and, after having made mauls and shovels, turn in\nall the strength of his party to open and beat a road through the snow,\nstrengthening it with branches and boughs of the pines.\n\n\"_February 12._--We made mauls, and worked hard at our end of the road\nall the day. The wind was high, but the sun bright, and the snow\nthawing. We worked down the face of the hill, to meet the people at the\nother end. Towards sundown it began to grow cold, and we shouldered our\nmauls, and trudged back to camp.\n\n\"_February 13._--We continued to labor on the road; and in the course of\nthe day had the satisfaction to see the people working down the face of\nthe opposite hill, about three miles distant. During the morning we had\nthe pleasure of a visit from Mr. Fitzpatrick, with the information that\nall was going on well. A party of Indians had passed on snow-shoes, who\nsaid they were going to the western side of the mountain after fish.\nThis was an indication that the salmon were coming up the streams; and\nwe could hardly restrain our impatience as we thought of them, and\nworked with increased vigor.\n\n\"I was now perfectly satisfied that we had struck the stream on which\nMr. Sutter lived, and turning about, made a hard push, and reached the\ncamp at dark. Here we had the pleasure to find all the remaining\nanimals, 57 in number, safely arrived at the grassy hill near the camp;\nand here, also, we were agreeably surprised with the sight of an\nabundance of salt. Some of the horse guard had gone to a neighboring hut\nfor pine nuts, and discovered unexpectedly a large cake of very white\nfine-grained salt, which the Indians told them they had brought from the\nother side of the mountain; they used it to eat with their pine nuts,\nand readily sold it for goods.\n\n\"On the 19th, the people were occupied in making a road and bringing up\nthe baggage; and, on the afternoon of the next day, _February_ 20, 1844,\nwe encamped with the animals and all the _materiel_ of the camp, on the\nsummit of the PASS in the dividing ridge, 1,000 miles by our traveled\nroad from the Dalles of the Columbia.\n\n\"_February 21._--We now considered ourselves victorious over the\nmountain; having only the descent before us, and the valley under our\neyes, we felt strong hope that we should force our way down. But this\nwas a case in which the descent was _not_ facile. Still, deep fields of\nsnow lay between, and there was a large intervening space of\nrough-looking mountains, through which we had yet to wind our way.\nCarson roused me this morning with an early fire, and we were all up\nlong before day, in order to pass the snow fields before the sun should\nrender the crust soft. We enjoyed this morning a scene at sunrise,\nwhich, even here, was unusually glorious and beautiful. Immediately\nabove the eastern mountains was repeated a cloud-formed mass of purple\nranges, bordered with bright yellow gold; the peaks shot up into a\nnarrow line of crimson cloud, above which the air was filled with a\ngreenish orange; and over all was the singular beauty of the blue sky.\nPassing along a ridge which commanded the lake on our right, of which we\nbegan to discover an outlet through a chasm on the west, we passed over\nalternating open ground and hard-crusted snow-fields which supported\nthe animals, and encamped on the ridge after a journey of six miles. The\ngrass was better than we had yet seen, and we were encamped in a clump\nof trees, twenty or thirty feet high, resembling white pine.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\n\n\"We had hard and doubtful labor yet before us, as the snow appeared to\nbe heavier where the timber began further down, with few open spots.\nAscending a height, we traced out the best line we could discover for\nthe next day's march, and had at least the consolation to see that the\nmountain descended rapidly. The day had been one of April; gusty, with a\nfew occasional flakes of snow; which, in the afternoon, enveloped the\nupper mountains in clouds. We watched them anxiously, as now we dreaded\na snow storm. Shortly afterwards we heard the roll of thunder, and\nlooking toward the valley, found it all enveloped in a thunder-storm.\nFor us, as connected with the idea of summer, it had a singular charm;\nand we watched its progress with excited feelings until nearly sunset,\nwhen the sky cleared off brightly, and we saw a shining line of water\ndirecting its course towards another, a broader and larger sheet. We\nknew that these could be no other than the Sacramento and the bay of San\nFrancisco; but, after our long wandering in rugged mountains, where so\nfrequently we had met with disappointments, and where the crossing of\nevery ridge displayed some unknown lake or river, we were yet almost\nafraid to believe that we were at last to escape into the genial country\nof which we have heard so many glowing descriptions, and dreaded again\nto find some vast interior lake, whose bitter waters would bring us\ndisappointment. On the southern shore of what appeared to be the bay,\ncould be traced the gleaming line where entered another large stream;\nand again the Buenaventura rose up in our mind.\n\n\"Carson had entered the valley along the southern side of the bay, but\nthe country then was so entirely covered with water from snow and rain,\nthat he had been able to form no correct impression of watercourses.\n\n\"We had the satisfaction to know that at least there were people below.\nFires were lit up in the valley just at night, appearing to be in answer\nto ours; and these signs of life renewed, in some measure, the gayety of\nthe camp. They appeared so near, that we judged them to be among the\ntimber of some of the neighboring ridges; but, having them constantly\nin view day after day, and night after night, we afterwards found them\nto be fires that had been kindled by the Indians among the _tulares_, on\nthe shore of the bay, eighty miles distant.\n\n\"Axes and mauls were necessary to-day to make a road through the snow.\nGoing ahead with Carson to reconnoitre the road, we reached in the\nafternoon the river which made the outlet of the lake. Carson sprang\nover, clear across a place where the stream was compressed among rocks,\nbut the _parfleche_ sole of my moccasin glanced from the icy rock, and\nprecipitated me into the river. It was some few seconds before I could\nrecover myself in the current, and Carson, thinking me hurt, jumped in\nafter me, and we both had an icy bath. We tried to search a while for my\ngun, which had been lost in the fall, but the cold drove us out; and\nmaking a large fire on the bank, after we had partially dried ourselves\nwe went back to meet the camp. We afterwards found that the gun had been\nslung under the ice which lined the banks of the creek.\n\n\"The sky was clear and pure, with a sharp wind from the northeast, and\nthe thermometer 2 deg. below the freezing point.\n\n\"We continued down the south face of the mountain; our road leading over\ndry ground, we were able to avoid the snow almost entirely. In the\ncourse of the morning, we struck a foot path, which we were generally\nable to keep; and the ground was soft to our animal's feet, being sandy\nor covered with mould. Green grass began to make its appearance, and\noccasionally we passed a hill scatteringly covered with it. The\ncharacter of the forest continued the same; and, among the trees, the\npine with sharp leaves and very large cones was abundant, some of them\nbeing noble trees. We measured one that had ten feet diameter, though\nthe height was not more than one hundred and thirty feet. All along, the\nriver was a roaring torrent, its fall very great; and, descending with a\nrapidity to which we had long been strangers, to our great pleasure oak\ntrees appeared on the ridge, and soon became very frequent; on these I\nremarked unusually great quantities of misletoe.\n\n[Illustration: \"MY MOCCASIN GLANCED FROM THE ICY ROCK, AND PRECIPITATED\nME INTO THE RIVER.\"]\n\n\"The opposite mountain side was very steep and continuous--unbroken\nby ravines, and covered with pines and snow; while on the side we\nwere traveling, innumerable rivulets poured down from the ridge.\nContinuing on, we halted a moment at one of these rivulets, to admire\nsome beautiful evergreen trees, resembling live oak, which shaded the\nlittle stream. They were forty to fifty feet high, and two in diameter,\nwith a uniform tufted top; and the summer green of their beautiful\nfoliage, with the singing birds, and the sweet summer wind which was\nwhirling about the dry oak leaves, nearly intoxicated us with delight;\nand we hurried on, filled with excitement, to escape entirely from the\nhorrid region of inhospitable snow, to the perpetual spring of the\nSacramento.\n\n\"_February 25._--Believing that the difficulties of the road were\npassed, and leaving Mr. Fitzpatrick to follow slowly, as the condition\nof the animals required, I started ahead this morning with a party of\neight, consisting (with myself) of Mr. Preuss, and Mr. Talbot, Carson,\nDerosier, Towns, Proue, and Jacob. We took with us some of the best\nanimals, and my intention was to proceed as rapidly as possible to the\nhouse of Mr. Sutter, and return to meet the party with a supply of\nprovisions and fresh animals.\n\n\"Near nightfall we descended into the steep ravine of a handsome creek\nthirty feet wide, and I was engaged in getting the horses up the\nopposite hill, when I heard a shout from Carson, who had gone ahead a\nfew hundred yards--'Life yet,' said he, as he came up, 'life yet; I have\nfound a hill side sprinkled with grass enough for the night.' We drove\nalong our horses, and encamped at the place about dark, and there was\njust room enough to make a place for shelter on the edge of the stream.\nThree horses were lost to-day--Proveau; a fine young horse from the\nColumbia, belonging to Charles Towns; and another Indian horse which\ncarried our cooking utensils; the two former gave out, and the latter\nstrayed off into the woods as we reached the camp: and Derosier, knowing\nmy attachment to Proveau, volunteered to go and bring him in.\n\n\"Carson and I climbed one of the nearest mountains; the forest land\nstill extended ahead, and the valley appeared as far as ever. The pack\nhorse was found near the camp, but Derosier did not get in.\n\n\"We began to be uneasy at Derosier's absence, fearing he might have been\nbewildered in the woods. Charles Towns, who had not yet recovered his\nmind, went to swim in the river, as if it was summer, and the stream\nplacid, when it was a cold mountain torrent foaming among the rocks. We\nwere happy to see Derosier appear in the evening. He came in, and\nsitting down by the fire, began to tell us where he had been. He\nimagined he had been gone several days, and thought we were still at the\ncamp where he had left us; and we were pained to see that his mind was\nderanged. It appeared that he had been lost in the mountain, and hunger\nand fatigue, joined to weakness of body, and fear of perishing in the\nmountains had crazed him. The times were severe when stout men lost\ntheir minds from extremity of suffering--when horses died--and when\nmules and horses, ready to die of starvation, were killed for food. Yet\nthere was no murmuring or hesitation. In the mean time Mr. Preuss\ncontinued on down the river, and unaware that we had encamped so early\nin the day, was lost. When night arrived and he did not come in, we\nbegan to understand what had happened to him; but it was too late to\nmake any search.\n\n\"_March 3._--We followed Mr. Preuss's trail for a considerable distance\nalong the river, until we reached a place where he had descended to the\nstream below and encamped. Here we shouted and fired guns, but received\nno answer; and we concluded that he had pushed on down the stream. I\ndetermined to keep out from the river, along which it was nearly\nimpracticable to travel with animals, until it should form a valley. At\nevery step the country improved in beauty; the pines were rapidly\ndisappearing, and oaks became the principal trees of the forest. Among\nthese, the prevailing tree was the evergreen oak (which, by way of\ndistinction, we shall call the _live oak_); and with these, occurred\nfrequently a new species of oak, bearing a long, slender acorn, from an\ninch to an inch and a half in length, which we now began to see formed\nthe principal vegetable food of the inhabitants of this region. In a\nshort distance we crossed a little rivulet, where were two old huts, and\nnear by were heaps of acorn hulls. The ground round about was very rich,\ncovered with an exuberant sward of grass; and we sat down for a while in\nthe shade of the oaks, to let the animals feed. We repeated our shouts\nfor Mr. Preuss; and this time we were gratified with an answer. The\nvoice grew rapidly nearer, ascending from the river, but when we\nexpected to see him emerge, it ceased entirely. We had called up some\nstraggling Indian--the first we had met, although for two days back we\nhad seen tracks--who, mistaking us for his fellows, had been only\nundeceived by getting close up. It would have been pleasant to witness\nhis astonishment; he would not have been more frightened had some of the\nold mountain spirits they are so much afraid of suddenly appeared in his\npath. Ignorant of the character of these people, we had now additional\ncause of uneasiness in regard to Mr. Preuss; he had no arms with him,\nand we began to think his chance doubtful. Occasionally we met deer, but\nhad not the necessary time for hunting. At one of these orchard grounds,\nwe encamped about noon to make an effort for Mr. Preuss. One man took\nhis way along a spur leading into the river, in hope to cross his trail;\nand another took our own back. Both were volunteers; and to the\nsuccessful man was promised a pair of pistols--not as a reward, but as a\ntoken of gratitude for a service which would free us all from much\nanxiety.\"\n\nIt was not until the 6th, and after a continuation of the most\nincredible sufferings, already narrated, that the party reached Sutter's\nFort, where, it is needless to say, they were warmly and cordially\nreceived by that gentleman,--and to close this stirring narrative, we\nwill only add as an evidence of the terrible sufferings to which they\nhad been subjected, that out of sixty-seven horses and mules with which\nthe expedition was commenced, only thirty-three reached the valley of\nthe Sacramento, and they had to be led. In quoting above from Fremont's\nnarrative, a continuous record has not been kept, as we have used only\nsuch portions as contain the narrative of incidents directly connected\nwith the expedition, and of which, though scarcely mentioned throughout,\nsave in the most incidental manner, Carson might well say, and with\npride, _magna pars fui_.\n\nIn the course of this narrative we have frequently used the word\n_cache_, and a brief interpretation of its meaning, we are sure will not\nbe uninteresting to the uninitiated.\n\nA cache is a term common among traders and hunters, to designate a\nhiding place for provisions and effects. It is derived from the French\nword _cacher_, to conceal, and originated among the early colonists of\nCanada and Louisiana; but the secret depository which it designates was\nin use among the aboriginals long before the intrusion of the white men.\nIt is, in fact, the only mode that migratory hordes have of preserving\ntheir valuables from robbery, during their long absences from their\nvillages or accustomed haunts on hunting expeditions, or during the\nvicissitudes of war. The utmost skill and caution are required to render\nthese places of concealment invisible to the lynx eye of an Indian.\n\nThe first care is to seek out a proper situation, which is generally\nsome dry low bank of clay, on the margin of a water course. As soon as\nthe precise spot is pitched upon, blankets, saddle-cloths, and other\ncoverings are spread over the surrounding grass and bushes, to prevent\nfoot tracks, or any other derangement; and as few hands as possible are\nemployed. A circle of about two feet in diameter is then nicely cut in\nthe sod, which is carefully removed, with the loose soil immediately\nbeneath it, and laid aside in a place where it will be safe from any\nthing that may change its appearance. The uncovered area is then digged\nperpendicularly to the depth of about three feet, and is then gradually\nwidened so as to form a conical chamber six or seven feet deep.\n\nThe whole of the earth displaced by this process, being of a different\ncolor from that on the surface, is handed up in a vessel, and heaped\ninto a skin or cloth, in which it is conveyed to the stream and thrown\ninto the midst of the current, that it may be entirely carried off.\nShould the cache not be formed in the vicinity of a stream, the earth\nthus thrown up is carried to a distance, and scattered in such a manner\nas not to leave the minutest trace. The cave being formed, is well lined\nwith dry grass, bark, sticks, and poles, and occasionally a dried hide.\nThe property intended to be hidden is then laid in, after having been\nwell aired: a hide is spread over it, and dried grass, brush, and stones\nthrown in, and trampled down until the pit is filled to the neck. The\nloose soil which had been put aside is then brought, and rammed down\nfirmly, to prevent its caving in, and is frequently sprinkled with water\nto destroy the scent, lest the wolves and bears should be attracted to\nthe place, and root up the concealed treasure.\n\nWhen the neck of the cache is nearly level with the surrounding surface,\nthe sod is again fitted in with the utmost exactness, and any bushes,\nstocks, or stones, that may have originally been about the spot, are\nrestored to their former places. The blankets and other coverings are\nthen removed from the surrounding herbage: all tracks are obliterated:\nthe grass is gently raised by the hand to its natural position, and the\nminutest chip or straw is scrupulously gleaned up and thrown into the\nstream. After all is done, the place is abandoned for the night, and,\nif all be right next morning, is not visited again, until there be a\nnecessity for reopening the cache. Four men are sufficient in this way,\nto conceal the amount of three tons weight of merchandize in the course\nof two days.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\n\nCarson had passed the autumn and winter with his family, in the society\nof old companions, amid various incidents amusing to the reader if they\nwere detailed, because so unlike the style of life to which he has been\naccustomed, the particulars of which we must however leave to his\nimagination, aiding it by some general description of the customs of the\ncountry and locality.\n\nThe town of Taos is the second in size in New Mexico, (Santa Fe claiming\nof right to be first,) with very little regard to beauty in its\nconstruction, the houses being huddled upon narrow streets, except in\nthe immediate vicinity of the _plaza_, on which are located the church\nand the better class of houses; and where, as in all Mexican towns, the\nmarketing is carried on. It is situated in the centre of the valley of\nTaos, which is about thirty miles long, and fifteen broad, and\nsurrounded by mountains, upon whose tops snow lies during the greater\npart of the year.\n\nThe valley appears to be a plain, but is intersected by many ravines,\nwhich flow into the Rio Grande on its western side. There is no timber,\nbut in the mountains it is abundant, and of excellent quality. The\npopulation in the whole valley numbers scarcely more than ten thousand,\nand as their farming operations require but a portion of the soil, the\nlarger part of the land is still wild, and grazed only by horses,\ncattle, and sheep, which are raised in large numbers.\n\nThey are obliged to expend much labor upon their crops, as the climate\nis too dry to mature them without irrigation; and yet in their community\nof interest, in a country without fences, they find much satisfaction in\nrendering kind offices to each other; and social life is more cultivated\nthan in communities whose interests are more separate. The high\naltitude, and dryness of the atmosphere, render the climate exceedingly\nhealthful, rather severe in winter, but very mild and salubrious in\nsummer, so that disease is scarcely known in the valley.\n\nThe dress of the people has changed very much since the population\nbecame partially Americanized, so that often the buckskin pants have\ngiven place to cloth, and the blanket to the coat, and the moccasin to\nthe leathern shoe, and the dress of the women has undergone as great a\nchange. They are learning to employ American implements for agriculture,\ninstead of the rude Egyptian yoke fastened to the horns of the oxen; and\nthe plough composed of a single hooked piece of timber, and the axe that\nmore resembles a pick, than the axe of the American woodsman; and the\ncart, whose wheels are pieces sawed from the butt end of a log, with a\nhole bored for the axle, whose squeaking can be heard for miles, and\nwhich are themselves a sufficient burden without any loading. Their diet\nis simple, as it is with all Mexicans, consisting of the products of the\nlocality, with game, which is always to be included in a bill of fare\nsuch as Carson would furnish; corn, and wheat, and peas, beans, eggs,\npumpkins, and apples, pears, peaches, plums, and grapes, constitute the\nprincipal products of their culture. Their great source of enjoyment is\ndancing, and the fandango is so much an institution in a town of the\nsize of Taos, that, during the winter, scarcely a night passes without a\ndance. This is doubtless familiar to the reader, as the acquisition of\nCalifornia has introduced a knowledge of the customs of its natives to\nevery eastern household.\n\nIn the spring of 1845, Carson had decided to commence the business of\nfarming at Taos, and had made the necessary arrangements for building a\nhouse, and for stocking and planting, when an express arrived from Col.\nFremont, bringing despatches to remind him of his promise to join a\nthird exploring expedition, in case he should ever undertake another,\nand to designate the place where he would meet the party Fremont was\norganising.\n\nBefore parting with Fremont in the previous summer, Fremont had secured\nthe promise from Carson, that he would again be his guide and companion,\nshould he ever undertake another expedition; but Carson was not\nexpecting its execution at this time, and yet, though it would entail\nsevere loss on him to make a hasty sale of his possessions, and arrange\nfor leaving his family, he felt bound by his promise, as well as by his\nattachment to Fremont, and at once closing up his business, together\nwith an old friend by the name of Owens, who had become, as it were, a\npartner with him in his enterprise of farming, they having been old\ntrapping friends, they repaired together to the point designated for\njoining the exploring party, upon the upper Arkansas, at Bent's Fort,\nwhere they had last parted from Fremont.\n\nThe meeting was mutually satisfactory, and with Fremont were Maxwell, an\nold and well-tried friend, and a Mr. Walker, who had been in Captain\nBonneville's expedition to the Columbia, and in other trapping parties\nin California and vicinity, so that with other mountain men, whose names\nare less known, but every man of whom was Carson's friend, Fremont's\ncorps was more efficient for the present service, than it had been in\neither of the former expeditions.\n\nAfter some months spent in examining the head-waters of the great rivers\nwhich flow to either ocean, the party descended at the beginning of\nwinter to the Great Salt Lake, and in October encamped on its\nsouthwestern shore, in view of that undescribed country which at that\ntime had not been penetrated, and which vague and contradictory reports\nof Indians represented as a desert without grass or water.\n\nTheir previous visit to the lake had given it a somewhat familiar\naspect, and on leaving it they felt as if about to commence their\njourney anew. Its eastern shore was frequented by large bands of\nIndians, but here they had dwindled down to a single family, which was\ngleaning from some hidden source, enough to support life, and drinking\nthe salt water of a little stream near by, no fresh water being at hand.\nThis offered scanty encouragement as to what they might expect on the\ndesert beyond.\n\nAt its threshold and immediately before them was a naked plain of smooth\nclay surface, mostly devoid of vegetation--the hazy weather of the\nsummer hung over it, and in the distance rose scattered, low, black and\ndry-looking mountains. At what appeared to be fifty miles or more, a\nhigher peak held out some promise of wood and water, and towards this it\nwas resolved to direct their course.\n\nFour men, with a pack animal loaded with water for two days, and\naccompanied by a naked Indian--who volunteered for a reward to be their\nguide to a spot where he said there was grass and fine springs--were\nsent forward to explore in advance for a foothold, and verify the\nexistence of water before the whole party should be launched into the\ndesert. Their way led toward the high peak of the mountain, on which\nthey were to make a smoke signal in the event of finding water. About\nsunset of the second day, no signal having been seen, Fremont became\nuneasy at the absence of his men, and set out with the whole party upon\ntheir trail, traveling rapidly all the night. Towards morning one of the\nscouts was met returning.\n\nThe Indian had been found to know less than themselves, and had been\nsent back, but the men had pushed on to the mountains, where they found\na running stream, with wood and sufficient grass. The whole party now\nlay down to rest, and the next day, after a hard march, reached the\nstream. The distance across the plain was nearly seventy miles, and they\ncalled the mountain which had guided them Pilot Peak. This was their\nfirst day's march and their first camp in the desert.\n\nA few days afterwards the expedition was divided into two parties--the\nlarger one under the guidance of Walker, a well-known mountaineer and\nexperienced traveler, going around to the foot of the Sierra Nevada by a\ncircuitous route which he had previously traveled, and Fremont, with ten\nmen, Delawares and whites, penetrated directly through the heart of the\ndesert.\n\nSome days after this separation, Fremont's party, led by Carson, while\ntraveling along the foot of a mountain, the arid country covered with\ndwarf shrubs, discovered a volume of smoke rising from a ravine. Riding\ncautiously up, they discovered a single Indian on the border of a small\ncreek. He was standing before a little fire, naked as he was born,\napparently thinking, and looking at a small earthen pot which was\nsimmering over the fire, filled with the common ground-squirrel of the\ncountry. Another bunch of squirrels lay near it, and close by were his\nbow and arrows. He was a well-made, good-looking young man, about\ntwenty-five years of age. Although so taken by surprise that he made no\nattempt to escape, and evidently greatly alarmed, he received his\nvisitors with forced gaiety, and offered them part of his _pot au feu_\nand his bunch of squirrels. He was kindly treated and some little\npresents made him, and the party continued their way.\n\nHis bow was handsomely made, and the arrows, of which there were about\nforty in his quiver, were neatly feathered, and headed with obsidian,\nworked into spear-shape by patient labor.\n\nAfter they had separated, Fremont found that his Delawares had taken a\nfancy to the Indian's bow and arrows, and carried them off. They carried\nthem willingly back, when they were reminded that they had exposed the\npoor fellow to almost certain starvation by depriving him, in the\nbeginning of winter, of his only means of subsistence, which it would\nrequire months to replace.\n\nOne day the party had reached one of the lakes lying along the foot of\nthe Sierra Nevada, which was their appointed rendezvous with their\nfriends, and where, at this season, the scattered Indians of the\nneighborhood were gathering, to fish. Turning a point on the lake shore,\na party of Indians, some twelve or fourteen in number, came abruptly in\nview. They were advancing along in Indian file, one following the other,\ntheir heads bent forward, with eyes fixed on the ground. As the two\nparties met, the Indians did not turn their heads or raise their eyes\nfrom the ground, but passed silently along. The whites, habituated to\nthe chances of savage life, and always uncertain whether they should\nfind friends or foes in those they met, fell readily into their humor,\nand they too passed on their way without word or halt.\n\nIt was a strange meeting: two parties of such different races and\ndifferent countries, coming abruptly upon each other, with every\noccasion to excite curiosity and provoke question, pass in a desert\nwithout a word of inquiry or a single remark on either side, or without\nany show of hostility.\n\nWalker's party joined Fremont at the appointed rendezvous, at the point\nwhere Walker's river discharges itself into the lake, but it was now\nmid-winter, they were out of provisions--and there was no guide. The\nheavy snows might be daily expected to block up the passes in the great\nSierra, if they had not already fallen, and with all their experience it\nwas considered too hazardous to attempt the passage with the _materiel_\nof a whole party; it was arranged therefore that Walker should continue\nwith the main party southward along the Sierra, and enter the valley of\nthe San Joaquin by some one of the low passes at its head, where there\nis rarely or never snow. Fremont undertook, with a few men, to cross\ndirectly westward over the Sierra Nevada to Sutter's Fort, with the view\nof obtaining there the necessary supplies of horses and beef cattle with\nwhich to rejoin his party.\n\nAfter some days' travel, leaving the Mercedes River, they had entered\namong the foothills of the mountains, and were journeying through a\nbeautiful country of undulating upland, openly timbered with oaks,\nprincipally evergreen, and watered with small streams.\n\nTraveling along, they came suddenly upon broad and deeply-worn trails,\nwhich had been freshly traveled by large bands of horses, apparently\ncoming from the settlements on the coast. These and other indications\nwarned them that they were approaching villages of the Horse-Thief\nIndians, who appeared to have just returned from a successful foray.\nWith the breaking up of the missions, many of the Indians had returned\nto their tribes in the mountains. Their knowledge of the Spanish\nlanguage, and familiarity with the ranches and towns, enabled them to\npass and repass, at pleasure, between their villages in the Sierra and\nthe ranches on the coast. They very soon availed themselves of these\nfacilities to steal and run off into the mountains bands of horses, and\nin a short time it became the occupation of all the Indians inhabiting\nthe southern Sierra Nevada, as well as the plains beyond.\n\nThree or four parties would be sent at a time from different villages,\nand every week was signalized by the carrying-off of hundreds of horses,\nto be killed and eaten in the interior. Repeated expeditions had been\nmade against them by the Californians, who rarely succeeded in reaching\nthe foot of the mountains, and were invariably defeated when they did.\n\nAs soon as this fresh trail had been discovered, four men, two Delawares\nwith Maxwell and Dick Owens, two of Fremont's favorite men, were sent\nforward upon the trail. The rest of the party had followed along at\ntheir usual gait, but Indian signs became so thick, trail after trail\njoining on, that they started rapidly after the men, fearing for their\nsafety. After a few miles ride, they reached a spot which had been the\nrecent camping ground of a village, and where abundant grass and good\nwater suggested a halting place for the night, and they immediately set\nabout unpacking their animals and preparing to encamp.\n\nWhile thus engaged, they heard what seemed to be the barking of many\ndogs, coming apparently from a village, not far distant; but they had\nhardly thrown off their saddles when they suddenly became aware that it\nwas the noise of women and children shouting and crying; and this was\nsufficient notice that the men who had been sent ahead had fallen among\nunfriendly Indians, so that a fight had already commenced.\n\nIt did not need an instant to throw the saddles on again, and leaving\nfour men to guard the camp, Fremont, with the rest, rode off in the\ndirection of the sounds.\n\nThey had galloped but half a mile, when crossing a little ridge, they\ncame abruptly in view of several hundred Indians advancing on each side\nof a knoll, on the top of which were the men, where a cluster of trees\nand rocks made a good defence. It was evident that they had come\nsuddenly into the midst of the Indian village, and jumping from their\nhorses, with the instinctive skill of old hunters and mountaineers as\nthey were, had got into an admirable place to fight from.\n\nThe Indians had nearly surrounded the knoll, and were about getting\npossession of the horses, as Fremont's party came in view. Their welcome\nshout as they charged up the hill, was answered by the yell of the\nDelawares as they dashed down to recover their animals, and the crack of\nOwens' and Maxwell's rifles. Owens had singled out the foremost Indian\nwho went headlong down the hill, to steal horses no more.\n\nProfiting by the first surprise of the Indians, and anxious for the\nsafety of the men who had been left in camp, the whites immediately\nretreated towards it, checking the Indians with occasional rifle shots,\nwith the range of which it seemed remarkable that they were acquainted.\n\nThe whole camp were on guard until daylight. As soon as it was dark,\neach man crept to his post. They heard the women and children retreating\ntowards the mountains, but nothing disturbed the quiet of the camp,\nexcept when one of the Delawares shot at a wolf as it jumped over a log,\nand which he mistook for an Indian. As soon as it grew light they took\nto the most open ground, and retreated into the plain.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\n\nThe record of Fremont and Carson's journey through this region of\ncountry, already so thoroughly explored at such great hazard, and\naccompanied with such unheard-of sufferings, would be but a repetition\nof what has already been written, for they were again driven to mule\nmeat, or whatever else chance or Providence might throw in their way, to\nsustain life. In every need--in every peril--in every quarter where\ncoolness, sagacity, and skill were most required, Carson was ever first,\nand his conduct throughout cemented, if possible, more firmly the\nfriendship between him and his young commander.\n\nThey reached, at last, Sutter's Fort, where they were received with the\nhospitality which has made Mr. Sutter's name proverbial; and leaving his\nparty to recruit there, Fremont pushed on towards Monterey, to make\nknown to the authorities there the condition of his party, and obtained\npermission to recruit and procure the supplies necessary for the\nprosecution of his exploration.\n\nJourneying in the security of this permission, he was suddenly arrested\nin his march, near Monterey, by an officer at the head of a body of\ncavalry, who bore him a violent message from the commanding officer in\nCalifornia--Gen. Castro--commanding him to retire instantly from the\ncountry.\n\nThere was now no alternative but to put himself on the defensive, as he\nhad come to the country for an entirely peaceable purpose, and it was\nnot in the blood of Americans to submit to dictation. The direction of\ntravel was therefore changed; a strong point was selected and fortified\nas thoroughly as could be with the means at their command, which work\nwas hardly completed before Gen. Castro, at the head of several hundred\nmen, arrived and established his camp within a few hundred yards and in\nsight of the exploring party, evidently under the mistaken idea that he\ncould intimidate them by his numbers.\n\nThough the Americans were but forty in number, every man had already\nseen service, and the half score of old traders and trappers, who had\nbeen leaders in many an Indian fight, made the party, small as it was,\nquite equal to that of the ten fold greater number of the Mexicans; for\nthe men, equally with their leader, were determined to maintain their\nrights, and if need be, to sacrifice their lives in defence of the cause\nof American citizens in Mexico; for in the three days during which they\nlay there encamped, expresses came in from the American citizens in\nMonterey, warning them of their danger, and announcing too, the\nprobability of a war with Mexico, and urging the propriety that every\nAmerican should unite in a common defence against the Mexican\nauthorities.\n\nAt the end of three days the council which Fremont now called, agreed\nwith him, that the Mexican General had no intention of attacking them,\nand that it was the more prudent course to break up camp, push on to the\nSacramento River, and endeavor at Lawson's trading post to obtain the\nneeded outfit for their return homeward through Oregon, as further\nexploration in southern California seemed out of the question; and\nbecause, as an officer in the United States service, Fremont felt he\ncould not commence, or willingly court hostility with the Mexican\nauthorities--besides, all the American residents in the country were\nequally in peril; and if the event of war pressed upon them,\npreparation was needed, and should be made at once.\n\nIn council Fremont found Carson ready for such, as for every emergency;\nand, around the camp fires, where the subject was discussed, every man\nwas ready for the affray; and while willing to retire and wait the\ncommand of the leader evinced no disposition to avoid it.\n\nThe party remained ten days at Lawson's post, when information was\nbrought that the Indians were in arms at the instigation of the\nMexicans, as it was supposed, and were advancing to destroy the post,\nand any other American settlement; and it was soon rumored that a\nthousand warriors were collected, and on their way to aid in this\npurpose. The time had now come for action, and, with five men from the\npost, Captain Fremont and his command, with Carson for his Lieutenant,\nby choice of the party, as well as of its leader, took up their march\nagainst the savages, in aid of their countrymen.\n\nThey had no difficulty in finding the Indian war party, and immediately\nmade the attack, which was responded to with vigor by the Indians, and\ncontested bravely; but, of course, with inability to conquer. The red\nmen were defeated with terrible slaughter, and learned here the lesson\nnot forgotten for many years, that it was useless to measure their\nstrength with white men.\n\nCarson was, of course, as was his invariable custom, in the thickest of\nthe fight, and when it was over, and the Indians had retired, cowed and\ndefeated, ventured the opinion that they had received a lesson which\nwould not be required to be repeated in many years.\n\nThis victory won, and present danger from these Indians thus avoided,\nthe party returned to Lawson's post, where, having completed their\noutfit, they turned their backs on Mexican possessions, and started\nnorthward, Fremont looking to Oregon as the field of his future\noperations, intending to explore a new route to the Wah-lah-math\nsettlements.\n\nWhile on that journey, Carson being as ever his guide, companion, and\nfriend, the party was suddenly surprised by the appearance of two white\nmen, who, as all knew from experience, must have incurred the greatest\nperils and hazards to reach that spot.\n\nThey proved to be two of Mr. Fremont's old _voyageurs_, and quickly told\ntheir story. They were part of a guard of six men conducting a United\nStates officer, who was on his trail with despatches from Washington,\nand whom they had left two days back, while they came on to give notice\nof his approach, and to ask that assistance might be sent him. They\nthemselves had only escaped the Indians by the swiftness of their\nhorses. It was a case in which there was no time to be lost, nor a\nmistake made. Mr. Fremont determined to go himself; and taking ten\npicked men, Carson of course accompanying him, he rode down the western\nshore of the lake on the morning of the 9th, (the direction the officer\nwas to come,) and made a journey of sixty miles without a halt. But to\nmeet men, and not to miss them, was the difficult point in this\ntrackless region. It was not the case of a high road, where all\ntravelers must meet in passing each other: at intervals there were\nplaces--defiles, or camping grounds--where both parties might pass; and\nwatching for these, he came to one in the afternoon, and decided that,\nif the party was not killed, it must be there that night. He halted and\nencamped; and, as the sun was going down, had the inexpressible\nsatisfaction to see the four men approaching. The officer proved to be\nLieutenant Gillespie, of the United States marines, who had been\ndespatched from Washington the November previous, to make his way by\nVera Cruz, the City of Mexico, and Mazatlan, to Monterey, in Upper\nCalifornia, deliver despatches to the United States consul there; and\nthen find Mr. Fremont, wherever he should be.\n\nCarson, in a letter to the Washington Union in June 1847, thus describes\nthe interview, and the events consequent upon it:\n\n\"Mr. Gillespie had brought the Colonel letters from home--the first he\nhad had since leaving the States the year before--and he was up, and\nkept a large fire burning until after midnight; the rest of us were\ntired out, and all went to sleep. This was the only night in all our\ntravels, except the one night on the island in the Salt Lake, that we\nfailed to keep guard; and as the men were so tired, and we expected no\nattack now that we had sixteen in the party, the Colonel didn't like to\nask it of them, but sat up late himself. Owens and I were sleeping\ntogether, and we were waked at the same time by the licks of the axe\nthat killed our men. At first, I didn't know it was that; but I called\nto Basil, who was on that side--'What's the matter there?--What's that\nfuss about?'--he never answered, for he was dead then, poor fellow, and\nhe never knew what killed him--his head had been cut in, in his sleep;\nthe other groaned a little as he died. The Delawares (we had four with\nus) were sleeping at that fire, and they sprang up as the Tlamaths\ncharged them. One of them caught up a gun, which was unloaded; but,\nalthough he could do no execution, he kept them at bay, fighting like a\nsoldier, and didn't give up until he was shot full of arrows--three\nentering his heart; he died bravely. As soon as I had called out, I saw\nit was Indians in the camp, and I and Owens together cried out\n'Indians.' There were no orders given; things went on too fast, and the\nColonel had men with him that didn't need to be told their duty. The\nColonel and I, Maxwell, Owens, Godey, and Stepp, jumped together, we\nsix, and ran to the assistance of our Delawares. I don't know who fired\nand who didn't; but I think it was Stepp's shot that killed the Tlamath\nchief; for it was at the crack of Stepp's gun that he fell. He had an\nEnglish half-axe slung to his wrist by a cord, and there were forty\narrows left in his quiver--the most beautiful and warlike arrows I ever\nsaw. He must have been the bravest man among them, from the way he was\narmed, and judging by his cap. When the Tlamaths saw him fall, they ran;\nbut we lay, every man with his rifle cocked, until daylight, expecting\nanother attack.\n\n\"In the morning we found by the tracks that from fifteen to twenty of\nthe Tlamaths had attacked us. They had killed three of our men, and\nwounded one of the Delawares, who scalped the chief, whom we left where\nhe fell. Our dead men we carried on mules; but, after going about ten\nmiles, we found it impossible to get them any farther through the thick\ntimber, and finding a secret place, we buried them under logs and\nchunks, having no way to dig a grave. It was only a few days before this\nfight that some of these same Indians had come into our camp; and,\nalthough we had only meat for two days, and felt sure that we should\nhave to eat mules for ten or fifteen days to come, the Colonel divided\nwith them, and even had a mule unpacked to give them some tobacco and\nknives.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\n\nThose who have not been in similar dangers cannot properly appreciate\nthe feelings of the survivors, as they watched with their dead and\nperformed for them the last sad rites. Fremont had lost Lajeunesse, whom\nthey all loved, and the other two, Crane and the Delaware Indian, were\nnot less brave than he. The Indians had watched for Lieutenant\nGillespie, but in Fremont's coming up, while three were taken, more were\nsaved, and the benefit to the country, and perhaps the safety to\nFremont's whole force was secured by the receipt of the dispatches, and\nthis early rencontre. None had apprehended danger that night, being, as\nthey erroneously supposed, far removed from the Tlamath country, and\nequally far from the point where they already had encountered and\ndefeated the red men. The Indians never again found Fremont's party off\nguard, for the events of this night proved a serious and melancholy, as\nwell as a sufficient lesson. That they cherished revenge, is not to be\nwondered at, nor that they vowed to seek it at the earliest opportunity,\nas it was now known that war had been declared with Mexico, for such was\nthe tenor of Lieut. Gillespie's information. Fremont determined to\nreturn to California, and choosing to give his men a chance for revenge\nbefore doing so, he traveled around Tlamath lake, and, camping at a spot\nnearly opposite where his three men had been killed, the next morning\nsent Carson on in advance, with ten chosen men, and with instructions\nthat, if he discovered a large Indian village, without being seen\nhimself, he should send back word, and that he would hasten on with the\nrest of the party and give them battle; but if this could not be done,\nto attack the village himself, if he thought the chances were equal.\n\nOf course Carson and his men were parties to this advice, choosing the\nsituation of danger because only in that way could they revenge the\ndeath of their comrades.\n\nThey were not long in finding a trail, which they followed to a village\nof fifty lodges, in each of which were probably three warriors. The\nvillage was in commotion, which indicated that they had discovered\nCarson and his party; so that no time could be lost, and Carson and his\ncomrades at once determined to take advantage of the confusion in which\nthe Indian camp seemed to be, by making a sudden charge.\n\nThe Indians had their families to defend, and were brave in proportion\nas that motive is an incentive to activity, therefore the attack of the\nwhite men was received and met with desperation. But a panic of fear\nseized them, owing to the suddenness of the attack, and they fled,\nleaving behind them all their possessions, while the victors pursued and\nshot them down without mercy, and when the victory was declared complete\nby their leader Carson, they returned to the richly-stored village. In\nall their travels and adventures, they had never seen an Indian village\nin which the lodges were more tasteful in their workmanship and their\ndecorations, or which were better supplied with utensils of convenience.\nThe wigwams were woven of the broad leaves of a kind of flag which was\nhighly combustible. Carson therefore ordered that they should be burned,\nhaving first visited them to see that their contents were so arranged as\nto be consumed in the conflagration. The work was completed in a few\nmoments and Fremont, seeing the smoke, knew that Carson was engaged\nwith the Indians, and hastened forward to render him any needed\nassistance. But he arrived only to hear the report of his lieutenant,\nand to have the gloom of the whole party dispelled by the news of the\nvictory accomplished; and to move on a little for an encampment, and a\ntalk in regard to their future operations.\n\nThe next day all started for the valley of the Sacramento, and were four\ndays out from their camp when they came to a point on the river where it\npasses through a deep canyon, through which the trail would take them,\nbut Carson advised to avoid this gorge, and they were wise in doing so,\nas Tlamath Indians were concealed there, intending to cut off the party\nof white men. Disappointed that they had lost their prey, the Indians\ncame out from this ambush, and were immediately dispersed by Carson and\nGodey, and a few others, who made a charge upon them. But one old\nIndian, inspired probably by revenge for some friend lost, stood his\nground, and with several arrows in his mouth waited the attack he\ncourted. Carson and Godey advanced, and when within shooting distance,\nwere obliged to dodge rapidly to avoid the arrows leveled at them. The\nIndian was behind a tree, and only by cautiously advancing while\ndodging the death he was sending from his bow, did Carson gain a\nposition where he was able to aim a bullet at his heart. The beautiful\nbow and still unexhausted quiver that Carson took from this Indian, he\npresented to Lieutenant Gillespie on his return to camp.\n\nThey were in a locality where game was scarce, not being able to find\nany, the whole party went supperless that night and breakfastless next\nmorning, but the next day they found some game, and came, after severe\ntraveling for some days longer, safely in to Peter Lawson's Fort, where\nthey rested and hunted a week, and then moved lower down on the\nSacramento, and again camped. But his men were restless from inactivity,\nand Fremont decided it was no longer wise to wait for positive\ninstructions, as the war was probably commenced; he therefore sent a\npart of his force to take the little town and fort at Sonoma, which had\nbut a weak garrison. They captured General Vallejos here, with two\ncaptains and several cannon, and a quantity of arms. The whole force\nunited at Sonoma, and learning that the Mexicans and Americans in the\nsouth were engaged in open hostility, Fremont was preparing to join\nthem, calling in all the Americans in the vicinity to come to his\ncommand, when a large Mexican force, dispatched by General Castro from\nSan Francisco, with orders to drive the Americans out of the country,\ncame into the vicinity, and took prisoners and killed two men, whom\nFremont had sent out as messengers to the American settlers, to inform\nthem that Sonoma was taken, and that they could fly thither for safety.\n\nThe captain of this party of Mexicans, hearing that Fremont and his\nforces were anxious to attack him, lost all courage and fled, to be\npursued by the party of explorers, who followed them closely for six\ndays, and captured many horses which they had abandoned in their fright.\nBut finding they could not overtake them, Fremont returned to Sonoma,\nand the party of Mexicans continued their march to Los Angelos, where\nGeneral Castro joined them.\n\nAround Fremont's party, the American citizens now rallied in great\nnumbers--nearly all who were in the country--knowing that their time to\naid in its emancipation had arrived. Fremont left a strong garrison at\nSonoma, and went to Sutter's Fort, where he left his prisoners, General\nVallejos and the two captains, and an American, a brother-in-law of\nGeneral Vallejos, and having put the fort under military rules, with\nall his mountain men, started to take possession of Monterey. But he had\nbeen anticipated in this work by Commodore Sloat, who was in port with\nthe American squadron, and who left soon after Fremont's arrival,\nCommodore Stockton assuming the command.\n\nWhile at Sonoma, Fremont and his mountain men, with the American\nsettlers, had declared the Independence of California, and assumed the\nBear Flag, which he gallantly tendered to Commodore Sloat, and the flag\nof the United States was hoisted over his camp.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\n\nWith Carson as his constant adviser, as he was now his acknowledged\nfriend, Fremont here obtained the use of the ship Cyanne, to convey\nhimself and his command to San Diego, where they hoped to be able to\nobtain animals, and march upon the Mexicans under General Castro, who\nwas then at Los Angelos, leaving their own for the use of Commodore\nStockton and his marines, who were to meet them at that place.\n\nWith the Americans who joined him at San Diego, all of them pioneers of\nthe true stamp, inured to hardships, hard fare, and Indian fights,\nFremont's command numbered one hundred and fifty men, who started for\nLos Angelos, with perfect confidence in their own success, though the\nforce of the enemy was seven or eight hundred.\n\nFremont camped a league from this beautiful town, to await the arrival\nof the Commodore, who soon joined him, with \"as fine a body of men as I\never looked upon,\" to quote Carson's own words, and the forces thus\nunited, marched at once upon Los Angelos, which they found deserted, as\nGeneral Castro dared not risk a battle with such men as he knew Fremont\ncommanded.\n\nAfter this, Fremont was appointed Governor of California by Commodore\nStockton, and returned to Monterey and the northern portion of the\ncountry, while the Commodore went to San Diego, as that was a better\nport than San Pedro, the port of Los Angelos; and General Castro\nreturned to the possession of Los Angelos.\n\nMeantime, Carson, with a force of fifteen men, was dispatched to make\nthe overland journey to Washington, as the bearer of important\ndispatches. He was instructed to make the journey in sixty days if\npossible, which he felt sure of being able to accomplish, though no one\nknew, better than he did, the difficulties he might expect to encounter.\n\nWhen two days out from the copper mines of New Mexico, he came suddenly\nupon a village of Apache Indians, which his quick wit enabled him to\nelude. He rode forward in his path, as if unmindful of their presence,\nand halted in a wood a few yards from the village, which seemed to\ndisconcert the inhabitants, unused to being approached with so much\nboldness, as they had never been treated in that manner by the Mexicans.\nHe here demanded a parley, which was granted, and he told them that his\nparty were simply travelers on the road to New Mexico, and that they had\ncome to their village for an exchange of animals, as theirs were nearly\nexhausted.\n\nThe Indians were satisfied with his explanation; and Carson, choosing as\nhis camping-ground a suitable spot for defense, traded with the Apaches\nto advantage, and at an early hour on the following morning resumed his\njourney, glad to be thus easily rid of such treacherous, thieving\nrascals. A few more days of travel brought him to the Mexican\nsettlements, and near to his own home and family. The party had been,\nfor some time, short of provisions, as their haste in traveling did not\nallow them to stop to hunt, and on the route--desert much of the\nway--there had been little game; and now, with only a little corn which\nthey ate parched, they were glad of relief, which Carson readily\nobtained from friends at the first ranche he entered; for though the\ncountry was at war with the United States, Carson was a Mexican as much\nas an American, having chosen their country for his home, and taken a\nwife from their people. He was pursuing his course towards Taos, when,\nacross a broad prairie, he espied a speck moving towards him, which his\neagle eye soon discerned could not belong to the country. As it neared\nhim, and its form became visible, hastening on, he met an expedition\nsent out by the United States Government to operate in California, under\nthe command of General Kearney, to which officer he lost no time in\npresenting himself, and narrated to him his errand, and the state of\naffairs in California, with the most graphic fidelity. Kearney was\nextremely glad to meet him, and after detaining him as long as Carson\nthought it wise to remain, proposed to Carson to return with him, while\nhe should send the dispatches to Washington by Mr. Fitzpatrick--with\nwhom Carson had a familiar acquaintance; and knowing how almost\ninvaluable his services would be to General Kearney, Carson gave the\nready answer, \"As the General pleases,\" trusting entirely to his\nfidelity in the matter, and as the exchange was a self-denial to him, he\nhad no occasion to weigh the motives that might influence a man like\nGeneral Kearney in the affair of the dispatches, or the good that his\npresence with them might be to himself when he should arrive in\nWashington, but while he would have been glad to have met his family, he\ncared for the honor of having done his duty.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\n\nOn the 18th of October, Gen. Kearney took up his march from his camp\nupon the Rio Grande, having Christopher Carson for his guide, with\ninstructions to lead the party by the most direct route to California:\nand so ably did Carson fulfill this official duty, so unexpectedly\nimposed upon him, that, with their animals in good condition still, they\ncamped within the limit of California on the evening of the third of\nDecember, and the next morning advanced towards San Diego.\n\nBut the Mexicans were not unapprised of the approach of American troops,\nand spies sent out by General Castro, to meet Kearney's force, were\nsurprised and brought into camp by a scout which Carson attended.\nCompelled to give information, they said that the Mexican forces under\nits general, were planning an attack upon the Americans before they\ncould join their California allies. Carson, with the understanding he\nhad of Gen. Kearney, and his knowledge of guerrilla warfare, would have\nadvised another route, to evade the Mexican troops and avoid a battle,\nuntil the weary and newly arrived soldiery had had some rest, and the\nassistance and advice of those who knew the last movements of the\nMexicans, could make a battle more effectual with less of risk than now;\nbut General Kearney was impatient for an encounter with the stupid\nMexicans, as he deemed them, and only learned by experience that the\nCalifornians were superior to those he had known in other of the Mexican\nStates, both in courage and natural tact, and in their military order\nand discipline, as the story will fully show.\n\nHe kept on his course until he approached within fifteen miles of the\nMexican camp, where he halted, and despatched a party to reconnoitre.\nThey reported on their return, that the enemy were strongly fortified in\nan Indian village; but in making the observation the scout had been\ndiscovered and pursued back to camp.\n\nGeneral Kearney determined to make an immediate attack, and commenced\nhis march at one o'clock in the morning, with no rest that night for his\nanimals or for his men; and weary and hungry before day, when within a\nmile of Castro's camp, the advance guard of the Americans came upon the\nadvance guard of the Mexicans, which had been stationed to prevent a\nsurprise.\n\nThis Mexican guard slept in their dress, ready at a five minutes'\nwarning to mount in their saddles, which were their pillows, while their\nhorses were tied to feed close around them. The sound of the trumpet\ncommanded first a rapid trot, then a gallop, and the fifteen Americans\nunder Captain Johnson with Kit Carson, of course, for his next officer,\nhad a brisk fight with this Mexican outpost, but failed to stampede\ntheir animals, as each Mexican mounted his own horse immediately, and\nthe guard drew back into camp. Capt. Johnson and Carson were now joined\nby Capt. Moore with twenty five Americans, a force that had united with\nKearney's since he came into California, when Moore ordered an attack\nupon the centre of the Mexican force, in order to divide it, and cause\nconfusion in the Mexican ranks.\n\nThe command of forty men were within a hundred yards of the enemy, and\nCarson among the foremost, when his horse suddenly fell and threw its\nrider, who was not seriously injured; but the stock of his gun was\nshivered to splinters, and his position one of exceeding danger, as the\nwhole body of dragoons went galloping over him. When he could arise from\nthe ground, he saw a dead horseman lying near, whom he relieved of gun\nand cartridge box, and again mounting his horse, upon whose bridle he\nhad managed to retain his hold, he was speedily in the thickest of the\nfight, where the contest was becoming desperate.\n\nCapt. Johnson and several of the soldiers in the advance had already\nbeen killed, and probably only the fall of his horse had saved Carson's\nlife, but he was now able to assist Moore and his men to dislodge the\nMexicans, and oblige them to retreat. The Americans pursued them, but as\nthere were only forty in the whole of General Kearney's command who were\nmounted on horses, and the mules which were ridden by the rest had\nbecome at once unmanageable when the firing commenced, their success was\nnot complete. The horses they had were wild, having been captured by\nCapt. Davidson and Kit Carson since their arrival in California, from a\nparty of Mexicans bound for Sonora, so that even Moore's party had\nbecome scattered in the chase, and the pursuit accomplished very little.\n\nThe Mexicans immediately discovered the condition of the Americans, and\nturning back, recommenced the fight, which had been nearly a bloodless\nvictory until now, but soon became for the Americans, a terrible\nslaughter. Every moment some dragoon yielded his life to the bullet or\nthe deadly blow of an exasperated Mexican, and of the forty dragoons on\nhorses thirty were either killed or severely wounded. Captain Moore,\nwhom Carson calls, \"as brave a man as ever drew the breath of life,\" was\nalready among the killed. As fast as the American soldiers could come\nup, they joined the battle, but the Mexicans fought with a bravery\nunsurpassed, and seemed to carry all before them.\n\nGen. Kearney now drew his sword, and placed himself at the head of his\nremaining forces, and though severely wounded, attempted to again force\nthe Mexicans to retreat, while Lieutenant Davidson came up with two\nmountain howitzers; but before he could unlimber them for use, the men\nwho were working them were shot down, and the lasso, thrown with\nunerring aim, had captured the horses attached to one of them, and the\ngun was taken to the ranks of the enemy, who, for some reason, could\nnot make it go off, or the American howitzer, at the distance of three\nhundred yards, would have done execution against those who had brought\nit thousands of miles to this point, to have it turned against them;\nthough Lieutenant Davidson had nearly lost his life in the attempt to\nsave it, but to no purpose.\n\nThe Americans were now obliged to take refuge at a point of rocks that\noffered, near where they had been defeated, for they had but two\nofficers besides Carson, who were not either killed or wounded; and here\nthey waited for the Mexicans, but they did not again venture an attack.\n\nThe fighting had continued throughout the entire day; both sides were\nweary and spent, and night closed over this scene of battle, without any\npositive result to either party. Gen. Kearney must now attend to the\nwounded, and all night the camp was occupied in the sad work of burying\nits dead, and alleviating the agony of the sufferers; while, at the same\ntime, a close watch was kept for the enemy, who were constantly\nreceiving reinforcements, of Indians as well as Mexicans, from the\ncountry around. A council of war was held, which at once decided it was\nbest to advance toward San Diego in the morning, with the hope of soon\nreceiving additions to their forces. Gen. Kearney had dispatched three\nmen to San Diego, with messages to Commodore Stockton, and before the\nbattle commenced, they had come back within sight of their comrades,\nwhen they were taken prisoners by the enemy; and whether they had\nsucceeded in getting through to San Diego, Gen. Kearney did not know.\nEarly in the morning, the command was again upon its way, with the\nfollowing order of march: Carson, with twenty-five still able-bodied\nmen, formed the advance, and the remainder, a much crippled band of\nsoldiers, followed in the trail that he had made. Their march was\ncontinued all the morning, in the constant expectation of an attack from\nthe Mexicans, who were also moving on, sometimes out of sight in the\nvalleys, and sometimes seen from the neighboring hills. When the first\nopportunity occurred, Gen. Kearney demanded a parley, and arranged to\nexchange a lieutenant, whose horse had been shot from under him during\nthe battle, and who had consequently fallen into the hands of the\nAmericans, for one of the express messengers the Mexicans were\ndetaining; but it availed nothing, for the expressman stated that,\nfinding it impossible to reach San Diego, he and his companions had\nreturned, when they were captured by the Mexicans.\n\nThe Mexicans had been manoeuvering all day, and toward evening, as the\nAmericans were about going into camp by a stream of water, came down\nupon them in two divisions, making a vigorous charge. The Americans were\nobliged to retire before such vastly superior numbers, and marched in\norder to a hill a little distance off, where they halted to give the\nMexicans battle; but the latter, seeing the advantage of the position,\ndrew off to a neighboring height, where they commenced and continued a\ndeadly cannonade upon the Americans. A party of Americans was sent to\ndislodge them, which they accomplished, and the whole force of the\nAmericans went over to occupy that position, as they were compelled to\nmake a resting place somewhere, because it was no longer possible for\nthem to continue their march, with the Mexican force ready at any time\nto fall upon them. Upon this hill there was barely water enough for the\nmen, and to take the horses to the stream could not be thought of, for\nthe Mexicans would surely capture them; nor had they any food left,\nexcept as they killed and ate their mules.\n\nThe condition of the party had become extremely desperate, and the war\ncouncil that was called, discussed a variety of measures, equally\ndesperate with their condition, for immediate relief, until, when the\nrest had made their propositions, Carson again showed himself \"the right\nman in the right place,\" and when all besides were hopeless, was the\nsalvation of his party. He rose in the council and said:\n\n\"Our case _is_ a desperate one, but there is yet hope. If we stay here,\nwe are all dead men; our animals cannot last long, and the soldiers and\nmarines at San Diego do not know of our coming. But if they receive\ninformation of our position, they would hasten to our rescue. There is\nno use in thinking why or how we are here, but only of our present and\nspeedy escape. I will attempt to go through the Mexican lines, and will\nthen go to San Diego, and send relief from Commodore Stockton.\"\n\nLieutenant Beale, of the United States Navy, at once seconded Carson,\nand volunteered to accompany him.\n\nLieutenant Beale is now widely known for his valuable services to the\ncountry, and, as an explorer, he has few equals in the world.\n\nThe writer is informed that he is now deeply interested in a wagon road\nacross the country by the route he had just crossed, at the time of\nwhich we write. His life has been full of strange adventures, since he\nleft the service of the seas.\n\nGen. Kearney immediately accepted the proposal of Carson and Lieutenant\nBeale, as his only hope, and they started at once, as soon as the cover\nof darkness was hung around them. Their mission was to be one of success\nor of death to themselves, and the whole force. Carson was familiar with\nthe custom of the Mexicans, as well as the Indians, of putting their ear\nto the ground to detect any sound, and knew, therefore, the necessity of\navoiding the slightest noise. As this was not possible, wearing their\nshoes, they removed them, and putting them under their belts, crept on\nover the bushes and rocks, with the greatest caution and silence.\n\nThey discovered that the Mexicans had three rows of sentinels, whose\nbeats extended past each other, embracing the hill where Kearney and his\ncommand were held in siege. They were, doubtless, satisfied that they\ncould not be eluded. But our messengers crept on, often so near a\nsentinel as to see his figure and equipment in the darkness; and once,\nwhen within a few yards of them, one of the sentinels had dismounted\nand lighted his cigarette with his flint and steel. Kit Carson seeing\nthis, as he lay flat on the ground, had put his foot back and touched\nLieutenant Beale, a signal to be still as he was doing. The minutes the\nMexican was occupied in this way, seemed hours to our heroes, who\nexpected they were discovered; and Carson affirms that they were so\nstill he could hear Lieutenant Beale's heart pulsate, and in the agony\nof the time he lived a year. But the Mexican finally mounted his horse,\nand rode off in a contrary direction, as if he were guided by\nProvidence, to give safety to these courageous adventurers. For full two\nmiles Kit Carson and Lieutenant Beale thus worked their way along, upon\ntheir hands and knees, turning their eyes in every direction to detect\nany thing which might lead to their discovery, and having past the last\nsentinel, and left the lines sufficiently behind them, they felt an\nimmeasurable relief in once more gaining their feet.\n\nBut their shoes were gone, and in the excitement of the journey, neither\nof them had thought of their shoes since they first put them in their\nbelts; but they could speak again, and congratulate each other that the\nimminent danger was past, and thank heaven that they had been aided\nthus far. But there were still abundant difficulties, as their path was\nrough with bushes, from the necessity of avoiding the well-trodden trail\nlest they be detected; and the prickly pear covered the ground, and its\nthorns penetrated their feet at every step; and their road was\nlengthened by going around out of the direct path, though the latter\nwould have shortened their journey many a weary mile. All the day\nfollowing they pursued their journey, and on still, without cessation,\ninto the night following, for they could not stop until assured that\nrelief was to be furnished to their anxious and perilous conditioned\nfellow soldiers.\n\nCarson had pursued so straight a course, and aimed so correctly for his\nmark, that they entered the town by the most direct passage, and\nanswering \"friends\" to the challenge of the sentinel, it was known from\nwhence they came, and they were at once conducted to Commodore Stockton,\nto whom they related the errand on which they had come, and the further\nparticulars we have described.\n\nCommodore Stockton immediately detailed a force of nearly two hundred\nmen, and with his usual promptness, ordered them to seek their besieged\ncountrymen by forced marches.\n\nThey took with them a piece of ordnance, which the men were obliged to\ndraw themselves, as there were in readiness no animals to be had. Carson\ndid not return with them, as his feet were in a terrible condition, and\nhe needed to rest or he might lose them, but he described the position\nof General Kearney so accurately, that the party to relieve him would\nfind him with no difficulty; and yet, if the Commodore had expressed the\nwish, he would have undertaken to conduct the relief party upon its\nmarch.\n\nLieutenant Beale was partially deranged for several days, from the\neffects of this severe service, and was sent on board the frigate lying\nin port for medical attendance; but he did not fully recover his former\nphysical health for more than two years; but he never spoke regretfully\nof an undertaking, which was not excelled by any feat performed in the\nMexican war.\n\nThe reinforcement reached General Kearney without a collision with the\nMexicans, and very soon all marched to San Diego, where the wounded\nsoldiers received medical attendance.\n\nWe have spoken of the superiority of character of the California\nMexicans over that of the inhabitants of the other Mexican States. The\nofficials appointed at the Mexican capital for this State, were treated\ndeferentially or cavalierly, as they consulted or disregarded the wishes\nof the people, and often it happened that a Governor-General of\nCalifornia was put on board a ship at Monterey, and directed to betake\nhimself back to those who sent him.\n\nCalifornia was so remote from the headquarters of the general\ngovernment, that these things were done with impunity, for it would have\nbeen difficult to send a force into the State that could subdue it, with\nits scattered population, and if laws obnoxious to them were enacted,\nand they violated them, or expelled an official who proposed their\nenforcement, it was quietly overlooked. Managing their own affairs in\nthis way, a spirit of independence and bold daring had been cultivated,\nespecially since the time when our story of California life commenced in\nCarson's first visit to that State, nor had the intercourse with\nAmericans hitherto lessened these feelings, for the California Mexicans\nadmired the Americans, as they called them, and cultivated good\nfellowship with them generally; so that we see when the Bear Flag and\nIndependence of the State became the order under Fremont and his party,\nmany of its leading citizens came at once into the arrangement, or were\nparties in it at the first.\n\nHad the conquest and government of the country been conducted wholly by\nFremont, it would have exhibited very little expenditure of life, for\nconciliation and the cultivation of kindly feeling was the policy he\npursued; indeed, with Carson as prime counselor, whose wife at home in\nTaos owned kindred with this people as one of the same race, how could\nit have been otherwise! though as Americans and citizens of the United\nStates, in whose employ they acted, first allegiance was ever cheerfully\naccorded to their country, by Carson equally with Fremont, as the\nhistory of California most fully proves.\n\nThe United States forces at San Diego were not in condition to again\ntake the field, until a number of weeks had elapsed, when a command of\nsix hundred had been organized for the purpose of again capturing Los\nAngelos, where the Mexican forces were concentrated; and General Kearney\nand Commodore Stockton were united in conducting it, and in two days\narrived within fifteen miles of the town, near where the Mexican army,\nto the number of seven hundred, had established themselves strongly\nupon a hill beside their camp, and between whom and the Americans flowed\na stream of water.\n\nGeneral Kearney ordered two pieces of artillery planted where they would\nrake the position of the Mexicans, which soon forced them to break up\ntheir camp, when Gen. Kearney and Commodore Stockton immediately marched\ninto the town, but only to find it destitute of any military control, as\nthe Mexican army had gone northward to meet Col. Fremont, who had left\nMonterey with a force of four hundred Americans, to come to Los Angelos.\n\nThe Mexicans found Col. Fremont, and laid down their arms to him,\nprobably preferring to give him the honor of the victory rather than\nGen. Kearney, though if this was or was not the motive, history now\nsayeth not. Col. Fremont continued his march and came to Los Angelos,\nand as the fighting for the present certainly was over, he and his men\nrested here for the winter, where Carson, who had been rendering all the\naid in his power to Gen. Kearney, now gladly joined his old commander.\n\nThe position of the American forces, had the camps been harmonious, was\nas comfortable and conducive to happiness during the winter as it was\npossible for it to be, and the Mexican citizens of Los Angelos had been\nso conciliated, the time might have passed pleasantly. But, as we have\nintimated, Gen. Kearney had a general contempt for the Mexicans, and his\nposition in the camp forbade those pleasant civilities which had\ncommenced in San Diego before his arrival, and would have been\nprosecuted in Los Angelos, to the advantage of all concerned; for, as\nmany of the men in Fremont's camp were old residents of the country, and\nknown and respected by the Mexican citizens, with whom some of them had\ncontracted intimate social relations, it is not wonderful that the\nMexican officers and soldiers chose to lay down their arms to him and\nhis command. Fremont had beside, at the instigation of Carson as well as\nof his own inclination, taken every reasonable opportunity to gratify\ntheir love of social life, by joining in their assemblies as opportunity\noffered; and for this, as well as his magnanimous courage, we can\nappreciate their choice in giving him the palm of victory.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX.\n\n\nEvents transpire rapidly when a country is in a state of revolution.\nEarly in March of '46 the little party of explorers received the \"first\nhostile message\" from General Castro--the _Commandant_ General of\nCalifornia--which, though really a declaration of war, upon a party sent\nout by the United States Government on a purely scientific expedition,\nhad been received and acted upon by Fremont with moderation, and actual\nwar had not been declared until July, when Sonoma was taken, and the\nflag of Independence hoisted on the fourth of that month, and Fremont\nelected Governor of California.\n\nWhile hearing indefinitely of these events, Commodore Sloat, who, with\nthe vessels belonging to his command, was lying at Monterey, had hoisted\nthe flag of the United States over that city, anticipating any command\nto do so on the part of his government, and anticipating also the\naction of the commander of the British ship of war, sent for a similar\npurpose, which arrived at Monterey on the 19th of July, under the\ncommand of Sir George Seymour; one of whose officers, in a book\npublished by him after his return to England, describes the entrance of\nFremont and his party into Monterey as follows:\n\n\"During our stay in Monterey,\" says Mr. Walpole, \"Captain Fremont and\nhis party arrived. They naturally excited curiosity. Here were true\ntrappers, the class that produced the heroes of Fennimore Cooper's best\nworks. These men had passed years in the wilds, living upon their own\nresources; they were a curious set. A vast cloud of dust appeared first,\nand thence in long file emerged this wildest wild party. Fremont rode\nahead, a spare, active-looking man, with such an eye! He was dressed in\na blouse and leggings, and wore a felt hat. After him came five Delaware\nIndians, who were his body-guard, and have been with him through all his\nwanderings; they had charge of two baggage horses. The rest, many of\nthem blacker than the Indians, rode two and two, the rifle held by one\nhand across the pommel of the saddle. Thirty-nine of them are his\nregular men, the rest are loafers picked up lately; his original men\nare principally backwoodsmen, from the State of Tennessee and the banks\nof the upper waters of the Missouri. He has one or two with him who\nenjoy a high reputation in the prairies. Kit Carson is as well known\nthere as 'the Duke' is in Europe. The dress of these men was principally\na long loose coat of deer skin, tied with thongs in front; trowsers of\nthe same, of their own manufacture, which, when wet through, they take\noff, scrape well inside with a knife, and put on as soon as dry; the\nsaddles were of various fashions, though these and a large drove of\nhorses, and a brass field-gun, were things they had picked up about\nCalifornia. They are allowed no liquor, tea and sugar only; this, no\ndoubt, has much to do with their good conduct; and the discipline, too,\nis very strict. They were marched up to an open space on the hills near\nthe town, under some large fires, and there took up their quarters, in\nmesses of six or seven, in the open air. The Indians lay beside their\nleader. One man, a doctor, six feet six high, was an odd-looking fellow.\nMay I never come under his hands!\"\n\nCommodore Stockton had arrived the same day with Fremont and Carson and\ntheir command, and under him Fremont had been appointed General in\nChief of the California forces, with Carson for his first Lieutenant;\nStockton assuming the civil office of Governor of the country. This had\nbeen deemed a measure of necessity, from the fact that the California\nMexicans had not yet learned, from the Mexican authorities, the actual\ndeclaration of war between the United States and Mexico; and therefore\nlooked upon the operations of the Americans as the acts of adventurers\nfor their own aggrandizement; and yet, with all the intensity of feeling\nsuch ideas aroused, Fremont and Carson had won their admiration and\ntheir hearts, by the rapidity of their movements, their sudden and\neffective blows, and the effort by dispatch to avoid all cruelty and\nbloodshed as far as possible.\n\nIn this way had San Diego, San Pedro, Los Angelos, Santa Barbara, and\nthe whole country, as the Mexican authorities declared, come into the\npossession of Commodore Stockton and General Fremont, as a conquered\nterritory, taken in behalf of the United States; and the whole work been\ncompleted in about sixty days from the time the first blow was struck;\nand when all was accomplished, and the conquest complete, Carson started\nupon his errand to communicate the intelligence to the general\ngovernment at Washington; with the knowledge that all the leading\ncitizens of California, native as well as the American settlers, were\nfriendly to Fremont, and on his account to Commodore Stockton.\n\nDuring the three months of Carson's absence, events had transpired that\nmade it necessary to do this work over again, resulting in a measure\nfrom the indiscretions of American officers, which induced insurrection\non the part of the Mexicans. The arrival of General Kearney with United\nStates troops still further excited them, and produced results which\nwere everything but pleasant to Fremont and Commodore Stockton, the\ndetails of which we forbear to give, simply saying that Carson's regard\nfor Fremont showed itself by his return to his service, and doing all\nthat he could to forward his interests, and in his often attending him\nin his excursions. Fremont's command was an independent battalion; and\nconcerning the last and final contest, General Kearney thus wrote to the\nWar Department:\n\n\"This morning, Lieutenant-Colonel Fremont, of the regiment of mounted\nriflemen, reached here with four hundred volunteers from the Sacramento;\nthe enemy capitulated with him yesterday, near San Fernando, agreeing\nto lay down their arms; and we have now the prospect of having peace and\nquietness in this country, which I hope may not be interrupted again.\"\n\nIt was during Carson's absence, en route for Washington, that Fremont\naccomplished the most extraordinary feat of physical energy and\nendurance ever recorded. We find it in the \"National Intelligencer,\" of\nNovember 22, 1847, and quote it entire, as illustrating not only the\nphysical powers of human endurance produced by practice and culture, but\nthe wonderful sagacity and enduring qualities of the California horses:\n\n \"THE EXTRAORDINARY RIDE OF LIEUT. COL. FREMONT, HIS FRIEND DON\n JESUS PICO, AND HIS SERVANT, JACOB DODSON, FROM LOS ANGELOS TO\n MONTEREY AND BACK IN MARCH, 1847.\n\n\"This extraordinary ride of 800 miles in eight days, including all\nstoppages and near two days' detention--a whole day and a night at\nMonterey, and nearly two half days at San Luis Obispo--having been\nbrought into evidence before the Army Court Martial now in session in\nthis city, and great desire being expressed by some friends to know how\nthe ride was made, I herewith send you the particulars, that you may\npublish them, if you please, in the National Intelligencer, as an\nincident connected with the times and affairs under review in the trial,\nof which you give so full a report. The circumstances were first got\nfrom Jacob, afterwards revised by Col. Fremont, and I drew them up from\nhis statement.\n\n\"The publication will show, besides the horsemanship of the riders, the\npower of the California horse, especially as one of the horses was\nsubjected, in the course of the ride, to an extraordinary trial, in\norder to exhibit the capacity of his race. Of course this statement will\nmake no allusion to the objects of the journey, but be confined strictly\nto its performance.\n\n\"It was at daybreak on the morning of the 22d of March, that the party\nset out from La Ciudad de los Angelos (the city of the Angels) in the\nsouthern part of Upper California, to proceed, in the shortest time, to\nMonterey on the Pacific coast, distant full four hundred miles. The way\nis over a mountainous country, much of it uninhabited, with no other\nroad than a trace, and many defiles to pass, particularly the maritime\ndefile of _el Rincon_ or Punto Gordo, fifteen miles in extent, made by\nthe jutting of a precipitous mountain into the sea, and which can only\nbe passed when the tide is out and the sea calm, and then in many places\nthrough the waves. The towns of Santa Barbara and San Luis Obispo, and\noccasional ranches, are the principal inhabited places on the route.\nEach of the party had three horses, nine in all, to take their turns\nunder the saddle. The six loose horses ran ahead, without bridle or\nhalter, and required some attention to keep to the track. When wanted\nfor a change, say at the distance of twenty miles, they were caught by\nthe _lasso_, thrown either by Don Jesus or the servant Jacob, who,\nthough born in Washington, in his long expeditions with Col. Fremont,\nhad become as expert as a Mexican with the lasso, as sure as the\nmountaineer with the rifle, equal to either on horse or foot, and always\na lad of courage and fidelity.\n\n\"None of the horses were shod, that being a practice unknown to the\nCalifornians. The most usual gait was a sweeping gallop. The first day\nthey ran one hundred and twenty-five miles, passing the San Fernando\nmountain, the defile of the Rincon, several other mountains, and slept\nat the hospitable ranche of Don Thomas Robberis, beyond the town of\nSanta Barbara. The only fatigue complained of in this day's ride, was\nin Jacob's right arm, made tired by throwing the lasso, and using it as\na whip to keep the loose horses to the track.\n\n\"The next day they made another one hundred and twenty-five miles,\npassing the formidable mountain of Santa Barbara, and counting upon it\nthe skeletons of some fifty horses, part of near double that number\nwhich perished in the crossing of that terrible mountain by the\nCalifornia battalion, on Christmas day, 1846, amidst a raging tempest,\nand a deluge of rain and cold more killing than that of the Sierra\nNevada--the day of severest suffering, say Fremont and his men, that\nthey have ever passed. At sunset, the party stopped to sup with the\nfriendly Capt. Dana, and at nine at night San Luis Obispo was reached,\nthe home of Don Jesus, and where an affecting reception awaited\nLieutenant-Colonel Fremont, in consequence of an incident which occurred\nthere that history will one day record; and he was detained till 10\no'clock in the morning receiving the visits of the inhabitants, (mothers\nand children included,) taking a breakfast of honor, and waiting for a\nrelief of fresh horses to be brought in from the surrounding country.\nHere the nine horses from Los Angelos were left, and eight others taken\nin their place, and a Spanish boy added to the party to assist in\nmanaging the loose horses.\n\n\"Proceeding at the usual gait till eight at night, and having made some\nseventy miles, Don Jesus, who had spent the night before with his family\nand friends, and probably with but little sleep, became fatigued, and\nproposed a halt for a few hours. It was in the valley of the Salinas\n(salt river called _Buenaventura_ in the old maps,) and the haunt of\nmarauding Indians. For safety during their repose, the party turned off\nthe trace, issued through a _canyon_ into a thick wood, and laid down,\nthe horses being put to grass at a short distance, with the Spanish boy\nin the saddle to watch. Sleep, when commenced, was too sweet to be\neasily given up, and it was half way between midnight and day, when the\nsleepers were aroused by an _estampedo_ among the horses, and the calls\nof the boy. The cause of the alarm was soon found, not Indians, but\nwhite bears--this valley being their great resort, and the place where\nCol. Fremont and thirty-five of his men encountered some hundred of them\nthe summer before, killing thirty upon the ground.\n\n\"The character of these bears is well known, and the bravest hunters do\nnot like to meet them without the advantage of numbers. On discovering\nthe enemy, Col. Fremont felt for his pistols, but Don Jesus desired him\nto lie still, saying that 'people could scare bears;' and immediately\nhallooed at them in Spanish, and they went off. Sleep went off also; and\nthe recovery of the horses frightened by the bears, building a rousing\nfire, making a breakfast from the hospitable supplies of San Luis\nObispo, occupied the party till daybreak, when the journey was resumed.\nEighty miles, and the afternoon brought the party to Monterey.\n\n\"The next day, in the afternoon, the party set out on their return, and\nthe two horses rode by Col. Fremont from San Luis Obispo, being a\npresent to him from Don Jesus, he (Don Jesus) desired to make an\nexperiment of what one of them could do. They were brothers, one a grass\nyounger than the other, both of the same color, (cinnamon,) and hence\ncalled _el canalo_, or _los canalos_, (the cinnamon or the cinnamons.)\nThe elder was to be taken for the trial; and the journey commenced upon\nhim at leaving Monterey, the afternoon well advanced. Thirty miles under\nthe saddle done that evening, and the party stopped for the night. In\nthe morning, the elder canalo was again under the saddle for Col.\nFremont, and for ninety miles he carried him without a change, and\nwithout apparent fatigue. It was still thirty miles to San Luis Obispo,\nwhere the night was to be passed, and Don Jesus insisted that canalo\ncould do it, and so said the horse by his looks and action. But Col.\nFremont would not put him to the trial, and, shifting the saddle to the\nyounger brother, the elder was turned loose to run the remaining thirty\nmiles without a rider. He did so, immediately taking the lead and\nkeeping it all the way, and entering San Luis in a sweeping gallop,\nnostrils distended, snuffing the air, and neighing with exultation at\nhis return to his native pastures; his younger brother all the time at\nthe head of the horses under the saddle, bearing on his bit, and held in\nby his rider. The whole eight horses made their one hundred and twenty\nmiles each that day, (after thirty the evening before,) the elder\ncinnamon making ninety of his under the saddle that day, besides thirty\nunder the saddle the evening before; nor was there the least doubt that\nhe would have done the whole distance in the same time if he had\ncontinued under the saddle.\n\n\"After a hospitable detention of another half a day at San Luis Obispo,\nthe party set out for Los Angelos, on the same nine horses which they\nhad rode from that place, and made the ride back in about the same time\nthey had made it up, namely, at the rate of 125 miles a day.\n\n\"On this ride, the grass on the road was the food for the horses. At\nMonterey they had barley; but these horses, meaning those _trained and\ndomesticated_, as the canalos were, eat almost anything of vegetable\nfood, or even drink, that their master uses, by whom they are petted and\ncaressed, and rarely sold. Bread, fruit, sugar, coffee, and even wine,\n(like the Persian horses,) they take from the hand of their master, and\nobey with like docility his slightest intimation. A tap of the whip on\nthe saddle, springs them into action; the check of a thread rein (on the\nSpanish bit) would stop them: and stopping short at speed they do not\njostle the rider or throw him forward. They leap on anything--man,\nbeast, or weapon, on which their master directs them. But this\ndescription, so far as conduct and behavior are concerned, of course\nonly applies to the trained and domesticated horse.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX.\n\n\nDuring the autumn of 1846, Fremont had had no time to visit his Mariposa\npurchase; but in the winter, while at Los Angelos, inviting Carson and\nGodey and two of his Delaware Indians, and his constant attendant\nDobson, to take a tramp with him for hunting, in the time of sunny skies\nin February, he extended his hunt thither, and accomplished the\ndiscovery that he had a well-wooded and well-watered--for California\nwell watered--tract of land, of exceeding beauty, clothed, as it was at\nthis season, with a countless variety of flowering plants, these being\nthe grasses of the country, and seemingly well adapted for tillage,\ncertainly an excellent spot for an immense cattle ranche. They killed\ndeer and antelope and smaller game, and with the lasso captured a score\nof wild horses from a drove of hundreds that fled at their approach;\nreturning to Los Angelos within a week from the time of their\ndeparture, laden with the spoils of the chase.\n\nNor could these busy men refuse the kindly hospitalities tendered them\nby the old and wealthy natives of Los Angelos. We have described their\nstyle of life as Carson had witnessed it in 1828; and now at a ball\ngiven by Don Pio Pico--for the _fandango_ of the Mexican is a part of\nhis life, and with all his reverses of fortune it must come in for its\nplace--Carson and Fremont are of course guests, and Lieutenant\nGillespie, and some other of the American officers. As the company was a\nmixed one, we will not attempt a description, but quote from Bayard\nTaylor's California, a scene of a similar kind at the close of the\nConstitutional Convention, about two years later, when, with the\ndiscovery of gold, California had a population sufficient to demand a\nState government, and made one for herself, and prepared to knock for\nadmission into the Union of States. In this Convention were the old\nfathers of California, American army officers, and some more recent\narrivals; and well was it for California that the steps for the\norganization of her State government were taken so early, when the fact\nof Mexicans and natives having a claim was not ignored, as it might\nhave been at a later date by the reckless adventurers who thronged the\ngolden shore.\n\nBut it is only the ball at the close of the Convention we propose to\ndescribe, at which Col. Fremont and David C. Broderick were present, as\nmembers of the Convention.\n\n\"The morning Convention was short and adjourned early yesterday, on\naccount of a ball given by the Convention to the citizens of Monterey.\nThe members, by a contribution of $25 each, raised the sum of $1,100 to\nprovide for the entertainment, which was got up in return for that given\nby the citizens about four weeks since.\n\n\"The Hall was cleared of the forms and tables, and decorated with young\npines from the forest. At each end were the American colors tastefully\ndisposed across the boughs. Then chandeliers, neither of bronze or\ncut-glass, but neat and brilliant withal, poured their light upon the\nfestivities. At eight o'clock--the fashionable hour in Monterey--the\nguests began to assemble, and in an hour afterward the Hall was crowded\nwith nearly all the Californian and American residents. There were sixty\nladies present, and an equal number of gentlemen, in addition to the\nmembers of the Convention. The dark-eyed daughters of Monterey, Los\nAngelos, and Santa Barbara mingled in pleasing contrast with the fairer\nbloom of the trans-Nevadian belles. The variety of feature and\ncomplexion was fully equaled by the variety of dress. In the whirl of\nthe waltz, a plain, dark, nun-like robe would be followed by one of pink\nsatin and gauze; next, perhaps, a bodice of scarlet velvet, with gold\nbuttons, and then a rich figured brocade, such as one sees on the\nstately dames of Titian.\n\n\"The dresses of the gentlemen showed considerable variety, but were much\nless picturesque. A complete ball-dress was a happiness attained only by\na fortunate few, many appearing in borrowed robes.\n\n\"The appearance of the company, nevertheless, was genteel and\nrespectable; and perhaps the genial, unrestrained social spirit, that\npossessed all present, would have been less, had there been more\nuniformity of costume. Gen. Riley was there in full uniform, with the\nyellow sash he wore at Contreras; Mayors Canby, Hill, and Smith,\nCaptains Burton, and Kane, and the other officers stationed at Monterey,\naccompanying him. In one group might be seen Capt. Sutter's soldierly\nmustache and blue eye, in another the erect figure and quiet, dignified\nbearing of Gen. Vallejo; Don Peblo de la Guerra, with his handsome,\naristocratic features, was the floor manager, and gallantly discharged\nhis office. Conspicuous among the members were Don Miguel de Rodrazena,\nand Jacinto Rodriguez, both polished gentlemen and deservedly popular.\nDominguez, the Indian member, took no part in the dance, but evidently\nenjoyed the scene as much as any one present. The most interesting\nfigure to me, was that of Padre Remisez, who, in his clerical cassock,\nlooked on until a late hour. If the strongest advocate of priestly\ngravity and decorum had been present, he could not have found in his\nheart to grudge the good old padre the pleasure that beamed from his\nhonest countenance.\n\n\"The band consisted of two violins and two guitars, whose music made up\nin spirit what it lacked in skill. They played, as it seemed to me, but\nthree pieces alternately, for waltz, contra-dance, and quadrille. The\nlatter dance was evidently an unfamiliar one, for once or twice the\nmusic ceased in the middle of the figure. The etiquette of the dance was\nmarked by that grave, stately courtesy, which has been handed down from\nthe old Spanish times. The gentlemen invariably gave the ladies their\nhand to lead them to their places on the floor; in the pauses of the\ndance both parties stood motionless side by side, and at the conclusion\nthe lady was gravely led back to her seat.\n\n\"At twelve o'clock supper was announced. The Court room in the lower\nstory had been fitted up for the purpose, and as it was not large enough\nto admit all the guests, the ladies were first conducted thither, and\nwaited upon by a select committee. The refreshments consisted of turkey,\nroast-pig, beef, tongue, and _pates_, with wines and liquors of various\nsorts, and coffee. A large supply had been provided but after everybody\nwas served, there was not much remaining. The ladies began to leave\nabout two o'clock, but an hour later the dance was still going on with\nspirit.\"\n\nThe dance at the home of Pico, was after the same fashion--and similar\nto those we have mentioned as the constant amusement of the people at\nTaos, where Carson resided, and in all the Mexican cities.\n\nBut Carson was too valuable an aid to be long allowed to be idle. In\nMarch, 1847, he was ordered to be the bearer of important dispatches to\nthe War Department at Washington, and Lieutenant Beale was directed to\naccompany him with dispatches for the Department of the Navy. The\nlatter was still so much an invalid as to require Carson to lift him on\nand off his horse for the first twenty days of the journey, but Carson's\ngenial spirits and kindly care, with the healthful exercise of\nhorsemanship, recovered him rapidly; and the country was so well known\nto Carson, that they avoided collisions with the Indians by eluding\ntheir haunts; except once upon the Gila, when they were attacked in the\nnight, and a shower of arrows sent among them as they lay in camp, from\nwhich his men had escaped, being injured by holding their pack-saddles\nbefore them. They stopped briefly at Taos, and pursued their journey so\nrapidly that the two thousand five hundred miles on horseback, and the\nfifteen hundred by railroad, were accomplished in less than three\nmonths.\n\nThe incidents of such a journey had become every-day scenes to Carson,\nso that their narration would seem to him a waste of words on the part\nof his biographer. And yet the emotions with which he witnessed, for the\nfirst time, the monument of advancing civilization in the Eastern\ncities, and the zest with which he enjoyed the social comforts of the\nhospitality afforded him at the homes of Lieutenant Beale and Col.\nBenton, can be better imagined than described. He had taken but a small\nsupply of provisions from Los Angelos, lest it should be cumbersome to\nhim, and as the road lay often through a country destitute of game,\nthere had been fasting on the way, sometimes days together; but his\nparty, which he had selected, making their ability to endure such an\nenterprise a leading quality of commendation to him, bore all without a\nmurmur; stimulated by the one impulse, of reaching their homes and\nfriends, while Carson cared to secure the approbation of those whom he\nserved, and the consciousness of having been an honor to his country.\n\nCol. Benton met him at St. Louis, and reaching Washington, Mrs. Fremont\nwas at the depot to take him to her's and her father's home. She waited\nfor no introduction, but at once approached him, calling him by name,\nand telling him she should have known him from her husband's\ndescription. After a brief tarry in Washington, a lion himself and\nintroduced to all the lions, he departed with Lieutenant Beale for St.\nLouis, but business detained the latter who went later by sea; while\nCarson, whom President Polk had made a Lieutenant in the army, with\nfifty troops under his command to take through the Camanche country,\nagain commenced his journey across the prairies, having a battle with\nthese Indians as was expected, for they were at war with the whites.\n\nThis did not occur, however, until near the Rocky Mountains, near the\nplace called \"The Point of Rocks,\" on the Santa Fe trail, which place is\nregarded as one of the most dangerous in the New Mexican country,\nbecause affording shelter for ambush at a place where the travel has to\npass a spur of rocky hills, at whose base is found the water and camp\nground travelers seek, and where unwritten history counts many a battle.\n\nArriving here, Carson found a company of United States volunteers, and\nwent into camp near them. Early in the morning the animals of the\nvolunteer company were captured by a band of Indians, while the men were\ntaking them to a spot of fresh pasture. The herders were without arms,\nand in the confusion the cattle came into Carson's camp, who, with his\nmen, were ready with their rifles, and recaptured the cattle from the\nIndians, but the horses of the picketing party were successfully\nstampeded.\n\nSeveral of the thieves had been mortally wounded, as the signs after\ntheir departure showed, but the Indian custom of tying the wounded upon\ntheir horses, prevented taking the Indian's trophy of victory, the\nscalp, and the object of the Indians in their assaults. The success of\nthe Arab-like Camanches is well illustrated by this skirmish, giving\nbest assurance that Carson, who was never surprised in this whole\njourney, possessed that element of caution so requisite in a commander\nin such a country.\n\nOf the two soldiers whose turn it had been to stand guard this morning,\nit was found that one was sleeping when the alarm was given, and when it\nwas reported to Carson, he at once administered the Chinook method of\npunishment--the dress of a squaw--for that day, and resuming his\njourney, arrived safely in Santa Fe, where he left the soldiers, and\nhired sixteen men of his own choosing, to make with him the remainder of\nthe journey, as he had been ordered at Fort Leavenworth. To his great\njoy, his family were here to meet him, as he had requested. Upon Virgin\nRiver, he had to command the obedience of Indians who came into his camp\nand left it tardily, by firing upon them, which required some nerve and\nexperience in a leader of so small a party, while the Indians numbered\nthree hundred warriors. They arrived at Los Angelos without further\nincident than the killing and eating of two mules, to eke out their\nscanty subsistence, in the destitution of game and time to hunt it;\nwhence Carson proceeded to Monterey, to deliver his dispatches at\nheadquarters, and returned to the duty assigned him as an acting\nLieutenant in the United States Army, in the company of dragoons under\nCapt. Smith, allowing himself no time to recruit; and soon he was sent\nwith a command of twenty-five dragoons, to the Tejon Pass, to examine\nthe papers and cargoes of Indians passing this point, the route which\nmost of the Indian depredators took in passing in and out of California;\nand here he did much good service during the winter.\n\nIn the spring he again went overland to Washington with dispatches,\nmeeting no serious difficulty till he came to the Grand River, where in\nthe time of spring flood he was obliged to construct a raft, and the\nsecond load over was swamped, the men barely saving their lives, which\nrendered his party destitute of comforts in their onward journey, but\narriving at Taos he stopped with his family, and at his own home gave\nhis men a few days to recruit, and himself the luxury of intercourse\nwith his family and friends, which no one enjoys more than Christopher\nCarson.\n\nThey had encountered several hundred Indians of the Apaches and Utahs,\nwhom Carson told he had nothing to give, and upon whom the appearance of\nhis men gave assurance they would make little by attacking. At Santa Fe,\nCarson learned that his appointment as Lieutenant by the President had\nnot been confirmed by the Senate, and his friends advised him not to\ncarry the dispatches any further; but Carson was not to be deterred from\ndoing his duty because the honor he deserved was not accorded to him,\nsaying that \"as he had been selected for an important trust, he should\ndo his best to fulfill it, if it cost him his life;\" and he proceeded to\nWashington, feeling that if ill-usage had reached him in connection with\nFremont, to whom he had been of so much service, it was no more than he\nmight have expected; as, for many months past, political considerations\nand rivalries had been seen by him to govern the actions of certain men,\ninstead of a care for the best interests of the country. He had seen men\nin command of troops in the prairies who had the least possible\nknowledge of the country, and especially of Indian warfare. He would\nhave advised that frontier men be chosen for such appointments, rather\nthan those simply educated in the schools and entirely unaccustomed to\nendure privations, but if others neglected the wiser course, that was no\nreason why he should not do his duty.\n\nLearning that the Camanches were upon the Santa Fe road, several hundred\nstrong, he reduced his escort to ten choice mountain men, and determined\nupon making a trail of his own returned to Taos, and struck over to the\nhead-waters of the Platte, and past Fort Kearney to Leavenworth, where\nhe left his escort and proceeded alone to Washington, and delivering his\ndispatches as directed, returned immediately to Leavenworth, and thence\nto Taos, where he arrived in October; and was again at home and free\nfrom the burdens and responsibilities of public life, with the settled\npurpose of making a protracted stay, and providing himself with a\npermanent home.\n\nPerhaps there is no tribe of Indians besides the Seminoles in Florida,\nthat have given the United States more trouble than the Apaches, in the\ntime that we have held the claim of their country; and the best proof of\ntheir bravery may be found in the fact that the warriors nearly all die\nin battle. Living in a country as healthy as any in the world, and\nconstantly occupied in hunting buffalo, or Mexicans and whites, with\nwhom they are at war, they are exceedingly regardful of their national\nhonor, and as their mountain retreats are almost inaccessible, they have\nthe advantage of regular troops, and almost of old mountaineers, only as\nthe latter can equal them in numbers.\n\nCol. Beale was occupying this department at the time of which we write,\nand engaged in an effort to chastise the Apaches under _Clico\nVelasquez_, their exceedingly blood-thirsty and cruel chief, whose habit\nwas to adorn his dress with the finger bones of the victims he had\nslaughtered. Col. Beale took charge of the command himself, and employed\nCarson as his guide. They crossed snow mountains to search for the\nIndians, and returning came upon a village, which they attacked, and\ncaptured a large amount of goods and two of the chiefs of the tribe,\nwith whom Col. Beale had a long talk, and then dismissed to return to\ntheir tribe, hoping thus to convince them of the magnanimity of the\nUnited States Government, when the command returned to Taos to recruit\nhis troops.\n\nMeantime Carson entertained, at his own home in Taos, Fremont and his\nparty of suffering explorers, who were making a winter survey of a pass\nfor a road to California, and by taking a difficult mountain pass, had\nlost all their mules and several of their party. Science is not all\nthat is needed for such undertakings, and as labor and learning should\nact in co-partnership, to be most effective, so theoretic and practical\nskill should be associated in any effort of difficulty, as this trip of\nCol. Fremont, without an experienced mountaineer for a guide, proved to\nhim and his men, some of whom had fed upon the others who had starved.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI.\n\n\nIn the last chapter, we left Fremont in the hospitable mansion of his\nold and tried friend Carson, after one of the most extraordinary\njourneys ever performed by any man who survived to tell its horrors; and\nas the names of Carson and Fremont are inseparably cemented in history,\nas in friendship, and as the former had often endured sufferings almost\nas great as those of his old commander and friend, we shall be pardoned\nif we allude to this journey at some length. There is no earthly doubt\nthat had Carson been the guide, many valuable lives of noble, glorious\nmen might have been spared, and sufferings on the part of those who\nsurvived this disastrous expedition, almost too horrible for belief,\navoided.\n\nCol. Fremont, in a letter written to his wife from Taos, the day after\nhis arrival there in a famishing condition, and having lost one full\nthird of his party by absolute starvation and freezing, mentions that\nat Pueblo he engaged as a guide, an old trapper of twenty-five years,\nexperience, named \"Bill Williams,\" and he frankly admits that the \"error\nof his journey was committed in engaging this man.\"\n\nIn narrating some of the incidents of this terribly disastrous journey,\nwe shall use, of course, the language of those best qualified to depict\nits horrors, _i. e._, Col. Fremont, and Mr. Carvalho, a gentleman of\nBaltimore, who accompanied the expedition as daguerreotypist and artist.\n\nCol. Fremont, in his letter to his wife, treats of the subject\ngenerally, but when we quote from the narrative of Mr. Carvalho, we\nthink our readers will admit that such a record of human suffering, and\nhuman endurance, added to such an exhibition of moral and physical\ncourage, has never been paralleled.\n\nCol. Fremont writes, (speaking first of Williams the guide,)\n\n\"He proved never to have in the least known, or entirely to have\nforgotten, the whole region of country through which we were to pass. We\noccupied more than half a month in making the journey of a few days,\nblundering a tortuous way through deep snow which already began to choke\nup the passes, for which we were obliged to waste time in searching.\nAbout the 11th December we found ourselves at the North of the Del Norte\nCanyon, where that river issues from the St. John's Mountain, one of the\nhighest, most rugged and impracticable of all the Rocky Mountain ranges,\ninaccessible to trappers and hunters even in the summer time.\n\n\"Across the point of this elevated range our guide conducted us, and\nhaving still great confidence in his knowledge, we pressed onwards with\nfatal resolution. Even along the river bottoms the snow was already\nbelly deep for the mules, frequently snowing in the valley and almost\nconstantly in the mountains. The cold was extraordinary; at the warmest\nhours of the day (between one and two) the thermometer (Fahrenheit)\nstanding in the shade of only a tree trunk at zero; the day sunshiny,\nwith a moderate breeze. We pressed up towards the summit, the snow\ndeepening; and in four or five days reached the naked ridges which lie\nabove the timbered country, and which form the dividing grounds between\nthe waters of the Atlantic and Pacific oceans.\n\n\"Along these naked ridges it storms nearly all winter, and the winds\nsweep across them with remorseless fury. On our first attempt to cross\nwe encountered a _pouderie_ (dry snow driven thick through the air by\nviolent wind, and in which objects are visible only at a short\ndistance,) and were driven back, having some ten or twelve men variously\nfrozen, face, hands, or feet. The guide became nigh being frozen to\ndeath here, and dead mules were already lying about the fires. Meantime,\nit snowed steadily. The next day we made mauls, and beating a road or\ntrench through the snow, crossed the crest in defiance of the\n_pouderie_, and encamped immediately below in the edge of the timber.\n\n\"Westward, the country was buried in deep snow. It was impossible to\nadvance, and to turn back was equally impracticable. We were overtaken\nby sudden and inevitable ruin, and it was instantly apparent that we\nshould lose every animal.\n\n\"I determined to recross the mountain more towards the open country, and\nhaul or pack the baggage (by men) down to the Del Norte. With great\nlabor the baggage was transported across the crest to the head springs\nof a little stream leading to the main river. A few days were sufficient\nto destroy our fine band of mules. They generally kept huddled together,\nand as they froze, one would be seen to tumble down, and the snow would\ncover him; sometimes they would break off and rush down towards the\ntimber until they were stopped by the deep snow, where they were soon\nhidden by the _pouderie_.\n\n\"The courage of the men failed fast; in fact, I have never seen men so\nsoon discouraged by misfortune as we were on this occasion; but, as you\nknow, the party was not constituted like the former ones. But among\nthose who deserve to be honorably mentioned, and who behaved like what\nthey were--men of the old exploring party,--were Godey, King, and\nTaplin; and first of all Godey.\n\n\"In this situation, I determined to send in a party to the Spanish\nsettlements of New Mexico for provisions and mules to transport our\nbaggage to Taos. With economy, and after we should leave the mules, we\nhad not two weeks' provisions in the camp. These consisted of a store\nwhich I had reserved for a hard day, macaroni and bacon. From among the\nvolunteers I chose King, Brackenridge, Creutzfeldt, and the guide\nWilliams; the party under the command of King. In case of the least\ndelay at the settlements, he was to send me an express.\n\n\"Day after day passed by, and no news from our express party. Snow\ncontinued to fall almost incessantly on the mountain. The spirits of the\ncamp grew lower. Prone laid down in the trail and froze to death. In a\nsunshiny day, and having with him means to make a fire, he threw his\nblankets down in the trail and laid there till he froze to death. After\nsixteen days had elapsed from King's departure, I became so uneasy at\nthe delay that I decided to wait no longer. I was aware that our troops\nhad been engaged in hostilities with the Spanish Utahs and Apaches, who\nrange in the North River valley, and became fearful that they (King's\nparty) had been cut off by these Indians; I could imagine no other\naccident. Leaving the camp employed with the baggage and in charge of\nMr. Vincenthaler, I started down the river with a small party consisting\nof Godey, (with his young nephew,) Mr. Preuss and Saunders. We carried\nour arms and provision for two or three days. In the camp the messes had\nprovisions for two or three meals, more or less; and about five pounds\nof sugar to each man. Failing to meet King, my intention was to make the\nRed River settlement about twenty-five miles north of Taos, and send\nback the speediest relief possible. My instructions to the camp were,\nthat if they did not hear from me within a stated time, they were to\nfollow down the Del Norte.\n\n\"About sunset on the sixth day, we discovered a little smoke, in a grove\nof timber off from the river, and thinking perhaps it might be our\nexpress party on its return, we went to see. This was the twenty-second\nday since they had left us, and the sixth since we had left the camp. We\nfound them--three of them--Creutzfeldt, Brackenridge, and Williams--the\nmost miserable objects I have ever seen. I did not recognize\nCreutzfeldt's features when Brackenridge brought him up to me and\nmentioned his name. They had been starving. King had starved to death a\nfew days before. His remains were some six or eight miles above, near\nthe river. By aid of the horses, we carried these three men with us to\nRed River settlement, which we reached (Jan. 20,) on the tenth evening\nafter leaving our camp in the mountains, having traveled through snow\nand on foot one hundred and sixty miles.\n\n\"The morning after reaching the Red River town, Godey and myself rode on\nto the Rio Hondo and Taos, in search of animals and supplies, and on the\nsecond evening after that on which we had reached Red River, Godey had\nreturned to that place with about thirty animals, provisions, and four\nMexicans, with which he set out for the camp on the following morning.\n\n\"You will remember that I had left the camp with occupation sufficient\nto employ them for three or four days, after which they were to follow\nme down the river. Within that time I had expected the relief from King,\nif it was to come at all.\n\n\"They remained where I had left them seven days, and then started down\nthe river. Manuel--you will remember Manuel, the Cosumne Indian--gave\nway to a feeling of despair after they had traveled about two miles,\nbegged Haler to shoot him, and then turned and made his way back to the\ncamp; intending to die there, as he doubtless soon did. They followed\nour trail down the river--twenty-two men they were in all. About ten\nmiles below the camp, Wise gave out, threw away his gun and blanket, and\na few hundred yards further fell over into the snow and died. Two Indian\nboys, young men, countrymen of Manuel, were behind. They rolled up Wise\nin his blanket, and buried him in the snow on the river bank. No more\ndied that day--none the next. Carver raved during the night, his\nimagination wholly occupied with images of many things which he fancied\nhimself eating. In the morning, he wandered off from the party, and\nprobably soon died. They did not see him again.\n\n\"Sorel on this day gave out, and laid down to die. They built him a\nfire, and Morin, who was in a dying condition, and snow-blind, remained.\nThese two did not probably last till the next morning. That evening, I\nthink, Hubbard killed a deer. They traveled on, getting here and there a\ngrouse, but probably nothing else, the snow having frightened off the\ngame. Things were desperate, and brought Haler to the determination of\nbreaking up the party, in order to prevent them from living upon each\nother. He told them 'that he had done all he could for them, that they\nhad no other hope remaining than the expected relief, and that their\nbest plan was to scatter and make the best of their way in small parties\ndown the river. That, for his part, if he was to be eaten, he would, at\nall events, be found traveling when he did die.' They accordingly\nseparated.\n\n\"With Mr. Haler continued five others and the two Indian boys. Rohrer\nnow became very despondent; Haler encouraged him by recalling to mind\nhis family, and urged him to hold out a little longer. On this day he\nfell behind, but promised to overtake them at evening. Haler, Scott,\nHubbard, and Martin agreed that if any one of them should give out, the\nothers were not to wait for him to die, but build a fire for him, and\npush on. At night, Kern's mess encamped a few hundred yards from\nHaler's, with the intention, according to Taplin, to remain where they\nwere until the relief should come, and in the meantime to live upon\nthose who had died, and upon the weaker ones as they should die. With\nthe three Kerns were Cathcart, Andrews, McKie, Stepperfeldt, and Taplin.\n\n\"Ferguson and Beadle had remained together behind. In the evening,\nRohrer came up and remained with Kern's mess. Mr. Haler learned\nafterwards from that mess that Rohrer and Andrews wandered off the next\nday and died. They say they saw their bodies. In the morning Haler's\nparty continued on. After a few hours, Hubbard gave out. They built him\na fire, gathered him some wood, and left him, without, as Haler says,\nturning their heads to look at him as they went off. About two miles\nfurther, Scott--you remember Scott--who used to shoot birds for you at\nthe frontier--gave out. They did the same for him as for Hubbard, and\ncontinued on. In the afternoon, the Indian boys went ahead, and before\nnightfall met Godey with the relief. Haler heard and knew the guns which\nhe fired for him at night, and starting early in the morning, soon met\nhim. I hear that they all cried together like children. Haler turned\nback with Godey, and went with him to where they had left Scott. He was\nstill alive, and was saved. Hubbard was dead--still warm. From Kern's\nmess they learned the death of Andrews and Rohrer, and a little above,\nmet Ferguson, who told them that Beadle had died the night before.\"\n\nSuch is a portion of the brief, but thrilling narrative of this\nextraordinary and disastrous journey, as detailed in a familiar letter\nby Col. Fremont to his wife; but Mr. Carvalho gives in detail some of\nthe particulars of the horrors which overtook them, all through the\nunfortunate error of engaging as guide, a man who either knew nothing,\nor had forgotten all he had ever known, of the localities which the\nparty designed and hoped to reach.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII.\n\n\nWe quote now from the closing part of Mr. Carvalho's narrative:\n\n\"At last we are drawn to the necessity of killing our brave horses for\nfood. To-day the first sacrifice was made. It was with us all a solemn\nevent, rendered far more solemn however by the impressive scene which\nfollowed. Col. Fremont came out to us, and after referring to the\ndreadful necessities to which his men had been reduced on a previous\nexpedition, of eating each other, he begged us to swear that in no\nextremity of hunger, would any of his men lift his hand against, or\nattempt to prey upon a comrade; sooner let him die with them than live\nupon them. They all promptly took the oath, and threatened to shoot the\nfirst one that hinted or proposed such a thing.\n\n\"It was a most impressive scene, to witness twenty-two men on a snowy\nmountain, with bare heads, and hands and eyes upraised to heaven,\nuttering the solemn vow, 'So help me God!'--and the valley echoed, 'So\nhelp me God!' I never, until that moment, realized the awful situation\nin which I was placed. I remembered the words of the Psalmist, and felt\nperfectly assured of my final safety. They _wandered in the wilderness\nin a solitary way_; they found _no city to dwell in_. _Hungry and\nthirsty their soul fainteth within them, and they cried unto the Lord in\ntheir trouble, and he delivered them out of their distresses._\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"When an animal gave out, he was shot down by the Indians, who\nimmediately cut his throat, and saved all the blood in our camp kettle.\nThis animal was divided into twenty-two-parts. Two parts for Col.\nFremont and his cook, ten parts for the white camp, and ten parts for\nthe Indians. Col. Fremont hitherto messed with his officers; at this\ntime he requested that they would excuse him, as it gave him pain, and\ncalled to mind the horrible scenes which had been enacted during his\nlast expedition--he could not see his officers obliged to partake of\nsuch disgusting food.\n\n\"The rule he adopted was that one animal should serve for six meals for\nthe whole party. If one gave out in the meantime, of course it was an\nexception; but otherwise, on no consideration was an animal to be\nslaughtered, for every one that was killed, placed a man on foot, and\nlimited our chances of escape from our present situation. If the men\nchose to eat up their six meals all in one day, they would have to go\nwithout until the time arrived for killing another. It frequently\nhappened that the white camp was without food from twenty-four to\nthirty-six hours, while Col. Fremont and the Delawares always had a\nmeal. The latter religiously abstained from encroaching on the portion\nallotted for another meal, while many men of our camp, I may say all of\nthem, not content with their portion, would, to satisfy the cravings of\nhunger, surreptitiously purloin from their pile of meat, at different\ntimes, sundry pieces, thus depriving themselves of each other's\nallowance. My own sense of right was so subdued by the sufferings I\nendured by hunger, and walking almost barefooted through the snow, that\nwhile going to guard one night, I stole a piece of frozen horse liver,\nate it raw, and thought it, at the time, the most delicious morsel I\never tasted.\n\n\"The entrails of the horse were 'well shaken' (for we had no water to\nwash them in) and boiled with snow, producing a highly flavored soup,\nwhich the men considered so valuable and delicious that they forbade the\ncook to skim the pot for fear any portion of it might be lost. The hide\nwas divided into equal portions, and with the bones roasted and burnt to\na crisp. This we munched on the road; but the men not being satisfied\nwith the division of the meat by the cook, made him turn his back, while\nanother took up each share separately, and enquired who should have it.\nWhen the snows admitted it, we collected the thick leaves of a species\nof cactus which we also put in the fire to burn off the prickles, and\nate. It then resembled in taste and nourishment an Irish potato peeling.\nWe lived in this way for nearly fifty days, traveling from Grand River\nacross the divide to Green River, and over the first range of the\nWahsach Mountains, on foot, Col. Fremont at our head, tramping a pathway\nfor his men to follow. He, as well as the rest of the party, towards the\nlast was entirely barefoot--some of them had a piece of raw hide on\ntheir feet, which, however, becoming hard and stiff by the frost, made\nthem more uncomfortable than walking without any.\n\n\"Yesterday, Mr. Oliver Fuller, of St. Louis, who had been on foot for\nsome weeks, suddenly gave out. Our engineers and myself were with him.\nHe found himself unable to proceed--the snow was very deep, and his feet\nwere badly frozen. He insisted that we should leave him, and hasten to\ncamp for relief; not being able to render him any assistance by\nremaining, we wrapped his blankets around him and left him on the trail.\nIn vain we searched for material to build him a fire--nothing was\nvisible but a wild waste of snow; we were also badly crippled, and we\ndid not arrive in camp until ten o'clock at night, at which time it\nbegan snowing furiously. We told Col. Fremont of Mr. Fuller's situation,\nwhen he sent a Mexican named Frank, with the two best animals and cooked\nhorsemeat, to bring Mr. Fuller in. There was not a dry eye in the whole\ncamp that night--the men sat up anxiously awaiting the return of our\ncompanions.\n\n\"At daylight, they being still out, Col. Fremont sent three Delawares\nmounted, to look for them. About ten o'clock one of them returned with\nthe Mexican and two mules. Frank was badly frozen, he had lost the\ntrack, and bewildered and cold, he sank down holding on to the animals,\nwhere he was found by the Delaware during the afternoon. The two\nDelawares supporting Mr. Fuller were seen approaching. He was found\nawake, but almost dead from the cold and faintness. Col. Fremont\npersonally rendered him all the assistance in his power. So did all of\nus--for he was beloved and respected by the whole camp for his\ngentlemanly behavior and his many virtues. Col. Fremont remained at this\ndreary place near three days, to allow poor Fuller time to recruit--and\nafterwards assigned to him the best mule to carry him, while two of the\nmen walked on either side to support him. A portion of our scanty food\nwas appropriated at every meal from each man's portion to make Mr.\nFuller's larger, as he required sustenance more than they did.\n\n\"On the 7th February, almost in sight of succor, the Almighty took him\nto himself: he died on horseback--his two companions wrapped him in his\nIndia rubber blanket and laid him across the trail. We arrived next day\nat Parawan. After the men had rested a little, we went in company with\nthree or four of the inhabitants of Parawan, to bury our deceased\nfriend. His remains had not been disturbed during our absence.\"\n\nIn the month of February, and soon after Fremont's arrival and\ndeparture, Col. Beale again solicited Carson to be his guide while he\npaid a visit to a large village of Indians congregated on the Arkansas,\nfor the purpose of carrying out a stipulation of the treaty with Mexico,\nthat the captives the Indians retained in the territory ceded to the\nUnited States, should be returned to Mexico. He found four tribes\ncongregated, to the number of two thousand, for the purpose of meeting\ntheir agent, an experienced mountaineer, who informed Col. Beale that it\nwould be useless to attempt to enforce the provisions of the treaty\nhere, especially when so many Indians were together, and succeeded in\npersuading him to desist from the use of force against them.\n\nThese Indians had been accustomed to dealing with poorly clad Mexican\nsoldiers, and the sight and bearing of Col. Beale and Carson and the men\nunder their command, must have induced a respect for the government they\nrepresented, so that they did not consider the expedition as without\ngood result.\n\nThe Camanche Indians could not well have been induced to fulfill the\nprovisions of the treaty with Mexico, especially as they were not a\nparty to it, for in the very many years past, it had been their custom\nto make incursions upon the Mexican settlements and parties of\ntravelers, and to capture their cattle and take their goods, besides\nbringing away as many children as possible, in order that the girls\nprocured in this way should, when grown, marry the braves of the tribe;\ntill now at least a third of the blood of the tribe was Mexican. This\namalgamation had become more extensive in this than in any of the other\nNew Mexican tribes.\n\nThe Apache is smaller in stature and more closely built than the\nCamanche; less skilled in horsemanship, but equally brave, with\nbeautiful symmetry of form, and \"muscles as hard as iron,\" with an\nelasticity of movement that shows a great amount of physical training,\nand an eye that reveals the treachery of their character.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII.\n\n\nArriving again in Taos, to carry into effect at once, the resolution he\nhad formed of establishing for himself a permanent home, he joined his\nold friend Maxwell in the purpose of occupying a beautifully romantic\nmountain valley, fifty miles east of Taos, called by the Indians Rayedo,\nwhich would long since have been settled by the Mexicans, only it was\nvery much exposed to Indian depredations.\n\nThrough the centre of this valley flows a broad mountain stream, and,\nfor the loveliness of the scenery, or the fertility of its broad,\nsloping basin, or the mountain supply of timber, there can scarcely be\nfound a spot to equal it. Carson and Maxwell established a settlement\nabout mid-way in the valley; and at the present date, have an imposing\nlittle village, in which the houses of Carson and Maxwell are prominent\nby reason of their greater dimensions, and indicate to the trader a\nstyle of plenteous comfort, which, while it might offend the pale-faced\ndenizen of our most fashionable thoroughfares, the traveler, who has\nlearned to love nature and health, gazes upon with pleasure, and gladly\ntarries to enjoy the patriarchal hospitality, and the sumptuous, almost\nregal luxury of their hunter occupants, who \"count their horses and\ntheir cattle by the hundreds,\" and whose thousand sheep are on the\nhills; whose larder is replenished from the still countless herds of\nprairie oxen which roam through those magnificent plains, and the lesser\nbands of speed-defying, beauteous quadrupeds of the hills, and the fleet\nclimbers of the rocks and big-horned mountain cliffs, and the flocks\nthat build their eyrie in their crags, all of which are occupants of the\nsheep-pasture of these chevaliers of the wilderness, and in whose\ncourt-yards may be seen specimens of this game, of which they are not\nashamed; for a young Carson has lassoed a little grizzly, while antelope\nand young fawn feed from his sister's fingers.\n\nHere too the Indian braves fear not to come and call the master of the\nmansion, Father,--\"Father Kit,\" is his long time appellation--and they\nhave learned to look on him and his, with all that reverence and\nfondness with which grateful children look upon a worthy sire.\n\nCarson cannot tarry at his pleasant home, much more than to care for its\nnecessary superintendence, for his life is the property of the public;\nand to the quiet settlement of the Indians into the condition which is\nhappiest for them, so far as it can be secured in the condition of the\ncountry and their own habitudes, is the work to which he has wisely\ndevoted himself. He has given to the Indians the best years of his ever\nbusy life, and gives them still, neglectful of immediate personal\ncomfort--or rather finding highest satisfaction in doing what is fittest\nhe should do, because it is the work in which he can accomplish the most\ngood.\n\nIn the vicinity of the home of Carson, and that of his friend Maxwell,\nare gathered a number of their old comrades--men of the mountains, who\nhave survived the multitudinous and conflicting events which have come\nover the spirit of the Yankee, and the activities of the Yankee nation,\nsince the business of trapping first became for her hardy sons a\nlucrative employment; and here, in the society of each other, and the\nconscious security of protection for each other, in a locality\ncongenial to their tastes, with occasional old time occupations, and\nwhere the rivalries of their predilections can be still indulged, and\nquietly maintained, they are ever ready after every test to concede to\nChristopher Carson the palm of being _first_ as a hunter, _first_ as an\nexperienced traveler and guide through the mountain country, whether it\nbe by a route he has, or one he has never before traveled.\n\nThe stories of his exploits in defence of his neighbors and friends, and\nto recover from the Indians property they had stolen, since he left the\nservice of the Army of the United States, would of themselves fill a\nvolume, and we have space to allude to but a very few.\n\nA Mrs. White, the wife of a merchant of Santa Fe, had been taken captive\nwith her child, (which was soon killed before her eyes,) by a party of\nApaches, who had shot her husband, and all the men of his company,\nbefore capturing her. A party of New Mexicans was at once organized to\npursue the Indian band, and effect Mrs. White's release if possible. The\nguidance of this party was entrusted to a neighbor by the name of\nWatkins Leroux, rather than to Carson. They found the Apache murderers,\nand Carson was advancing foremost to attack them, when he discovered\nthat the rest of the party were not following; consequently he had to\nretire, and when the commander ordered the attack to be made, it was too\nlate, for the Indians had murdered Mrs. White and were preparing to\nescape by flight. Carson tells this story with all the generous\nmagnanimity a great soul exercises in speaking of a failure on the part\nof a rival; admitting that, if his advice had been followed, they might\nhave saved Mrs. White, but affirming that the command \"did what seemed\nto it the best, and therefore no one has any right to find fault.\"\n\nThis occurred in the autumn of eighteen hundred and forty-nine, directly\nafter the commencement of the settlement of Rayedo.\n\nNear the close of the following winter, all the animals belonging to the\nparty of ten dragoons which had been stationed there to protect the\nsettlement, were run off by the marauding Apaches, and the two herders\nhaving them in charge, were wounded. Early the following morning, Carson\nand three of the settlers with the ten dragoons, started in pursuit,\ndiscovered the Indians--twenty well armed warriors--and four of the\nparty being obliged to stop, because their animals had given out, the\nremaining ten rode down the Indians, who might themselves have escaped\nbut for their persistance in retaining the stolen horses, which were all\nrecaptured except four, while five of the warriors were killed, and\nseveral more wounded. This expedition was planned and executed under the\ndirection of Carson, and the fact that he was their leader gave every\nman confidence, as they knew that with him an engagement implied success\nor death.\n\nThe next spring Carson went to Fort Laramie with a drove of horses and\nmules, making the journey successfully and pleasantly in company with\nTimothy Goodell, another old mountaineer, being the observed of all\nobservers to the large numbers of overland emigrants to California whom\nhe met at the fort, where Goodell left him to go to California.\n\nCarson found a Mexican to attend him upon his return, and taking a\ncircuitous course, he managed to avoid the Apaches; often traveling by\nmoon-light, and taking their animals into a quiet nook, and climbing a\ntree for a little sleep during the day, they finally reached the Mexican\nsettlements in safety.\n\nThe days of the following summer winged their happy flight with great\nrapidity, while Carson was directing and aiding in his farming, and, of\ncourse, pursuing his favorite employment of hunting, ever returning from\na hunt with his horse laden with deer or antelope, wild turkey and\nducks, or perhaps a half score or more of prairie chickens, to complete\nthe list. Only once was his work interrupted by the harsher business of\nchastising offenders against justice, and this time the guilty parties\nwere two white men.\n\nA party of desperadoes, so frequently the nuisance of a new country, had\nformed a plot to murder and rob two wealthy citizens, whom they had\nvolunteered to accompany to the settlements in the States, and were\nalready many miles on their way, when Carson was informed of the\nnefarious design. In one hour he had organized a party, and was on his\nway in quick pursuit, taking a more direct route to intercept the party,\nand endeavoring at the same time to avoid the vicinity of the Indians,\nwho were now especially hostile, but of whose movements Carson was as\nwell informed as any one could be. In two days out from Taos, they came\nupon a camp of United States recruits, whose officer volunteered to\naccompany him with twenty men, which offer was accepted, and by forced\nmarches they soon overtook the party of traders, and at once arrested\nFox, the leader of the wretches, and then proceeded to inform Messrs.\nBrevoort and Weatherhead of the danger which they had escaped; and they,\nthough at first astounded by the disclosure, had noticed many things to\nconvince them that the plot would soon have been put in execution.\n\nTaking the members of their party whom they knew were trusty, they at\nonce ordered the rest, thirty-five in number, to leave immediately,\nexcept Fox, who remained in charge of Carson, to whom the traders were\nabundant in their thanks for his timely interference in their behalf,\nand who refused every offer of recompense.\n\nFox was taken to Taos, and imprisoned for a number of months; but as a\ncrime only in intent was difficult to be proved, and the _adobe_ walls\nof their houses were not secure enough to retain one who cared to\nrelease himself, Fox was at last liberated, and went to parts unknown.\n\nOn the return of Messrs. Brevoort and Weatherhead from St. Louis, they\npresented Carson with a magnificent pair of pistols, upon whose silver\nmounting were inscribed such words as would laconically illustrate his\nnoble deed, and the appreciation of the donors of the great service\nrendered.\n\nThe summer following was consumed in an excursion for trade, on behalf\nof himself and Maxwell, and a visit to the home of his daughter, now\nmarried in St. Louis; and which was prosecuted without incident worthy\nof note, until he came to a Cheyenne village on the Arkansas, upon his\nreturn. This village had received an affront from the officer of a party\nof United States troops bound to New Mexico, who had whipped one of\ntheir chiefs, some ten days before the arrival of Carson; and to have\nrevenge upon some one of the whites, was now the passion of the whole\ntribe.\n\nThe conduct of this officer is only a specimen of that which thousands\nhave exercised toward the Indians of the different tribes; and the\nresult is the same in all cases. Carson's was the first party to pass\nthe Indian village after this insult; and so many years had elapsed\nsince he was a hunter at Bent's Fort, and so much had this nation been\nstirred by their numberless grievances, that Carson's name was no longer\na talisman of safety to his party, nor even of respect to himself, in\ntheir then state of excitement; and as Carson went deliberately into the\nwar council, which the Indians were holding on the discovery of his\nparty, having ordered his men to keep their force close together, the\nIndians supposing he could not understand them, continued to talk freely\nof the manner of capturing the effects, and killing the whole party, and\nespecially himself, whom they at once concluded was the leader. When Kit\nhad heard all their plans, he coolly addressed them in the Cheyenne\nlanguage, telling them who he was, his former association with and\nkindness to their tribe; and that now, he should be glad to render them\nany assistance they might need; but as to their having his scalp, he\nshould claim the right of saying a word. The Indians departed, and\nCarson went on his way; but there were hundreds of the Cheyennes in\nsight upon the hills, and though they made no attack, Carson knew he was\nin their power, nor had they given up the idea of taking his train. His\ncool deliberation kept his men in spirits, and yet, except upon two or\nthree of the whole fifteen, he could place no reliance in an emergency.\nAt night the men and mules were all brought within the circle of wagons,\ngrass was cut with their sheath-knives, and brought into the mules, and\nas large a guard was placed as possible. When all was quiet, Carson\ncalled outside the camp with him a Mexican boy of the party, and\nexplaining to him the danger which threatened them, told him it was in\nhis power to save the lives of the company, and giving him instructions\nhow to proceed, sent him on alone to Rayedo, a journey of nearly three\nhundred miles, to ask an escort of United States troops to be sent out\nto meet him, telling the brave young Mexican to \"put a good many miles\nbetween him and the camp before morning;\" and so he started him, with a\nfew rations of provisions, without telling the rest of the party that\nsuch a step was necessary. This boy had long been in Carson's service,\nand was well known to him as faithful and active, so that he had no\ndoubts as to the faithful execution of the trust confided to him; and in\na wild country like New Mexico, with the out-door life and habits of its\npeople, a journey like the one on which he was dispatched, was not an\nunusual occurrence: indeed, in that country, parties on foot often\naccompany those on horse, for days together, and do not seem to feel the\nfatigue. Carson now returned to the camp to watch all night himself; and\nat break of day they were again upon the road. No Indians appeared until\nnearly noon, when five warriors came galloping toward them. As they came\nnear enough to hear him, Carson ordered them to halt, and approaching,\ntold them that the night before, he had sent a messenger to Rayedo, to\ninform the troops that their tribe were annoying him; and if he or his\nmen were molested, terrible punishment would be inflicted by those who\nwould surely come to his relief. The Indians replied, that they would\nlook for the moccasin tracks, which they probably found, and Carson\nconsidered this the reason that induced the whole village to pass away\ntoward the hills after a little time, evidently seeking a place of\nsafety. The young Mexican overtook the party of troops whose officer had\ncaused the trouble, to whom he told his story, and failing to secure\nsympathy, he continued to Rayedo, and procured thence immediate\nassistance. Major Grier dispatched a party of troops, under Lieutenant\nR. Johnston, which, making rapid marches, met Carson twenty-five miles\nbelow Bent's Fort; and, though they encountered no Indians, the effect\nof the quick transit of troops from one part of the country to another,\ncould not be other than good, as a means of impressing the Indians with\nthe effective force of the United States troops.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV.\n\n\nEighteen years had elapsed, full of eventful history--especially the\nlast ten--since Carson had renounced the business of trapping, and of\nlate there had been an almost irrepressible longing once more to try his\nskill at his old employment, in company with others who had been, with\nhimself, adepts at the business. Accordingly he and Maxwell, by a great\neffort, succeeded in collecting sixteen more of their old companions,\nand taking care to provide themselves abundantly with all the\nnecessaries for such a service, and with such added articles of comfort\nas the pleasurable character of the excursion dictated, they started,\nwith Carson at the head of the band, \"any one of whom would have periled\nhis life for any other, and having voted that the expedition should be\none for hard work, as when they trapped for gain long ago,\" they dashed\non across the plains, till they came to the South Platte, and upon its\nwell remembered waters, formed their camp and set their traps, having\nfirst apprised themselves, by the \"signs,\" that the beaver were\nabundant. Indeed, so long ago had trapping gone into disuse, that the\nhunt proved successful beyond their anticipations, and they worked down\nthis stream, through the Laramie plains to the New Park, on to the Old\nPark, and upon a large number of the streams, their old resorts, and\nreturned to Rayedo with a large stock of furs, having enlivened the time\nby the recital to each other of many of the numberless entertaining\nevents which had crowded upon their lives while they had been separated.\n\nWould not the reader like to have made this excursion with them, and\nwitnessed the infinite zest with which these mature and experienced men\nentered again upon what seemed now to them the sport of their earlier\nyears? They made it, as much as possible, a season of enjoyment. One of\nthe party had lassoed a grizzly, but, finding it inconvenient to retain\nhim, he had been shot, and bear steaks, again enjoyed together, had been\na part of the Fourth of July treat they afforded their visitors, the\nSioux Indians. As we have but little further opportunity, we will quote\nFremont's description of the Mountain Parks, for the sake of giving the\nreader an idea of the locality of this last trapping enterprise of Kit\nCarson:\n\n\"Our course in the afternoon brought us to the main Platte River, here a\nhandsome stream, with a uniform breadth of seventy yards, except where\nwidened by frequent islands. It was apparently deep, with a moderate\ncurrent, and wooded with groves of large willow.\n\n\"The valley narrowed as we ascended, and presently degenerated into a\ngorge, through which the river passed as through a gate. We entered it,\nand found ourselves in the New Park--a beautiful circular valley of\nthirty miles diameter, walled in all round with snowy mountains, rich\nwith water and with grass, fringed with pine on the mountain sides below\nthe snow line, and a paradise to all grazing animals. The Indian name\nfor it signifies \"_cow lodge_,\" of which our own may be considered a\ntranslation; the enclosure, the grass, the water, and the herds of\nbuffalo roaming over it, naturally presenting the idea of a park, 7,720\nfeet above tide water.\n\n\"It is from this elevated _cove_, and from the gorges of the surrounding\nmountains, and some lakes within their bosoms, that the Great Platte\nRiver collects its first waters, and assumes its first form; and\ncertainly no river has a more beautiful origin.\n\n\"Descending from the pass, we found ourselves again on the western\nwaters; and halted to noon on the edge of another mountain valley,\ncalled the Old Park, in which is formed Grand River, one of the\nprincipal branches of the Colorado of California. We were now moving\nwith some caution, as, from the trail, we found the Arapahoe village had\nalso passed this way. As we were coming out of their enemy's country,\nand this was a war ground, we were desirous to avoid them. After a long\nafternoon's march, we halted at night on a small creek, tributary to a\nmain fork of Grand River, which ran through this portion of the valley.\nThe appearance of the country in the Old Park is interesting, though of\na different character from the New; instead of being a comparative\nplain, it is more or less broken into hills, and surrounded by the high\nmountains, timbered on the lower parts with quaking asp and pines.\n\n\"We entered the Bayou Salade, (South Park,) and immediately below us was\na green valley, through which ran a stream; and a short distance\nopposite rose snowy mountains, whose summits were formed into peaks of\nnaked rock.\n\n\"On the following day we descended the stream by an excellent buffalo\ntrail, along the open grassy bottom of the river. On our right, the\nbayou was bordered by a mountainous range, crested with rocky and naked\npeaks; and below it had a beautiful park-like character of pretty level\nprairies, interspersed among low spurs, wooded openly with pine and\nquaking asp, contrasting well with the denser pines which swept around\non the mountain sides.\n\n\"During the afternoon, Pike's Peak had been plainly in view before us.\n\n\"The next day we left the river, which continued its course towards\nPike's Peak; and taking a south-easterly direction, in about ten miles\nwe crossed a gentle ridge, and, issuing from the South Park, found\nourselves involved among the broken spurs of the mountains which border\nthe great prairie plains. Although broken and extremely rugged, the\ncountry was very interesting, being well watered by numerous affluents\nto the Arkansas River, and covered with grass and a variety of trees.\"\n\nCarson had disposed of his furs, and was again quietly attending to his\nranche, when he heard of the exorbitant prices for which sheep were\nselling in California, and determined to enter upon a speculation. He\nhad already visited the Navajos Indians, and thither he went again, and\nin company with Maxwell and another mountaineer, purchased several\nthousand sheep; and with a suitable company of trusty men as shepherds,\ntook them to Fort Laramie, and thence by the regular emigrant route,\npast Salt Lake to California, and arriving without any disaster,\ndisposed of them in one of the frontier towns, and then went down to the\nSacramento valley, to witness the change which had come over old\nfamiliar places; not that the mining did not interest him; he had seen\nthat before in Mexico, but he had not seen the cities which had sprung\ninto existence at a hundred points, in the foot hills of the Sierras,\nnor had he seen San Francisco, that city of wondrous growth, which now\ncontained thirty-five thousand inhabitants.\n\nBut for the remembrance of the hills on which the city rested, Carson\nwould not have known the metropolis of California, as the spot where in\n'48 \"the people could be counted in an hour.\" In San Francisco he met so\nmany old friends, and so many, who, knowing him from the history of his\ndeeds, desired to do him honor, that the attentions he received, while\nit gratified his ambition, were almost annoying.\n\nTired by the anxiety and hard work of bringing his property over a long\nand dangerous journey to a good market, he had looked for rest and\nretirement; but instead, he was everywhere sought out and made\nconspicuous.\n\nHe found himself surrounded with the choice spirits of the new El\nDorado; his name a prestige of strength and position, and his society\ncourted by everybody. The siren voice of pleasure failed not to speak in\nhis ear her most flattering invitations. Good-fellowship took him\nincessantly by the hand, desiring to lead him into the paths of\ndissipation. But the gay vortex, with all its brilliancy, had no\nattractions for him; the wine cup, with its sparkling arguments, failed\nto convince his calm earnestness of character, that his simple habits of\nlife needed remodeling. To the storm, however, he was exposed; but, like\na good ship during the gale, he weathered the fierce blast, and finally\ntook his departure from the new city of a day, with his character\nuntarnished, but nevertheless leaving behind him many golden opinions.\n\nSome newspaper scribbler, last autumn, announced the death of Carson,\nand said, in connection, \"His latest and _most remarkable exploit_ on\nthe plains, was enacted in 1853, when he conducted a drove of sheep\nsafely to California.\" Probably the writer was one of those whose eager\ncuriosity had met a rebuff, in the quiet dignity with which Carson\nreceived the officiousness of the rabble who thronged around him on that\nvisit. Not that he appreciated honor less, but that its unnecessary\nattachments were exceedingly displeasing to him.\n\nIn this terribly fast city, where the _monte_ table, and its kindred\ndissipations, advertised themselves without a curtain, and where to\nindulge was the rule rather than the exception, Carson was able to stand\nfire, for he had been before now tried by much greater temptations.\n\nIn the strange commingling of people from all quarters of the globe,\nwhom Carson witnessed in San Francisco, he saw but a slight exaggeration\nof what he had often witnessed in Santa Fe,--and indeed, for the element\nof variety, in many a trapping party, not to name the summer rendezvous\nof the trappers, or the exploring parties of Col. Fremont. To be sure\nthe Chinamen and the Kanackers were a new feature in society. But\nwhether it be in the many nationalities represented, or in the\npleasures they pursued, except that in San Francisco there was a\nlavishness in the expenditure of wealth commensurate with its speedier\naccumulation, there was little new to him, and while he saw its magic\ngrowth with glad surprise, the attractions this city offered could not\nallure him. Nor could the vista it opened up of a chance to rise into\nposition in the advancing struggles for political ascendency, induce one\nwish to locate his home in a spot so wanting in the kindly social\nrelationships; for he had tried the things and found them vanity and\nvexation of spirit, and now he yearned for his mountain home, and the\nsweet pastoral life which it afforded in his circle of tried friends.\n\nHe saved the money he had secured by the sale of his flocks, and went\ndown overland to Los Angelos to meet Maxwell, who took the trip by sea,\nwhich Carson having tasted once, could not be persuaded to try again,\nand there renewing his outfit, and visiting again some of its honored\ncitizens, they started homeward, and had a pleasant passage till they\nreached the Gila River, where grass became so scarce that they were\ncompelled to take a new course in order to find food for their horses;\nbut Carson had no difficulty in pursuing a measurably direct course,\nand without encountering a snow storm, often terribly severe in the\nmountains of this interior country, he reached Taos on the third of\nDecember 1853.\n\nHe here received the unexpected information that he had been appointed\nIndian agent for New Mexico, and immediately wrote and sent to\nWashington the bonds of acceptance of this office. And now commences\nCarson's official career, in a capacity for which he was better fitted\nthan any other person in the Territory.\n\nLong had the Indians in his vicinity called him \"father,\" but now he had\na new claim to this title, for he was to be to them the almoner of the\nbounty of the United States Government. There was immediate call for the\nexercise of the duties of his office, (for the Indians of New Mexico had\nall buried the tomahawk and calumet,) in visiting and attempting to\nquiet a band of Apaches, among whom he went alone, for they all knew\nhim, and secured from them plenty of promises to do well; but he had\nscarcely left them, before they were tired of the self-imposed\nrestraint, and renewedly continued their depredations, and several\nserious battles were fought with them by the United States troops, the\nfirst having proved unsuccessful, but never was success wanting when\nthe commander of United States dragoons had placed his confidence in the\nadvice, and followed the suggestions of Kit Carson, who was admitted by\nthem to be the prince of Indian fighters--though he never tolerated\ncruelty or the expenditure of life when there was no imperious\nnecessity, but yet regarded severe measures better than a dawdling\npolicy.\n\nThere had been serious fights in New Mexico in 1846, while Carson was\naway with Fremont; and it was better so, as the Mexicans were his blood\nand kin; yet, in the change of authority, he fully sympathized. But now,\nthe enemy was the different tribes of Indians, and in the capacity of\nAgent for them, Carson chose to impress them with the power of the\ngovernment for which he acted for their own good, that they might be\ninduced to desist from their plundering, and be prepared for the\ninfluences and practices of civilization; and all the victories secured\nover them were due, as history truly records, \"To the aid of Kit\nCarson,\" \"With the advice of Kit Carson;\" and never once is his name\nassociated with a defeat; for, if he made a part of an expedition, a\ncondition must be, that such means should be employed as he knew would\naccomplish the end desired; for he did not choose, by one single\nfailure, to give the Indians a chance to think their lawlessness could\nescape its merited retribution.\n\nNor yet did Carson ever advise that confidence in the promises of the\nIndians which was not backed by such exhibition of power as to command\nobedience; knowing that with these children of the forest, schooled in\nthe arts of plunder, and the belief that white men and white men's\nproperty were an intrusion on their hunting grounds, and therefore\nlawful prey--this was and is _their law_--non-resistance would not\nanswer, and only stern command, backed by the rifle, ever has secured\nobedience--though they appreciate the kindnesses done by those friends\nwho have such reliance. But it was Carson's opinion that the country\ncannot be safe while the Indians roam over it in this wild way, or until\nthey are located on lands devoted to them and theirs for permanent\nhomes, and are compelled to settle upon and cultivate the soil, when he\nthinks they will come, by careful teaching, to display sentiments of\nresponsibility for their own acts.\n\nThere is little doubt that, had Carson been appointed Superintendent of\nIndian Affairs for the department of New Mexico, the reliance sometimes\nplaced on treaties would have been discarded, and measures taken at an\nearlier date, to locate the Apaches and Camanches and Utahs, which might\nhave been accomplished with less expenditure of blood and of treasure;\nbut he quietly pursued his business, relying upon the influence which\nhis knowledge and skill had given him to induce his superiors in\nofficial authority to undertake such measures as seemed to him the\nwisest.\n\nThe headquarters of his Indian agency were at Taos, and while he spent\nas much of his time as possible at Rayedo, the duties of his office\ncompelled the larger part of it at Taos. The thousand kindly acts he was\nable to perform for the Indians, by whom he was constantly surrounded,\nhad secured such regard for himself that he needed no protection where\nhe was known--and what Indian of New Mexico did not know him? He went\namong them, and entertained them as the children of his charge, having\ntheir unbounded confidence and love.\n\nEvery year, in the hey-day of the season, Carson continued the custom of\na revival of earlier associations, by indulging, for a few days, or\nperhaps weeks, in the chase; and was joined in these excursions by a\ngoodly company of his old compeers, as well as later acquired friends,\nand men of reputation and culture, from whatever quarter of the world,\nvisiting the territory; and especially by a select few of the braves of\nthe Indian tribes under his charge. These were seasons of grateful\nrecurrence, and their pleasures were long anticipated amid the wearisome\nduties of his office.\n\nThe incidents of his every-day life, intervening his appointment as\nIndian agent and the rebellion, would furnish an abundance of material\nfor a romance even stranger than fiction. A life so exciting as that\namong the Indians and brave frontiersmen, and a name so renowned as that\nof Christopher Carson, could not but attract and concentre wild and\nromantic occurrences. His life during these years is inseparably\nconnected with the history of the Territory of New Mexico, which, could\nit be given to the public in all its copious and interesting details,\nwould unquestionably concede to him all the noblest characteristics in\nman.\n\nThe treaties between the United States and the Indians, during the term\nof his appointment, were mainly the result of his acquaintance with the\nIndians, his knowledge of their character, and his influence over them.\nNor did the Government fail to recognize his valuable services. During\nthe rebellion, and while serving principally in New Mexico, where he\ndistinguished himself by his untiring prosecution of hostilities with\nhis savage foes, then at war with the Government, he was promoted from\nrank to rank, until he finally reached that of Brevet Brigadier-General.\n\nIn a report to the National headquarters, dated at Camp Florilla, near\nFort Canby, N. M., January 26, 1864, we find the following detailed\naccount of operations in New Mexico:\n\n\"The culminating point in this expedition has been reached at last by\nthe very successful operations of our troops at Canyon de Chelly. Col.\nKit Carson left Fort Canby on the sixth instant with a command of four\nhundred men, twenty of whom were mounted. He had a section of mountain\nartillery with him, and taking the road _via_ Puebla, Colorado, he\nstarted for Canyon de Chelly. He gave orders to Capt. Pheiffer with his\ncommand of one hundred men to enter the canyon at the east opening, while\nhe himself intended to enter it at the 'mouth,' or west opening, and by\nthis movement he expected that both columns would meet in the canyon on\nthe second day, as it was supposed to be forty miles in length.\n\n\"Capt. Pheiffer's party proceeded two days through the canyon, fighting\noccasionally; but although the Indians frequently fired on them from\nthe rocky walls above, the balls were spent long before they reached the\nbottom of the canyon, which, in many places, exceeded one thousand five\nhundred feet in depth. It was a singular spectacle to behold. A small\ndetachment of troops moving cautiously along the bottom of one of the\ngreatest canyons on the globe, (the largest is in Asia, I believe,) and\nfiring volleys upward at hundreds of Navajoes, who looked, on the dizzy\nheight above them, like so many pigmies. As they advanced the canyon\nwidened in places, and various spots of cultivated land were passed,\nwhere wheat, maize, beans, melons, etc., had been planted last year;\nwhile more than a thousand feet above their heads they beheld\nneat-looking stone houses built on the receding ledges of rocks, which\nreminded the beholder of the swallows' nests in the house eaves, or on\nthe rocky formation overhanging the 'sea-beat caves.' Further on, an\norchard containing about six hundred peach-trees was passed, and it was\nevident that the Indians had paid great attention to their culture.\n\n\"On the second day a party from Col. Carson's column met the Captain in\nthe canyon, and returned with him to Col. Carson's camp. A party from the\nColonel's command had, in the meantime, attacked a party of Indians,\ntwenty-two of whom were killed. This had a dispiriting effect on many\nothers, who sent in three of their number under a white flag. Col.\nCarson received them, and assured them that the Government did not\ndesire to exterminate them, but that, on the contrary, the President\nwished to save and civilize them; and to that end Gen. Carlton had given\nhim instructions to send all the Navajoes who desired peace to the new\nreservation on the Rio Pecos, where they would be supplied with food for\nthe present, and be furnished with implements, seeds, etc., to cultivate\nthe soil. They departed well-satisfied, and Col. Carson immediately\nordered Capt. A. B. Carey, Thirteenth United States Infantry, with a\nbattalion to enter the canyon, and make a thorough exploration of its\nvarious branches, and at the same time to be in readiness to chastise\nany body of hostile Navajoes he might encounter, and to receive all who\nwere friendly, and who wished to emigrate to the new reservation. Capt.\nCarey, during a passage of twenty-four hours through a branch of the\ncanyon hitherto unexplored, made an exact geographical map of this\nterrible chasm, and discovered many side canyons hitherto unknown. About\none hundred Indians came in to him and declared that 'the Navajo nation\nwas no more;' that they were tired of fighting and nearly starved, and\nthat they wished to be permitted to advise their friends and families in\nthe mountains; many of whom were willing to leave the land forever, and\ngo to a country where they would be cared for and protected. They said\nthey understood agriculture, and were certain they would make\ncomfortable homes on the Pecos. This was, of course, only the opinion of\nsome; others would prefer to remain and culture the soil on which they\nwere born, and live at peace with the territory. However, the latter\nwere positively informed that unless they were willing to remove they\nhad better not come in, and, moreover, that the troops would destroy\nevery blade of corn in the country next summer.\n\n\"On the 20th of January Col. Carson came to Fort Canby, and about six\nhundred Indians had collected there; but when the wagons arrived to\nremove them only one hundred wished to go, and the remainder desired to\nreturn to their villages and caves in the mountains, on pretence of\nbringing in some absent member of their families. Col. Carson very nobly\nand generously permitted them to choose for themselves; but told them if\never they came in again they should be sent to Borgue Redondo, whether\nwilling or not. Col. Carson himself took the Indians to Santa Fe, and\nwill remain absent about a month. Since his departure many Indians came\nin and agreed to go to the reservation.\n\n\"I think the Colonel foresaw this, as no person understands Indian\ncharacter better than he does. Capt. A. B. Carey, Thirteenth Infantry,\ncommanding in his absence, will see that all Indians coming in will be\nremoved, and, I think, before April next, if the present good feeling\nexists, we shall have accomplished the removal of the entire tribe.\nCapt. A. B. Carey, after successfully marching through the canyon and\nnoting its topography, reached Fort Canby on the eighteenth instant, and\nrelieved Capt. Francis M'Cabe, First New Mexico Cavalry, who commanded\nin the absence of Col. Kit Carson.\n\n\"As the Navajo expedition is now entirely successful, it is but justice\nto the officers and men of the First Cavalry of New Mexico, and to Col.\nChristopher Carson and his staff to say that they have all acted with\nzeal and devotion for the accomplishment of that great desideratum--the\nremoval of the Navajoes. Cut off from the enjoyments of civilized life,\ndeprived of its luxuries, comforts, and even many of its necessaries,\nand restricted to the exploration of a wilderness and the castigation\nof an army of savages, who defied them, and endeavored to find a shelter\namong the cliffs, groves, and canyons of their country; in pursuing them\nto their haunts they have encountered appalling difficulties, namely:\nwant of water, grass, and fuel; often exposed to the merciless fury of\nthe elements, and to the bullets and arrows of a hidden foe. In the face\nof these difficulties they have discovered new rivers, springs, and\nmountains in a region hitherto unexplored, and penetrated by companies\ninto the very strongholds of the enemy, who fled farther west as our\ncolumns advanced, and on various occasions the dismounted cavalry have,\nby rapid and unparalleled night marches, surprised that enemy, capturing\nhis camp and securing his flocks and herds, at a time when he imagined\nhimself far beyond our reach, and really when he occupied a country\nnever before trodden by the foot of a white man.\n\n\"Much of the credit is due to the perseverance and courage of Col. Kit\nCarson, commanding the expedition, whose example excited all to great\nenergy, and inspired great resolution; but it may not be out of place to\nremark that it is now demonstrated beyond a doubt that, while the troops\nof New Mexico have long borne the reputation of being the best cavalry,\nthey have proved themselves in the present campaign to be the best\ninfantry in the world.\n\n\"Gen. James H. Carlton, who knows, perhaps, and understands the material\nfor an army as well as any General in our army, has directed the\nformation of a New-Mexican Brigade, and when the savage foe is removed,\nthat Brigade, commanded by Brigadier-Gen. Kit Carson, would surely\nreflect credit on the Territory and on the Department Commander.\"\n\nAfter the close of the war Christopher Carson continued in the employ of\nthe Government, rendering such services as only one equally skilled and\nexperienced could render, until his death. He died at Fort Lyon,\nColorado, on the 23d of May, 1868, from the effects of the rupture of an\nartery, or probably an aneurism of an artery, in the neck. But a few\nweeks previous he had visited Washington on a treaty mission, in company\nwith a deputation of red men, and made a tour of several of the Northern\nand Eastern cities.\n\nIn his death the country has lost the most noted of that intrepid race\nof mountaineers, trappers, and guides that have ever been the pioneers\nof civilization in its advancement westward. As an Indian fighter he was\nmatchless. His rifle, when fired at a redskin, never failed him, and\nthe number that fell beneath his aim, who can tell! (The identical rifle\nwhich Carson used in all his scouts, during the last thirty-five years\nof his life, he bequeathed, just previous to his death, to Montezuma\nLodge, A. F. and A. M., Santa Fe, of which he was a member.) The country\nwill always regard him as a perfect representative of the American\nfrontiersman, and accord to him the most daring valor, consistent\nkindliness, perseverant energy and truthfulness which that whole great\nterritory, that we must still regard as lying between the civilizations,\nis capable of furnishing.\n\n\n * * * * *\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[A] Peters.\n\n[B] Annals of San Francisco. By Frank Soule, John H Gihon, and James\nNisbet. New York, D. Appleton & Co., 1855.\n\n[C] Cutts. Conquest of California and New Mexico.\n\n[D] Peters.\n\n\n * * * * *\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nSimple typographical errors were corrected.\n\nPunctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant\npreference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.\n\nAmbiguous and missing quotation marks remedied on pages 79, 177-178,\nand 334.\n\nPage 301: \"it is not wonderful\" probably should be \"is it not\nwonderful\".\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Life of Kit Carson, by Charles Burdett\n\n*** "], ["\n\n\n\nProduced by Tapio Riikonen and David Widger\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURES OF FERDINAND COUNT FATHOM\n\nby Tobias Smollett\n\n\nCOMPLETE IN TWO PARTS\n\nPART I.\n\nWith the Author's Preface, and an Introduction by G. H. Maynadier, Ph.D.\nDepartment of English, Harvard University.\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n INTRODUCTION\n\n PREFATORY ADDRESS\n\n CHAPTER\n I Some sage Observations that naturally introduce our important\n History\n II A superficial View of our Hero's Infancy\n III He is initiated in a Military Life, and has the good Fortune\n to acquire a generous Patron\n IV His Mother's Prowess and Death; together with some Instances\n of his own Sagacity\n V A brief Detail of his Education\n VI He meditates Schemes of Importance\n VII Engages in Partnership with a female Associate, in order to\n put his Talents in Action\n VIII Their first Attempt; with a Digression which some Readers\n may think impertinent\n IX The Confederates change their Battery, and achieve a remarkable\n Adventure\n X They proceed to levy Contributions with great Success, until\n our Hero sets out with the young Count for Vienna, where he\n enters into League with another Adventurer\n XI Fathom makes various Efforts in the World of Gallantry\n XII He effects a Lodgment in the House of a rich Jeweller\n XIII He is exposed to a most perilous Incident in the Course of his\n Intrigue with the Daughter\n XIV He is reduced to a dreadful Dilemma, in consequence of an\n Assignation with the Wife\n XV But at length succeeds in his Attempt upon both\n XVI His Success begets a blind Security, by which he is once again\n well-nigh entrapped in his Dulcinea's Apartment\n XVII The Step-dame's Suspicions being awakened, she lays a Snare\n for our Adventurer, from which he is delivered by the\n Interposition of his Good Genius\n XVIII Our Hero departs from Vienna, and quits the Domain of Venus\n for the rough Field of Mars\n XIX He puts himself under the Guidance of his Associate, and\n stumbles upon the French Camp, where he finishes his\n Military Career\n XX He prepares a Stratagem, but finds himself countermined--\n Proceeds on his Journey, and is overtaken by a terrible\n Tempest\n XXI He falls upon Scylla, seeking to avoid Charybdis.\n XXII He arrives at Paris, and is pleased with his Reception\n XXIII Acquits himself with Address in a Nocturnal Riot\n XXIV He overlooks the Advances of his Friends, and smarts severely\n for his Neglect\n XXV He bears his Fate like a Philosopher; and contracts\n acquaintance with a very remarkable Personage\n XXVI The History of the Noble Castilian\n XXVII A flagrant Instance of Fathom's Virtue, in the Manner of his\n Retreat to England\n XXVIII Some Account of his Fellow-Travellers\n XXIX Another providential Deliverance from the Effects of the\n Smuggler's ingenious Conjecture\n XXX The singular Manner of Fathom's Attack and Triumph over the\n Virtue of the fair Elenor\n XXXI He by accident encounters his old Friend, with whom he holds\n a Conference, and renews a Treaty\n XXXII He appears in the great World with universal Applause and\n Admiration\n XXXIII He attracts the Envy and Ill Offices of the minor Knights of\n his own Order, over whom he obtains a complete Victory\n XXXIV He performs another Exploit, that conveys a true Idea of his\n Gratitude and Honour\n XXXV He repairs to Bristol Spring, where he reigns paramount during\n the whole Season\n XXXVI He is smitten with the Charms of a Female Adventurer, whose\n Allurements subject him to a new Vicissitude of Fortune\n XXXVII Fresh Cause for exerting his Equanimity and Fortitude\n XXXVIII The Biter is Bit\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nThe Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom, Smollett's third novel, was\ngiven to the world in 1753. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, writing to her\ndaughter, the Countess of Bute, over a year later [January 1st, 1755],\nremarked that \"my friend Smollett . . . has certainly a talent for\ninvention, though I think it flags a little in his last work.\" Lady Mary\nwas both right and wrong. The inventive power which we commonly think of\nas Smollett's was the ability to work over his own experience into\nrealistic fiction. Of this, Ferdinand Count Fathom shows comparatively\nlittle. It shows relatively little, too, of Smollett's vigorous\npersonality, which in his earlier works was present to give life and\ninterest to almost every chapter, were it to describe a street brawl, a\nludicrous situation, a whimsical character, or with venomous prejudice to\ngibbet some enemy. This individuality--the peculiar spirit of the author\nwhich can be felt rather than described--is present in the dedication of\nFathom to Doctor ------, who is no other than Smollett himself, and a\ncandid revelation of his character, by the way, this dedication contains.\nIt is present, too, in the opening chapters, which show, likewise, in the\npicture of Fathom's mother, something of the author's peculiar \"talent\nfor invention.\" Subsequently, however, there is no denying that the\nSmollett invention and the Smollett spirit both flag. And yet, in a way,\nFathom displays more invention than any of the author's novels; it is\nbased far less than any other on personal experience. Unfortunately\nsuch thorough-going invention was not suited to Smollett's genius. The\nresult is, that while uninteresting as a novel of contemporary manners,\nFathom has an interest of its own in that it reveals a new side of its\nauthor. We think of Smollett, generally, as a rambling storyteller, a\nrational, unromantic man of the world, who fills his pages with his own\noddly-metamorphosed acquaintances and experiences. The Smollett of Count\nFathom, on the contrary, is rather a forerunner of the romantic school,\nwho has created a tolerably organic tale of adventure out of his own\nbrain. Though this is notably less readable than the author's earlier\nworks, still the wonder is that when the man is so far \"off his beat,\" he\nshould yet know so well how to meet the strange conditions which confront\nhim. To one whose idea of Smollett's genius is formed entirely by Random\nand Pickle and Humphry Clinker, Ferdinand Count Fathom will offer many\nsurprises.\n\nThe first of these is the comparative lifelessness of the book. True,\nhere again are action and incident galore, but generally unaccompanied by\nthat rough Georgian hurly-burly, common in Smollett, which is so\ninteresting to contemplate from a comfortable distance, and which goes so\nfar towards making his fiction seem real. Nor are the characters, for\nthe most part, life-like enough to be interesting. There is an apparent\nexception, to be sure, in the hero's mother, already mentioned, the\nhardened camp-follower, whom we confidently expect to become vitalised\nafter the savage fashion of Smollett's characters. But, alas! we have no\nchance to learn the lady's style of conversation, for the few words that\ncome from her lips are but partially characteristic; we have only too\nlittle chance to learn her manners and customs. In the fourth chapter,\nwhile she is making sure with her dagger that all those on the field of\nbattle whom she wishes to rifle are really dead, an officer of the\nhussars, who has been watching her lucrative progress, unfeelingly puts a\nbrace of bullets into the lady's brain, just as she raises her hand to\nsmite him to the heart. Perhaps it is as well that she is thus removed\nbefore our disappointment at the non-fulfilment of her promise becomes\npoignant. So far as we may judge from the other personages of Count\nFathom, even this interesting Amazon would sooner or later have turned\ninto a wooden figure, with a label giving the necessary information as to\nher character.\n\nSuch certainly is her son, Fathom, the hero of the book. Because he is\nplacarded, \"Shrewd villain of monstrous inhumanity,\" we are fain to\naccept him for what his creator intended; but seldom in word or deed is\nhe a convincingly real villain. His friend and foil, the noble young\nCount de Melvil, is no more alive than he; and equally wooden are Joshua,\nthe high-minded, saint-like Jew, and that tedious, foolish Don Diego.\nNeither is the heroine alive, the peerless Monimia, but then, in her\ncase, want of vitality is not surprising; the presence of it would amaze\nus. If she were a woman throbbing with life, she would be different from\nSmollett's other heroines. The \"second lady\" of the melodrama,\nMademoiselle de Melvil, though by no means vivified, is yet more real\nthan her sister-in-law.\n\nThe fact that they are mostly inanimate figures is not the only surprise\ngiven us by the personages of Count Fathom. It is a surprise to find few\nof them strikingly whimsical; it is a surprise to find them in some cases\nfar more distinctly conceived than any of the people in Roderick Random\nor Peregrine Pickle. In the second of these, we saw Smollett beginning\nto understand the use of incident to indicate consistent development of\ncharacter. In Count Fathom, he seems fully to understand this principle\nof art, though he has not learned to apply it successfully. And so, in\nspite of an excellent conception, Fathom, as I have said, is unreal.\nAfter all his villainies, which he perpetrates without any apparent\nqualms of conscience, it is incredible that he should honestly repent of\nhis crimes. We are much inclined to doubt when we read that \"his vice\nand ambition was now quite mortified within him,\" the subsequent\ntestimony of Matthew Bramble, Esq., in Humphry Clinker, to the contrary,\nnotwithstanding. Yet Fathom up to this point is consistently drawn, and\ndrawn for a purpose:--to show that cold-blooded roguery, though\nsuccessful for a while, will come to grief in the end. To heighten the\neffect of his scoundrel, Smollett develops parallel with him the virtuous\nCount de Melvil. The author's scheme of thus using one character as the\nfoil of another, though not conspicuous for its originality, shows a\ndecided advance in the theory of constructive technique. Only, as I have\nsaid, Smollett's execution is now defective.\n\n\"But,\" one will naturally ask, \"if Fathom lacks the amusing, and not\ninfrequently stimulating, hurly-burly of Smollett's former novels; if its\ncharacters, though well-conceived, are seldom divertingly fantastic and\nnever thoroughly animate; what makes the book interesting?\" The surprise\nwill be greater than ever when the answer is given that, to a large\nextent, the plot makes Fathom interesting. Yes, Smollett, hitherto\nindifferent to structure, has here written a story in which the plot\nitself, often clumsy though it may be, engages a reader's attention. One\nactually wants to know whether the young Count is ever going to receive\nconsolation for his sorrows and inflict justice on his basely ungrateful\npensioner. And when, finally, all turns out as it should, one is amazed\nto find how many of the people in the book have helped towards the\ndesigned conclusion. Not all of them, indeed, nor all of the adventures,\nare indispensable, but it is manifest at the end that much, which, for\nthe time, most readers think irrelevant--such as Don Diego's history--is,\nafter all, essential.\n\nIt has already been said that in Count Fathom Smollett appears to some\nextent as a romanticist, and this is another fact which lends interest to\nthe book. That he had a powerful imagination is not a surprise. Any one\nversed in Smollett has already seen it in the remarkable situations which\nhe has put before us in his earlier works. These do not indicate,\nhowever, that Smollett possessed the imagination which could excite\nromantic interest; for in Roderick Random and in Peregrine Pickle, the\nwonderful situations serve chiefly to amuse. In Fathom, however, there\nare some designed to excite horror; and one, at least, is eminently\nsuccessful. The hero's night in the wood between Bar-le-duc and Chalons\nwas no doubt more blood-curdling to our eighteenth-century ancestors than\nit is to us, who have become acquainted with scores of similar situations\nin the small number of exciting romances which belong to literature, and\nin the greater number which do not. Still, even to-day, a reader, with\nhis taste jaded by trashy novels, will be conscious of Smollett's power,\nand of several thrills, likewise, as he reads about Fathom's experience\nin the loft in which the beldame locks him to pass the night.\n\nThis situation is melodramatic rather than romantic, as the word is used\ntechnically in application to eighteenth and nineteenth-century\nliterature. There is no little in Fathom, however, which is genuinely\nromantic in the latter sense. Such is the imprisonment of the Countess\nin the castle-tower, whence she waves her handkerchief to the young\nCount, her son and would-be rescuer. And especially so is the scene in\nthe church, when Renaldo (the very name is romantic) visits at midnight\nthe supposed grave of his lady-love. While he was waiting for the sexton\nto open the door, his \"soul . . . was wound up to the highest pitch of\nenthusiastic sorrow. The uncommon darkness, . . . the solemn silence,\nand lonely situation of the place, conspired with the occasion of his\ncoming, and the dismal images of his fancy, to produce a real rapture of\ngloomy expectation, which the whole world could not have persuaded him to\ndisappoint. The clock struck twelve, the owl screeched from the ruined\nbattlement, the door was opened by the sexton, who, by the light of a\nglimmering taper, conducted the despairing lover to a dreary aisle, and\nstamped upon the ground with his foot, saying, 'Here the young lady lies\ninterred.'\"\n\nWe have here such an amount of the usual romantic machinery of the\n\"grave-yard\" school of poets--that school of which Professor W. L. Phelps\ncalls Young, in his Night Thoughts, the most \"conspicuous exemplar\"--that\none is at first inclined to think Smollett poking fun at it. The\ncontext, however, seems to prove that he was perfectly serious. It is\ninteresting, then, as well as surprising, to find traces of the romantic\nspirit in his fiction over ten years before Walpole's Castle of Otranto.\nIt is also interesting to find so much melodramatic feeling in him,\nbecause it makes stronger the connection between him and his\nnineteenth-century disciple, Dickens.\n\nFrom all that I have said, it must not be thought that the usual Smollett\nis always, or almost always, absent from Count Fathom. I have spoken of\nthe dedication and of the opening chapters as what we might expect from\nhis pen. There are, besides, true Smollett strokes in the scenes in the\nprison from which Melvil rescues Fathom, and there is a good deal of the\nsatirical Smollett fun in the description of Fathom's ups and downs,\nfirst as the petted beau, and then as the fashionable doctor. In\nchronicling the latter meteoric career, Smollett had already observed the\npeculiarity of his countrymen which Thackeray was fond of harping on in\nthe next century--\"the maxim which universally prevails among the English\npeople . . . to overlook, . . . on their return to the metropolis,\nall the connexions they may have chanced to acquire during their\nresidence at any of the medical wells. And this social disposition is\nso scrupulously maintained, that two persons who live in the most\nintimate correspondence at Bath or Tunbridge, shall, in four-and-twenty\nhours . . . meet in St. James's Park, without betraying the least\ntoken of recognition.\" And good, too, is the way in which, as Dr. Fathom\ngoes rapidly down the social hill, he makes excuses for his declining\nsplendour. His chariot was overturned \"with a hideous crash\" at such\ndanger to himself, \"that he did not believe he should ever hazard himself\nagain in any sort of wheel carriage.\" He turned off his men for maids,\nbecause \"men servants are generally impudent, lazy, debauched, or\ndishonest.\" To avoid the din of the street, he shifted his lodgings into\na quiet, obscure court. And so forth and so on, in the true Smollett\nvein.\n\nBut, after all, such of the old sparks are struck only occasionally.\nApart from its plot, which not a few nineteenth-century writers of\ndetective-stories might have improved, The Adventures of Ferdinand Count\nFathom is less interesting for itself than any other piece of fiction\nfrom Smollett's pen. For a student of Smollett, however, it is highly\ninteresting as showing the author's romantic, melodramatic tendencies,\nand the growth of his constructive technique.\n\nG. H. MAYNADIER\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURES OF FERDINAND COUNT FATHOM\n\n\n\n\nTO DOCTOR ------\n\n\nYou and I, my good friend, have often deliberated on the difficulty of\nwriting such a dedication as might gratify the self-complacency of a\npatron, without exposing the author to the ridicule or censure of the\npublic; and I think we generally agreed that the task was altogether\nimpracticable.--Indeed, this was one of the few subjects on which we have\nalways thought in the same manner. For, notwithstanding that deference\nand regard which we mutually pay to each other, certain it is, we have\noften differed, according to the predominancy of those different\npassions, which frequently warp the opinion, and perplex the\nunderstanding of the most judicious.\n\nIn dedication, as in poetry, there is no medium; for, if any one of the\nhuman virtues be omitted in the enumeration of the patron's good\nqualities, the whole address is construed into an affront, and the writer\nhas the mortification to find his praise prostituted to very little\npurpose.\n\nOn the other hand, should he yield to the transports of gratitude or\naffection, which is always apt to exaggerate, and produce no more than\nthe genuine effusions of his heart, the world will make no allowance for\nthe warmth of his passion, but ascribe the praise he bestows to\ninterested views and sordid adulation.\n\nSometimes too, dazzled by the tinsel of a character which he has no\nopportunity to investigate, he pours forth the homage of his admiration\nupon some false Maecenas, whose future conduct gives the lie to his\neulogium, and involves him in shame and confusion of face. Such was the\nfate of a late ingenious author [the Author of the \"Seasons\"], who was so\noften put to the blush for the undeserved incense he had offered in the\nheat of an enthusiastic disposition, misled by popular applause, that he\nhad resolved to retract, in his last will, all the encomiums which he had\nthus prematurely bestowed, and stigmatise the unworthy by name--a\nlaudable scheme of poetical justice, the execution of which was fatally\nprevented by untimely death.\n\nWhatever may have been the fate of other dedicators, I, for my own part,\nsit down to write this address, without any apprehension of disgrace or\ndisappointment; because I know you are too well convinced of my affection\nand sincerity to repine at what I shall say touching your character and\nconduct. And you will do me the justice to believe, that this public\ndistinction is a testimony of my particular friendship and esteem.\n\nNot that I am either insensible of your infirmities, or disposed to\nconceal them from the notice of mankind. There are certain foibles which\ncan only be cured by shame and mortification; and whether or not yours be\nof that species, I shall have the comfort to think my best endeavours\nwere used for your reformation.\n\nKnow then, I can despise your pride, while I honour your integrity, and\napplaud your taste, while I am shocked at your ostentation.--I have known\nyou trifling, superficial, and obstinate in dispute; meanly jealous and\nawkwardly reserved; rash and haughty in your resentments; and coarse and\nlowly in your connexions. I have blushed at the weakness of your\nconversation, and trembled at the errors of your conduct--yet, as I own\nyou possess certain good qualities, which overbalance these defects, and\ndistinguish you on this occasion as a person for whom I have the most\nperfect attachment and esteem, you have no cause to complain of the\nindelicacy with which your faults are reprehended. And as they are\nchiefly the excesses of a sanguine disposition and looseness of thought,\nimpatient of caution or control, you may, thus stimulated, watch over\nyour own intemperance and infirmity with redoubled vigilance and\nconsideration, and for the future profit by the severity of my reproof.\n\nThese, however, are not the only motives that induce me to trouble you\nwith this public application. I must not only perform my duty to my\nfriends, but also discharge the debt I owe to my own interest. We live\nin a censorious age; and an author cannot take too much precaution to\nanticipate the prejudice, misapprehension, and temerity of malice,\nignorance, and presumption.\n\nI therefore think it incumbent upon me to give some previous intimation\nof the plan which I have executed in the subsequent performance, that I\nmay not be condemned upon partial evidence; and to whom can I with more\npropriety appeal in my explanation than to you, who are so well\nacquainted with all the sentiments and emotions of my breast?\n\nA novel is a large diffused picture, comprehending the characters of\nlife, disposed in different groups, and exhibited in various attitudes,\nfor the purposes of an uniform plan, and general occurrence, to which\nevery individual figure is subservient. But this plan cannot be executed\nwith propriety, probability, or success, without a principal personage to\nattract the attention, unite the incidents, unwind the clue of the\nlabyrinth, and at last close the scene, by virtue of his own importance.\n\nAlmost all the heroes of this kind, who have hitherto succeeded on the\nEnglish stage, are characters of transcendent worth, conducted through\nthe vicissitudes of fortune, to that goal of happiness, which ever ought\nto be the repose of extraordinary desert.--Yet the same principle by\nwhich we rejoice at the remuneration of merit, will teach us to relish\nthe disgrace and discomfiture of vice, which is always an example of\nextensive use and influence, because it leaves a deep impression of\nterror upon the minds of those who were not confirmed in the pursuit of\nmorality and virtue, and, while the balance wavers, enables the right\nscale to preponderate.\n\nIn the drama, which is a more limited field of invention, the chief\npersonage is often the object of our detestation and abhorrence; and we\nare as well pleased to see the wicked schemes of a Richard blasted, and\nthe perfidy of a Maskwell exposed, as to behold a Bevil happy, and an\nEdward victorious.\n\nThe impulses of fear, which is the most violent and interesting of all\nthe passions, remain longer than any other upon the memory; and for one\nthat is allured to virtue, by the contemplation of that peace and\nhappiness which it bestows, a hundred are deterred from the practice of\nvice, by that infamy and punishment to which it is liable, from the laws\nand regulations of mankind.\n\nLet me not, therefore, be condemned for having chosen my principal\ncharacter from the purlieus of treachery and fraud, when I declare my\npurpose is to set him up as a beacon for the benefit of the unexperienced\nand unwary, who, from the perusal of these memoirs, may learn to avoid\nthe manifold snares with which they are continually surrounded in the\npaths of life; while those who hesitate on the brink of iniquity may be\nterrified from plunging into that irremediable gulf, by surveying the\ndeplorable fate of Ferdinand Count Fathom.\n\nThat the mind might not be fatigued, nor the imagination disgusted, by a\nsuccession of vicious objects, I have endeavoured to refresh the\nattention with occasional incidents of a different nature; and raised up\na virtuous character, in opposition to the adventurer, with a view to\namuse the fancy, engage the affection, and form a striking contrast which\nmight heighten the expression, and give a relief to the moral of the\nwhole.\n\nIf I have not succeeded in my endeavours to unfold the mysteries of\nfraud, to instruct the ignorant, and entertain the vacant; if I have\nfailed in my attempts to subject folly to ridicule, and vice to\nindignation; to rouse the spirit of mirth, wake the soul of compassion,\nand touch the secret springs that move the heart; I have, at least,\nadorned virtue with honour and applause, branded iniquity with reproach\nand shame, and carefully avoided every hint or expression which could\ngive umbrage to the most delicate reader--circumstances which (whatever\nmay be my fate with the public) will with you always operate\nin favour of,\n\nDear sir, your very affectionate friend and servant,\n\nTHE AUTHOR.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER ONE\n\nSOME SAGE OBSERVATIONS THAT NATURALLY INTRODUCE OUR IMPORTANT HISTORY.\n\n\nCardinal de Retz very judiciously observes, that all historians must of\nnecessity be subject to mistakes, in explaining the motives of those\nactions they record, unless they derive their intelligence from the\ncandid confession of the person whose character they represent; and that,\nof consequence, every man of importance ought to write his own memoirs,\nprovided he has honesty enough to tell the truth, without suppressing any\ncircumstance that may tend to the information of the reader. This,\nhowever, is a requisite that, I am afraid, would be very rarely found\namong the number of those who exhibit their own portraits to the public.\nIndeed, I will venture to say, that, how upright soever a man's\nintentions may be, he will, in the performance of such a task, be\nsometimes misled by his own phantasy, and represent objects, as they\nappeared to him, through the mists of prejudice and passion.\n\nAn unconcerned reader, when he peruses the history of two competitors,\nwho lived two thousand years ago, or who perhaps never had existence,\nexcept in the imagination of the author, cannot help interesting himself\nin the dispute, and espousing one side of the contest, with all the zeal\nof a warm adherent. What wonder, then, that we should be heated in our\nown concerns, review our actions with the same self-approbation that they\nhad formerly acquired, and recommend them to the world with all the\nenthusiasm of paternal affection?\n\nSupposing this to be the case, it was lucky for the cause of historical\ntruth, that so many pens have been drawn by writers, who could not be\nsuspected of such partiality; and that many great personages, among the\nancients as well as moderns, either would not or could not entertain the\npublic with their own memoirs. From this want of inclination or capacity\nto write, in our hero himself, the undertaking is now left to me, of\ntransmitting to posterity the remarkable adventures of FERDINAND COUNT\nFATHOM; and by the time the reader shall have glanced over the subsequent\nsheets, I doubt not but he will bless God that the adventurer was not his\nown historian.\n\nThis mirror of modern chivalry was none of those who owe their dignity to\nthe circumstances of their birth, and are consecrated from the cradle for\nthe purposes of greatness, merely because they are the accidental\nchildren of wealth. He was heir to no visible patrimony, unless we\nreckon a robust constitution, a tolerable appearance, and an uncommon\ncapacity, as the advantages of inheritance. If the comparison obtains in\nthis point of consideration, he was as much as any man indebted to his\nparent; and pity it was, that, in the sequel of his fortune, he never had\nan opportunity of manifesting his filial gratitude and regard. From this\nagreeable act of duty to his sire, and all those tendernesses that are\nreciprocally enjoyed betwixt the father and the son, he was unhappily\nexcluded by a small circumstance; at which, however, he was never heard\nto repine. In short, had he been brought forth in the fabulous ages of\nthe world, the nature of his origin might have turned to his account; he\nmight, like other heroes of antiquity, have laid claim to divine\nextraction, without running the risk of being claimed by an earthly\nfather. Not that his parents had any reason to disown or renounce their\noffspring, or that there was anything preternatural in the circumstances\nof his generation and birth; on the contrary, he was, from the beginning,\na child of promising parts, and in due course of nature ushered into the\nworld amidst a whole cloud of witnesses. But, that he was acknowledged\nby no mortal sire, solely proceeded from the uncertainty of his mother,\nwhose affections were so dissipated among a number of admirers, that she\ncould never pitch upon the person from whose loins our hero sprung.\n\nOver and above this important doubt under which he was begotten, other\nparticularities attended his birth, and seemed to mark him out as\nsomething uncommon among the sons of men. He was brought forth in a\nwaggon, and might be said to be literally a native of two different\ncountries; for, though he first saw the light in Holland, he was not born\ntill after the carriage arrived in Flanders; so that, all these\nextraordinary circumstances considered, the task of determining to what\ngovernment he naturally owed allegiance, would be at least as difficult\nas that of ascertaining the so much contested birthplace of Homer.\n\nCertain it is, the Count's mother was an Englishwoman, who, after having\nbeen five times a widow in one campaign, was, in the last year of the\nrenowned Marlborough's command, numbered among the baggage of the allied\narmy, which she still accompanied, through pure benevolence of spirit,\nsupplying the ranks with the refreshing streams of choice Geneva, and\naccommodating individuals with clean linen, as the emergency of their\noccasions required. Nor was her philanthropy altogether confined to such\nministration; she abounded with \"the milk of human kindness,\" which\nflowed plentifully among her fellow-creatures; and to every son of Mars\nwho cultivated her favour, she liberally dispensed her smiles, in order\nto sweeten the toils and dangers of the field.\n\nAnd here it will not be amiss to anticipate the remarks of the reader,\nwho, in the chastity and excellency of his conception, may possibly\nexclaim, \"Good Heaven! will these authors never reform their\nimaginations, and lift their ideas from the obscene objects of low life?\nMust the public be again disgusted with the grovelling adventures of a\nwaggon? Will no writer of genius draw his pen in the vindication of\ntaste, and entertain us with the agreeable characters, the dignified\nconversation, the poignant repartee, in short, the genteel comedy of the\npolite world?\"\n\nHave a little patience, gentle, delicate, sublime critic; you, I doubt\nnot, are one of those consummate connoisseurs, who, in their\npurifications, let humour evaporate, while they endeavour to preserve\ndecorum, and polish wit, until the edge of it is quite worn off. Or,\nperhaps, of that class, who, in the sapience of taste, are disgusted with\nthose very flavours in the productions of their own country which have\nyielded infinite delectation to their faculties, when imported from\nanother clime; and d--n an author in despite of all precedent and\nprescription;--who extol the writings of Petronius Arbiter, read with\nrapture the amorous sallies of Ovid's pen, and chuckle over the story of\nLucian's ass; yet, if a modern author presumes to relate the progress of\na simple intrigue, are shocked at the indecency and immorality of the\nscene;--who delight in following Guzman d'Alfarache, through all the\nmazes of squalid beggary; who with pleasure accompany Don Quixote and his\nsquire, in the lowest paths of fortune; who are diverted with the\nadventures of Scarron's ragged troop of strollers, and highly entertained\nwith the servile situations of Gil Blas; yet, when a character in humble\nlife occasionally occurs in a performance of our own growth, exclaim,\nwith an air of disgust, \"Was ever anything so mean! sure, this writer\nmust have been very conversant with the lowest scenes of life\";--who,\nwhen Swift or Pope represents a coxcomb in the act of swearing, scruple\nnot to laugh at the ridiculous execrations; but, in a less reputed\nauthor, condemn the use of such profane expletives;--who eagerly explore\nthe jakes of Rabelais, for amusement, and even extract humour from the\ndean's description of a lady's dressing-room; yet in a production of\nthese days, unstamped with such venerable names, will stop their noses,\nwith all the signs of loathing and abhorrence, at a bare mention of the\nchina chamber-pot;--who applauded Catullus, Juvenal, Persius, and Lucan,\nfor their spirit in lashing the greatest names of antiquity; yet, when a\nBritish satirist, of this generation, has courage enough to call in\nquestion the talents of a pseudo-patron in power, accuse him of\ninsolence, rancour, and scurrility.\n\nIf such you be, courteous reader, I say again, have a little patience;\nfor your entertainment we are about to write. Our hero shall, with all\nconvenient despatch, be gradually sublimed into those splendid connexions\nof which you are enamoured; and God forbid, that, in the meantime, the\nnature of his extraction should turn to his prejudice in a land of\nfreedom like this, where individuals are every day ennobled in\nconsequence of their own qualifications, without the least retrospective\nregard to the rank or merit of their ancestors. Yes, refined reader, we\nare hastening to that goal of perfection, where satire dares not show her\nface; where nature is castigated, almost even to still life; where humour\nturns changeling, and slavers in an insipid grin; where wit is\nvolatilised into a mere vapour; where decency, divested of all substance,\nhovers about like a fantastic shadow; where the salt of genius, escaping,\nleaves nothing but pure and simple phlegm; and the inoffensive pen for\never drops the mild manna of soul-sweetening praise.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWO\n\nA SUPERFICIAL VIEW OF OUR HERO'S INFANCY.\n\n\nHaving thus bespoken the indulgence of our guests, let us now produce the\nparticulars of our entertainment, and speedily conduct our adventurer\nthrough the stage of infancy, which seldom teems with interesting\nincidents.\n\nAs the occupations of his mother would not conveniently permit her to\nsuckle this her firstborn at her own breast, and those happy ages were\nnow no more, in which the charge of nursing a child might be left to the\nnext goat or she-wolf, she resolved to improve upon the ordinances of\nnature, and foster him with a juice much more energetic than the milk of\ngoat, wolf, or woman; this was no other than that delicious nectar,\nwhich, as we have already hinted, she so cordially distributed from a\nsmall cask that hung before her, depending from her shoulders by a\nleathern zone. Thus determined, ere he was yet twelve days old, she\nenclosed him in a canvas knapsack, which being adjusted to her neck, fell\ndown upon her back, and balanced the cargo that rested on her bosom.\n\nThere are not wanting those who affirm, that, while her double charge was\ncarried about in this situation, her keg was furnished with a long and\nslender flexible tube, which, when the child began to be clamorous, she\nconveyed into his mouth, and straight he stilled himself with sucking;\nbut this we consider as an extravagant assertion of those who mix the\nmarvellous in all their narrations, because we cannot conceive how the\ntender organs of an infant could digest such a fiery beverage, which\nnever fails to discompose the constitutions of the most hardy and robust.\nWe therefore conclude that the use of this potation was more restrained,\nand that it was with simple element diluted into a composition adapted to\nhis taste and years. Be this as it will, he certainly was indulged in\nthe use of it to such a degree as would have effectually obstructed his\nfuture fortune, had not he been happily cloyed with the repetition of the\nsame fare, for which he conceived the utmost detestation and abhorrence,\nrejecting it with loathing and disgust, like those choice spirits, who,\nhaving been crammed with religion in their childhood, renounce it in\ntheir youth, among other absurd prejudices of education.\n\nWhile he was thus dangled in a state of suspension, a German trooper was\ntransiently smit with the charms of his mother, who listened to his\nhonourable addresses, and once more received the silken bonds of\nmatrimony; the ceremony having been performed as usual at the drum-head.\nThe lady had no sooner taken possession of her new name, than she\nbestowed it upon her son, who was thenceforward distinguished by the\nappellation of Ferdinand de Fadom; nor was the husband offended at this\npresumption in his wife, which he not only considered as a proof of her\naffection and esteem, but also as a compliment, by which he might in time\nacquire the credit of being the real father of such a hopeful child.\n\nNotwithstanding this new engagement with a foreigner, our hero's mother\nstill exercised the virtues of her calling among the English troops, so\nmuch was she biassed by that laudable partiality, which, as Horace\nobserves, the natale solum generally inspires. Indeed this inclination\nwas enforced by another reason, that did not fail to influence her\nconduct in this particular; all her knowledge of the High Dutch language\nconsisted in some words of traffic absolutely necessary for the practice\nof hex vocation, together with sundry oaths and terms of reproach, that\nkept her customers in awe; so that, except among her own countrymen, she\ncould not indulge that propensity to conversation, for which she had been\nremarkable from her earliest years. Nor did this instance of her\naffection fail of turning to her account in the sequel. She was promoted\nto the office of cook to a regimental mess of officers; and, before the\npeace of Utrecht, was actually in possession of a suttling-tent, pitched\nfor the accommodation of the gentlemen in the army.\n\nMeanwhile, Ferdinand improved apace in the accomplishments of infancy;\nhis beauty was conspicuous, and his vigour so uncommon, that he was\nwith justice likened unto Hercules in the cradle. The friends of his\nfather-in-law dandled him on their knees, while he played with their\nwhiskers, and, before he was thirteen months old, taught him to suck\nbrandy impregnated with gunpowder, through the touch-hole of a pistol.\nAt the same time, he was caressed by divers serjeants of the British\narmy, who severally and in secret contemplated his qualifications with a\nfather's pride, excited by the artful declaration with which the mother\nhad flattered each apart.\n\nSoon as the war was (for her unhappily) concluded, she, as in duty bound,\nfollowed her husband into Bohemia; and his regiment being sent into\ngarrison at Prague, she opened a cabaret in that city, which was\nfrequented by a good many guests of the Scotch and Irish nations, who\nwere devoted to the exercise of arms in the service of the Emperor. It\nwas by this communication that the English tongue became vernacular to\nyoung Ferdinand, who, without such opportunity, would have been a\nstranger to the language of his forefathers, in spite of all his mother's\nloquacity and elocution; though it must be owned, for the credit of her\nmaternal care, that she let slip no occasion of making it familiar to his\near and conception; for, even at those intervals in which she could find\nno person to carry on the altercation, she used to hold forth in earnest\nsoliloquies upon the subject of her own situation, giving vent to many\nopprobrious invectives against her husband's country, between which and\nOld England she drew many odious comparisons; and prayed, without\nceasing, that Europe might speedily be involved in a general war, so as\nthat she might have some chance of re-enjoying the pleasures and\nemoluments of a Flanders campaign.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THREE\n\nHE IS INITIATED IN A MILITARY LIFE, AND HAS THE GOOD FORTUNE TO ACQUIRE A\nGENEROUS PATRON.\n\nWhile she wearied Heaven with these petitions, the flame of war broke out\nbetwixt the houses of Ottoman and Austria, and the Emperor sent forth an\narmy into Hungary, under the auspices of the renowned Prince Eugene. On\naccount of this expedition, the mother of our hero gave up housekeeping,\nand cheerfully followed her customers and husband into the field; having\nfirst provided herself with store of those commodities in which she had\nformerly merchandised. Although the hope of profit might in some measure\naffect her determination, one of the chief motives for her visiting the\nfrontiers of Turkey, was the desire of initiating her son in the\nrudiments of his education, which she now thought high time to inculcate,\nhe being, at this period, in the sixth year of his age; he was\naccordingly conducted to the camp, which she considered as the most\nconsummate school of life, and proposed for the scene of his instruction;\nand in this academy he had not continued many weeks, when he was an\neye-witness of that famous victory, which, with sixty thousand men, the\nImperial general obtained over an army of one hundred and fifty thousand\nTurks.\n\nHis father-in-law was engaged, and his mother would not be idle on this\noccasion. She was a perfect mistress of all the camp qualifications, and\nthought it a duty incumbent on her to contribute all that lay in her\npower towards distressing the enemy. With these sentiments she hovered\nabout the skirts of the army, and the troops were no sooner employed in\nthe pursuit, than she began to traverse the field of battle with a\npoignard and a bag, in order to consult her own interest, annoy the foe,\nand exercise her humanity at the same time. In short, she had, with\namazing prowess, delivered some fifty or threescore disabled Mussulmen of\nthe pain under which they groaned, and made a comfortable booty of the\nspoils of the slain, when her eyes were attracted by the rich attire of\nan Imperial officer, who lay bleeding on the plain, to all appearance in\nthe agonies of death.\n\nShe could not in her heart refuse that favour to a friend and Christian\nshe had so compassionately bestowed upon so many enemies and infidels,\nand therefore drew near with the sovereign remedy, which she had already\nadministered with such success. As she approached this deplorable object\nof pity, her ears were surprised with an ejaculation in the English\ntongue, which he fervently pronounced, though with a weak and languid\nvoice, recommending his soul to God, and his family to the protection of\nHeaven. Our Amazon's purpose was staggered by this providential\nincident; the sound of her native language, so unexpectedly heard, and so\npathetically delivered, had a surprising effect upon her imagination; and\nthe faculty of reflection did not forsake her in such emergency. Though\nshe could not recollect the features of this unhappy officer, she\nconcluded, from his appearance, that he was some person of distinction in\nthe service, and foresaw greater advantage to herself in attempting to\npreserve his life, than she could possibly reap from the execution of her\nfirst resolve. \"If,\" said she to herself, \"I can find means of conveying\nhim to his tent alive, he cannot but in conscience acknowledge my\nhumanity with some considerable recompense; and, should he chance to\nsurvive his wounds, I have everything to expect from his gratitude and\npower.\"\n\nFraught with these prudential suggestions, she drew near the unfortunate\nstranger, and, in a softened accent of pity and condolence, questioned\nhim concerning his name, condition, and the nature of his mischance, at\nthe same time making a gentle tender of her service. Agreeably surprised\nto hear himself accosted in such a manner, by a person whose equipage\nseemed to promise far other designs, he thanked her in the most grateful\nterms for her humanity, with the appellation of kind countrywoman; gave\nher to understand that he was colonel of a regiment of horse; that he had\nfallen in consequence of a shot he received in his breast at the\nbeginning of the action; and, finally, entreated her to procure some\ncarriage on which he might be removed to his tent. Perceiving him faint\nand exhausted with loss of blood, she raised up his head, and treated him\nwith that cordial which was her constant companion. At that instant,\nespying a small body of hussars returning to the camp with the plunder\nthey had taken, she invoked their assistance, and they forthwith carried\nthe officer to his own quarters, where his wound was dressed, and his\npreserver carefully tended him until his recovery was completed.\n\nIn return for these good offices, this gentleman, who was originally of\nScotland, rewarded her for the present with great liberality, assured her\nof his influence in promoting her husband, and took upon himself the\ncharge of young Ferdinand's education; the boy was immediately taken into\nhis protection, and entered as a trooper in his own regiment; but his\ngood intentions towards his father-in-law were frustrated by the death of\nthe German, who, in a few days after this disposition, was shot in the\ntrenches before Temiswaer.\n\nThis event, over and above the conjugal affliction with which it invaded\nthe lady's quiet, would have involved her in infinite difficulty and\ndistress, with regard to her temporal concerns, by leaving her\nunprotected in the midst of strangers, had not she been thus\nprovidentially supplied with an effectual patron in the colonel, who was\nknown by the appellation of Count Melvil. He no sooner saw her, by the\ndeath of her husband, detached from all personal connexions with a\nmilitary life, than he proposed that she should quit her occupation in\nthe camp, and retire to his habitation in the city of Presburg, where she\nwould be entertained in ease and plenty during the remaining part of her\nnatural life. With all due acknowledgments of his generosity, she begged\nto be excused from embracing his proposal, alleging she was so much\naccustomed to her present way of life, and so much devoted to the service\nof the soldiery, that she should never be happy in retirement, while the\ntroops of any prince in Christendom kept the field.\n\nThe Count, finding her determined to prosecute her scheme, repeated his\npromise of befriending her upon all occasions; and in the meantime\nadmitted Ferdinand into the number of his domestics, resolving that he\nshould be brought up in attendance upon his own son, who was a boy of the\nsame age. He kept him, however, in his tent, until he should have an\nopportunity of revisiting his family in person; and, before that occasion\noffered, two whole years elapsed, during which the illustrious Prince\nEugene gained the celebrated battle of Belgrade, and afterwards made\nhimself master of that important frontier.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER FOUR\n\nHIS MOTHER'S PROWESS AND DEATH; TOGETHER WITH SOME INSTANCES OF HIS OWN\nSAGACITY.\n\n\nIt would have been impossible for the mother of our adventurer, such as\nshe hath been described, to sit quietly in her tent, while such an heroic\nscene was acting. She was no sooner apprised of the general's intention\nto attack the enemy, than she, as usual, packed up her moveables in a\nwaggon, which she committed to the care of a peasant in the\nneighbourhood, and put herself in motion with the troops; big with the\nexpectation of re-acting that part in which she had formerly acquitted\nherself so much to her advantage.--Nay, she by this time looked upon her\nown presence as a certain omen of success to the cause which she\nespoused; and, in their march to battle, actually encouraged the ranks\nwith repeated declarations, importing, that she had been eye-witness of\nten decisive engagements, in all of which her friends had been\nvictorious, and imputing such uncommon good fortune to some supernatural\nquality inherent in her person.\n\nWhether or not this confidence contributed to the fortune of the day, by\ninspiring the soldiers to an uncommon pitch of courage and resolution, I\nshall not pretend to determine. But, certain it is, the victory began\nfrom that quarter in which she had posted herself; and no corps in the\narmy behaved with such intrepidity as that which was manifested by those\nwho were favoured with her admonitions and example; for she not only\nexposed her person to the enemy's fire, with the indifference and\ndeliberation of a veteran, but she is said to have achieved a very\nconspicuous exploit by the prowess of her single arm. The extremity of\nthe line to which she had attached herself, being assaulted in flank by a\nbody of the spahis, wheeled about, in order to sustain the charge, and\nreceived them with such a seasonable fire, as brought a great number of\nturbans to the ground; among those who fell, was one of the chiefs or\nagas, who had advanced before the rest, with a view to signalise his\nvalour.\n\nOur English Penthesilea no sooner saw this Turkish leader drop, than,\nstruck with the magnificence of his own and horse's trappings, she sprung\nforward to seize them as her prize, and found the aga not dead, though in\na good measure disabled by his misfortune, which was entirely owing to\nthe weight of his horse, that, having been killed by a musket-ball, lay\nupon his leg, so that he could not disengage himself. Nevertheless,\nperceiving the virago approach with fell intent, he brandished his\nsymitar, and tried to intimidate his assailant with a most horrible\nexclamation; but it was not the dismal yell of a dismounted cavalier,\nthough enforced with a hideous ferocity of countenance, and the menacing\ngestures with which he waited her approach, that could intimidate such an\nundaunted she-campaigner; she saw him writhing in the agonies of a\nsituation from which he could not move; and, running towards him with the\nnimbleness and intrepidity of a Camilla, described a semicircle in the\nprogress of her assault, and attacking him on one side, plunged her\nwell-tried dagger in his throat. The shades of death encompassed him,\nhis life-blood issued at the wound, he fell prone upon the earth, he bit\nthe dust, and having thrice invoked the name of Allah! straight expired.\n\nWhile his destiny was thus fulfilled, his followers began to reel; they\nseemed dismayed at the fate of their chief, beheld their companions drop\nlike the leaves in autumn, and suddenly halted in the midst of their\ncareer. The Imperialists, observing the confusion of the enemy,\nredoubled their fire; and, raising a dreadful shout, advanced in order to\nimprove the advantage they had gained. The spahis durst not wait the\nshock of such an encounter; they wheeled to the right-about, and clapping\nspurs to their horses, fled in the utmost disorder. This was actually\nthe circumstance that turned the scale of battle. The Austrians pursued\ntheir good fortune with uncommon impetuosity, and in a few minutes left\nthe field clear for the mother of our hero, who was such an adept in the\nart of stripping, that in the twinkling of an eye the bodies of the aga\nand his Arabian lay naked to the skin. It would have been happy for her,\nhad she been contented with these first-fruits, reaped from the fortune\nof the day, and retired with her spoils, which were not inconsiderable;\nbut, intoxicated with the glory she had won, enticed by the glittering\ncaparisons that lay scattered on the plain, and without doubt prompted by\nthe secret instinct of her fate, she resolved to seize opportunity by the\nforelock, and once for all indemnify herself for the many fatigues,\nhazards, and sorrows she had undergone.\n\nThus determined, she reconnoitred the field, and practised her address so\nsuccessfully, that in less than half an hour she was loaded with ermine\nand embroidery, and disposed to retreat with her burden, when her regards\nwere solicited by a splendid bundle, which she descried at some distance\nlying on the ground. This was no other than an unhappy officer of\nhussars; who, after having the good fortune to take a Turkish standard,\nwas desperately wounded in the thigh, and obliged to quit his horse;\nfinding himself in such a helpless condition, he had wrapped his\nacquisition round his body, that whatever might happen, he and his glory\nshould not be parted; and thus shrouded, among the dying and the dead, he\nhad observed the progress of our heroine, who stalked about the field,\nlike another Atropos, finishing, wherever she came, the work of death.\nHe did not at all doubt, that he himself would be visited in the course\nof her peregrinations, and therefore provided for her reception, with a\npistol ready cocked in his hand, while he lay perdue beneath his covert,\nin all appearance bereft of life. He was not deceived in his prognostic;\nshe no sooner eyed the golden crescent than, inflamed with curiosity or\ncupidity, she directed thitherward her steps, and discerning the carcase\nof a man, from which, she thought, there would be a necessity for\ndisengaging it, she lifted up her weapon, in order to make sure of her\npurchase; and in the very instant of discharging her blow, received a\nbrace of bullets in her brain.\n\nThus ended the mortal pilgrimage of this modern Amazon; who, in point of\ncourage, was not inferior to Semiramis, Tomyris, Zenobia, Thalestris, or\nany boasted heroine of ancient times. It cannot be supposed that this\ncatastrophe made a very deep impression upon the mind of young Ferdinand,\nwho had just then attained the ninth year of his age, and been for a\nconsiderable time weaned from her maternal caresses; especially as he\nfelt no wants nor grievances in the family of the Count, who favoured him\nwith a particular share of indulgence, because he perceived in him a\nspirit of docility, insinuation, and sagacity, far above his years. He\ndid not, however, fail to lament the untimely fate of his mother, with\nsuch filial expressions of sorrow, as still more intimately recommended\nhim to his patron; who, being himself a man of extraordinary benevolence,\nlooked upon the boy as a prodigy of natural affection, and foresaw in his\nfuture services a fund of gratitude and attachment, that could not fail\nto render him a valuable acquisition to his family.\n\nIn his own country, he had often seen connexions of that sort, which\nhaving been planted in the infancy of the adherent, had grown up to a\nsurprising pitch of fidelity and friendship, that no temptation could\nbias, and no danger dissolve. He therefore rejoiced in the hope of\nseeing his own son accommodated with such a faithful attendant, in the\nperson of young Fathom, on whom he resolved to bestow the same education\nhe had planned for the other, though conveyed in such a manner as should\nbe suitable to the sphere in which he was ordained to move. In\nconsequence of these determinations, our young adventurer led a very easy\nlife, in quality of page to the Count, in whose tent he lay upon a\npallet, close to his field-bed, and often diverted him with his childish\nprattle in the English tongue, which the more seldom his master had\noccasion to speak, he the more delighted to hear. In the exercise of his\nfunction, the boy was incredibly assiduous and alert; far from neglecting\nthe little particulars of his duty, and embarking in the mischievous\namusements of the children belonging to the camp, he was always diligent,\nsedate, agreeably officious and anticipating; and in the whole of his\nbehaviour seemed to express the most vigilant sense of his patron's\ngoodness and generosity; nay, to such a degree had these sentiments, in\nall appearance, operated upon his reflection, that one morning, while he\nsupposed the Count asleep, he crept softly to his bedside, and gently\nkissing his hand, which happened to be uncovered, pronounced, in a low\nvoice, a most fervent prayer in his behalf, beseeching Heaven to shower\ndown blessings upon him, as the widow's friend and the orphan's father.\nThis benediction was not lost upon the Count, who chanced to be awake,\nand heard it with admiration; but what riveted Ferdinand in his good\ngraces, was a discovery that our youth made, while his master was upon\nduty in the trenches before Belgrade.\n\nTwo foot soldiers, standing sentry near the door of the tent, were\ncaptivated with the sight of some valuable moveables belonging to it; and\nsupposing, in their great wisdom, that the city of Belgrade was too well\nfortified to be taken during that campaign, they came to a resolution of\nwithdrawing themselves from the severe service of the trenches, by\ndeserting to the enemy, after they should have rifled Count Melvil's tent\nof the furniture by which they were so powerfully allured. The\nparticulars of this plan were concerted in the French language, which,\nthey imagined, would screen them from all risk of being detected, in case\nthey should be overheard, though, as there was no living creature in\nsight, they had no reason to believe that any person was privy to their\nconversation. Nevertheless, they were mistaken in both these\nconjectures. The conference reached the ears of Fathom, who was at the\nother end of the tent, and had perceived the eager looks with which they\nconsidered some parts of the furniture. He had penetration enough to\nsuspect their desire, and, alarmed by that suspicion, listened\nattentively to their discourse; which, from a slender knowledge in the\nFrench tongue, he had the good fortune partly to understand.\n\nThis important piece of intelligence he communicated to the Count at his\nreturn, and measures were immediately taken to defeat the design, and\nmake an example of the authors, who being permitted to load themselves\nwith the booty, were apprehended in their retreat, and punished with\ndeath according to their demerits.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER FIVE\n\nA BRIEF DETAIL OF HIS EDUCATION.\n\n\nNothing could have more seasonably happened to confirm the good opinion\nwhich the colonel entertained of Ferdinand's principles. His intentions\ntowards the boy grew every day more and more warm; and, immediately after\nthe peace of Passarowitz, he retired to his own house at Presburg, and\npresented young Fathom to his lady, not only as the son of a person to\nwhom he owed his life, but also as a lad who merited his peculiar\nprotection and regard by his own personal virtue. The Countess, who was\nan Hungarian, received him with great kindness and affability, and her\nson was ravished with the prospect of enjoying such a companion. In\nshort, fortune seemed to have provided for him an asylum, in which he\nmight be safely trained up, and suitably prepared for more important\nscenes of life than any of his ancestors had ever known.\n\nHe was not, in all respects, entertained on the footing of his young\nmaster; yet he shared in all his education and amusements, as one whom\nthe old gentleman was fully determined to qualify for the station of an\nofficer in the service; and, if he did not eat with the Count, he was\nevery day regaled with choice bits from his table; holding, as it were, a\nmiddle place between the rank of a relation and favourite domestic.\nAlthough his patron maintained a tutor in the house, to superintend the\nconduct of his heir, he committed the charge of his learning to the\ninstructions of a public school; where he imagined the boy would imbibe a\nlaudable spirit of emulation among his fellows, which could not fail of\nturning out to the advantage of his education. Ferdinand was entered in\nthe same academy; and the two lads proceeded equally in the paths of\nerudition; a mutual friendship and intimacy soon ensued, and,\nnotwithstanding the levity and caprice commonly discernible in the\nbehaviour of such boys, very few or rather no quarrels happened in the\ncourse of their communication. Yet their dispositions were altogether\ndifferent, and their talents unlike. Nay, this dissimilarity was the\nvery bond of their union; because it prevented that jealousy and\nrivalship which often interrupts the harmony of two warm contemporaries.\n\nThe young Count made extraordinary progress in the exercises of the\nschool, though he seemed to take very little pains in the cultivation of\nhis studies; and became a perfect hero in all the athletic diversions of\nhis fellow-scholars; but, at the same time, exhibited such a bashful\nappearance and uncouth address, that his mother despaired of ever seeing\nhim improved into any degree of polite behaviour. On the other hand,\nFathom, who was in point of learning a mere dunce, became, even in his\nchildhood, remarkable among the ladies for his genteel deportment and\nvivacity; they admired the proficiency he made under the directions of\nhis dancing-master, the air with which he performed his obeisance at his\nentrance and exit; and were charmed with the agreeable assurance and\nlively sallies of his conversation; while they expressed the utmost\nconcern and disgust at the boorish demeanour of his companion, whose\nextorted bows resembled the pawings of a mule, who hung his head in\nsilence like a detected sheep-stealer, who sat in company under the most\nawkward expressions of constraint, and whose discourse never exceeded the\nsimple monosyllables of negation and assent.\n\nIn vain did all the females of the family propose to him young Fathom, as\na pattern and reproach. He remained unaltered by all their efforts and\nexpostulations, and allowed our adventurer to enjoy the triumph of his\npraise, while he himself was conscious of his own superiority in those\nqualifications which seemed of more real importance than the mere\nexteriors and forms of life. His present ambition was not to make a\nfigure at his father's table, but to eclipse his rivals at school, and to\nacquire an influence and authority among these confederates.\nNevertheless, Fathom might possibly have fallen under his displeasure or\ncontempt, had not that pliant genius found means to retain his friendship\nby seasonable compliances and submission; for the sole study, or at least\nthe chief aim of Ferdinand, was to make himself necessary and agreeable\nto those on whom his dependence was placed. His talent was in this\nparticular suited to his inclination; he seemed to have inherited it from\nhis mother's womb; and, without all doubt, would have raised upon it a\nmost admirable superstructure of fortune and applause, had not it been\ninseparably yoked with a most insidious principle of self-love, that grew\nup with him from the cradle, and left no room in his heart for the least\nparticle of social virtue. This last, however, he knew so well how to\ncounterfeit, by means of a large share of ductility and dissimulation,\nthat, surely, he was calculated by nature to dupe even the most cautious,\nand gratify his appetites, by levying contributions on all mankind.\n\nSo little are the common instructors of youth qualified to judge the\ncapacities of those who are under their tutelage and care, that Fathom,\nby dint of his insinuating arts, made shift to pass upon the schoolmaster\nas a lad of quick parts, in despite of a natural inaptitude to retain his\nlessons, which all his industry could never overcome. In order to\nremedy, or rather to cloak this defect in his understanding, he had\nalways recourse to the friendship of the young Count, who freely\npermitted him to transcribe his exercises, until a small accident\nhappened, which had well-nigh put a stop to these instances of his\ngenerosity.--The adventure, inconsiderable as it is, we shall record, as\nthe first overt act of Ferdinand's true character, as well as an\nillustration of the opinion we have advanced touching the blind and\ninjudicious decisions of a right pedagogue.\n\nAmong other tasks imposed by the pedant upon the form to which our two\ncompanions belonged, they were one evening ordered to translate a chapter\nof Caesar's Commentaries. Accordingly the young Count went to work, and\nperformed the undertaking with great elegance and despatch. Fathom,\nhaving spent the night in more effeminate amusements, was next morning so\nmuch hurried for want of time, that in his transcription he neglected to\ninsert a few variations from the text, these being the terms on which he\nwas allowed to use it; so that it was verbatim a copy of the original.\nAs those exercises were always delivered in a heap, subscribed with the\nseveral names of the boys to whom they belonged, the schoolmaster chanced\nto peruse the version of Ferdinand, before he looked into any of the\nrest, and could not help bestowing upon it particular marks of\napprobation. The next that fell under his examination was that of the\nyoung Count, when he immediately perceived the sameness, and, far from\nimputing it to the true cause, upbraided him with having copied the\nexercise of our adventurer, and insisted upon chastising him upon the\nspot for his want of application.\n\nHad not the young gentleman thought his honour was concerned, he would\nhave submitted to the punishment without murmuring; but he inherited,\nfrom his parents, the pride of two fierce nations, and, being overwhelmed\nwith reproaches for that which he imagined ought to have redounded to his\nglory, he could not brook the indignity, and boldly affirmed, that he\nhimself was the original, to whom Ferdinand was beholden for his\nperformance. The schoolmaster, nettled to find himself mistaken in his\njudgment, resolved that the Count should have no cause to exult in the\ndiscovery he had made, and, like a true flogger, actually whipped him for\nhaving allowed Fathom to copy his exercise. Nay, in the hope of\nvindicating his own penetration, he took an opportunity of questioning\nFerdinand in private concerning the circumstances of the translation, and\nour hero, perceiving his drift, gave him such artful and ambiguous\nanswers, as persuaded him that the young Count had acted the part of a\nplagiary, and that the other had been restrained from doing himself\njustice, by the consideration of his own dependence.\n\nThis profound director did not fail, in honour of his own discernment, to\nwhisper about the misrepresentation, as an instance of the young Count's\ninsolence, and Fathom's humility and good sense. The story was\ncirculated among the servants, especially the maids belonging to the\nfamily, whose favour our hero had acquired by his engaging behaviour; and\nat length it reached the ears of his patron, who, incensed at his son's\npresumption and inhospitality, called him to a severe account, when the\nyoung gentleman absolutely denied the truth of the allegation, and\nappealed to the evidence of Fathom himself. Our adventurer was\naccordingly summoned by the father, and encouraged to declare the truth,\nwith an assurance of his constant protection; upon which Ferdinand very\nwisely fell upon his knees, and, while the tears gushed from his eyes,\nacquitted the young Count of the imputation, and expressed his\napprehension, that the report had been spread by some of his enemies, who\nwanted to prejudice him in the opinion of his patron.\n\nThe old gentleman was not satisfied of his son's integrity by this\ndeclaration; being naturally of a generous disposition, highly\nprepossessed in favour of the poor orphan, and chagrined at the\nunpromising appearance of his heir, he suspected that Fathom was overawed\nby the fear of giving offence, and that, notwithstanding what he had\nsaid, the case really stood as it had been represented. In this\npersuasion, he earnestly exhorted his son to resist and combat with any\nimpulse he might feel within himself, tending to selfishness, fraud, or\nimposition; to encourage every sentiment of candour and benevolence, and\nto behave with moderation and affability to all his fellow-creatures. He\nlaid upon him strong injunctions, not without a mixture of threats, to\nconsider Fathom as the object of his peculiar regard; to respect him as\nthe son of the Count's preserver, as a Briton, a stranger, and, above\nall, an helpless orphan, to whom the rights of hospitality were doubly\ndue.\n\nSuch admonitions were not lost upon the youth, who, under the rough husk\nof his personal exhibition, possessed a large share of generous\nsensibility. Without any formal professions to his father, he resolved\nto govern himself according to his remonstrances; and, far from\nconceiving the least spark of animosity against Fathom, he looked upon\nthe poor boy as the innocent cause of his disgrace, and redoubled his\nkindness towards him, that his honour might never again be called\nin question, upon the same subject. Nothing is more liable to\nmisconstruction than an act of uncommon generosity; one half of the world\nmistake the motive, from want of ideas to conceive an instance of\nbeneficence that soars so high above the level of their own sentiments;\nand the rest suspect it of something sinister or selfish, from the\nsuggestions of their own sordid and vicious inclinations. The young\nCount subjected himself to such misinterpretation, among those who\nobserved the increased warmth of civility and complaisance in his\nbehaviour to Ferdinand. They ascribed it to his desire of still\nprofiting by our adventurer's superior talents, by which alone they\nsupposed him enabled to maintain any degree of reputation at school; or\nto the fear of being convicted by him of some misdemeanour of which he\nknew himself guilty. These suspicions were not effaced by the conduct of\nFerdinand, who, when examined on the subject, managed his answers in such\na manner, as confirmed their conjectures, while he pretended to refute\nthem, and at the same time acquired to himself credit for his\nextraordinary discretion and self-denial.\n\nIf he exhibited such a proof of sagacity in the twelfth year of his age,\nwhat might not be expected from his finesse in the maturity of his\nfaculties and experience? Thus secured in the good graces of the whole\nfamily, he saw the days of his puerility glide along in the most\nagreeable elapse of caresses and amusement. He never fairly plunged into\nthe stream of school-education, but, by floating on the surface, imbibed\na small tincture of those different sciences which his master pretended\nto teach. In short, he resembled those vagrant swallows that skim along\nthe level of some pool or river, without venturing to wet one feather in\ntheir wings, except in the accidental pursuit of an inconsiderable fly.\nYet, though his capacity or inclination was unsuited for studies of this\nkind, he did not fail to manifest a perfect genius in the acquisition of\nother more profitable arts. Over and above the accomplishments of\naddress, for which he hath been already celebrated, he excelled all his\nfellows in his dexterity at fives and billiards; was altogether\nunrivalled in his skill at draughts and backgammon; began, even at these\nyears, to understand the moves and schemes of chess; and made himself a\nmere adept in the mystery of cards, which he learned in the course of his\nassiduities and attention to the females of the house.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER SIX\n\nHE MEDITATES SCHEMES OF IMPORTANCE.\n\n\nIt was in these parties that he attracted the notice and friendship of\nhis patron's daughter, a girl by two years older than himself, who was\nnot insensible to his qualifications, and looked upon him with the most\nfavourable eyes of prepossession. Whether or not he at this period of\nhis life began to project plans for availing himself of her\nsusceptibility, is uncertain; but, without all doubt, he cultivated her\nesteem with as obsequious and submissive attention as if he had already\nformed the design, which, in his advanced age, he attempted to put in\nexecution.\n\nDivers circumstances conspired to promote him in the favour of this young\nlady; the greenness of his years secured him from any appearance of\nfallacious aim; so that he was indulged in frequent opportunities of\nconversing with his young mistress, whose parents encouraged this\ncommunication, by which they hoped she would improve in speaking the\nlanguage of her father. Such connexions naturally produce intimacy and\nfriendship. Fathom's person was agreeable, his talents calculated for\nthe meridian of those parties, and his manners so engaging, that there\nwould have been no just subject for wonder, had he made an impression\nupon the tender unexperienced heart of Mademoiselle de Melvil, whose\nbeauty was not so attractive as to extinguish his hope, in raising up a\nnumber of formidable rivals; though her expectations of fortune were such\nas commonly lend additional lustre to personal merit.\n\nAll these considerations were so many steps towards the success of\nFerdinand's pretensions; and though he cannot be supposed to have\nperceived them at first, he in the sequel seemed perfectly well apprised\nof his advantages, and used them to the full extent of his faculties.\nObserving that she delighted in music, he betook himself to the study of\nthat art, and, by dint of application and a tolerable ear, learned of\nhimself to accompany her with a German flute, while she sung and played\nupon the harpsichord. The Count, seeing his inclination, and the\nprogress he had made, resolved that his capacity should not be lost for\nwant of cultivation; and accordingly provided him with a master, by whom\nhe was instructed in the principles of the art, and soon became a\nproficient in playing upon the violin.\n\nIn the practice of these improvements and avocations, and in attendance\nupon his young master, whom he took care never to disoblige or neglect,\nhe attained to the age of sixteen, without feeling the least abatement in\nthe friendship and generosity of those upon whom he depended; but, on the\ncontrary, receiving every day fresh marks of their bounty and regard. He\nhad before this time been smit with the ambition of making a conquest of\nthe young lady's heart, and foresaw manifold advantages to himself in\nbecoming son-in-law to Count Melvil, who, he never doubted, would soon be\nreconciled to the match, if once it could be effectuated without his\nknowledge. Although he thought he had great reason to believe that\nMademoiselle looked upon him with an eye of peculiar favour, his\ndisposition was happily tempered with an ingredient of caution, that\nhindered him from acting with precipitation; and he had discerned in the\nyoung lady's deportment certain indications of loftiness and pride, which\nkept him in the utmost vigilance and circumspection; for he knew, that,\nby a premature declaration, he should run the risk of forfeiting all the\nadvantages he had gained, and blasting those expectations that now\nblossomed so gaily in his heart.\n\nRestricted by these reflections, he acted at a wary distance, and\ndetermined to proceed by the method of sap, and, summoning all his\nartifice and attractions to his aid, employed them under the insidious\ncover of profound respect, in order to undermine those bulwarks of\nhaughtiness or discretion, which otherwise might have rendered his\napproaches to her impracticable. With a view to enhance the value of his\ncompany, and sound her sentiments at the same time, he became more\nreserved than usual, and seldomer engaged in her parties of music and\ncards; yet, in the midst of his reserve, he never failed in those\ndemonstrations of reverence and regard, which he knew perfectly well how\nto express, but devised such excuses for his absence, as she could not\nhelp admitting. In consequence of this affected shyness, she more than\nonce gently chid him for his neglect and indifference, observing, with an\nironical air, that he was now too much of a man to be entertained with\nsuch effeminate diversions; but her reproofs were pronounced with too\nmuch ease and good-humour to be agreeable to our hero, who desired to see\nher ruffled and chagrined at his absence, and to hear himself rebuked\nwith an angry affectation of disdain. This effort, therefore, he\nreinforced with the most captivating carriage he could assume, in those\nhours which he now so sparingly bestowed upon his mistress. He regaled\nher with all the entertaining stories he could learn or invent,\nparticularly such as he thought would justify and recommend the levelling\npower of love, that knows no distinctions of fortune. He sung nothing\nbut tender airs and passionate complaints, composed by desponding or\ndespairing swains; and, to render his performances of this kind the more\npathetic, interlarded them with some seasonable sighs, while the tears,\nwhich he had ever at command, stood collected in either eye.\n\nIt was impossible for her to overlook such studied emotions; she in a\njocose manner taxed him with having lost his heart, rallied the excess of\nhis passion, and in a merry strain undertook to be an advocate for his\nlove. Her behaviour was still wide of his wish and expectation. He\nthought she would, in consequence of her discovery, have betrayed some\ninterested symptom; that her face would have undergone some favourable\nsuffusion; that her tongue would have faltered, her breast heaved, and\nher whole deportment betokened internal agitation and disorder, in which\ncase, he meant to profit by the happy impression, and declare himself,\nbefore she could possibly recollect the dictates of her pride.--Baffled\nhowever in his endeavours, by the serenity of the young lady, which he\nstill deemed equivocal, he had recourse to another experiment, by which\nhe believed he should make a discovery of her sentiments beyond all\npossibility of doubt. One day, while he accompanied Mademoiselle in her\nexercise of music, he pretended all of a sudden to be taken ill, and\ncounterfeited a swoon in her apartment. Surprised at this accident, she\nscreamed aloud, but far from running to his assistance, with the\ntransports and distraction of a lover, she ordered her maid, who was\npresent, to support his head, and went in person to call for more help.\nHe was accordingly removed to his own chamber, where, willing to be still\nmore certified of her inclinations, he prolonged the farce, and lay\ngroaning under the pretence of a severe fever.\n\nThe whole family was alarmed upon this occasion; for, as we have already\nobserved, he was an universal favourite. He was immediately visited by\nthe old Count and his lady, who expressed the utmost concern at his\ndistemper, ordered him to be carefully attended, and sent for a physician\nwithout loss of time. The young gentleman would scarce stir from his\nbedside, where he ministered unto him with all the demonstrations of\nbrotherly affection; and Miss exhorted him to keep up his spirits, with\nmany expressions of unreserved sympathy and regard. Nevertheless, he saw\nnothing in her behaviour but what might be naturally expected from common\nfriendship, and a compassionate disposition, and was very much mortified\nat his disappointment.\n\nWhether the miscarriage actually affected his constitution, or the doctor\nhappened to be mistaken in his diagnostics, we shall not pretend to\ndetermine; but the patient was certainly treated secundum artem, and all\nhis complaints in a little time realised; for the physician, like a true\ngraduate, had an eye to the apothecary in his prescriptions; and such was\nthe concern and scrupulous care with which our hero was attended, that\nthe orders of the faculty were performed with the utmost punctuality. He\nwas blooded, vomited, purged, and blistered, in the usual forms (for the\nphysicians of Hungary are generally as well skilled in the arts of their\noccupation as any other leeches under the sun), and swallowed a whole\ndispensary of bolusses, draughts, and apozems, by which means he became\nfairly delirious in three days, and so untractable, that he could be no\nlonger managed according to rule; otherwise, in all likelihood, the world\nwould never have enjoyed the benefit of these adventures. In short, his\nconstitution, though unable to cope with two such formidable antagonists\nas the doctor and the disease he had conjured up, was no sooner rid of\nthe one, than it easily got the better of the other; and though\nFerdinand, after all, found his grand aim unaccomplished, his malady was\nproductive of a consequence, which, though he had not foreseen it, he did\nnot fail to convert to his own use and advantage.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER SEVEN\n\nENGAGES IN PARTNERSHIP WITH A FEMALE ASSOCIATE, IN ORDER TO PUT HIS\nTALENTS IN ACTION.\n\n\nWhile he displayed his qualifications in order to entrap the heart of his\nyoung mistress, he had unwittingly enslaved the affections of her maid.\nThis attendant was also a favourite of the young lady, and, though her\nsenior by two or three good years at least, unquestionably her superior\nin point of personal beauty; she moreover possessed a good stock of\ncunning and discernment, and was furnished by nature with a very amorous\ncomplexion. These circumstances being premised, the reader will not be\nsurprised to find her smitten by those uncommon qualifications which we\nhave celebrated in young Fathom. She had in good sooth long sighed in\nsecret, under the powerful influence of his charms, and practised upon\nhim all those little arts, by which a woman strives to attract the\nadmiration, and ensnare the heart of a man she loves; but all his\nfaculties were employed upon the plan which he had already projected;\nthat was the goal of his whole attention, to which all his measures\ntended; and whether or not he perceived the impression he had made upon\nTeresa, he never gave her the least reason to believe he was conscious of\nhis victory, until he found himself baffled in his design upon the heart\nof her mistress.--She therefore persevered in her distant attempts to\nallure him, with the usual coquetries of dress and address, and, in the\nsweet hope of profiting by his susceptibility, made shift to suppress her\nfeelings, and keep her passion within bounds, until his supposed danger\nalarmed her fears, and raised such a tumult within her breast, that she\ncould no longer conceal her love, but gave a loose to her sorrow in the\nmost immoderate expressions of anguish and affliction, and, while his\ndelirium lasted, behaved with all the agitation of a despairing\nshepherdess.\n\nFerdinand was, or pretended to be, the last person in the family who\nunderstood the situation of her thoughts; when he perceived her passion,\nhe entered into deliberation with himself, and tasked his reflection and\nforesight, in order to discover how best he might convert this conquest\nto his own advantage. Here, then, that we may neglect no opportunity of\ndoing justice to our hero, it will be proper to observe, that, howsoever\nunapt his understanding might be to receive and retain the usual culture\nof the schools, he was naturally a genius self-taught, in point of\nsagacity and invention.--He dived into the characters of mankind, with a\npenetration peculiar to himself, and, had he been admitted as a pupil in\nany political academy, would have certainly become one of the ablest\nstatesmen in Europe.\n\nHaving revolved all the probable consequences of such a connexion, he\ndetermined to prosecute an amour with the lady whose affection he had\nsubdued; because he hoped to interest her as an auxiliary in his grand\nscheme upon Mademoiselle, which he did not as yet think proper to lay\naside; for he was not more ambitious in the plan, than indefatigable in\nthe prosecution of it. He knew it would be impossible to execute his\naims upon the Count's daughter under the eye of Teresa, whose natural\ndiscernment would be whetted with jealousy, and who would watch his\nconduct, and thwart his progress with all the vigilance and spite of a\nslighted maiden. On the other hand, he did not doubt of being able to\nbring her over to his interest, by the influence he had already gained,\nor might afterwards acquire over her passions; in which case, she would\neffectually espouse his cause, and employ her good offices with her\nmistress in his behalf; besides, he was induced by another motive, which,\nthough secondary, did not fail in this case to have an effect upon his\ndetermination. He looked upon Teresa with the eyes of appetite, which he\nlonged to gratify; for he was not at all dead to the instigations of the\nflesh, though he had philosophy enough to resist them, when he thought\nthey interfered with his interest. Here the case was quite different.\nHis desire happened to be upon the side of his advantage, and therefore,\nresolving to indulge it, he no sooner found himself in a condition to\nmanage such an adventure, than he began to make gradual advances in point\nof warmth and particular complacency to the love-sick maid.\n\nHe first of all thanked her, in the most grateful terms, for the concern\nshe had manifested at his distemper, and the kind services he had\nreceived from her during the course of it; he treated her upon all\noccasions with unusual affability and regard, assiduously courted her\nacquaintance and conversation, and contracted an intimacy that in a\nlittle time produced a declaration of love. Although her heart was too\nmuch intendered to hold out against all the forms of assault, far from\nyielding at discretion, she stood upon honourable terms, with great\nobstinacy of punctilio, and, while she owned he was master of her\ninclinations, gave him to understand, with a peremptory and resolute air,\nthat he should never make a conquest of her virtue; observing, that, if\nthe passion he professed was genuine, he would not scruple to give such a\nproof of it as would at once convince her of his sincerity; and that he\ncould have no just cause to refuse her that satisfaction, she being his\nequal in point of birth and situation; for, if he was the companion and\nfavourite of the young Count, she was the friend and confidant of\nMademoiselle.\n\nHe acknowledged the strength of her argument, and that her condescension\nwas greater than his deserts, but objected against the proposal, as\ninfinitely prejudicial to the fortunes of them both. He represented the\nstate of dependence in which they mutually stood; their utter incapacity\nto support one another under the consequences of a precipitate match,\nclandestinely made, without the consent and concurrence of their patrons.\nHe displayed, with great eloquence, all those gay expectations they had\nreason to entertain, from that eminent degree of favour which they had\nalready secured in the family; and set forth, in the most alluring\ncolours, those enchanting scenes of pleasure they might enjoy in each\nother, without that disagreeable consciousness of a nuptial chain,\nprovided she would be his associate in the execution of a plan which he\nhad projected for their reciprocal convenience.\n\nHaving thus inflamed her love of pleasure and curiosity, he, with great\ncaution, hinted his design upon the young lady's fortune, and, perceiving\nher listening with the most greedy attention, and perfectly ripe for the\nconspiracy, he disclosed his intention at full length, assuring her, with\nthe most solemn protestations of love and attachment, that, could he once\nmake himself legal possessor of an estate which Mademoiselle inherited by\nthe will of a deceased aunt, his dear Teresa should reap the happy fruits\nof his affluence, and wholly engross his time and attention.\n\nSuch a base declaration our hero would not have ventured to make, had he\nnot implicitly believed the damsel was as great a latitudinarian as\nhimself, in point of morals and principle; and been well assured, that,\nthough he should be mistaken in her way of thinking, so far as to be\nthreatened with a detection of his purpose, he would always have it in\nhis power to refute her accusation as mere calumny, by the character he\nhad hitherto maintained, and the circumspection of his future conduct.\n\nHe seldom or never erred in his observations on the human heart. Teresa,\ninstead of disapproving, relished the plan in general, with\ndemonstrations of singular satisfaction. She at once conceived all the\nadvantageous consequences of such a scheme, and perceived in it only one\nflaw, which, however, she did not think incurable. This defect was no\nother than a sufficient bond of union, by which they might be effectually\ntied down to their mutual interest. She foresaw, that, in case Ferdinand\nshould obtain possession of the prize, he might, with great ease, deny\ntheir contract, and disavow her claim of participation. She therefore\ndemanded security, and proposed, as a preliminary of the agreement, that\nhe should privately take her to wife, with a view to dispel all her\napprehensions of his inconstancy or deceit, as such a previous engagement\nwould be a check upon his behaviour, and keep him strictly to the letter\nof their contract.\n\nHe could not help subscribing to the righteousness of this proposal,\nwhich, nevertheless, he would have willingly waived, on the supposition\nthat they could not possibly be joined in the bands of wedlock with such\nsecrecy as the nature of the case absolutely required. This would have\nbeen a difficulty soon removed, had the scene of the transaction been\nlaid in the metropolis of England, where passengers are plied in the\nstreets by clergymen, who prostitute their characters and consciences for\nhire, in defiance of all decency and law; but in the kingdom of Hungary,\necclesiastics are more scrupulous in the exercise of their function, and\nthe objection was, or supposed to be, altogether insurmountable; so that\nthey were fain to have recourse to an expedient, with which, after some\nhesitation, our she-adventurer was satisfied. They joined hands in the\nsight of Heaven, which they called to witness, and to judge the sincerity\nof their vows, and engaged, in a voluntary oath, to confirm their union\nby the sanction of the church, whenever a convenient opportunity for so\ndoing should occur.\n\nThe scruples of Teresa being thus removed, she admitted Ferdinand to the\nprivileges of a husband, which he enjoyed in stolen interviews, and\nreadily undertook to exert her whole power in promoting his suit with her\nyoung mistress, because she now considered his interest as inseparably\nconnected with her own. Surely nothing could be more absurd or\npreposterous than the articles of this covenant, which she insisted upon\nwith such inflexibility. How could she suppose that her pretended lover\nwould be restrained by an oath, when the very occasion of incurring it\nwas an intention to act in violation of all laws human and divine? and\nyet such ridiculous conjuration is commonly the cement of every\nconspiracy, how dark, how treacherous, how impious soever it may be: a\ncertain sign that there are some remains of religion left in the human\nmind, even after every moral sentiment hath abandoned it; and that the\nmost execrable ruffian finds means to quiet the suggestions of his\nconscience, by some reversionary hope of Heaven's forgiveness.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER EIGHT\n\nTHEIR FIRST ATTEMPT; WITH A DIGRESSION WHICH SOME READERS MAY THINK\nIMPERTINENT.\n\n\nBe this as it will, our lovers, though real voluptuaries, amidst the\nfirst transports of their enjoyment did not neglect the great political\naim of their conjunction. Teresa's bedchamber, to which our hero\nconstantly repaired at midnight, was the scene of their deliberations,\nand there it was determined that the damsel, in order to avoid suspicion,\nshould feign herself irritated at the indifference of Ferdinand, her\npassion for whom was by this time no secret in the family; and that, with\na view to countenance this affectation, he should upon all occasions\ntreat her with an air of loftiness and disdain.\n\nSo screened from all imputation of fraud, she was furnished by him with\nartful instructions how to sound the inclinations of her young mistress,\nhow to recommend his person and qualifications by the sure methods of\ncontradiction, comparisons, revilings, and reproach; how to watch the\nparoxysms of her disposition, inflame her passions, and improve, for his\nadvantage, those moments of frailty from which no woman is exempted. In\nshort, this consummate politician taught his agent to poison the young\nlady's mind with insidious conversation, tending to inspire her with the\nlove of guilty pleasure, to debauch her sentiments, and confound her\nideas of dignity and virtue. After all, the task is not difficult to\nlead the unpractised heart astray, by dint of those opportunities her\nseducer possessed. The seeds of insinuation seasonably sown upon the\nwarm luxuriant soil of youth, could hardly fail of shooting up into such\nintemperate desires as he wanted to produce, especially when cultured and\ncherished in her unguarded hours, by that stimulating discourse which\nfamiliarity admits, and the looser passions, ingrafted in every breast,\nare apt to relish and excuse.\n\nFathom had previously reconnoitred the ground, and discovered some marks\nof inflammability in Mademoiselle's constitution; her beauty was not such\nas to engage her in those gaieties of amusement which could flatter her\nvanity and dissipate her ideas; and she was of an age when the little\nloves and young desires take possession of the fancy; he therefore\nconcluded, that she had the more leisure to indulge these enticing images\nof pleasure that youth never fails to create, particularly in those who,\nlike her, were addicted to solitude and study.\n\nTeresa, full fraught with the wily injunctions of her confederate, took\nthe field, and opened the campaign with such remarkable sourness in her\naspect when Ferdinand appeared, that her young lady could not help taking\nnotice of her affected chagrin, and asked the reason of such apparent\nalteration in her way of thinking. Prepared for this question, the other\nreplied, in a manner calculated for giving Mademoiselle to understand,\nthat, whatever impressions Ferdinand might have formerly made on her\nheart, they were now altogether effaced by the pride and insolence with\nwhich he had received her advances; and that her breast now glowed with\nall the revenge of a slighted lover.\n\nTo evince the sincerity of this declaration, she bitterly inveighed\nagainst him, and even affected to depreciate those talents, in which she\nknew his chief merit to consist; hoping, by these means, to interest\nMademoiselle's candour in his defence. So far the train succeeded. That\nyoung lady's love for truth was offended at the calumnies that were\nvented against Ferdinand in his absence. She chid her woman for the\nrancour of her remarks, and undertook to refute the articles of his\ndispraise. Teresa supported her own assertions with great obstinacy, and\na dispute ensued, in which her mistress was heated into some extravagant\ncommendations of our adventurer.\n\nHis supposed enemy did not fail to make a report of her success, and to\nmagnify every advantage they had gained; believing, in good earnest, that\nher lady's warmth was the effect of a real passion for the fortunate Mr.\nFathom. But he himself viewed the adventure in a different light, and\nrightly imputed the violence of Mademoiselle's behaviour to the\ncontradiction she had sustained from her maid, or to the fire of her\nnatural generosity glowing in behalf of innocence traduced.\nNevertheless, he was perfectly well pleased with the nature of the\ncontest; because, in the course of such debates, he foresaw that he\nshould become habitually her hero, and that, in time, she would actually\nbelieve those exaggerations of his merit, which she herself had feigned,\nfor the honour of her own arguments.\n\nThis presage, founded upon that principle of self-respect, without which\nno individual exists, may certainly be justified by manifold occurrences\nin life. We ourselves have known a very pregnant example, which we shall\nrelate, for the emolument of the reader. A certain needy author having\nfound means to present a manuscript to one of those sons of fortune who\nare dignified with the appellation of patrons, instead of reaping that\napplause and advantage with which he had regaled his fancy, had the\nmortification to find his performance treated with infinite irreverence\nand contempt, and, in high dudgeon and disappointment, appealed to the\njudgment of another critic, who, he knew, had no veneration for the\nfirst.\n\nThis common consolation, to which all baffled authors have recourse, was\nproductive of very happy consequences to our bard; for, though the\nopinions of both judges concerning the piece were altogether the same,\nthe latter, either out of compassion to the appellant, or desire of\nrendering his rival ridiculous in the eye of taste, undertook to repair\nthe misfortune, and in this manner executed the plan. In a meeting of\nliterati, to which both these wits belonged, he who had espoused the\npoet's cause, having previously desired another member to bring his\ncomposition on the carpet, no sooner heard it mentioned, than he began to\ncensure it with flagrant marks of scorn, and, with an ironical air,\nlooking at its first condemner, observed, that he must be furiously\ninfected with the rage of patronising, who could take such a deplorable\nperformance into his protection. The sarcasm took effect.\n\nThe person against whom it was levelled, taking umbrage at his\npresumption, assumed an aspect of disdain, and replied with great\nanimosity, that nothing was more easily supported than the character of a\nZoilus, because no production was altogether free from blemishes; and any\nman might pronounce against any piece by the lump, without interesting\nhis own discernment; but to perceive the beauties of a work, it was\nrequisite to have learning, judgment, and taste; and therefore he did not\nwonder that the gentleman had overlooked a great many in the composition\nwhich he so contemptuously decried. A rejoinder succeeded this reply,\nand produced a long train of altercation, in which the gentleman, who had\nformerly treated the book with such disrespect, now professed himself its\npassionate admirer, and held forth in praise of it with great warmth and\nelocution.\n\nNot contented with having exhibited this instance of regard, he next\nmorning sent a message to the owner, importing, that he had but\nsuperficially glanced over the manuscript, and desiring the favour of\nperusing it a second time. Being indulged in this request, he\nrecommended it in terms of rapture to all his friends and dependants,\nand, by dint of unwearied solicitation, procured a very ample\nsubscription for the author.\n\nBut, to resume the thread of our story. Teresa's practices were not\nconfined to simple defamation. Her reproaches were contrived so as to\nimply some intelligence in favour of the person she reviled. In\nexemplifying his pertness and arrogance, she repeated his witty repartee;\non pretence of blaming his ferocity, she recounted proofs of his spirit\nand prowess; and, in explaining the source of his vanity, gave her\nmistress to understand, that a certain young lady of fashion was said to\nbe enamoured of his person. Nor did this well-instructed understrapper\nomit those other parts of her cue which the principal judged necessary\nfor the furtherance of his scheme. Her conversation became less guarded,\nand took a freer turn than usual; she seized all opportunities of\nintroducing little amorous stories, the greatest part of which were\ninvented for the purposes of warming her passions, and lowering the price\nof chastity in her esteem; for she represented all the young lady's\ncontemporaries in point of age and situation, as so many sensualists,\nwho, without scruple, indulged themselves in the stolen pleasures of\nyouth.\n\nMeanwhile, Ferdinand seconded these endeavours with his whole industry\nand address. He redoubled, if possible, his deference and respect,\nwhetting his assiduity to the keenest edge of attention; and, in short,\nregulated his dress, conversation, and deportment, according to the\nfancy, turn, and prevailing humour of his young mistress. He, moreover,\nattempted to profit by her curiosity, which he knew to be truly feminine;\nand having culled from the library of his patron certain dangerous books,\ncalculated to debauch the minds of young people, left them occasionally\nupon the table in his apartment, after having directed Teresa to pick\nthem up, as if by accident, in his absence, and carry them off for the\nentertainment of Mademoiselle; nay, this crafty projector found means to\nfurnish his associate with some mischievous preparations, which were\nmingled in her chocolate, tea, or coffee, as provocations to warm her\nconstitution; yet all these machinations, ingenious as they were, failed,\nnot only in fulfilling their aim, but even in shaking the foundations of\nher virtue or pride, which stood their assaults unmoved, like a strong\ntower built upon a rock, impregnable to all the tempestuous blasts of\nheaven.\n\nNot but that the conspirators were more than once mistaken in the effects\nof their artifices, and disposed to applaud themselves on the progress\nthey had made. When at any time she expressed a desire to examine those\nperformances which were laid before her as snares to entrap her chastity,\nthey attributed that, which was no other than curiosity, to a looseness\nof sentiment; and when she discovered no aversion to hear those anecdotes\nconcerning the frailty of her neighbours, they imputed to abatement of\nchastity that satisfaction which was the result of self-congratulation on\nher own superior virtue.\n\nSo far did the treacherous accomplice of Fathom presume upon these\nmisconstructions, that she at length divested her tongue of all\nrestraint, and behaved in such a manner, that the young lady, confounded\nand incensed at her indecency and impudence, rebuked her with great\nseverity, and commanded her to reform her discourse, on pain of being\ndismissed with disgrace from her service.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER NINE\n\nTHE CONFEDERATES CHANGE THEIR BATTERY, AND ACHIEVE A REMARKABLE\nADVENTURE.\n\n\nThunderstruck at this disappointment, the confederates held a council, in\norder to deliberate upon the next measures that should be taken; and\nFerdinand, for the present, despairing of accomplishing his grand aim,\nresolved to profit in another manner, by the conveniency of his\nsituation. He represented to his helpmate, that it would be prudent for\nthem to make hay while the sun shone, as their connexion might be sooner\nor later discovered, and an end put to all those opportunities which they\nnow so happily enjoyed. All principles of morality had been already\nexcluded from their former plan; consequently he found it an easy task to\ninterest Teresa in any other scheme tending to their mutual advantage,\nhowsoever wicked and perfidious it might be. He therefore persuaded her\nto be his auxiliary in defrauding Mademoiselle at play, and gave her\nsuitable directions for that purpose; and even tutored her how to abuse\nthe trust reposed in her, by embezzling the young lady's effects, without\nincurring the suspicion of dishonesty.\n\nOn the supposition that every servant in the house was not able to resist\nsuch temptation, the purse of her mistress, to which the maid had always\naccess, was dropped in a passage which the domestics had occasion to\nfrequent; and Fathom posted himself in a convenient place, in order to\nobserve the effect of his stratagem. Here he was not disappointed in his\nconjecture. The first person who chanced to pass that way, was one of\nthe chambermaids, with whom Teresa had lived for some time in a state of\ninveterate enmity, because the wench had failed in that homage and\nrespect which was paid to her by the rest of the servants.\n\nFerdinand had, in his heart, espoused the quarrel of his associate, and\nlonged for an occasion to deliver her from the malicious observance of\nsuch an antagonist. When he, therefore, saw her approach, his heart\nthrobbed with joyful expectations; but, when she snatched up the purse,\nand thrust it in her bosom, with all the eagerness and confusion of one\ndetermined to appropriate the windfall to her own use, his transports\nwere altogether unspeakable. He traced her to her own apartment, whither\nshe immediately retreated with great trepidation, and then communicated\nthe discovery to Teresa, together with instructions how to behave in the\nsequel.\n\nIn conformity with these lessons, she took the first opportunity of going\nto Mademoiselle, and demanding money for some necessary expense, that the\nloss might be known before the finder could have leisure to make any\nfresh conveyance of the prize; and, in the meantime, Ferdinand kept a\nstrict eye upon the motions of the chambermaid. The young lady, having\nrummaged her pockets in vain, expressed some surprise at the loss of her\npurse; upon which her attendant gave indications of extreme amazement and\nconcern. She said, it could not possibly be lost; entreated her to\nsearch her escritoir, while she herself ran about the room, prying into\nevery corner, with all the symptoms of fear and distraction. Having made\nthis unsuccessful inquiry, she pretended to shed a flood of tears,\nbewailing her own fate, in being near the person of any lady who met with\nsuch a misfortune, by which, she observed, her character might be called\nin question. She produced her own keys, and begged upon her knees, that\nher chamber and boxes might be searched without delay.\n\nIn a word, she demeaned herself so artfully upon this occasion, that her\nmistress, who never entertained the least doubt of her integrity, now\nlooked upon her as a miracle of fidelity and attachment, and was at\ninfinite pains to console her for the accident which had happened;\nprotesting that, for her own part, the loss of the money should never\naffect her with a moment's uneasiness, if she could retrieve a certain\nmedal which she had long kept in her purse, as a remembrance of her\ndeceased aunt, from whom she received it in a present.\n\nFathom entered accidentally into the midst of this well-acted scene, and,\nperceiving the agitation of the maid, and the concern of the mistress,\ndesired, in a respectful manner, to know the cause of their disorder.\nBefore the young lady had time to make him acquainted with the\ncircumstances of the case, his accomplice exclaimed, in an affected\npassion, \"Mr. Fathom, my lady has lost her purse; and, as no persons in\nthe family are so much about her as you and I, you must give me leave, in\nmy own justification, to insist upon Mademoiselle's ordering the\napartments of us both to be searched without loss of time. Here are my\npockets and my keys, and you cannot scruple to give her the same\nsatisfaction; for innocence has nothing to fear.\"\n\nMiss Melvil reprimanded her sharply for her unmannerly zeal; and\nFerdinand eyeing her with a look of disdain, \"Madam,\" said he, \"I approve\nof your proposal; but, before I undergo such mortification, I would\nadvise Mademoiselle to subject the two chambermaids to such inquiry; as\nthey also have access to the apartments, and are, I apprehend, as likely\nas you or I to behave in such a scandalous manner.\"\n\nThe young lady declared that she was too well satisfied of Teresa's\nhonesty and Ferdinand's honour, to harbour the least suspicion of either,\nand that she would sooner die than disgrace them so far as to comply with\nthe proposal the former had made; but as she saw no reason for exempting\nthe inferior servants from that examination which Fathom advised, she\nwould forthwith put it in execution. The chambermaids being accordingly\nsummoned, she calmly asked if either of them had accidentally found the\npurse she had dropped? and both replying in the negative, she assumed an\nair of severity and determination, and demanding their keys, threatened\nto examine their trunks on the instant.\n\nThe guilty Abigail, who, though an Hungarian, was not inferior, in point\nof effrontery, to any one of the sisterhood in England, no sooner heard\nthis menace, than she affected an air of affronted innocence, thanked God\nshe had lived in many reputable families, and been trusted with untold\ngold, but was never before suspected of theft; that the other maid might\ndo as she should think proper, and be mean-spirited enough to let her\nthings be tumbled topsy-turvy and exposed; but, for her own part, if she\nshould be used in that inhuman and disgraceful manner, she would not stay\nanother hour in the house; and in conclusion said, that Mademoiselle had\nmore reason to look sharp after those who enjoyed the greatest share of\nher favour, than believe their malicious insinuations against innocent\npeople whom they were well known to hate and defame.\n\nThis declaration, implying an hint to the prejudice of Teresa, far from\ndiverting Miss Melvil from her purpose, served only to enhance the\ncharacter of the accused in her opinion, and to confirm her suspicion of\nthe accuser, of whom she again demanded her keys, protesting that, should\nshe prove refractory, the Count himself should take cognisance of the\naffair, whereas, if she would deal ingenuously, she should have no cause\nto repent of her confession. So saying, she desired our adventurer to\ntake the trouble of calling up some of the men-servants; upon which the\nconscious criminal began to tremble, and, falling upon her knees,\nacknowledged her guilt, and implored the forgiveness of her young\nmistress.\n\nTeresa, seizing this occasion to signalise her generosity, joined in the\nrequest, and the offender was pardoned, after having restored the purse,\nand promised in the sight of Heaven, that the devil should never again\nentice her to the commission of such a crime. This adventure fully\nanswered all the purposes of our politician; it established the opinion\nof his fellow-labourer's virtue, beyond the power of accident or\ninformation to shake, and set up a false beacon to mislead the sentiments\nof Mademoiselle, in case she should for the future meet with the like\nmisfortune.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TEN\n\nTHEY PROCEED TO LEVY CONTRIBUTIONS WITH GREAT SUCCESS, UNTIL OUR HERO\nSETS OUT WITH THE YOUNG COUNT FOR VIENNA, WHERE HE ENTERS INTO LEAGUE\nWITH ANOTHER ADVENTURER.\n\n\nUnder this secure cover, Teresa levied contributions upon her mistress\nwith great success. Some trinket was missing every day; the young lady's\npatience began to fail; the faithful attendant was overwhelmed with\nconsternation, and, with the appearance of extreme chagrin, demanded her\ndismission, affirming that these things were certainly effected by some\nperson in the family, with a view of murdering her precious reputation.\nMiss Melvil, not without difficulty, quieted her vexation with assurances\nof inviolable confidence and esteem, until a pair of diamond earrings\nvanished, when Teresa could no longer keep her affliction within bounds.\nIndeed, this was an event of more consequence than all the rest which had\nhappened, for the jewels were valued at five hundred florins.\n\nMademoiselle was accordingly alarmed to such a degree, that she made her\nmother acquainted with her loss, and that good lady, who was an excellent\neconomist, did not fail to give indications of extraordinary concern.\nShe asked, if her daughter had reason to suspect any individual in the\nfamily, and if she was perfectly confident of her own woman's integrity?\nUpon which Mademoiselle, with many encomiums on the fidelity and\nattachment of Teresa, recounted the adventure of the chambermaid, who\nimmediately underwent a strict inquiry, and was even committed to prison,\non the strength of her former misdemeanour. Our adventurer's mate\ninsisted upon undergoing the same trial with the rest of the domestics,\nand, as usual, comprehended Fathom in her insinuations; while he seconded\nthe proposal, and privately counselled the old lady to introduce Teresa\nto the magistrate of the place. By these preconcerted recriminations,\nthey escaped all suspicion of collusion. After a fruitless inquiry, the\nprisoner was discharged from her confinement, and turned out of the\nservice of the Count, in whose private opinion the character of no person\nsuffered so much, as that of his own son, whom he suspected of having\nembezzled the jewels, for the use of a certain inamorata, who, at that\ntime, was said to have captivated his affections.\n\nThe old gentleman felt upon this occasion all that internal anguish which\na man of honour may be supposed to suffer, on account of a son's\ndegeneracy; and, without divulging his sentiments, or even hinting his\nsuspicions to the youth himself, determined to detach him at once from\nsuch dangerous connexions, by sending him forthwith to Vienna, on\npretence of finishing his exercises at the academy, and ushering him into\nacquaintance with the great world. Though he would not be thought by the\nyoung gentleman himself to harbour the least doubt of his morals, he did\nnot scruple to unbosom himself on that subject to Ferdinand, whose\nsagacity and virtue he held in great veneration. This indulgent patron\nexpressed himself in the most pathetic terms, on the untoward disposition\nof his son; he told Fathom, that he should accompany Renaldo (that was\nthe youth's name) not only as a companion, but a preceptor and pattern;\nconjured him to assist his tutor in superintending his conduct, and to\nreinforce the governor's precepts by his own example; to inculcate upon\nhim the most delicate punctilios of honour, and decoy him into\nextravagance, rather than leave the least illiberal sentiment in his\nheart.\n\nOur crafty adventurer, with demonstrations of the utmost sensibility,\nacknowledged the great goodness of the Count in reposing such confidence\nin his integrity; which, as he observed, none but the worst of villains\ncould abuse; and fervently wished that he might no longer exist, than he\nshould continue to remember and resent the obligations he owed to his\nkind benefactor. While preparations were making for their departure, our\nhero held a council with his associate, whom he enriched with many sage\ninstructions touching her future operations; he at the same time\ndisburdened her of all or the greatest part of the spoils she had won,\nand after having received divers marks of bounty from the Count and his\nlady, together with a purse from his young mistress, he set out for\nVienna, in the eighteenth year of his age, with Renaldo and his governor,\nwho were provided with letters of recommendation to some of the Count's\nfriends belonging to the Imperial court.\n\nSuch a favourable introduction could not fail of being advantageous to a\nyouth of Ferdinand's specious accomplishments; for he was considered\nas the young Count's companion, admitted into his parties, and included\nin all the entertainments to which Renaldo was invited. He soon\ndistinguished himself by his activity and address, in the course of\nthose exercises that were taught at the academy of which he was pupil;\nhis manners were so engaging as to attract the acquaintance of his\nfellow-students, and his conversation being sprightly and inoffensive,\ngrew into very great request; in a word, he and the young Count formed a\nremarkable contrast, which, in the eye of the world, redounded to his\nadvantage.\n\nThey were certainly, in all respects, the reverse of each other.\nRenaldo, under a total defect of exterior cultivation, possessed a most\nexcellent understanding, with every virtue that dignifies the human\nheart; while the other, beneath a most agreeable outside, with an\ninaptitude and aversion to letters, concealed an amazing fund of villany\nand ingratitude. Hitherto his observation had been confined to a narrow\nsphere, and his reflections, though surprisingly just and acute, had not\nattained to that maturity which age and experience give; but now, his\nperceptions began to be more distinct, and extended to a thousand objects\nwhich had never before come under his cognisance.\n\nHe had formerly imagined, but was now fully persuaded, that the sons of\nmen preyed upon one another, and such was the end and condition of their\nbeing. Among the principal figures of life, he observed few or no\ncharacters that did not bear a strong analogy to the savage tyrants of\nthe wood. One resembled a tiger in fury and rapaciousness; a second\nprowled about like an hungry wolf, seeking whom he might devour; a third\nacted the part of a jackal, in beating the bush for game to his voracious\nemployer; and the fourth imitated the wily fox, in practising a thousand\ncrafty ambuscades for the destruction of the ignorant and unwary. This\nlast was the department of life for which he found himself best qualified\nby nature and inclination; and he accordingly resolved that his talent\nshould not rust in his possession. He was already pretty well versed in\nall the sciences of play; but he had every day occasion to see these arts\ncarried to such a surprising pitch of finesse and dexterity, as\ndiscouraged him from building his schemes on that foundation.\n\nHe therefore determined to fascinate the judgment, rather than the eyes\nof his fellow-creatures, by a continual exercise of that gift of\ndeceiving, with which he knew himself endued to an unrivalled degree; and\nto acquire unbounded influence with those who might be subservient to his\ninterest, by an assiduous application to their prevailing passions. Not\nthat play was altogether left out in the projection of his economy.--\nThough he engaged himself very little in the executive part of gaming, he\nhad not been long in Vienna, when he entered into league with a genius of\nthat kind, whom he distinguished among the pupils of the academy, and who\nindeed had taken up his habitation in that place with a view to pillage\nthe provincials on their first arrival in town, before they could be\narmed with proper circumspection to preserve their money, or have time to\ndispose of it in any other shape.\n\nSimilar characters naturally attract each other, and people of our hero's\nprinciples are, of all others, the most apt to distinguish their own\nlikeness wheresoever it occurs; because they always keep the faculty of\ndiscerning in full exertion. It was in consequence of this mutual\nalertness, that Ferdinand and the stranger, who was a native of Tyrol,\nperceived themselves reflected in the dispositions of each other, and\nimmediately entered into an offensive and defensive alliance; our\nadventurer undertaking for the articles of intelligence, countenance, and\ncounsel, and his associate charging himself with the risk of execution.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER ELEVEN\n\nFATHOM MAKES VARIOUS EFFORTS IN THE WORLD OF GALLANTRY.\n\n\nThus connected, they began to hunt in couples; and Fathom, in order to\nprofit by the alliance with a good grace, contrived a small scheme that\nsucceeded to his wish. Renaldo being one night intoxicated in the course\nof a merry-making with his fellow-pupils, from which Fathom had purposely\nabsented himself, was by the Tyrolese so artfully provoked to play, that\nhe could not resist the temptation, but engaged at passdice with that\nfell adversary, who, in less than an hour, stripped him of a pretty round\nsum. Next day, when the young gentleman recovered the use of his\nreflection, he was sensibly chagrined at the folly and precipitation of\nhis own conduct, an account of which he communicated in confidence to our\nhero, with demonstrations of infinite shame and concern.\n\nFerdinand, having moralised upon the subject with great sagacity, and\nsharply inveighed against the Tyrolese, for the unfair advantage he had\ntaken, retired to his closet, and wrote the following billet, which was\nimmediately sent to his ally:--\n\n\"The obligations I owe, and the attachments I feel, to the Count de\nMelvil, will not suffer me to be an idle spectator of the wrongs offered\nto his son, in the dishonourable use, I understand, you made last night\nof his unguarded hours. I therefore insist upon your making immediate\nrestitution of the booty which you so unjustly got; otherwise I expect\nyou will meet me upon the ramparts, near the bastion de la Port Neuve,\nto-morrow morning at daybreak, in order to justify, with your sword, the\nfinesse you have practised upon the friend of FERDINAND DE FATHOM.\"\n\nThe gamester no sooner received this intimation, than, according to the\nplan which had been preconcerted betwixt the author and him, he went to\nthe apartment of Renaldo, and presenting the sum of money which he had\ndefrauded him of the preceding night, told him, with a stern countenance,\nthat, though it was a just acquisition, he scorned to avail himself of\nhis good fortune against any person who entertained the smallest doubt of\nhis honour.\n\nThe young Count, surprised at this address, rejected his offer with\ndisdain, and desired to know the meaning of such an unexpected\ndeclaration. Upon which, the other produced Ferdinand's billet, and\nthreatened, in very high terms, to meet the stripling according to his\ninvitation, and chastise him severely for his presumption. The\nconsequence of this explanation is obvious. Renaldo, imputing the\nofficiousness of Fathom to the zeal of his friendship, interposed in the\nquarrel, which was amicably compromised, not a little to the honour of\nour adventurer, who thus obtained an opportunity of displaying his\ncourage and integrity, without the least hazard to his person; while, at\nthe same time, his confederate recommended himself to the esteem of the\nyoung Count, by his spirited behaviour on this occasion; so that Renaldo\nbeing less shy of his company for the future, the Tyrolese had the fairer\nopportunities to prosecute his designs upon the young gentleman's purse.\n\nIt would be almost superfluous to say, that these were not neglected.\nThe son of Count Melvil was not deficient in point of penetration; but\nhis whole study was at that time engrossed by the care of his education,\nand he had sometimes recourse to play as an amusement by which he sought\nto unbend the severity of his attention. No wonder then that he fell a\nprey to an artful gamester, who had been regularly trained to the\nprofession, and made it the sole study of his life; especially as the\nHungarian was remarkable for a warmth of temper, which a knight of the\npost always knows how to manage for his own advantage.\n\nIn the course of these operations, Fathom was a very useful\ncorrespondent. He instructed the Tyrolese in the peculiarities of\nRenaldo's disposition, and made him acquainted with the proper seasons\nfor profiting by his dexterity. Ferdinand, for example, who, by the\nauthority derived to him from the injunctions of the old Count, sometimes\ntook upon himself the office of an adviser, cunningly chose to counsel\nthe son at those conjunctures when he knew him least able to bear such\nexpostulation. Advice improperly administered generally acts in\ndiametrical opposition to the purpose for which it is supposed to be\ngiven; at least this was the case with the young gentleman, who, inflamed\nby the reproof of such a tutor, used to obey the dictates of his\nresentment in an immediate repetition of that conduct which our\nadventurer had taken the liberty to disapprove; and the gamester was\nalways at hand to minister unto his indignation. By these means he was\ndisencumbered of divers considerable remittances, with which his father\ncheerfully supplied him, on the supposition that they were spent with\ntaste and liberality, under the direction of our adventurer.\n\nBut Ferdinand's views were not confined to the narrow field of this\nalliance. He attempted divers enterprises in the world of gallantry,\nconscious of his own personal qualifications, and never doubting that he\ncould insinuate himself into the good graces of some married lady about\ncourt, or lay an opulent dowager under contribution. But he met with an\nobstacle in his endeavours of this kind, which all his art was unable to\nsurmount. This was no other than the obscurity of his birth, and the\nwant of a title, without which no person in that country lays claim to\nthe privileges of a gentleman. Had he foreseen this inconvenience he\nmight have made shift to obviate the consequences, by obtaining\npermission to appear in the character of the Count's kinsman; though, in\nall probability, such an expedient would not have been extremely\nagreeable to the old gentleman, who was very tenacious of the honour of\nhis family; nevertheless, his generosity might have been prevailed upon\nto indulge Fathom with such a pretext, in consideration of the youth's\nsupposed attachment, and the obligations for which he deemed himself\nindebted to his deceased mother.\n\nTrue it is, Ferdinand, upon his first arrival at Vienna, had been\nadmitted into fashionable company, on the footing of Renaldo's companion,\nbecause nobody suspected the defect of his pedigree; and even after a\nreport had been circulated to the prejudice of his extraction, by the\nindustry of a lacquey who attended the young Count, there were not\nwanting many young people of distinction who still favoured him with\ntheir countenance and correspondence; but he was no longer invited to\nprivate families, in which only he could expect to profit by his address\namong the ladies, and had the mortification of finding himself frequently\nexcepted from parties which were expressly calculated for the\nentertainment of the young Count. Luckily, his spirit was so pliant as\nto sustain these slights without being much dejected; instead of repining\nat the loss of that respect which had been paid to him at first, he\nendeavoured, with all his might, to preserve the little that still\nremained, and resolved to translate into a humbler sphere that gallantry\nwhich he had no longer opportunities of displaying in the world of rank\nand fashion.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWELVE\n\nHE EFFECTS A LODGMENT IN THE HOUSE OF A RICH JEWELLER.\n\n\nIn consequence of this determination, he to the uttermost exerted his\ngood-humour among the few friends of consequence his fortune had left,\nand even carried his complaisance so far as to become the humble servant\nof their pleasures, while he attempted to extend his acquaintance in an\ninferior path of life, where he thought his talents would shine more\nconspicuous than at the assemblies of the great, and conduce more\neffectually to the interest of all his designs. Nor did he find himself\ndisappointed in that expectation, sanguine as it was. He soon found\nmeans to be introduced to the house of a wealthy bourgeois, where every\nindividual was charmed with his easy air and extraordinary\nqualifications. He accommodated himself surprisingly to the humours of\nthe whole family; smoked tobacco, swallowed wine, and discoursed of\nstones with the husband, who was a rich jeweller; sacrificed himself to\nthe pride and loquacity of the wife; and played upon the violin, and sung\nalternately, for the amusement of his only daughter, a buxom lass, nearly\nof his own age, the fruit of a former marriage.\n\nIt was not long before Ferdinand had reason to congratulate himself on\nthe footing he had gained in this society. He had expected to find, and\nin a little time actually discovered, that mutual jealousy and rancour\nwhich almost always subsist between a daughter and her step-dame,\ninflamed with all the virulence of female emulation; for the disparity in\ntheir ages served only to render them the more inveterate rivals in the\ndesire of captivating the other sex. Our adventurer having deliberated\nupon the means of converting this animosity to his own advantage, saw no\nmethod for this purpose so feasible as that of making his approaches to\nthe hearts of both, by ministering to each in private, food for their\nreciprocal envy and malevolence; because he well knew that no road lies\nso direct and open to a woman's heart as that of gratifying her passions\nof vanity and resentment.\n\nWhen he had an opportunity of being particular with the mother, he\nexpressed his concern for having unwittingly incurred the displeasure of\nMademoiselle, which, he observed, was obvious in every circumstance of\nher behaviour towards him; protesting he was utterly innocent of all\nintention of offending her; and that he could not account for his\ndisgrace any other way, than by supposing she took umbrage at the\ndirection of his chief regards towards her mother-in-law, which, he\nowned, was altogether involuntary, being wholly influenced by that lady's\nsuperior charms and politeness.\n\nSuch a declaration was perfectly well calculated for the meridian of a\ndame like her, who with all the intoxications of unenlightened pride, and\nan increased appetite for pleasure, had begun to find herself neglected,\nand even to believe that her attractions were actually on the wane. She\nvery graciously consoled our gallant for the mishap of which he\ncomplained, representing Wilhelmina (that was the daughter's name) as a\npert, illiterate, envious baggage, of whose disgust he ought to make no\nconsideration; then she recounted many instances of her own generosity to\nthat young lady, with the returns of malice and ingratitude she had made;\nand, lastly, enumerated all the imperfections of her person, education,\nand behaviour; that he might see with what justice the gypsy pretended to\nvie with those who had been distinguished by the approbation and even\ngallantry of the best people in Vienna.\n\nHaving thus established himself her confidant and gossip, he knew his\nnext step of promotion would necessarily be to the degree of her lover;\nand in that belief resolved to play the same game with Mademoiselle\nWilhelmina, whose complexion was very much akin to that of her\nstepmother; indeed they resembled each other too much to live upon any\nterms of friendship or even decorum. Fathom, in order to enjoy a private\nconversation with the young lady, never failed to repeat his visit every\nafternoon, till at length he had the pleasure of finding her disengaged,\nthe jeweller being occupied among his workmen, and his wife gone to\nassist at a lying-in.\n\nOur adventurer and the daughter had already exchanged their vows, by the\nexpressive language of the eyes; he had even declared himself in some\ntender ejaculations which had been softly whispered in her ear, when he\ncould snatch an opportunity of venting them unperceived; nay, he had upon\ndivers occasions gently squeezed her fair hand, on pretence of tuning her\nharpsichord, and been favoured with returns of the same cordial pressure;\nso that, instead of accosting her with the fearful hesitation and reserve\nof a timid swain, he told her, after the exercise of the doux-yeux, that\nhe was come to confer with her upon a subject that nearly concerned her\npeace; and asked if she had not observed of late an evident abatement of\nfriendship in her mother's behaviour to him, whom she had formerly\ntreated with such marks of favour and respect. Mademoiselle would not\npay so ill a compliment to her own discernment as to say she had not\nperceived the alteration; which, on the contrary, she owned was extremely\npalpable; nor was it difficult to divine the cause of such estranged\nlooks. This remark was accompanied with an irresistible glance; she\nsmiled enchanting, the colour deepened on her cheeks, her breast began to\nheave, and her whole frame underwent a most agreeable confusion.\n\nFerdinand was not a man to let such a favourable conjuncture pass\nunregarded. \"Yes, charming Wilhelmina!\" exclaimed the politician in an\naffected rapture, \"the cause is as conspicuous as your attractions. She\nhath, in spite of all my circumspection, perceived that passion which it\nis not in my power to conceal, and in consequence of which I now declare\nmyself your devoted adorer; or, conscious of your superior excellence,\nher jealousy hath taken the alarm, and, though stung with conjecture\nonly, repines at the triumph of your perfections. How far this spirit of\nmalignity may be inflamed to my prejudice, I know not. Perhaps, as this\nis the first, it may be also the last opportunity I shall have of avowing\nthe dearest sentiments of my heart to the fair object that inspired them;\nin a word, I may be for ever excluded from your presence. Excuse me,\nthen, divine creature! from the practice of those unnecessary forms,\nwhich I should take pride in observing, were I indulged with the ordinary\nprivileges of an honourable lover; and, once for all, accept the homage\nof an heart overflowing with love and admiration. Yes, adorable\nWilhelmina! I am dazzled with your supernatural beauty; your other\naccomplishments strike me with wonder and awe. I am enchanted by the\ngraces of your deportment, ravished with the charms of your conversation;\nand there is a certain tenderness of benevolence in that endearing\naspect, which, I trust, will not fail to melt with sympathy at the\nemotions of a faithful slave like me.\"\n\nSo saying, he threw himself upon his knees, and, seizing her plump hand,\npressed it to his lips with all the violence of real transport. The\nnymph, whose passions nature had filled to the brim, could not hear such\na rhapsody unmoved. Being an utter stranger to addresses of this kind,\nshe understood every word of it in the literal acceptation; she believed\nimplicitly in the truth of the encomiums he had bestowed, and thought it\nreasonable he should be rewarded for the justice he had done to her\nqualifications, which had hitherto been almost altogether overlooked. In\nshort, her heart began to thaw, and her face to hang out the flag of\ncapitulation; which was no sooner perceived by our hero, than he renewed\nhis attack with redoubled fervour, pronouncing in a most vehement tone,\n\"Light of my eyes, and empress of my soul! behold me prostrate at your\nfeet, waiting with the most pious resignation, for that sentence from\nyour lips, on which my future happiness or misery must altogether depend.\nNot with more reverence does the unhappy bashaw kiss the sultan's letter\nthat contains his doom, than I will submit to your fatal determination.\nSpeak then, angelic sweetness! for never, ah! never will I rise from this\nsuppliant posture, until I am encouraged to live and hope. No! if you\nrefuse to smile upon my passion, here shall I breathe the last sighs of a\ndespairing lover; here shall this faithful sword do the last office to\nits unfortunate master, and shed the blood of the truest heart that ever\nfelt the cruel pangs of disappointed love.\"\n\nThe young lady, well-nigh overcome by this effusion, which brought the\ntears into her eyes, \"Enough, enough,\" cried she, interrupting him, \"sure\nyou men were created for the ruin of our sex.\"--\"Ruin!\" re-echoed Fathom,\n\"talk not of ruin and Wilhelmina! let these terms be for ever parted, far\nas the east and west asunder! let ever smiling peace attend her steps,\nand love and joy still wanton in her train! Ruin, indeed, shall wait\nupon her enemies, if such there be, and those love-lorn wretches who pine\nwith anguish under her disdain. Grant me, kind Heaven, a more propitious\nboon; direct her genial regards to one whose love is without example, and\nwhose constancy is unparalleled. Bear witness to my constancy and faith,\nye verdant hills, ye fertile plains, ye shady groves, ye purling streams;\nand if I prove untrue, ah! let me never find a solitary willow or a\nbubbling brook, by help of which I may be enabled to put a period to my\nwretched life.\"\n\nHere this excellent actor began to sob most piteously, and the\ntender-hearted Wilhelmina, unable longer to withstand his moving tale,\nwith a repetition of the interjection, ah! gently dropped into his\narms. This was the beginning of a correspondence that soon rose to a\nvery interesting pitch; and they forthwith concerted measures for\ncarrying it on without the knowledge or suspicion of her mother-in-law.\nNevertheless, the young lady, vanquished as she was, and unskilled in the\nways of men, would not all at once yield at discretion; but insisted upon\nthose terms, without which no woman's reputation can be secured. Our\nlover, far from seeking to evade the proposal, assented to it in terms of\nuncommon satisfaction, and promised to use his whole industry in finding\na priest upon whose discretion they could rely; nay, he certainly\nresolved to comply with her request in good earnest, rather than forfeit\nthe advantages which he foresaw in their union. His good fortune,\nhowever, exempted him from the necessity of taking such a step, which at\nbest must have been disagreeable; for so many difficulties occurred in\nthe inquiry which was set on foot, and so artfully did Fathom in the\nmeantime manage the influence he had already gained over her heart, that,\nbefore her passion could obtain a legal gratification, she surrendered to\nhis wish, without any other assurance, than his solemn profession of\nsincerity and truth, on which she reposed herself with the most implicit\nconfidence and faith.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTEEN\n\nHE IS EXPOSED TO A MOST PERILOUS INCIDENT IN THE COURSE OF HIS INTRIGUE\nWITH THE DAUGHTER.\n\n\nHe was rejoiced to find her so easily satisfied in such a momentous\nconcern, for the principal aim of the intrigue was to make her necessary\nto his interested views, and even, if possible, an associate in the\nfraudulent plans he had projected upon her father; consequently he\nconsidered this relaxation in her virtue as an happy omen of his future\nsuccess. All the obstacles to their mutual enjoyment being thus removed,\nour adventurer was by his mistress indulged with an assignation in her\nown chamber, which, though contiguous to that of her stepmother, was\nprovided with a door that opened into a common staircase, to which he had\naccess at all hours of the night.\n\nHe did not neglect the rendezvous, but, presenting himself at the\nappointed time, which was midnight, made the signal they had agreed upon,\nand was immediately admitted by Wilhelmina, who waited for hire with a\nlover's impatience. Fathom was not deficient in those expressions of\nrapture that are current on those occasions; but, on the contrary, became\nso loud in the transports of self-congratulation, that his voice reached\nthe ears of the vigilant stepmother, who wakening the jeweller from his\nfirst nap, gave him to understand that some person was certainly in close\nconversation with his daughter; and exhorted him to rise forthwith, and\nvindicate the honour of his family.\n\nThe German, who was naturally of a phlegmatic habit, and never went to\nbed without a full dose of the creature, which added to his\nconstitutional drowsiness, gave no ear to his wife's intimation, until\nshe had repeated it thrice, and used other means to rouse him from the\narms of slumber. Meanwhile Fathom and his inamorata overheard her\ninformation, and our hero would have made his retreat immediately,\nthrough the port by which he entered, had not his intention been\noverruled by the remonstrances of the young lady, who observed that the\ndoor was already fast bolted, and could not possibly be opened without\ncreating a noise that would confirm the suspicion of her parents; and\nthat over and above this objection he would, in sallying from that door,\nrun the risk of being met by her father, who in all probability would\npresent himself before it, in order to hinder our hero's escape. She\ntherefore conveyed him softly into her closet, where she assured him he\nmight remain with great tranquillity, in full confidence that she would\ntake such measures as would effectually screen him from detection.\n\nHe was fain to depend upon her assurance, and accordingly ensconced\nhimself behind her dressing-table; but he could not help sweating with\napprehension, and praying fervently to God for his deliverance, when he\nheard the jeweller thundering at the door, and calling to his daughter\nfor admittance. Wilhelmina, who was already undressed, and had purposely\nextinguished the light, pretended to be suddenly waked from her sleep,\nand starting up, exclaimed in a tone of surprise and affright, \"Jesu,\nMaria! what is the matter?\"--\"Hussy!\" replied the German in a terrible\naccent, \"open the door this instant; there is a man in your bedchamber,\nand, by the lightning and thunder! I will wash away the stain he has cast\nupon my honour with the schellum's heart's-blood.\"\n\nNot at all intimidated by this boisterous threat, she admitted him\nwithout hesitation, and, with a shrillness of voice peculiar to herself,\nbegan to hold forth upon her own innocence and his unjust suspicion,\nmingling in her harangue sundry oblique hints against her mother-in-law,\nimporting, that some people were so viciously inclined by their own\nnatures, that she did not wonder at their doubting the virtue of other\npeople; but that these people despised the insinuations of such people,\nwho ought to be more circumspect in their own conduct, lest they\nthemselves should suffer reprisals from those people whom they had so\nmaliciously slandered.\n\nHaving uttered these flowers of rhetoric, which were calculated for the\nhearing of her step-dame, who stood with a light at her husband's back,\nthe young lady assumed an ironical air, and admonished her father to\nsearch every corner of her apartment. She even affected to assist his\ninquiry; with her own hands pulled out a parcel of small drawers, in\nwhich her trinkets were contained; desired him to look into her\nneedlecase and thimble, and, seeing his examination fruitless, earnestly\nintreated him to rummage her closet also, saying, with a sneer, that, in\nall probability, the dishonourer would be found in that lurking-place.\nThe manner in which she pretended to ridicule his apprehensions made an\nimpression upon the jeweller, who was very well disposed to retreat into\nhis own nest, when his wife, with a certain slyness in her countenance,\nbesought him to comply with his daughter's request, and look into that\nsame closet, by which means Wilhelmina's virtue would obtain a complete\ntriumph.\n\nOur adventurer, who overheard the conversation, was immediately seized\nwith a palsy of fear. He trembled at every joint, the sweat trickled\ndown his forehead, his teeth began to chatter, his hair to stand on end;\nand he, in his heart, bitterly cursed the daughter's petulance, the\nmother's malice, together with his own precipitation, by which he was\ninvolved in an adventure so pregnant with danger and disgrace. Indeed,\nthe reader may easily conceive his disorder, when he heard the key\nturning in the lock, and the German swearing that he would make him food\nfor the beasts of the field and the fowls of the air.\n\nFathom had come unprepared with weapons of defence, was naturally an\neconomist of his person, and saw himself on the brink of forfeiting not\nonly the promised harvest of his double intrigue, but also the reputation\nof a man of honour, upon which all his future hopes depended. His agony\nwas therefore unspeakable, when the door flew open; and it was not till\nafter a considerable pause of recollection, that he perceived the candle\nextinguished by the motion of the air produced from the German's sudden\nirruption. This accident, which disconcerted him so much as to put a\nfull stop to his charge, was very favourable to our hero, who, summoning\nall his presence of mind, crept up into the chimney, while the jeweller\nstood at the door, waiting for his wife's return with another light; so\nthat, when the closet was examined, there was nothing found to justify\nthe report which the stepmother had made; and the father, after having\nmade a slight apology to Wilhelmina for his intrusion, retired with his\nyoke-fellow into their own chamber.\n\nThe young lady, who little thought that her papa would have taken her at\nher word, was overwhelmed with confusion and dismay, when she saw him\nenter the closet; and, had her lover been discovered, would, in all\nprobability, have been the loudest in his reproach, and, perhaps, have\naccused him of an intention to rob the house; but she was altogether\nastonished when she found he had made shift to elude the inquiry of her\nparents, because she could not conceive the possibility of his escaping\nby the window, which was in the third storey, at a prodigious distance\nfrom the ground; and how he should conceal himself in the apartment, was\na mystery which she could by no means unfold. Before her father and\nmother retired, she lighted her lamp, on pretence of being afraid to be\nin the dark, after the perturbation of spirits she had undergone; and her\nroom was no sooner evacuated of such troublesome visitants, than she\nsecured the doors, and went in quest of her lover.\n\nAccordingly, every corner of the closet underwent a new search, and she\ncalled upon his name with a soft voice, which she thought no other person\nwould overhear. But Ferdinand did not think proper to gratify her\nimpatience, because he could not judge of the predicament in which he\nstood by the evidence of all his senses, and would not relinquish his\npost, until he should be better certified that the coast was clear.\nMeanwhile, his Dulcinea, having performed her inquiry to no purpose,\nimagined there was something preternatural in the circumstance of his\nvanishing so unaccountably, and began to cross herself with great\ndevotion. She returned to her chamber, fixed the lamp in the fireplace,\nand, throwing herself upon the bed, gave way to the suggestions of her\nsuperstition, which were reinforced by the silence that prevailed, and\nthe gloomy glimmering of the light. She reflected upon the trespass she\nhad already committed in her heart, and, in the conjectures of her fear,\nbelieved that her lover was no other than the devil himself, who had\nassumed the appearance of Fathom, in order to tempt and seduce her\nvirtue.\n\nWhile her imagination teemed with those horrible ideas, our adventurer,\nconcluding, from the general stillness, that the jeweller and his wife\nwere at last happily asleep, ventured to come forth from his\nhiding-place, and stood before his mistress all begrimed with soot.\nWilhelmina, lifting up her eyes, and seeing this sable apparition, which\nshe mistook for Satan in propria persona, instantly screamed, and began\nto repeat her pater-noster with an audible voice. Upon which Ferdinand,\nforeseeing that her parents would be again alarmed, would not stay to\nundeceive her and explain himself, but, unlocking the door with great\nexpedition, ran downstairs, and luckily accomplished his escape. This\nwas undoubtedly the wisest measure he could have taken; for he had not\nperformed one half of his descent toward the street, when the German was\nat his daughter's bedside, demanding to know the cause of her\nexclamation. She then gave him an account of what she had seen, with all\nthe exaggerations of her own fancy, and, after having weighed the\ncircumstances of her story, he interpreted the apparition into a thief,\nwho had found means to open the door that communicated with the stair;\nbut, having been scared by Wilhelmina's shriek, had been obliged to\nretreat before he could execute his purpose.\n\nOur hero's spirits were so wofully disturbed by this adventure, that, for\na whole week, he felt no inclination to visit his inamorata, and was not\nwithout apprehension that the affair had terminated in an explanation\nvery little to his advantage. He was, however, delivered from this\ndisagreeable suspense, by an accidental meeting with the jeweller\nhimself, who kindly chid him for his long absence, and entertained him in\nthe street with an account of the alarm which his family had sustained,\nby a thief who broke into Wilhelmina's apartment. Glad to find his\napprehension mistaken, he renewed his correspondence with the family,\nand, in a little time, found reason to console himself for the jeopardy\nand panic he had undergone.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER FOURTEEN\n\nHE IS REDUCED TO A DREADFUL DILEMMA, IN CONSEQUENCE OF AN ASSIGNATION\nWITH THE WIFE.\n\n\nNor was his whole care and attention engrossed by the execution of this\nscheme upon the daughter. While he managed his concerns in that quarter\nwith incredible ardour and application, he was not the less indefatigable\nin the prosecution of his design upon the mother-in-law, which he\nforwarded with all his art during those opportunities he enjoyed in the\nabsence of Wilhelmina, who was frequently called away by the domestic\nduties of the house. The passions of the jeweller's wife were in such a\nstate of exaltation, as exempted our hero from the repulses and fatigue\nattending a long siege.\n\nWe have already observed how cunningly he catered for the gratification\nof her ruling appetite, and have exhibited pregnant proofs of his ability\nin gaining upon the human heart; the reader will not therefore be\nsurprised at the rapidity of his conquest over the affections of a lady\nwhose complexion was perfectly amorous, and whose vanity laid her open to\nall the attempts of adulation. In a word, matters were quickly brought\nto such a mutual understanding, that, one evening, while they amused\nthemselves at lansquenet, Fathom conjured her to give him the rendezvous\nnext day at the house of any third person of her own sex, in whose\ndiscretion she could confide; and, after a few affected scruples on her\nside, which he well knew how to surmount, she complied with his request,\nand the circumstances of the appointment were settled accordingly. After\nthis treaty, their satisfaction rose to such a warmth, and the\nconversation became so reciprocally endearing, that our gallant expressed\nhis impatience of waiting so long for the accomplishment of his wishes,\nand, with the most eager transport, begged she would, if possible,\ncurtail the term of his expectation, that his brain might not suffer by\nhis standing so many tedious hours on the giddy verge of rapture.\n\nThe dame, who was naturally compassionate, sympathised with his\ncondition, and, unable to resist his pathetic supplications, gave him to\nunderstand that his desire could not be granted, without subjecting them\nboth to some hazard, but that she was disposed to run any risk in behalf\nof his happiness and peace. After this affectionate preamble, she told\nhim that her husband was then engaged in a quarterly meeting of the\njewellers, from whence he never failed to return quite overwhelmed with\nwine, tobacco, and the phlegm of his own constitution; so that he would\nfall fast asleep as soon as his head should touch the pillow, and she be\nat liberty to entertain the lover without interruption, provided he could\nfind means to deceive the jealous vigilance of Wilhelmina, and conceal\nhimself in some corner of the house, unsuspected and unperceived.\n\nOur lover, remembering his adventure with the daughter, would have\nwillingly dispensed with this expedient, and began to repent of the\neagerness with which he had preferred his solicitation; but, seeing there\nwas now no opportunity of retracting with honour, he affected to enter\nheartily into the conversation, and, after much canvassing, it was\ndetermined, that, while Wilhelmina was employed in the kitchen, the\nmother should conduct our adventurer to the outer door, where he should\npay the compliment of parting, so as to be overheard by the young lady;\nbut, in the meantime, glide softly into the jeweller's bedchamber, which\nwas a place they imagined least liable to the effects of a daughter's\nprying disposition, and conceal himself in a large press or wardrobe,\nthat stood in one corner of the apartment. The scene was immediately\nacted with great success, and our hero cooped up in his cage, where he\nwaited so long, that his desires began to subside, and his imagination to\naggravate the danger of his situation.\n\n\"Suppose,\" said he to himself, \"this brutal German, instead of being\nstupefied with wine, should come home inflamed with brandy, to the use of\nwhich he is sometimes addicted, far from feeling any inclination to\nsleep, he will labour under the most fretful anxiety of watching; every\nirascible particle in his disposition will be exasperated; he will be\noffended with every object that may present itself to his view; and, if\nthere is the least ingredient of jealousy in his temper, it will manifest\nitself in riot and rage. What if his frenzy should prompt him to search\nhis wife's chamber for gallants? this would certainly be the first place\nto which he would direct his inquiry; or, granting this supposition\nchimerical, I may be seized with an irresistible inclination to cough,\nbefore he is oppressed with sleep; he may be waked by the noise I shall\nmake in disengaging myself from this embarrassed situation; and, finally,\nI may find it impracticable to retire unseen or unheard, after everything\nelse shall have succeeded to my wish.\"\n\nThese suggestions did not at all contribute to the quiet of our\nadventurer, who, having waited three whole hours in the most\nuncomfortable suspense, heard the jeweller brought into the room in that\nvery condition which his fears had prognosticated. He had, it seems,\nquarrelled over his cups with another tradesman, and received a\nsalutation on the forehead with a candlestick, which not only left an\nignominious and painful mark upon his countenance, but even disordered\nhis brain to a very dangerous degree of delirium; so that, instead of\nallowing himself quietly to be undressed and put to bed by his wife, he\nanswered all her gentle admonitions and caresses with the most\nopprobrious invectives and obstreperous behaviour; and, though he did not\ntax her with infidelity to his bed, he virulently accused her of\nextravagance and want of economy; observed, her expensive way of living\nwould bring him to a morsel of bread; and unfortunately recollecting the\nattempt of the supposed thief, started up from his chair, swearing by\nG--'s mother that he would forthwith arm himself with a brace of pistols,\nand search every apartment in the house. \"That press,\" said he, with\ngreat vociferation, \"may, for aught I know, be the receptacle of some\nruffian.\"\n\nSo saying, he approached the ark in which Fathom was embarked, and\nexclaiming, \"Come forth, Satan,\" applied his foot to the door of it, with\nsuch violence as threw him from the centre of gravity, and laid him\nsprawling on his back. This address made such an impression upon our\nadventurer, that he had well-nigh obeyed the summons, and burst from his\nconcealment, in a desperate effort to escape, without being recognised by\nthe intoxicated German; and indeed, had the application been repeated, he\nin all likelihood would have tried the experiment, for by this time his\nterrors had waxed too strong to be much longer suppressed. From this\nhazardous enterprise he was, however, exempted by a lucky accident that\nhappened to his disturber, whose head chancing to pitch upon the corner\nof a chair in his fall, he was immediately lulled into a trance, during\nwhich the considerate lady, guessing the disorder of her gallant, and\ndreading further interruption, very prudently released him from his\nconfinement, after she had put out the light, and in the dark conveyed\nhim to the door, where he was comforted with the promise that she would\npunctually remember the rendezvous of next day.\n\nShe then invoked the assistance of the servants, who, being waked for the\npurpose, lifted up their master, and tumbled him into bed, while\nFerdinand hied him home in an universal sweat, blessing himself from any\nfuture achievement of that sort in a house where he had been twice in\nsuch imminent danger of life and reputation. Nevertheless, he did not\nfail to honour the assignation, and avail himself of the disposition his\nmistress manifested to make him all the recompense in her power for the\ndisappointment and chagrin which he had undergone.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER FIFTEEN\n\nBUT AT LENGTH SUCCEEDS IN HIS ATTEMPT UPON BOTH.\n\nHaving thus gained a complete victory over the affections of these two\nladies, he began to convert his good fortune to the purposes of that\nprinciple, from which his view was never, no, not for a moment, detached.\nIn other words, he used them as ministers and purveyors to his avarice\nand fraud. As for the mother-in-law, she was of herself so liberal as to\nanticipate the wishes of any moderate adventurer, and presented him with\nsundry valuable jewels, as memorials of her esteem; nor was the daughter\nbackward in such expressions of regard; she already considered his\ninterest as her own, and took frequent opportunities of secreting for his\nbenefit certain stray trinkets that she happened to pick up in her\nexcursions within doors.\n\nAll these gratifications he received with demonstrations of infinite\nconstraint and reluctance, and, in the midst of his rapacious extortion,\nacted so cunningly as to impose himself upon both for a miracle of\ndisinterested integrity. Yet, not contented with what he thus could\nearn, and despairing of being able to steer the bark of his fortune for\nany length of time between two such dangerous quicksands, he resolved to\nprofit by the occasion while it lasted, and strike some considerable\nstroke at once. A plan was formed in consequence of this determination,\nand, at an appointment with the mother in the house of their female\nfriend, our adventurer appeared with an air of dejection, which he veiled\nwith a thin cover of forced pleasantry, that his mistress might suppose\nhe endeavoured to conceal some mortal chagrin that preyed upon his heart.\n\nThe stratagem succeeded to his wish. She observed his countenance\nbetween whiles overcast, took notice of the involuntary sighs he heaved;\nand, with the most tender expressions of sympathy, conjured him to make\nher acquainted with the cause of his affliction. Instead of gratifying\nher request immediately, he evaded her questions with a respectful\nreserve, implying, that his love would not suffer him to make her a\npartner in his sorrow; and this delicacy on his part whetted her\nimpatience and concern to such a degree, that, rather than keep her in\nsuch an agony of doubt and apprehension, he was prevailed upon to tell\nher, that he had been, the preceding night, engaged with a company of his\nfellow-students, where he had made too free with the champagne, so that\nhis caution forsook him, and he had been decoyed into play by a Tyrolese\ngamester, who stripped him of all his ready money, and obtained from him\nan obligation for two hundred florins, which he could not possibly pay\nwithout having recourse to his relation the Count de Melvil, who would\nhave just cause to be incensed at his extravagance.\n\nThis information he concluded, by declaring that, cost what it would, he\nwas resolved to make a candid confession of the truth, and throw himself\nentirely upon the generosity of his patron, who could inflict no other\npunishment than that of discarding him from his favour and protection,--a\nmisfortune which, how grievous soever it might be, he should be able to\nsustain with fortitude, could he fall upon some method of satisfying the\nTyrolese, who was very importunate and savage in his demand. His kind\nmistress no sooner found out the source of his inquietude, than she\npromised to dry it up, assuring him that next day, at the same hour, she\nwould enable him to discharge the debt; so that he might set his heart at\nease, and recollect that gaiety which was the soul of her enjoyment.\n\nHe expressed the utmost astonishment at this generous proffer, which,\nhowever, he declined, with an affected earnestness of refusal,\nprotesting, that he should be extremely mortified, if he thought she\nlooked upon him as one of those mercenary gallants who could make such a\nsordid use of a lady's affection. \"No, madam,\" cried our politician in a\npathetic strain, \"whatever happens, I shall never part with that internal\nconsolation, that conscious honour never fails to yield in the deepest\nscenes of solitary distress. The attachment I have the honour to profess\nfor your amiable person, is not founded on such inglorious motives, but\nis the genuine result of that generous passion which none but the\nnoble-minded feel, and the only circumstance of this misfortune that I\ndread to encounter, is the necessity of withdrawing myself for ever from\nthe presence of her whose genial smiles could animate my soul against all\nthe persecution of adverse fortune.\"\n\nThis declamation, accompanied with a profound sigh, served only to\ninflame her desire of extricating him from the difficulty in which he was\ninvolved. She exhausted all her eloquence in attempting to persuade him\nthat his refusal was an outrage against her affection. He pretended to\nrefute her arguments, and remained unshaken by all the power of her\nsolicitations, until she had recourse to the most passionate\nremonstrances of love, and fell at his feet in the posture of a forlorn\nshepherdess. What he refused to her reason, he granted to her tears,\nbecause his heart was melted by her affliction, and next day condescended\nto accept of her money, out of pure regard to her happiness and peace.\n\nEncouraged by the success of this achievement, he resolved to practise\nthe same experiment upon Wilhelmina, in hope of extracting an equal share\nof profit from her simplicity and attachment, and, at their very next\nnocturnal rendezvous in her chamber, reacted the farce already rehearsed,\nwith a small variation, which he thought necessary to stimulate the young\nlady in his behalf. He rightly concluded, that she was by no means\nmistress of such a considerable sum as he had already extorted from her\nmother, and therefore thought proper to represent himself in the most\nurgent predicament, that her apprehension, on his account, might be so\nalarmed as to engage her in some enterprise for his advantage, which\notherwise she would never have dreamed of undertaking. With this view,\nafter having described his own calamitous situation, in consequence of\nher pressing entreaties, which he affected to evade, he gave her to\nunderstand, that there was no person upon earth to whom he would have\nrecourse in this emergency; for which reason he was determined to rid\nhimself of all his cares at once, upon the friendly point of his own\nfaithful sword.\n\nSuch a dreadful resolution could not fail to operate upon the tender\npassions of his Dulcinea; she was instantly seized with an agony of fear\nand distraction. Her grief manifested itself in a flood of tears, while\nshe hung round his neck, conjuring him in the most melting terms, by\ntheir mutual love, in which they had been so happy, to lay aside that\nfatal determination, which would infallibly involve her in the same fate;\nfor, she took Heaven to witness, that she would not one moment survive\nthe knowledge of his death.\n\nHe was not deficient in expressions of reciprocal regard. He extolled\nher love and tenderness with a most extravagant eulogium, and seemed\nwrung with mortal anguish at the prospect of parting for ever from his\nlovely Wilhelmina; but his honour was a stern and rigid creditor, that\ncould not be appeased, except with his blood; and all the boon she could\nobtain, by dint of the most woful supplication, was a promise to defer\nthe execution of his baleful purpose for the space of four-and-twenty\nhours, during which she hoped Heaven would compassionate her sufferings,\nand inspire her with some contrivance for their mutual relief. Thus he\nyielded to her fervent request, rather with a view to calm the present\ntransports of her sorrow, than with any expectation of seeing himself\nredeemed from his fate by her interposition; such at least were his\nprofessions when he took his leave, assuring her, that he would not quit\nhis being before he should have devoted a few hours to another interview\nwith the dear object of his love.\n\nHaving thus kindled the train, he did not doubt that the mine of his\ncraft would take effect, and repaired to his own lodging, in full\npersuasion of seeing his aim accomplished, before the time fixed for\ntheir last assignation. His prognostic was next morning verified by the\narrival of a messenger, who brought to him a small parcel, to which was\ncemented, with sealing wax, the following epistle:--\n\n\"JEWEL OF MY SOUL!--Scarce had you, last night, quitted my disconsolate\narms, when I happily recollected that there was in my possession a gold\nchain, of value more than sufficient to answer the exigence of your\npresent occasions. It was pledged to my grandfather for two hundred\ncrowns by a knight of Malta, who soon after perished in a sea engagement\nwith the enemies of our faith, so that it became the property of our\nhouse, and was bequeathed to me by the old gentleman, as a memorial of\nhis particular affection. Upon whom can I more properly bestow it, than\nhim who is already master of my heart! Receive it, therefore, from the\nbearer of this billet, and convert it, without scruple, to that use which\nshall be most conducive to your ease and satisfaction; nor seek, from a\ntrue romantic notion of honour, which I know you entertain, to excuse\nyourself from accepting this testimony of my affection. For I have\nalready sworn before an image of our blessed Lady, that I will no longer\nown you as the sovereign of my heart, nor even indulge you with another\ninterview, if you reject this mark of tenderness and concern from your\never faithful WILHELMINA.\"\n\nThe heart of our adventurer began to bound with joy when he surveyed the\ncontents of this letter; and his eyes sparkled with transport at sight of\nthe chain, which he immediately perceived to be worth twice the sum she\nhad mentioned. Nevertheless, he would not avail himself, without further\nquestion, of her generosity; but, that same night, repairing to her\napartment at the usual hour of meeting, he prostrated himself before her,\nand counterfeiting extreme agitation of spirit, begged, in the most\nurgent terms, not even unaccompanied with tears, that she would take back\nthe present, which he tendered for her acceptance, and spare him the most\ninsufferable mortification of thinking himself exposed to the imputation\nof being mercenary in his love. Such, he said, was the delicacy of his\npassion, that he could not possibly exist under the apprehension of\nincurring a censure so unworthy of his sentiments; and he would a\nthousand times sooner undergo the persecution of his rancorous creditor,\nthan bear the thought of being in the smallest consideration lessened in\nher esteem; nay, so far did he carry his pretensions to punctilio, as to\nprotest, that, should she refuse to quiet the scruples of his honour on\nthis score, her unyielding beneficence would serve only to hasten the\nexecution of his determined purpose, to withdraw himself at once from a\nlife of vanity and misfortune.\n\nThe more pathetically he pleaded for her compliance, the more strenuously\ndid she resist his remonstrances. She advanced all the arguments her\nreason, love, and terror could suggest, reminded him of her oath, from\nwhich he could not suppose she would recede, whatever the consequence\nmight be; and in conclusion vowed to Heaven, with great solemnity and\ndevotion, that she would not survive the news of his death. Thus the\nalternative she offered was either to retain the chain and be happy in\nher affection, or forfeit all title to her love, and die in the\nconviction of having brought his innocent mistress to an untimely grave.\n\nHis fortitude was not proof against this last consideration. \"My savage\nhonour,\" said he, \"would enable me to endure the pangs of eternal\nseparation in the confidence of being endowed with the power of ending\nthese tortures by the energy of my own hand; but the prospect of\nWilhelmina's death, and that too occasioned by my inflexibility, disarms\nmy soul of all her resolution, swallows up the dictates of my jealous\npride, and fills my bosom with such a gush of tenderness and sorrow, as\noverwhelms the whole economy of my purpose! Yes, enchanting creature! I\nsacrifice my glory to that irresistible reflection; and, rather than know\nmyself the cruel instrument of robbing the world of such perfection,\nconsent to retain the fatal testimony of your love.\"\n\nSo saying, he pocketed the chain, with an air of ineffable mortification,\nand was rewarded for his compliance with the most endearing caresses of\nhis Dulcinea, who, amidst the tumults of her joy, ejaculated a thousand\nacknowledgments to Heaven for having blessed her with the affection of\nsuch a man, whose honour was unrivalled by anything but his love.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER SIXTEEN\n\nHIS SUCCESS BEGETS A BLIND SECURITY, BY WHICH HE IS ONCE AGAIN WELL-NIGH\nENTRAPPED IN HIS DULCINEA'S APARTMENT.\n\n\nIn this manner did the crafty Fathom turn to account those ingratiating\nqualifications he inherited from nature, and maintain, with incredible\nassiduity and circumspection, an amorous correspondence with two domestic\nrivals, who watched the conduct of each other with the most indefatigable\nvirulence of envious suspicion, until an accident happened, which had\nwell-nigh overturned the bark of his policy, and induced him to alter the\ncourse, that he might not be shipwrecked on the rocks that began to\nmultiply in the prosecution of his present voyage.\n\nThe jeweller, who, as a German, wanted neither pride nor ostentation,\nnever failed to celebrate the anniversary of his birth by an annual feast\ngranted to his neighbours and friends; and on these occasions was\naccustomed to wear that chain which, though bequeathed to his daughter,\nhe considered as an ornament appertaining to the family, whereof he\nhimself was head. Accordingly, when the time of this festival revolved,\nhe, as usual, ordered Wilhelmina to surrender it for the day. This\ninjunction, the reader will perceive, our young lady was in no condition\nto obey; she had, however, foreseen the demand, and contrived a scheme of\nbehaviour for the occasion, which she forthwith put in execution.\n\nWith an air of uncommon cheerfulness, purposely assumed, she retired to\nher closet, on pretence of complying with his desire, and, having\nemployed a few minutes in rummaging her drawers and disordering her\nmoveables, uttered a loud shriek, that brought her father instantly into\nthe apartment, where he found his daughter tossing about her clothes and\ntrinkets with violent demonstrations of disorder and affright, and heard\nher, in a lamentable strain, declare that she was robbed of her chain,\nand for ever undone. This was so far from being an agreeable intimation\nto the jeweller, that he was struck dumb with astonishment and vexation,\nand it was not till after a long pause that he pronounced the word\nSacrament! with an emphasis denoting the most mortifying surprise.\n\nSoon as that exclamation escaped from his lips, he flew to the escritoire\nas if instinctively, and, joining Wilhelmina in her occupation, tumbled\nits whole contents upon the floor in a trice.\n\nWhile he was thus employed, in the most expressive silence, the wife of\nhis bosom chanced to pass that way, and seeing them both occupied with\nsuch violence and trepidation, believed at first that they were certainly\nactuated by the spirit of frenzy; but, when she interposed, by asking,\nwith great earnestness, the cause of such transports and distracted\nbehaviour, and heard her husband reply, with an accent of despair, \"The\nchain! the chain of my forefathers is no more!\" she immediately justified\nhis emotion, by undergoing the same alarm, and, without further\nhesitation, engaged herself in the search, beginning with a song, which\nmight be compared to the hymn of battle among the Greeks, or rather more\naptly to that which the Spartan females sung round the altar of Diana,\nsurnamed Orthian; for it was attended with strange gesticulations, and,\nin the course of utterance, became so loud and shrill, that the guests,\nwho were by this time partly assembled, being confounded at the clamour,\nrushed towards the place from whence it seemed to proceed, and found\ntheir landlord, with his wife and daughter, in the attitudes of\ndistraction and despair.\n\nWhen they understood the nature of the case, they condoled the family on\ntheir misfortune, and would have retired, on the supposition that it\nwould defeat the mirthful intent of their meeting; but the jeweller,\nmustering up his whole temper and hospitality, entreated them to excuse\nhis disorder, and favour him with their company, which, he observed, was\nnow more than ever wanted, to dispel the melancholy ideas inspired by his\nloss. Notwithstanding this apology, and the efforts he made in the\nsequel to entertain his friends with jollity and good-humour, his heart\nwas so linked to the chain, that he could not detach himself from the\nthoughts of it, which invaded him at short intervals in such qualms as\neffectually spoiled his appetite, and hindered his digestion.\n\nHe revolved within himself the circumstances of his disaster, and, in\ncanvassing all the probable means by which the chain would be stolen,\nconcluded that the deed must have been done by some person in the family,\nwho, in consequence of having access to his daughter's chamber, had\neither found the drawer left open by her carelessness and neglect, or\nfound means to obtain a false key, by some waxen impression; for the\nlocks of the escritoire were safe and uninjured. His suspicion being\nthus confined within his own house, sometimes pitched upon his workmen,\nand sometimes upon his wife, who, he thought, was the more likely to\npractise such finesse, as she considered Wilhelmina in the light of a\ndaughter-in-law, whose interest interfered with her own, and who had\noften harangued to him in private on the folly of leaving this very chain\nin the young lady's possession.\n\nThe more he considered this subject, he thought he saw the more reason to\nattribute the damage he had sustained to the machinations of his spouse,\nwho, he did not doubt, was disposed to feather her own nest, at the\nexpense of him and his heirs, and who, with the same honest intention,\nhad already secreted, for her private use, those inconsiderable jewels\nwhich of late had at different times been missing. Aroused by these\nsentiments, he resolved to retaliate her own schemes, by contriving means\nto visit her cabinet in secret, and, if possible, to rob the robber of\nthe spoils she had gathered to his prejudice, without coming to any\nexplanation, which might end in domestic turmoils and eternal disquiet.\n\nWhile the husband exercised his reflection in this manner, his innocent\nmate did not allow the powers of her imagination to rest in idleness and\nsloth. Her observations touching the loss of the chain were such as a\nsuspicious woman, biassed by hatred and envy, would naturally make. To\nher it seemed highly improbable, that a thing of such value, so carefully\ndeposited, should vanish without the connivance of its keeper, and\nwithout much expense of conjecture, divined the true manner in which it\nwas conveyed. The sole difficulty that occurred in the researches of her\nsagacity, was to know the gallant who had been favoured with such a\npledge of Wilhelmina's affection; for, as the reader will easily imagine,\nshe never dreamed of viewing Ferdinand in that odious perspective. In\norder to satisfy her curiosity, discover this happy favourite, and be\nrevenged on her petulant rival, she prevailed upon the jeweller to employ\na scout, who should watch all night upon the stair, without the knowledge\nof any other person in the family, alleging, that in all likelihood, the\nhousemaid gave private admittance to some lover who was the author of all\nthe losses they had lately suffered, and that they might possibly detect\nhim in his nocturnal adventures; and observing that it would be imprudent\nto intimate their design to Wilhelmina, lest, through the heedlessness\nand indiscretion of youth, she might chance to divulge the secret, so as\nto frustrate their aim.\n\nA Swiss, in whose honesty the German could confide, being hired for this\npurpose, was posted in a dark corner of the staircase, within a few paces\nof the door, which he was directed to watch, and actually stood sentinel\nthree nights, without perceiving the least object of suspicion; but, on\nthe fourth, the evil stars of our adventurer conducted him to the spot,\non his voyage to the apartment of his Dulcinea, with whom he had\npreconcerted the assignation. Having made the signal, which consisted of\ntwo gentle taps on her door, he was immediately admitted; and the Swiss\nno sooner saw him fairly housed, than he crept softly to the other door,\nthat was left open for the purpose, and gave immediate intimation of what\nhe had perceived. This intelligence, however, he could not convey so\nsecretly, but the lovers, who were always vigilant upon these occasions,\noverheard a sort of commotion in the jeweller's chamber, the cause of\nwhich their apprehension was ingenious enough to comprehend.\n\nWe have formerly observed that our adventurer could not make his retreat\nby the door, without running a very great risk of being detected, and the\nexpedient of the chimney he had no inclination to repeat; so that he\nfound himself in a very uncomfortable dilemma, and was utterly abandoned\nby all his invention and address, when his mistress, in a whisper,\ndesired him to begin a dialogue, aloud, in an apology, importing, that he\nhad mistaken the door, and that his intention was to visit her father,\ntouching a ring belonging to the young Count Melvil, which she knew\nFathom had put into his hands, in order to be altered.\n\nFerdinand, seizing the hint, availed himself of it without delay, and,\nunbolting the door, pronounced in an audible voice, \"Upon my honour,\nMademoiselle, you wrong my intention, if you imagine I came hither with\nany disrespectful or dishonourable motive. I have business with your\nfather, which cannot be delayed till to-morrow, without manifest\nprejudice to my friend and myself; therefore I took the liberty of\nvisiting him at these untimely hours, and it has been my misfortune to\nmistake the door in the dark. I beg pardon for my involuntary intrusion,\nand again assure you, that nothing was farther from my thoughts than any\ndesign to violate that respect which I have always entertained for you\nand your father's family.\"\n\nTo this remonstrance, which was distinctly heard by the German and his\nwife, who by this time stood listening at the door, the young lady\nreplied, in a shrill accent of displeasure, \"Sir, I am bound to believe\nthat all your actions are conducted by honour; but you must give me leave\nto tell you, that your mistake is a little extraordinary, and your visit,\neven to my father, at this time of the night, altogether unseasonable, if\nnot mysterious. As for the interruption I have suffered in my repose, I\nimpute it to my own forgetfulness, in leaving my door unlocked, and blame\nmyself so severely for the omission, that I shall, to-morrow, put it out\nof my own power to be guilty of the like for the future, by ordering the\npassage to be nailed up; meanwhile, if you would persuade me of your\nwell-meaning, you will instantly withdraw, lest my reputation should\nsuffer by your continuance in my apartment.\"\n\n\"Madam,\" answered our hero, \"I will not give you an opportunity to repeat\nthe command, which I shall forthwith obey, after having entreated you\nonce more to forgive the disturbance I have given.\" So saying, he gently\nopened the door, and, at sight of the German and his wife, who, he well\nknew, waited for his exit, started back, and gave tokens of confusion,\nwhich was partly real and partly affected. The jeweller, fully satisfied\nwith Fathom's declaration to his daughter, received him with a\ncomplaisant look, and, in order to alleviate his concern, gave him to\nunderstand, that he already knew the reason of his being in that\napartment, and desired to be informed of what had procured him the honour\nto see him at such a juncture.\n\n\"My dear friend,\" said our adventurer, pretending to recollect himself\nwith difficulty, \"I am utterly ashamed and confounded to be discovered in\nthis situation; but, as you have overheard what passed between\nMademoiselle and me, I know you will do justice to my intention, and\nforgive my mistake. After begging pardon for having intruded upon your\nfamily at these hours, I must now tell you that my cousin, Count Melvil,\nwas some time ago so much misrepresented to his mother by certain\nmalicious informers, who delight in sowing discord in private families,\nthat she actually believed her son an extravagant spendthrift, who had\nnot only consumed his remittances in the most riotous scenes of disorder,\nbut also indulged a pernicious appetite for gaming, to such a degree,\nthat he had lost all his clothes and jewels at play. In consequence of\nsuch false information, she expostulated with him in a severe letter, and\ndesired he would transmit to her that ring which is in your custody, it\nbeing a family stone, for which she expressed an inestimable value. The\nyoung gentleman, in his answer to her reproof, endeavoured to vindicate\nhimself from the aspersions which had been cast upon his character, and,\nwith regard to the ring, told her it was at present in the hands of a\njeweller, in order to be new set according to her own directions, and\nthat, whenever it should be altered, he would send it home to her by some\nsafe conveyance. This account the good lady took for an evasion, and\nupon that supposition has again written to him, in such a provoking\nstyle, that, although the letter arrived but half an hour ago, he is\ndetermined to despatch a courier before morning with the mischievous\nring, for which, in compliance with the impetuosity of his temper, I have\ntaken the freedom to disturb you at this unseasonable hour.\"\n\nThe German paid implicit faith to every circumstance of his story, which\nindeed could not well be supposed to be invented extempore; the ring was\nimmediately restored, and our adventurer took his leave, congratulating\nhimself upon his signal deliverance from the snare in which he had\nfallen.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER SEVENTEEN\n\nTHE STEP-DAME'S SUSPICIONS BEING AWAKENED, SHE LAYS A SNARE FOR OUR\nADVENTURER, FROM WHICH HE IS DELIVERED BY THE INTERPOSITION OF HIS GOOD\nGENIUS.\n\n\nThough the husband swallowed the bait without further inquiry, the\npenetration of the wife was not so easily deceived. That same dialogue\nin Wilhelmina's apartment, far from allaying, rather inflamed her\nsuspicion; because, in the like emergency, she herself had once profited\nby the same, or nearly the same contrivance. Without communicating her\ndoubts to the father, she resolved to double her attention to the\ndaughter's future conduct, and keep such a strict eye over the behaviour\nof our gallant, that he should find it very difficult, if not impossible,\nto elude her observation. For this purpose she took into her pay an old\nmaiden, of the right sour disposition, who lived in a house opposite to\nher own, and directed her to follow the young lady in all her outgoings,\nwhenever she should receive from the window a certain signal, which the\nmother-in-law agreed to make for the occasion. It was not long before\nthis scheme succeeded to her wish. The door of communication betwixt\nWilhelmina's apartment and the staircase being nailed up by the\njeweller's express order, our adventurer was altogether deprived of those\nopportunities he had hitherto enjoyed, and was not at all mortified to\nfind himself so restricted in a correspondence which began to be tiresome\nand disagreeable. But the case was far otherwise with his Dulcinea,\nwhose passion, the more it was thwarted, raged with greater violence,\nlike a fire, that, from the attempts that are made to extinguish it,\ngathers greater force, and flames with double fury.\n\nUpon the second day of her misfortune, she had written a very tender\nbillet, lamenting her unhappiness in being deprived of those meetings\nwhich constituted the chief joy of her life, and entreating him to\ncontrive some means of renewing the delicious commerce in an unsuspected\nplace. This intimation she proposed to convey privately into the hand of\nher lover, during his next visit to the family; but both were so narrowly\neyed by the mother, that she found the execution of her design\nimpracticable; and next forenoon, on pretence of going to church,\nrepaired to the house of a companion, who, being also her confidant,\nundertook to deliver the billet with her own hand.\n\nThe she-dragon employed by her mother, in obedience to the sign which was\ndisplayed from the window immediately put on her veil, and followed\nWilhelmina at a distance, until she saw her fairly housed. She would not\neven then return from her excursion, but hovered about in sight of the\ndoor, with a view of making further observations. In less than five\nminutes after the young lady disappeared, the scout perceived her coming\nout, accompanied by her comrade, from whom she instantly parted, and bent\nher way towards the church in good earnest, while the other steered her\ncourse in another direction. The duenna, after a moment's suspense and\nconsideration, divined the true cause of this short visit, and resolved\nto watch the motions of the confidant, whom she traced to the academy in\nwhich our hero lodged, and from which she saw her return, after the\nsupposed message was delivered.\n\nFraught with this intelligence, the rancorous understrapper hied her home\nto the jeweller's wife, and made a faithful recital of what she had seen,\ncommunicating at the same time her own conjectures on that subject. Her\nemployer was equally astonished and incensed at this information. She\nwas seized with all that frenzy which takes possession of a slighted\nwoman, when she finds herself supplanted by a detested rival; and, in the\nfirst transports of her indignation, devoted them as sacrifices to her\nvengeance. Nor was her surprise so much the effect of his dissimulation,\nas of his want of taste and discernment. She inveighed against him, not\nas the most treacherous lover, but as the most abject wretch, in courting\nthe smiles of such an awkward dowdy, while he enjoyed the favours of a\nwoman who had numbered princes in the train of her admirers. For the\nbrilliancy of her attractions, such as they at present shone, she\nappealed to the decision of her minister, who consulted her own\nsatisfaction and interest, by flattering the other's vanity and\nresentment; and so unaccountable did the depravity of our hero's judgment\nappear to this conceited dame, that she began to believe there was some\nmistake in the person, and to hope that Wilhelmina's gallant was not in\nreality her professed admirer, Mr. Fathom, but rather one of his\nfellow-lodgers, whose passion he favoured with his mediation and\nassistance.\n\nOn this notion, which nothing but mere vanity could have inspired, in\nopposition to so many more weighty presumptions, she took the resolution\nof bringing the affair to a fuller explanation, before she would concert\nany measures to the prejudice of our adventurer, and forthwith despatched\nher spy back to his lodgings, to solicit, on the part of Wilhelmina, an\nimmediate answer to the letter he had received. This was an expedition\nwith which the old maiden would have willingly dispensed, because it was\nfounded upon an uncertainty, which might be attended with troublesome\nconsequences; but, rather than be the means of retarding a negotiation so\nproductive of that sort of mischief which is particularly agreeable to\nall of her tribe, she undertook to manage and effect the discovery, in\nfull confidence of her own talents and experience.\n\nWith such a fund of self-sufficiency and instigation, she repaired to the\nacademy on the instant, and inquiring for Mr. Fathom, was introduced to\nhis apartment, where she found him in the very act of writing a billet to\nthe jeweller's daughter. The artful agent having asked, with the\nmysterious air of an expert go-between, if he had not lately received a\nmessage from a certain young lady, and, being answered in the\naffirmative, gave him to understand, that she herself was a person\nfavoured with the friendship and confidence of Wilhelmina, whom she had\nknown from her cradle, and often dandled on her knee; then, in the\ngenuine style of a prattling dry nurse, she launched out in encomiums on\nhis Dulcinea's beauty and sweetness of temper, recounting many simple\noccurrences of her infancy and childhood; and, finally, desiring a more\ncircumstantial answer to that which she had sent to him by her friend\nCatherina. In the course of her loquacity she had also, according to her\ninstructions, hinted at the misfortune of the door; and, on the whole,\nperformed her cue with such dexterity and discretion that our politician\nwas actually overreached, and, having finished his epistle, committed it\nto her care, with many verbal expressions of eternal love and fidelity to\nhis charming Wilhelmina.\n\nThe messenger, doubly rejoiced at her achievement, which not only\nrecommended her ministry, but also gratified her malice, returned to her\nprincipal with great exultation, and, delivering the letter, the reader\nwill easily conceive the transports of that lady when she read the\ncontents of it in these words:--\n\n\"ANGELIC WILHELMINA!--To forget those ecstatic scenes we have enjoyed\ntogether, or even live without the continuation of that mutual bliss,\nwere to quit all title to perception, and resign every hope of future\nhappiness. No! my charmer, while my head retains the least spark of\ninvention, and my heart glows with the resolution of a man, our\ncorrespondence shall not be cut off by the machinations of an envious\nstepmother, who never had attractions to inspire a generous passion; and,\nnow that age and wrinkles have destroyed what little share of beauty she\nonce possessed, endeavours, like the fiend in paradise, to blast those\njoys in others, from which she is herself eternally excluded. Doubt not,\ndear sovereign of my soul! that I will study, with all the eagerness of\ndesiring love, how to frustrate her malicious intention, and renew those\ntransporting moments, the remembrance of which now warms the breast of\nyour ever constant FATHOM.\"\n\nHad our hero murdered her father, or left her a disconsolate widow, by\neffecting the death of her dear husband, there might have been a\npossibility of her exerting the Christian virtues of resignation and\nforgiveness; but such a personal outrage as that contained in this\nepistle precluded all hope of pardon, and rendered penitence of no\nsignification. His atrocious crime being now fully ascertained, this\nvirago gave a loose to her resentment, which became so loud and\ntempestuous, that her informer shuddered at the storm she had raised, and\nbegan to repent of having communicated the intelligence which seemed to\nhave such a violent effect upon hex brain.\n\nShe endeavoured, however, to allay the agitation, by flattering her fancy\nwith the prospect of revenge, and gradually soothed her into a state of\ndeliberate ire; during which she determined to take ample vengeance on\nthe delinquent. In the zenith of her rage, she would have had immediate\nrecourse to poison or steel, had she not been diverted from her mortal\npurpose by her counsellor, who represented the danger of engaging in such\nviolent measures, and proposed a more secure scheme, in the execution of\nwhich she would see the perfidious wretch sufficiently punished, without\nany hazard to her own person or reputation. She advised her to inform\nthe jeweller of Fathom's efforts to seduce her conjugal fidelity, and\nimpart to him a plan, by which he would have it in his power to detect\nour adventurer in the very act of practising upon her virtue.\n\nThe lady relished her proposal, and actually resolved to make an\nassignation with Ferdinand, as usual, and give notice of the appointment\nto her husband, that he might personally discover the treachery of his\npretended friend, and inflict upon him such chastisement as the German's\nbrutal disposition should suggest, when inflamed by that species of\nprovocation. Had this project been brought to bear, Ferdinand, in all\nlikelihood, would have been disqualified from engaging in any future\nintrigue; but fate ordained that the design should be defeated, in order\nto reserve him for more important occasions.\n\nBefore the circumstances of the plan could be adjusted, it was his good\nfortune to meet his Dulcinea in the street, and, in the midst of their\nmutual condolence on the interruption they had suffered in their\ncorrespondence, he assured her, that he would never give his invention\nrespite, until he should have verified the protestations contained in the\nletter he had delivered to her discreet agent. This allusion to a billet\nshe had never received, did not fail to alarm her fears, and introduce a\nvery mortifying explanation, in which he so accurately described the\nperson of the messenger, that she forthwith comprehended the plot, and\ncommunicated to our hero her sentiments on that subject.\n\nThough he expressed infinite anxiety and chagrin at this misfortune,\nwhich could not fail to raise new obstacles to their love, his heart was\na stranger to the uneasiness he affected; and rather pleased with the\noccasion, which would furnish him with pretences to withdraw himself\ngradually from an intercourse by this time become equally cloying and\nunprofitable. Being well acquainted with the mother's temperament, he\nguessed the present situation of her thoughts, and concluding she would\nmake the jeweller a party in her revenge, he resolved from that moment to\ndiscontinue his visits, and cautiously guard against any future interview\nwith the lady whom he had rendered so implacable.\n\nIt was well for our adventurer that his good fortune so seasonably\ninterposed; for that same day, in the afternoon, he was favoured with a\nbillet from the jeweller's wife, couched in the same tender style she had\nformerly used, and importing an earnest desire of seeing him next day at\nthe wonted rendezvous. Although his penetration was sufficient to\nperceive the drift of this message, or at least to discern the risk he\nshould run in complying with her request, yet he was willing to be more\nfully certified of the truth of his suspicion, and wrote an answer to the\nbillet, in which he assured her, that he would repair to the place of\nappointment with all the punctuality of an impatient lover.\nNevertheless, instead of performing this promise, he, in the morning,\ntook post in a public-house opposite to the place of assignation, in\norder to reconnoitre the ground, and about noon had the pleasure of\nseeing the German, wrapped in a cloak, enter the door of his wife's\nshe-friend, though the appointment was fixed at five in the evening.\nFathom blessed his good angel for having conducted him clear of this\nconspiracy, and kept his station with great tranquillity till the hour of\nmeeting, when he beheld his enraged Thalestris take the same route, and\nenjoyed her disappointment with ineffable satisfaction.\n\nThus favoured with a pretext, he took his leave of her, in a letter,\ngiving her to understand, that he was no stranger to the barbarous snare\nshe had laid for him; and upbraiding her with having made such an\nungrateful return for all his tenderness and attachment. She was not\nbackward in conveying a reply to this expostulation, which seemed to have\nbeen dictated in all the distraction of a proud woman who sees her\nvengeance baffled, as well as her love disdained. Her letter was nothing\nbut a succession of reproaches, menaces, and incoherent execrations. She\ntaxed him with knavery, insensibility, and dissimulation; imprecated a\nthousand curses upon his head, and threatened not only to persecute his\nlife with all the arts that hell and malice could inspire, but also to\nwound him in the person of her daughter-in-law, who should be enclosed\nfor life in a convent, where she should have leisure to repent of those\nloose and disorderly practices which he had taught her to commit, and of\nwhich she could not pretend innocence, as they had it in their power to\nconfront her with the evidence of her lover's own confession. Yet all\nthis denunciation was qualified with an alternative, by which he was\ngiven to understand, that the gates of mercy were still open, and that\npenitence was capable of washing out the deepest stain of guilt.\n\nFerdinand read the whole remonstrance with great composure and\nmoderation, and was content to incur the hazard of her hate, rather than\nput her to the trouble of making such an effort of generosity, as would\ninduce her to forgive the heinous offence he had committed; nor did his\napprehension for Wilhelmina in the least influence his behaviour on this\noccasion. So zealous was he for her spiritual concerns, that he would\nhave been glad to hear she had actually taken the veil; but he knew such\na step was not at all agreeable to her disposition, and that no violence\nwould be offered to her inclinations on that score, unless her stepmother\nshould communicate to the father that letter of Fathom's which she had\nintercepted, and by which the German would be convinced of his daughter's\nbacksliding; but this measure, he rightly supposed, the wife would not\nventure to take, lest the husband, instead of taking her advice touching\nthe young lady, should seek to compromise the affair, by offering her in\nmarriage to her debaucher, a proffer which, if accepted, would overwhelm\nthe mother with vexation and despair. He therefore chose to trust to the\neffects of lenient time, which he hoped would gradually weaken the\nresentment of this Penthesilea, and dissolve his connexion with the other\nparts of the family, from which he longed to be totally detached.\n\nHow well soever he might have succeeded in his attempts to shake off the\nyoke of the mother, who by her situation in life was restrained from\nprosecuting those measures her resentment had planned against his\nfortitude and indifference, he would have found greater difficulty than\nhe had foreseen, in disengaging himself from the daughter, whose\naffections he had won under the most solemn professions of honour and\nfidelity, and who, now she was debarred of his company and conversation,\nand in danger of losing him for ever, had actually taken the resolution\nof disclosing the amour to her father, that he might interpose in behalf\nof her peace and reputation, and secure her happiness by the sanction of\nthe church.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER EIGHTEEN\n\nOUR HERO DEPARTS FROM VIENNA, AND QUITS THE DOMAIN OF VENUS FOR THE ROUGH\nFIELD OF MARS.\n\n\nLuckily for our adventurer, before she adhered to this determination, the\nyoung Count de Melvil was summoned to Presburg by his father, who desired\nto see him, before he should take the field, in consequence of a rupture\nbetween the Emperor and the French King; and Fathom of course quitted\nVienna, in order to attend his patron, after he and Renaldo had resided\ntwo whole years in that capital, where the former had made himself\nperfect in all the polite exercises, become master of the French tongue,\nand learned to speak the Italian with great facility; over and above\nthose other accomplishments in which we have represented him as an\ninimitable original.\n\nAs for the young Count, his exteriors were so much improved by the\ncompany to which he had access, since his departure from his father's\nhouse, that his parents were equally surprised and overjoyed at the\nalteration. All that awkwardness and rusticity, which hung upon his\ndeportment, was, like the rough coat of a diamond, polished away; the\nconnexion and disposition of his limbs seemed to have been adjusted anew;\nhis carriage was become easy, his air perfectly genteel, and his\nconversation gay and unrestrained. The merit of this reformation was in\na great measure ascribed to the care and example of Mr. Fathom, who was\nreceived by the old Count and his lady with marks of singular friendship\nand esteem; nor was he overlooked by Mademoiselle, who still remained in\na state of celibacy, and seemed to have resigned all hope of altering her\ncondition; she expressed uncommon satisfaction at the return of her old\nfavourite, and readmitted him into the same degree of familiarity with\nwhich he had been honoured before his departure.\n\nThe joy of Teresa was so excessive at his arrival, that she could scarce\nsuppress her raptures, so as to conceal them from the notice of the\nfamily; and our hero, upon this occasion, performed the part of an\nexquisite actor, in dissembling those transports which his bosom never\nknew. So well had this pupil retained the lessons of her instructor,\nthat, in the midst of those fraudulent appropriations, which she still\ncontinued to make, she had found means to support her interest and\ncharacter with Mademoiselle, and even to acquire such influence in the\nfamily, that no other servant, male or female, could pretend to live\nunder the same roof, without paying incessant homage to this artful\nwaiting-woman, and yielding the most abject submission to her will.\n\nThe young gentlemen having tarried at Presburg about six weeks, during\nwhich a small field equipage was prepared for Renaldo, they repaired to\nthe camp at Heilbron, under the auspices of Count Melvil, in whose\nregiment they carried arms as volunteers, with a view to merit promotion\nin the service by their own personal behaviour. Our adventurer would\nhave willingly dispensed with this occasion of signalising himself, his\ntalents being much better adapted to another sphere of life;\nnevertheless, he affected uncommon alacrity at the prospect of gathering\nlaurels in the field, and subscribed to his fortune with a good grace;\nforeseeing, that even in a campaign, a man of his art and ingenuity might\nfind means to consult his corporal safety, without any danger to his\nreputation. Accordingly, before he had lived full three weeks in camp,\nthe damp situation, and sudden change in his way of life, had such a\nviolent effect upon his constitution, that he was deprived of the use of\nall his limbs, and mourned, without ceasing, his hard fate, by which he\nfound himself precluded from all opportunity of exerting his diligence,\ncourage, and activity, in the character of a soldier, to which he now\naspired.\n\nRenaldo, who was actually enamoured of a martial life, and missed no\noccasion of distinguishing himself, consoled his companion with great\ncordiality, encouraged him with the hope of seeing his constitution\nfamiliarised to the inconveniences of a camp, and accommodated him with\neverything which he thought would alleviate the pain of his body, as well\nas the anxiety of his mind. The old Count, who sincerely sympathised\nwith his affliction, would have persuaded him to retire into quarters,\nwhere he could be carefully nursed, and provided with everything\nnecessary to a person in his condition; but such was his desire of glory,\nthat he resisted his patron's importunities with great constancy, till at\nlength, seeing the old gentleman obstinately determined to consult his\nhealth by removing him from the field, he gradually suffered himself to\nrecover the use of his hands, made shift to sit up in his bed, and amuse\nhimself with cards or backgammon, and, notwithstanding the feeble\ncondition of his legs, ventured to ride out on horseback to visit the\nlines, though the Count and his son would never yield to his\nsolicitations so far, as to let him accompany Renaldo in those excursions\nand reconnoitring parties, by which a volunteer inures himself to toil\nand peril, and acquires that knowledge in the operations of war, which\nqualifies him for a command in the service.\n\nNotwithstanding this exemption from all duty, our adventurer managed\nmatters so as to pass for a youth of infinite mettle, and even rendered\nhis backwardness and timidity subservient to the support of that\ncharacter, by expressing an impatience of lying inactive, and a desire of\nsignalising his prowess, which even the disabled condition of his body\ncould scarce restrain. He must be a man of very weak nerves and\nexcessive irresolution, who can live in the midst of actual service,\nwithout imbibing some portion of military fortitude: danger becomes\nhabitual, and loses a great part of its terror; and as fear is often\ncaught by contagion, so is courage communicated among the individuals of\nan army. The hope of fame, desire of honours and preferment, envy,\nemulation, and the dread of disgrace, are motives which co-operate in\nsuppressing that aversion to death or mutilation, which nature hath\nimplanted in the human mind; and therefore it is not to be wondered at,\nif Fathom, who was naturally chicken-hearted, gained some advantages over\nhis disposition before the end of the campaign, which happened to be\nneither perilous nor severe.\n\nDuring the winter, while both armies remained in quarters, our adventurer\nattended his patron to Presburg, and, before the troops were in motion,\nRenaldo obtained a commission, in consequence of which he went into\ngarrison at Philipsburg, whither he was followed by our hero, while the\nold Count's duty called him to the field in a different place. Ferdinand\nfor some time had no reason to be dissatisfied with this disposition, by\nwhich he was at once delivered from the fatigues of a campaign, and the\ninspection of a severe censor, in the person of Count Melvil; and his\nsatisfaction was still increased by an accidental meeting with the\nTyrolese who had been his confederate at Vienna, and now chanced to serve\nin garrison on the same footing with himself. These two knights-errant\nrenewed their former correspondence, and, as all soldiers are addicted to\ngaming, levied contributions upon all those officers who had money to\nlose, and temerity to play.\n\nHowever, they had not long pursued this branch of traffic, when their\nsuccess was interrupted by a very serious occurrence, that for the\npresent entirely detached the gentlemen in the garrison from such\namusements. The French troops invested Fort Kehl, situated on the Rhine,\nopposite to Strasburg; and the Imperialists, dreading that the next storm\nwould fall upon Philipsburg, employed themselves with great diligence to\nput that important fortress in a proper posture of defence. If the\nsuspension of play was displeasing to our hero, the expectation of being\nbesieged was by no means more agreeable. He knew the excellence of the\nFrench engineers, the power of their artillery, and the perseverance of\ntheir general. He felt, by anticipation, the toils of hard duty upon the\nworks, the horrors of night-alarms, cannonading, bombardment, sallies,\nand mines blown up; and deliberated with himself whether or not he should\nprivately withdraw, and take refuge among the besiegers; but, when he\nreflected that such a step, besides the infamy that must attend it, would\nbe like that of running upon Scylla, seeking to avoid Charybdis, as he\nwould be exposed to more danger and inconvenience in the trenches than he\ncould possibly undergo in the town, and after all run the risk of being\ntaken and treated as a deserter; upon these considerations he resolved to\nsubmit himself to his destiny, and endeavoured to mitigate the rigour of\nhis fate by those arts he had formerly practised with success. He\naccordingly found means to enjoy a very bad state of health during the\nwhole siege, which lasted about six weeks after the trenches were opened;\nand then the garrison marched out by capitulation, with all the honours\nof war.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER NINETEEN\n\nHE PUTS HIMSELF UNDER THE GUIDANCE OF HIS ASSOCIATE, AND STUMBLES UPON\nTHE FRENCH CAMP, WHERE HE FINISHES HIS MILITARY CAREER.\n\n\nNothing else of moment was transacted during that campaign; and in the\nwinter our adventurer, with the young Count, and his friend the Tyrolese,\nwere disposed in quarters of cantonment, where Ferdinand made himself\namends for the chagrin he had undergone, by the exercise of those talents\nin which he excelled. Not that he was satisfied with the sphere of life\nin which he acted; though he knew himself consummate in the art of play,\nhe was not at all ambitious of a gamester's name; nor did he find himself\ndisposed to hazard those discoveries and explanations to which heroes of\nthat class are sometimes necessarily exposed. His aim was to dwell among\nthe tents of civil life, undisturbed by quarrels and the din of war, and\nrender mankind subservient to his interest, not by stratagems which\nirritate, but by that suppleness of insinuation, which could not fail to\nsoothe the temper of those on whom he meant to prey.\n\nHe saw that all his expectations of Count Melvil's future favour were\nconnected with his choice of a military life; and that his promotion in\nthe service would, in a great measure, depend upon his personal behaviour\nin such emergencies as he did not at all wish to encounter. On the other\nhand, he confided so much in his own dexterity and address, that he never\ndoubted of being able to rear a splendid fortune for himself, provided he\ncould once obtain a fixed and firm foundation. He had in fancy often\nenjoyed a prospect of England, not only as his native country, to which,\nlike a true citizen, he longed to be united; but also as the land of\npromise, flowing with milk and honey, and abounding with subjects on\nwhich he knew his talents would be properly exercised.\n\nThese reflections never occurred, without leaving a strong impression\nupon the mind of our adventurer, which influenced his deliberations in\nsuch a manner, as at length amounted to a perfect resolution of\nwithdrawing himself privately from a service that teemed with\ndisagreeable events, and of transporting himself into the country of his\nancestors, which he considered as the Canaan of all able adventurers.\nBut, previous to his appearance on that stage, he was desirous of\nvisiting the metropolis of France, in which he hoped to improve himself\nin the knowledge of men and things, and acquire such intelligence as\nwould qualify him to act a more important part upon the British scene.\nAfter having for some time indulged these prospects in secret, he\ndetermined to accommodate himself with the company and experience of the\nTyrolese, whom, under the specious title of an associate, he knew he\ncould convert into a very serviceable tool, in forwarding the execution\nof his own projects.\n\nAccordingly, the inclination of this confederate was sounded by distant\nhints, and being found apt, our hero made him privy to his design of\ndecamping without beat of drum; though, at the same time, he begged his\nadvice touching the method of their departure, that he might retire with\nas much delicacy as the nature of such a step would permit. Divers\nconsultations were held upon this subject, before they adhered to the\nresolution of making their escape from the army, after it should have\ntaken the field in the spring; because, in that case, they would have\nfrequent opportunities of going abroad on foraging parties, and, during\none of these excursions, might retire in such a manner as to persuade\ntheir companions that they had fallen into the enemy's hands.\n\nAgreeable to this determination, the camp was no sooner formed in Alsace\nthan our associates began to make preparations for their march, and had\nalready taken all the previous measures for their departure, when an\naccident happened, which our hero did not fail to convert to his own\nadvantage. This was no other than the desertion of Renaldo's valet, who,\nin consequence of a gentle chastisement, which he had richly merited,\nthought proper to disappear, after having plundered his master's\nportmanteau, which he had forced open for the purpose. Ferdinand, who\nwas the first person that discovered the theft, immediately comprehended\nthe whole adventure, and, taking it for granted that the delinquent would\nnever return, resolved to finish what the fugitive had imperfectly\nperformed.\n\nBeing favoured with the unreserved confidence of the young Count, he\ninstantly had recourse to his bureau, the locks of which he found means\nto burst open, and, examining a private drawer, contrived with great art\nto conceal Renaldo's jewels and cash, made himself master of the contents\nwithout hesitation; then cutting open his cloak-bag, and strewing the\ntent with his linen and clothes, began to raise his voice, and produce\nsuch a clamour as alarmed the whole neighbourhood, and brought a great\nmany officers into the tent.\n\nHe on this, as on all other occasions, performed his cue to a miracle,\nexpressing confusion and concern so naturally in his gestures and\nexclamation, that no man could possibly suspect his sincerity; nay, to\nsuch a degree of finesse did his cunning amount, that when his friend and\npatron entered, in consequence of an intimation he soon received of his\nloss, our adventurer exhibited undoubted signs of distraction and\ndelirium, and, springing upon Renaldo with all the frantic fury of a\nbedlamite, \"Villain,\" cried he, \"restore the effects you have stole from\nyour master, or you shall be immediately committed to the care of the\nprevot.\" However mortified M. de Melvil might be at his own misfortune,\nthe condition of his friend seemed to touch him more nearly; he\nundervalued his own loss as a trifle that could be easily repaired; said\neverything which he thought would tend to soothe and compose the\nagitation of Ferdinand; and finally prevailed upon him to retire to rest.\nThe calamity was wholly attributed to the deserter; and Renaldo, far from\nsuspecting the true author, took occasion, from his behaviour on this\nemergency, to admire him as a mirror of integrity and attachment; in such\nan exquisite manner did he plan all his designs, that almost every\ninstance of his fraud furnished matter of triumph to his reputation.\n\nHaving thus profitably exercised his genius, this subtle politician\nthought it high time to relinquish his military expectations, and\nsecuring all his valuable acquisitions about his own person, rode out\nwith his understrapper, in the midst of fifty dragoons, who went in quest\nof forage. While the troopers were employed in making up their trusses,\nthe two adventurers advanced towards the skirt of a wood, on pretence of\nreconnoitring, and the Tyrolese, who undertook to be our hero's guide,\ndirecting him to a path which leads towards Strasburg, they suddenly\nvanished from the eyes of their companions, who in a few minutes hearing\nthe report of several pistols, which the confederates purposely fired,\nconjectured that they had fallen in with a party of French, by whom they\nwere made prisoners of war.\n\nThe Tyrolese had overrated his own knowledge when he took upon himself\nthe charge of conducting our hero; for upon their arrival at a certain\nplace, where two roads crossed each other, he chanced to follow that\nwhich not only frustrated their intention, but even led them directly to\nthe French camp; so that, in the twilight, they fell in upon one of the\noutguards before they were aware of their mistake.\n\nWhatever confusion and perplexity they might undergo, when they heard\nthemselves questioned by the sentinel on the advanced post, certain it\nis, they betrayed no symptoms of fear or disorder; but while Ferdinand\nendeavoured to recollect himself, his fellow-traveller, with the\nappearance of admirable intrepidity and presence of mind, told the\nsoldier that he and his companion were two gentlemen of family, who had\nquitted the Austrian army, on account of having sustained some ill-usage,\nwhich they had no opportunity of resenting in any other way, and that\nthey were come to offer their services to the French general, to whose\nquarters they desired to be immediately conveyed.\n\nThe sentinel, to whom such an instance of desertion was neither rare, nor\nindeed uncommon, directed them without scruple to the next post, where\nthey found a serjeant's party, from which, at their request, they were\ntransmitted to the officer of the grand guard, and by him next morning\nintroduced to Count Coigny, who very politely received them as volunteers\nin the army of France. Though this translation was not at all to our\nhero's liking, he was forced to acquiesce in his fate, glad to find\nhimself, on these terms, in possession of his effects, of which he would\notherwise have been infallibly rifled.\n\nThis campaign, however, was the most disagreeable period of his whole\nlife; because the manner in which he had entered into the service\nsubjected him to the particular observation and notice of the French\nofficers; so that he was obliged to be very alert in his duty, and summon\nall his fortitude to maintain the character he had assumed. What\nrendered his situation still more unpalatable, was the activity of both\narmies in the course of this season, during which, over and above sundry\nfatiguing marches and countermarches, he was personally engaged in the\naffair of Halleh, which was very obstinate; where, being in the skirts of\nthe detachment, he was actually wounded in the face by the sword of an\nhussar; but this was, luckily for him, the last time he found himself\nunder the necessity of exerting his military prowess, for a cessation of\narms was proclaimed before he was cured of his wound, and peace concluded\nabout the end of the campaign.\n\nDuring his sojourn in the French camp, he assumed the character of a man\nof family, who being disgusted at some supercilious treatment he had met\nwith in the German service, and at the same time ambitious of carrying\narms under the banners of France, took the opportunity of retreating by\nstealth from his friends, accompanied only by one with whom he could\nintrust his intention. In this capacity he had managed his matters to\nsuch advantage, that many French officers of rank were very well disposed\nto contribute their interest in his behalf, had his inclination verged\ntowards promotion in the army; but he thought proper to conceal his real\ndesign, under the specious pretext of longing to see the metropolis of\nFrance, that centre of pleasure and politeness, in which he proposed to\nspend some time for the improvement of his address and understanding.\nThese were motives too laudable to be opposed by his new patrons, some of\nwhom furnished him with letters of recommendation to certain noblemen of\nthe first rank at the court of Versailles, for which place he and his\ncompanion set out from the banks of the Rhine, very well satisfied with\nthe honourable dismission they had obtained from a life of inconvenience,\ndanger, and alarm.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY\n\nHE PREPARES A STRATAGEM BUT FINDS HIMSELF COUNTERMINED--PROCEEDS ON HIS\nJOURNEY, AND IS OVERTAKEN BY A TERRIBLE TEMPEST.\n\n\nIn the course of this journey, Ferdinand, who was never deficient in his\npolitical capacity, held a secret conclave with his own thoughts, not\nonly touching the plan of his own future conduct, but also concerning his\nassociate, of whose fidelity and adherence he began to entertain such\ndoubts as discouraged him from the prosecution of that design in which\nthe Tyrolese had been at first included; for he had lately observed him\npractise the arts of his occupation among the French officers, with such\nrapacity and want of caution, as indicated a dangerous temerity of\ntemper, as well as a furious rage of acquiring, which might be some time\nor other satiated upon his own friends. In other words, our adventurer\nwas afraid that his accomplice would profit by his knowledge of the road\nand countries through which they travelled, and, after having made free\nwith his most valuable effects, in consequence of the familiarity\nsubsisting between them, leave him some morning without the ceremony of a\nformal adieu.\n\nAroused by this suspicion, he resolved to anticipate the supposed\nintention of the Tyrolese, by taking his own departure in the same abrupt\nmanner; and this scheme he actually put in execution, upon their arrival\nin Bar-le-duc, where it was agreed they should spend a day to repose and\nrefresh themselves from the fatigue of hard riding. Ferdinand,\ntherefore, taking the advantage of his companion's absence--for the\nTyrolese had walked abroad to view the town--found means to hire a\npeasant, who undertook to conduct him through a by-road as far as\nChalons, and with his guide he accordingly set out on horseback, after\nhaving discharged the bill, left a blank paper sealed up in form of a\nletter, directed to his friend, and secured behind his own saddle a pair\nof leathern bags, in which his jewels and cash were usually contained.\nSo eager was our hero to leave the Tyrolese at a considerable distance\nbehind, that he rode all night at a round pace without halting, and next\nmorning found himself at a village distant thirteen good leagues from any\npart of the route which he and his companion had at first resolved to\npursue.\n\nHere, thinking himself safely delivered from the cause of all his\napprehension, he determined to lie incognito for a few days, so as that\nhe might run no risk of an accidental meeting upon the road with the\nperson whose company he had forsaken; and accordingly took possession of\nan apartment, in which he went to rest, desiring his guide to wake him\nwhen dinner should be ready. Having enjoyed a very comfortable\nrefreshment of sleep, with his bags under his pillow, he was summoned,\naccording to his direction, and ate a very hearty meal, with great\ntranquillity and internal satisfaction. In the afternoon he amused\nhimself with happy presages and ideal prospects of his future fortune,\nand, in the midst of these imaginary banquets, was seized with an\ninclination of realising his bliss, and regaling his eyesight with the\nfruits of that success which had hitherto attended his endeavours. Thus\ninflamed, he opened the repository, and, O reader! what were his\nreflections, when, in lieu of Mademoiselle Melvil's ear-rings and\nnecklace, the German's golden chain, divers jewels of considerable value,\nthe spoils of sundry dupes, and about two hundred ducats in ready money,\nhe found neither more nor less than a parcel of rusty nails, disposed in\nsuch a manner as to resemble in weight and bulk the moveables he had\nlost.\n\nIt is not to be supposed our adventurer made this discovery without\nemotion. If the eternal salvation of mankind could have been purchased\nfor the tenth part of his treasure, he would have left the whole species\nin a state of reprobation, rather than redeem them at that price, unless\nhe had seen in the bargain some evident advantage to his own concerns.\nOne may, therefore, easily conceive with what milkiness of resignation he\nbore the loss of the whole, and saw himself reduced from such affluence\nto the necessity of depending upon about twenty ducats, and some loose\nsilver, which he carried in his pocket, for his expense upon the road.\nHowever bitter this pill might be in swallowing, he so far mastered his\nmortification, as to digest it with a good grace. His own penetration at\nonce pointed out the canal through which this misfortune had flowed upon\nhim; he forthwith placed the calamity to the account of the Tyrolese, and\nnever doubting that he had retired with the booty across the Rhine, into\nsome place to which he knew Fathom would not follow his footsteps, he\nformed the melancholy resolution of pursuing with all despatch his\njourney to Paris, that he might, with all convenient expedition,\nindemnify himself for the discomfiture he had sustained.\n\nWith regard to his confederate, his conjecture was perfectly right; that\nadventurer, though infinitely inferior to our hero in point of genius and\ninvention, had manifestly the advantage of him in the articles of age and\nexperience; he was no stranger to Fathom's qualifications, the happy\nexertion of which he had often seen. He knew him to be an economist of\nthe most frugal order, consequently concluded his finances were worthy of\nexamination; and, upon the true principles of a sharper, eased him of the\nencumbrance, taking it for granted, that, in so doing, he only precluded\nFerdinand from the power of acting the same tragedy upon him, should ever\nopportunity concur with his inclination. He had therefore concerted his\nmeasures with the dexterity of an experienced conveyancer, and, snatching\nthe occasion, while our hero, travel-tainted, lay sunk in the arms of\nprofound repose, he ripped up the seams of the leather depository,\nwithdrew the contents, introduced the parcel of nails, which he had made\nup for the purpose, and then repaired the breach with great deliberation.\n\nHad Fathom's good genius prompted him to examine his effects next\nmorning, the Tyrolese, in all probability, would have maintained his\nacquisition by force of arms; for his personal courage was rather more\ndetermined than that of our adventurer, and he was conscious of his own\nascendency in this particular; but his good fortune prevented such\nexplanation. Immediately after dinner, he availed himself of his\nknowledge, and, betaking himself to a remote part of the town, set out in\na post-chaise for Luneville, while our hero was meditating his own\nescape.\n\nFathom's conception was sufficient to comprehend the whole of this\nadventure, as soon as his chagrin would give his sagacity fair play; nor\nwould he allow his resolution to sink under the trial; on the contrary,\nhe departed from the village that same afternoon, under the auspices of\nhis conductor, and found himself benighted in the midst of a forest, far\nfrom the habitations of men. The darkness of the night, the silence and\nsolitude of the place, the indistinct images of the trees that appeared\non every side, \"stretching their extravagant arms athwart the gloom,\"\nconspired, with the dejection of spirits occasioned by his loss, to\ndisturb his fancy, and raise strange phantoms in his imagination.\nAlthough he was not naturally superstitious, his mind began to be invaded\nwith an awful horror, that gradually prevailed over all the consolations\nof reason and philosophy; nor was his heart free from the terrors of\nassassination. In order to dissipate these disagreeable reveries, he had\nrecourse to the conversation of his guide, by whom he was entertained\nwith the history of divers travellers who had been robbed and murdered by\nruffians, whose retreat was in the recesses of that very wood.\n\nIn the midst of this communication, which did not at all tend to the\nelevation of our hero's spirits, the conductor made an excuse for\ndropping behind, while our traveller jogged on in expectation of being\njoined again by him in a few minutes. He was, however, disappointed in\nthat hope; the sound of the other horse's feet by degrees grew more and\nmore faint, and at last altogether died away. Alarmed at this\ncircumstance, Fathom halted in the middle of the road, and listened with\nthe most fearful attention; but his sense of hearing was saluted with\nnought but the dismal sighings of the trees, that seemed to foretell an\napproaching storm. Accordingly, the heavens contracted a more dreary\naspect, the lightning began to gleam, and the thunder to roll, and the\ntempest, raising its voice to a tremendous roar, descended in a torrent\nof rain.\n\nIn this emergency, the fortitude of our hero was almost quite overcome.\nSo many concurring circumstances of danger and distress might have\nappalled the most undaunted breast; what impression then must they have\nmade upon the mind of Ferdinand, who was by no means a man to set fear at\ndefiance! Indeed, he had well-nigh lost the use of his reflection, and\nwas actually invaded to the skin, before he could recollect himself so\nfar as to quit the road, and seek for shelter among the thickets that\nsurrounded him. Having rode some furlongs into the forest, he took his\nstation under a tuft of tall trees, that screened him from the storm, and\nin that situation called a council within himself, to deliberate upon his\nnext excursion. He persuaded himself that his guide had deserted him for\nthe present, in order to give intelligence of a traveller to some gang of\nrobbers with whom he was connected; and that he must of necessity fall a\nprey to those banditti, unless he should have the good fortune to elude\ntheir search, and disentangle himself from the mazes of the wood.\n\nHarrowed with these apprehensions, he resolved to commit himself to the\nmercy of the hurricane, as of two evils the least, and penetrate\nstraightforwards through some devious opening, until he should be\ndelivered from the forest. For this purpose he turned his horse's head in\na line quite contrary to the direction of the high road which he had\nleft, on the supposition that the robbers would pursue that track in\nquest of him, and that they would never dream of his deserting the\nhighway, to traverse an unknown forest, amidst the darkness of such a\nboisterous night. After he had continued in this progress through a\nsuccession of groves, and bogs, and thorns, and brakes, by which not only\nhis clothes, but also his skin suffered in a grievous manner, while every\nnerve quivered with eagerness and dismay, he at length reached an open\nplain, and pursuing his course, in full hope of arriving at some village,\nwhere his life would be safe, he descried a rush-light at a distance,\nwhich he looked upon as the star of his good fortune, and riding towards\nit at full speed, arrived at the door of a lone cottage, into which he\nwas admitted by an old woman, who, understanding he was a bewildered\ntraveller, received him with great hospitality.\n\nWhen he learned from his hostess, that there was not another house within\nthree leagues; that she could accommodate him with a tolerable bed, and\nhis horse with lodging and oats, he thanked Heaven for his good fortune,\nin stumbling upon this homely habitation, and determined to pass the\nnight under the protection of the old cottager, who gave him to\nunderstand, that her husband, who was a -maker, had gone to the next\ntown to dispose of his merchandise; and that, in all probability, he\nwould not return till next morning, on account of the tempestuous night.\nFerdinand sounded the beldame with a thousand artful interrogations, and\nshe answered with such appearance of truth and simplicity, that he\nconcluded his person was quite secure; and, after having been regaled\nwith a dish of eggs and bacon, desired she would conduct him into the\nchamber where she proposed he should take his repose. He was accordingly\nushered up by a sort of ladder into an apartment furnished with a\nstanding-bed, and almost half filled with trusses of straw. He seemed\nextremely well pleased with his lodging, which in reality exceeded his\nexpectation; and his kind landlady, cautioning him against letting the\ncandle approach the combustibles, took her leave, and locked the door on\nthe outside.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY-ONE\n\nHE FALLS UPON SCYLLA, SEEKING TO AVOID CHARYBDIS.\n\n\nFathom, whose own principles taught him to be suspicious, and ever upon\nhis guard against the treachery of his fellow-creatures, could have\ndispensed with this instance of her care, in confining her guest to her\nchamber, and began to be seized with strange fancies, when he observed\nthat there was no bolt on the inside of the door, by which he might\nsecure himself from intrusion. In consequence of these suggestions, he\nproposed to take an accurate survey of every object in the apartment,\nand, in the course of his inquiry, had the mortification to find the dead\nbody of a man, still warm, who had been lately stabbed, and concealed\nbeneath several bundles of straw.\n\nSuch a discovery could not fail to fill the breast of our hero with\nunspeakable horror; for he concluded that he himself would undergo the\nsame fate before morning, without the interposition of a miracle in his\nfavour. In the first transports of his dread, he ran to the window, with\na view to escape by that outlet, and found his flight effectually\nobstructed by divers strong bars of iron. Then his heart began to\npalpitate, his hair to bristle up, and his knees to totter; his thoughts\nteemed with presages of death and destruction; his conscience rose up in\njudgment against him, and he underwent a severe paroxysm of dismay and\ndistraction. His spirits were agitated into a state of fermentation that\nproduced a species of resolution akin to that which is inspired by brandy\nor other strong liquors, and, by an impulse that seemed supernatural, he\nwas immediately hurried into measures for his own preservation.\n\nWhat upon a less interesting occasion his imagination durst not propose,\nhe now executed without scruple or remorse. He undressed the corpse that\nlay bleeding among the straw, and, conveying it to the bed in his arms,\ndeposited it in the attitude of a person who sleeps at his ease; then he\nextinguished the light, took possession of the place from whence the body\nhad been removed, and, holding a pistol ready cocked in each hand, waited\nfor the sequel with that determined purpose which is often the immediate\nproduction of despair. About midnight he heard the sound of feet\nascending the ladder; the door was softly opened; he saw the shadow of\ntwo men stalking towards the bed, a dark lanthorn being unshrouded,\ndirected their aim to the supposed sleeper, and he that held it thrust a\nponiard to his heart; the force of the blow made a compression on the\nchest, and a sort of groan issued from the windpipe of the defunct; the\nstroke was repeated, without producing a repetition of the note, so that\nthe assassins concluded the work was effectually done, and retired for\nthe present with a design to return and rifle the deceased at their\nleisure.\n\nNever had our hero spent a moment in such agony as he felt during this\noperation; the whole surface of his body was covered with a cold sweat,\nand his nerves were relaxed with an universal palsy. In short, he\nremained in a trance that, in all probability, contributed to his safety;\nfor, had he retained the use of his senses, he might have been discovered\nby the transports of his fear. The first use he made of his retrieved\nrecollection, was to perceive that the assassins had left the door open\nin their retreat; and he would have instantly availed himself of this\ntheir neglect, by sallying out upon them, at the hazard of his life, had\nhe not been restrained by a conversation he overheard in the room below,\nimporting, that the ruffians were going to set out upon another\nexpedition, in hopes of finding more prey. They accordingly departed,\nafter having laid strong injunctions upon the old woman to keep the door\nfast locked during their absence; and Ferdinand took his resolution\nwithout farther delay. So soon as, by his conjecture, the robbers were\nat a sufficient distance from the house, he rose from his lurking-place,\nmoved softly towards the bed, and, rummaging the pockets of the deceased,\nfound a purse well stored with ducats, of which, together with a silver\nwatch and a diamond ring, he immediately possessed himself without\nscruple; then, descending with great care and circumspection into the\nlower apartment, stood before the old beldame, before she had the least\nintimation of his approach.\n\nAccustomed as she was to the trade of blood, the hoary hag did not behold\nthis apparition without giving signs of infinite terror and astonishment,\nbelieving it was no other than the spirit of her second guest, who had\nbeen murdered; she fell upon her knees and began to recommend herself to\nthe protection of the saints, crossing herself with as much devotion as\nif she had been entitled to the particular care and attention of Heaven.\nNor did her anxiety abate, when she was undeceived in this her\nsupposition, and understood it was no phantom, but the real substance of\nthe stranger, who, without staying to upbraid her with the enormity of\nher crimes, commanded her, on pain of immediate death, to produce his\nhorse, to which being conducted, he set her upon the saddle without\ndelay, and, mounting behind, invested her with the management of the\nreins, swearing, in a most peremptory tone, that the only chance she had\nfor her life, was in directing him safely to the next town; and that, so\nsoon as she should give him the least cause to doubt her fidelity in the\nperformance of that task, he would on the instant act the part of her\nexecutioner.\n\nThis declaration had its effect upon the withered Hecate, who, with many\nsupplications for mercy and forgiveness, promised to guide him in safety\nto a certain village at the distance of two leagues, where he might lodge\nin security, and be provided with a fresh horse, or other convenience,\nfor pursuing his intended route. On these conditions he told her she\nmight deserve his clemency; and they accordingly took their departure\ntogether, she being placed astride upon the saddle, holding the bridle in\none hand and a switch in the other; and our adventurer sitting on the\ncrupper, superintending her conduct, and keeping the muzzle of a pistol\nclose at her ear. In this equipage they travelled across part of the\nsame wood in which his guide had forsaken him; and it is not to be\nsupposed that he passed his time in the most agreeable reverie, while he\nfound himself involved in the labyrinth of those shades, which he\nconsidered as the haunts of robbery and assassination.\n\nCommon fear was a comfortable sensation to what he felt in this\nexcursion. The first steps he had taken for his preservation were the\neffects of mere instinct, while his faculties were extinguished or\nsuppressed by despair; but now, as his reflection began to recur, he was\nhaunted by the most intolerable apprehensions. Every whisper of the wind\nthrough the thickets was swelled into the hoarse menaces of murder, the\nshaking of the boughs was construed into the brandishing of poniards, and\nevery shadow of a tree became the apparition of a ruffian eager for\nblood. In short, at each of these occurrences he felt what was\ninfinitely more tormenting than the stab of a real dagger; and at every\nfresh fillip of his fear, he acted as a remembrancer to his conductress,\nin a new volley of imprecations, importing, that her life was absolutely\nconnected with his opinion of his own safety.\n\nHuman nature could not longer subsist under such complicated terror. At\nlast he found himself clear of the forest, and was blessed with the\ndistant view of an inhabited place. He then began to exercise his\nthoughts upon a new subject. He debated with himself, whether he should\nmake a parade of his intrepidity and public spirit, by disclosing his\nachievement, and surrendering his guide to the penalty of the law; or\nleave the old hag and her accomplices to the remorse of their own\nconsciences, and proceed quietly on his journey to Paris in undisturbed\npossession of the prize he had already obtained. This last step he\ndetermined to take, upon recollecting, that, in the course of his\ninformation, the story of the murdered stranger would infallibly attract\nthe attention of justice, and, in that case, the effects he had borrowed\nfrom the defunct must be refunded for the benefit of those who had a\nright to the succession. This was an argument which our adventurer could\nnot resist; he foresaw that he should be stripped of his acquisition,\nwhich he looked upon as the fair fruits of his valour and sagacity; and,\nmoreover, be detained as an evidence against the robbers, to the manifest\ndetriment of his affairs. Perhaps too he had motives of conscience, that\ndissuaded him from bearing witness against a set of people whose\nprinciples did not much differ from his own.\n\nInfluenced by such considerations, he yielded to the first importunity of\nthe beldame, whom he dismissed at a very small distance from the village,\nafter he had earnestly exhorted her to quit such an atrocious course of\nlife, and atone for her past crimes, by sacrificing her associates to the\ndemands of justice. She did not fail to vow a perfect reformation, and\nto prostrate herself before him for the favour she had found; then she\nbetook herself to her habitation, with full purpose of advising her\nfellow-murderers to repair with all despatch to the village, and impeach\nour hero, who, wisely distrusting her professions, stayed no longer in\nthe place than to hire a guide for the next stage, which brought him to\nthe city of Chalons-sur-Marne.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY-TWO\n\nHE ARRIVES AT PARIS, AND IS PLEASED WITH HIS RECEPTION.\n\nHe was not so smitten with the delightful situation of this ancient town,\nbut that he abandoned it as soon as he could procure a post-chaise, in\nwhich he arrived at Paris, without having been exposed to any other\ntroublesome adventure upon the road. He took lodgings at a certain hotel\nin the Fauxbourg de St. Germain, which is the general rendezvous of all\nthe strangers that resort to this capital; and now sincerely\ncongratulated himself upon his happy escape from his Hungarian\nconnexions, and from the snares of the banditti, as well as upon the\nspoils of the dead body, and his arrival at Paris, from whence there was\nsuch a short conveyance to England, whither he was attracted, by far\nother motives than that of filial veneration for his native soil.\n\nHe suppressed all his letters of recommendation, which he justly\nconcluded would subject him to a tedious course of attendance upon the\ngreat, and lay him under the necessity of soliciting preferment in the\narmy, than which nothing was farther from his inclination; and resolved\nto make his appearance in the character of a private gentleman, which\nwould supply him with opportunities of examining the different scenes of\nlife in such a gay metropolis, so as that he should be able to choose\nthat sphere in which he could move the most effectually to his own\nadvantage. He accordingly hired an occasional domestic, and under the\ndenomination of Count Fathom, which he had retained since his elopement\nfrom Renaldo, repaired to dinner at an ordinary, to which he was directed\nas a reputable place, frequented by fashionable strangers of all nations.\n\nHe found this piece of information perfectly just; for he no sooner\nentered the apartment, than his ears were saluted with a strange\nconfusion of sounds, among which he at once distinguished the High and\nLow Dutch, barbarous French, Italian, and English languages. He was\nrejoiced at this occasion of displaying his own qualifications, took his\nplace at one of the three long tables, betwixt a Westphalian count and a\nBolognian marquis, insinuated himself into the conversation with his\nusual address, and in less than half an hour, found means to accost a\nnative of each different country in his own mother-tongue.\n\nSuch extensive knowledge did not pass unobserved. A French abbe, in a\nprovincial dialect, complimented him upon his retaining that purity in\npronunciation, which is not to be found in the speech of a Parisian. The\nBolognian, mistaking him for a Tuscan, \"Sir,\" said he, \"I presume you are\nfrom Florence. I hope the illustrious house of Lorrain leaves you\ngentlemen of that famous city no room to regret the loss of your own\nprinces.\" The castle of Versailles becoming the subject of conversation,\nMonsieur le Compte appealed to him, as to a native German, whether it was\nnot inferior in point of magnificence to the chateau of Grubenhagen. The\nDutch officer, addressing himself to Fathom, drank to the prosperity of\nFaderland, and asked if he had not once served in garrison at\nShenkenschans; and an English knight swore, with great assurance, that he\nhad frequently rambled with him at midnight among the hundreds of Drury.\n\nTo each person he replied in a polite, though mysterious manner, which\ndid not fail to enhance their opinion of his good breeding and\nimportance; and, long before the dessert appeared, he was by all the\ncompany supposed to be a personage of great consequence, who for some\nsubstantial reasons, found it convenient to keep himself incognito. This\nbeing the case, it is not to be doubted that particular civilities were\npoured upon him from all quarters. He perceived their sentiments, and\nencouraged them, by behaving with that sort of complaisance which seems\nto be the result of engaging condescension in a character of superior\ndignity and station. His affability was general but his chief attention\nlimited to those gentlemen already mentioned, who chanced to sit nearest\nhim at table; and he no sooner gave them to understand that he was an\nutter stranger in Paris, than they unanimously begged to have the honour\nof making him acquainted with the different curiosities peculiar to that\nmetropolis.\n\nHe accepted of their hospitality, accompanied them to a coffee-house in\nthe afternoon, from whence they repaired to the opera, and afterwards\nadjourned to a noted hotel, in order to spend the remaining part of the\nevening. It was here that our hero secured himself effectually in the\nfooting he had gained in their good graces. He in a moment saw through\nall the characters of the party, and adapted himself to the humour of\neach individual, without descending from that elevation of behaviour\nwhich he perceived would operate among them in his behalf. With the\nItalian he discoursed on music, in the style of a connoisseur; and indeed\nhad a better claim to that title than the generality of those upon whom\nit is usually conferred; for he understood the art in theory as well as\nin practice, and would have made no contemptible figure among the best\nperformers of the age.\n\nHe harangued upon taste and genius to the abbe, who was a wit and critic,\nex officio, or rather ex vestitu for a young pert Frenchman, the very\nmoment he puts on the petit collet, or little band, looks upon himself as\nan inspired son of Apollo; and every one of the fraternity thinks it\nincumbent upon him to assert the divinity of his mission. In a word, the\nabbes are a set of people that bear a strong analogy to the templars in\nLondon. Fools of each fabric, sharpers of all sorts, and dunces of every\ndegree, profess themselves of both orders. The templar is, generally\nspeaking, a prig, so is the abbe: both are distinguished by an air of\npetulance and self-conceit, which holds a middle rank betwixt the\ninsolence of a first-rate buck and the learned pride of a supercilious\npedant. The abbe is supposed to be a younger brother in quest of\npreferment in the church--the Temple is considered as a receptacle or\nseminary for younger sons intended for the bar; but a great number of\neach profession turn aside into other paths of life, long before they\nreach these proposed goals. An abbe is often metamorphosed into a foot\nsoldier; a templar sometimes sinks into an attorney's clerk. The galleys\nof France abound with abbes; and many templars may be found in our\nAmerican plantations; not to mention those who have made a public exit\nnearer home. Yet I would not have it thought that my description\nincludes every individual of those societies. Some of the greatest\nscholars, politicians, and wits, that ever Europe produced, have worn the\nhabit of an abbe; and many of our most noble families in England derive\ntheir honours from those who have studied law in the Temple. The worthy\nsons of every community shall always be sacred from my censure and\nridicule; and, while I laugh at the folly of particular members, I can\nstill honour and revere the institution.\n\nBut let us return from this comparison, which some readers may think\nimpertinent and unseasonable, and observe, that the Westphalian count,\nDutch officer, and English knight, were not excepted from the particular\nregard and attention of our adventurer. He pledged the German in every\nbumper; flattered the Hollander with compliments upon the industry,\nwealth, and policy of the Seven United Provinces; but he reserved his\nchief battery for his own countryman, on the supposition that he was, in\nall respects, the best adapted for the purposes of a needy gamester.\nHim, therefore, he cultivated with extraordinary care and singular\nobservance; for he soon perceived him to be a humourist, and, from that\ncircumstance, derived an happy presage of his own success. The baronet's\ndisposition seemed to be cast in the true English mould. He was sour,\nsilent, and contemptuous; his very looks indicated a consciousness of\nsuperior wealth; and he never opened his mouth, except to make some dry,\nsarcastic, national reflection. Nor was his behaviour free from that air\nof suspicion which a man puts on when he believes himself in a crowd of\npick-pockets, whom his caution and vigilance set at defiance. In a word,\nthough his tongue was silent on the subject, his whole demeanour was\ncontinually saying, \"You are all a pack of poor lousy rascals, who have a\ndesign upon my purse. 'Tis true, I could buy your whole generation, but\nI won't be bubbled, d'ye see; I am aware of your flattery, and upon my\nguard against all your knavish pranks; and I come into your company for\nmy own amusement only.\"\n\nFathom having reconnoitred this peculiarity of temper, instead of\ntreating him with that assiduous complaisance, which he received from the\nother gentlemen of the party, kept aloof from him in the conversation,\nwith a remarkable shyness of distant civility, and seldom took notice of\nwhat he said, except with a view to contradict him, or retort some of his\nsatirical observations. This he conceived to be the best method of\nacquiring his good opinion; because the Englishman would naturally\nconclude he was a person who could have no sinister views upon his\nfortune, else he would have chosen quite a different manner of\ndeportment. Accordingly, the knight seemed to bite at the hook. He\nlistened to Ferdinand with uncommon regard; he was even heard to commend\nhis remarks, and at length drank to their better acquaintance.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY-THREE\n\nACQUITS HIMSELF WITH ADDRESS IN A NOCTURNAL RIOT.\n\n\n\nThe Italian and the abbe were the first who began to grow whimsical under\nthe influence of the burgundy; and, in the heat of their elevation,\nproposed that the company should amuse themselves during the remaining\npart of the night, at the house of an obliging dame, who maintained a\ntroop of fair nymphs for the accommodation of the other sex. The\nproposal was approved by all, except the Hollander, whose economy the\nwine had not as yet invaded; and, while he retreated soberly to his own\nlodgings, the rest of the society adjourned in two coaches to the temple\nof love, where they were received by the venerable priestess, a personage\nturned of seventy, who seemed to exercise the functions of her calling,\nin despite of the most cruel ravages of time; for age had bent her into\nthe form of a Turkish bow. Her head was agitated by the palsy, like the\nleaf of the poplar tree; her hair fell down in scanty parcels, as white\nas the driven snow; her face was not simply wrinkled, but ploughed into\ninnumerable furrows; her jaws could not boast of one remaining tooth; one\neye distilled a large quantity of rheum, by virtue of the fiery edge that\nsurrounded it; the other was altogether extinguished, and she had lost\nher nose in the course of her ministration. The Delphic sibyl was but a\ntype of this hoary matron, who, by her figure, might have been mistaken\nfor the consort of Chaos, or mother of Time. Yet there was something\nmeritorious in her appearance, as it denoted her an indefatigable\nminister to the pleasure of mankind, and as it formed an agreeable\ncontrast with the beauty and youth of the fair damsels that wantoned in\nher train. It resembled those discords in music, which, properly\ndisposed, contribute to the harmony of the whole piece; or those horrible\ngiants, who, in the world of romance, used to guard the gates of the\ncastle in which the enchanted damsel was confined.\n\nThis Urganda seemed to be aware of her own importance, and perfectly well\nacquainted with the human appetite; for she compelled the whole company\nto undergo her embrace. Then a lacquey, in magnificent livery, ushered\nthem into a superb apartment, where they waited some minutes, without\nbeing favoured with the appearance of the ladies, to the manifest\ndissatisfaction of the abbe, who, sending for the gouvernante,\nreprimanded her severely for her want of politesse. The old lady, who\nwas by no means a pattern of patience and submission, retorted his\nreproaches with great emphasis and vivacity. Her eloquence flowed\naltogether in the Covent Garden strain; and I question whether the\ncelebrated Mother Douglas herself could have made such a figure in an\nextemporaneous altercation.\n\nAfter having bestowed upon the abbe the epithets of saucy insignificant\npimp, she put him in mind of the good offices which he had received at\nher hands; how she had supplied him with bed, board, and bedfellow, in\nhis greatest necessity; sent him abroad with money in his pockets--and,\nin a word, cherished him in her bosom, when his own mother had abandoned\nhim to distress. She then reviled him for presuming to affront her\nbefore strangers, and gave the company to understand, that the young\nladies would wait upon them as soon as they could be confessed and\nreceive absolution from a worthy cordelier, who was now employed in\nperforming that charitable office. The gentlemen were satisfied with\nthis remonstrance, which argued the old lady's pious concern for the\nsouls that were under her care, and our adventurer proposed an\naccommodation betwixt her and the abbe, who was prevailed upon to ask her\npardon, and received her blessing upon his knees.\n\nThis affair had not been long adjusted, when five damsels were introduced\nin a very gay dishabille, and our hero was complimented with the\nprivilege of choosing his Amanda from the whole bevy. When he was\nprovided, the others began to pair themselves, and, unhappily, the German\ncount chanced to pitch upon the same nymph who had captivated the desires\nof the British knight. A dispute immediately ensued; for the Englishman\nmade his addresses to the lady, without paying the least regard to the\npriority of the other's claim; and she, being pleased with his\nattachment, did not scruple to renounce his rival, who swore by the\nthunder, lightning, and sacrament, that he would not quit his pretensions\nfor any prince in Christendom, much less for a little English cavalier,\nwhom he had already honoured too much in condescending to be his\ncompanion.\n\nThe knight, provoked at this stately declaration, which was the immediate\neffect of anger and ebriety, eyed his antagonist with a most contemptuous\naspect, and advised him to avoid such comparisons for the future. \"We\nall know,\" said he, \"the importance of a German count; I suppose your\nrevenue amounts to three hundred rix-dollars; and you have a chateau that\nlooks like the ruins of an English gaol. I will bind myself to lend you\na thousand pounds upon a mortgage of your estate, (and a bad bargain I am\nsure I shall have,) if I do not, in less than two months, find a yeoman\nof Kent, who spends more in strong ale than the sum-total of your yearly\nincome; and, were the truth known, I believe that lace upon your coat is\nno better than tinsel, and those fringed ruffles, with fine Holland\nsleeves, tacked to a shirt of brown canvas, so that, were you to undress\nyourself before the lady, you would only expose your own poverty and\npride.\"\n\nThe count was so much enraged at these sarcastic observations, that his\nfaculty of speech was overwhelmed by his resentment; though, in order to\nacquit himself of the Englishman's imputation, he forthwith pulled off\nhis clothes with such fury, that his brocade waistcoat was tore from top\nto bottom. The knight, mistaking his meaning, considered this demeanour\nas a fair challenge, to try which was the better man in the exercise of\nboxing; and, on that supposition, began to strip in his turn, when he was\nundeceived by Fathom, who put the right interpretation upon the count's\nbehaviour, and begged that the affair might be compromised. By this time\nthe Westphalian recovered the use of his tongue, and with many threats\nand imprecations, desired they would take notice how falsely he had been\naspersed, and do him justice in espousing his claim to the damsel in\nquestion.\n\nBefore the company had time or inclination to interest themselves in the\nquarrel, his opponent observed that no person who was not a mere German,\nwould ever dream of forcing the inclinations of a pretty girl, whom the\naccidents of fortune had subjected to his power; that such compulsion was\nequivalent to the most cruel rape that could be committed; and that the\nlady's aversion was not at all surprising; for, to speak his own\nsentiments, were he a woman of pleasure, he would as soon grant favours\nto a Westphalian hog, as to the person of his antagonist. The German,\nenraged at this comparison, was quite abandoned by his patience and\ndiscretion. He called the knight an English clown, and, swearing he\nwas the most untoward beast of a whole nation of mules, snatched up one\nof the candlesticks, which he launched at him with such force and\nviolence, that it sung through the air, and, winging its flight into the\nante-chamber, encountered the skull of his own valet, who with immediate\nprostration received the message of his master.\n\nThe knight, that he might not be behindhand with the Westphalian in point\nof courtesy, returned the compliment with the remaining chandelier, which\nalso missed its mark, and, smiting a large mirror that was fixed behind\nthem, emitted such a crash as one might expect to hear if a mine were\nsprung beneath a manufacture of glass. Both lights being thus\nextinguished, a furious combat ensued in the dark; the Italian scampered\noff with infinite agility, and, as he went downstairs, desired that\nnobody would interpose, because it was an affair of honour, which could\nnot be made up. The ladies consulted their safety in flight; Count\nFathom slyly retired to one corner of the room; while the abbe, having\nupon him the terrors of the commissaire, endeavoured to appease and part\nthe combatants, and, in the attempt, sustained a random blow upon his\nnose, which sent him howling into the other chamber, where, finding his\nband besmeared with his own blood, he began to caper about the apartment,\nin a transport of rage and vexation.\n\nMeanwhile, the old gentlewoman being alarmed with the noise of the\nbattle, and apprehensive that it would end in murder, to the danger and\ndiscredit of herself and family, immediately mustered up her myrmidons,\nof whom she always retained a formidable band, and, putting herself at\ntheir head, lighted them to the scene of uproar. Ferdinand, who had\nhitherto observed a strict neutrality, no sooner perceived them approach,\nthan he leaped in between the disputants, that he might be found acting\nin the character of a peacemaker; and, indeed, by this time, victory\nhad declared for the baronet, who had treated his antagonist with a\ncross-buttock, which laid him almost breathless on the floor. The victor\nwas prevailed upon, by the entreaties of Fathom, to quit the field of\nbattle, and adjourn into another room, where, in less than half an hour,\nhe received a billet from the count, defying him to single combat on the\nfrontiers of Flanders, at an appointed time and place. The challenge was\nimmediately accepted by the knight, who, being flushed with conquest,\ntreated his adversary with great contempt.\n\nBut, next day, when the fumes of the burgundy were quite exhaled, and the\nadventure recurred to his remembrance and sober reflection, he waited\nupon our adventurer at his lodgings, and solicited his advice in such a\nmanner, as gave him to understand that he looked upon what had happened\nas a drunken brawl, which ought to have no serious consequences. Fathom\nforeseeing that the affair might be managed for his own interest,\nprofessed himself of the baronet's opinion; and, without hesitation,\nundertook the office of a mediator, assuring his principal, that his\nhonour should suffer no stain in the course of his negotiation.\n\nHaving received the Englishman's acknowledgments for this instance of\nfriendship, he forthwith set out for the place of the German's\nhabitation, and understanding he was still asleep, insisted upon his\nbeing immediately waked, and told, that a gentleman from the chevalier\ndesired to see him, upon business of importance which could not be\ndelayed. Accordingly, his valet-de-chambre, pressed by Fathom's\nimportunities and remonstrances, ventured to go in and shake the count by\nthe shoulder; when this furious Teutonian, still agitated by the fever of\nthe preceding night, leaped out of bed in a frenzy, and seizing his sword\nthat lay upon a table, would have severely punished the presumption of\nhis servant, had not he been restrained by the entrance of Ferdinand,\nwho, with a peremptory countenance, gave him to understand that the valet\nhad acted at his immediate instigation; and that he was come, as the\nEnglishman's friend, to concert with him proper measures for keeping the\nappointment they had made at their last meeting.\n\nThis message effectually calmed the German, who was not a little\nmortified to find himself so disagreeably disturbed. He could not help\ncursing the impatience of his antagonist, and even hinting that he would\nhave acted more like a gentleman and good Christian, in expressing a\ndesire of seeing the affair accommodated, as he knew himself to be the\naggressor, consequently the first offender against the laws of politeness\nand good-fellowship. Fathom, finding him in a fit temper of mind, took\nthe opportunity of assenting to the reasonableness of his observation.\nHe ventured to condemn the impetuosity of the baronet, who, he perceived,\nwas extremely nice and scrupulous in the punctilios of honour; and said\nit was a pity that two gentlemen should forfeit each other's friendship,\nmuch less expose their lives, for such a frivolous cause. \"My dear\ncount,\" cried the Westphalian, \"I am charmed to find your sentiments so\nconformable to my own. In an honourable cause, I despise all danger; my\ncourage, thank Heaven! has been manifested in many public engagements as\nwell as in private rencounters; but, to break with my friend, whose\neminent virtues I admire, and even to seek his life, on such a scandalous\noccasion, for a little insignificant w---e, who, I suppose, took the\nadvantage of our intoxication, to foment the quarrel: by Heaven! my\nconscience cannot digest it.\"\n\nHaving expressed himself to this purpose, he waited impatiently for the\nreply of Ferdinand, who, after a pause of deliberation, offered his\nservices in the way of mediation; though, he observed, it was a matter of\ngreat delicacy, and the event altogether uncertain. \"Nevertheless,\"\nadded our adventurer, \"I will strive to appease the knight, who, I hope,\nwill be induced by my remonstrances to forget the unlucky accident, which\nhath so disagreeably interrupted your mutual friendship.\" The German\nthanked him for this proof of his regard, which yielded him more\nsatisfaction on account of the chevalier than of himself. \"For, by the\ntombs of my fathers,\" cried he, \"I have so little concern for my personal\nsafety, that, if my honour were interested, I durst oppose myself singly\nto the whole ban of the empire; and I am now ready, if the chevalier\nrequires it, to give him the rendezvous in the forest of Senlis, either\non horseback or on foot, where this contest may be terminated with the\nlife of one or both of us.\"\n\nCount Fathom, with a view to chastise the Westphalian for this\nrhodomontade, told him, with a mortifying air of indifference, that if\nthey were both bent upon taking the field, he would save himself the\ntrouble of interposing farther in the affair; and desired to know the\nhour at which it would suit him to take the air with the baronet. The\nother, not a little embarrassed by this question, said, with a faltering\ntongue, he should be proud to obey the chevalier's orders; but, at the\nsame time, owned he should be much better pleased if our hero would\nexecute the pacific proposal he had made. Fathom accordingly promised to\nexert himself for that purpose, and returned to the knight, with whom he\nassumed the merit of having tranquillised the rage of an incensed\nbarbarian, who was now disposed to a reconciliation upon equal terms.\nThe baronet overwhelmed him with caresses and compliments upon his\nfriendship and address; the parties met that same forenoon, as if by\naccident, in Fathom's apartment, where they embraced each other\ncordially, exchanged apologies, and renewed their former correspondence.\n\nOur adventurer thought he had good reason to congratulate himself upon\nthe part he had acted in this pacification. He was treated by both with\nsignal marks of particular affection and esteem. The count pressed him\nto accept, as a token of his attachment, a sword of very curious\nworkmanship, which he had received in a present from a certain prince of\nthe empire. The knight forced upon his finger a very splendid diamond\nring, as a testimony of his gratitude and esteem. But there was still\nanother person to be appeased, before the peace of the whole company\ncould be established. This was no other than the abbe, from whom each of\nthe reconciled friends received at dinner a billet couched in these\nwords:--\n\n\"I have the honour to lament the infinite chagrin and mortification that\ncompels me to address myself in this manner to a person of your rank and\neminence, whom I should do myself the pleasure of waiting upon in person,\nwere I not prevented by the misfortune of my nose, which was last night\nmost cruelly disarranged, by a violent contusion I had the honour to\nreceive, in attempting to compose that unhappy fracas, at the house of\nMadame la Maquerelle; and what puts the finishing stroke to my mishap, is\nmy being rendered incapable of keeping three or four assignations with\nladies of fashion, by whom I have the honour to be particularly esteemed.\nThe disfiguration of my nose, the pain I have undergone, with the\ndiscomposure of brain which it produced, I could bear as a philosopher;\nbut the disappointment of the ladies, my glory will not permit me to\noverlook. And as you know the injury was sustained in your service, I\nhave the pleasure to hope you will not refuse to grant such reparation as\nwill be acceptable to a gentleman, who has the honour to be with\ninviolable attachment,--\n Sir, your most devoted slave,\n PEPIN CLOTHAIRE CHARLE HENRI LOOUIS BARNABE DE FUMIER.\"\n\nThis epistle was so equivocal, that the persons to whom it was addressed\ndid not know whether or not they ought to interpret the contents into a\nchallenge; when our hero observed, that the ambiguity of his expressions\nplainly proved there was a door left open for accommodation; and proposed\nthat they should forthwith visit the writer at his own apartment. They\naccordingly followed his advice, and found the abbe in his morning gown\nand slippers, with three huge nightcaps on his head, and a crape hat-band\ntied over the middle of his face, by way of bandage to his nose. He\nreceived his visitors with the most ridiculous solemnity, being still a\nstranger to the purport of their errand; but soon as the Westphalian\ndeclared they were come in consequence of his billet, in order to ask\npardon for the undesigned offence they had given, his features retrieved\ntheir natural vivacity, and he professed himself perfectly satisfied with\ntheir polite acknowledgment. Then they condoled him upon the evil plight\nof his nose, and seeing some marks upon his shirt, asked with seeming\nconcern, if he had lost any blood in the fray? To this interrogation he\nreplied, that he had still a sufficient quantity left for the occasions\nof his friends; and that he should deem it his greatest glory to expend\nthe last drop of it in their service.\n\nMatters being thus amicably adjusted, they prevailed upon him to unease\nhis nose, which retained no signs of the outrage he had suffered; and the\namusements of the day were concerted. It was in consequence of this\nplan, that, after the comedy, they were entertained at the count's\nlodgings, where quadrille was proposed by the abbe, as the most innocent\npastime, and the proposal was immediately embraced by all present, and by\nnone with more alacrity than by our adventurer, who, without putting\nforth a moiety of his skill, went home with twenty louis clear gain.\nThough, far from believing himself greatly superior to the rest of the\nparty, in the artifices of play, he justly suspected that they had\nconcealed their skill, with a view of stripping him on some other\noccasion; for he could not suppose that persons of their figure and\ncharacter should be, in reality, such novices as they affected to appear.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR\n\nHE OVERLOOKS THE ADVANCES OF HIS FRIENDS, AND SMARTS SEVERELY FOR HIS\nNEGLECT.\n\n\nSteeled with this cautious maxim, he guarded himself from their united\nendeavours, in sundry subsequent attacks, by which his first conjecture\nwas confirmed, and still came off conqueror, by virtue of his\nunparalleled finesse and discretion; till at length they seemed to\ndespair of making him their prey, and the count began to drop some hints,\nimporting a desire of seeing him more closely united to the views and\ninterest of their triumvirate. But Ferdinand, who was altogether\nselfish, and quite solitary in his prospects, discouraged all those\nadvances, being resolved to trade upon his own bottom only, and to avoid\nall such connexions with any person or society whatever; much more, with\na set of raw adventurers whose talents he despised. With these\nsentiments, he still maintained the dignity and reserve of his first\nappearance among them, and rather enhanced than diminished that idea of\nimportance which he had inspired at the beginning; because, besides his\nother qualifications, they gave him credit for the address with which he\nkept himself superior to their united designs.\n\nWhile he thus enjoyed his pre-eminence, together with the fruits of his\nsuccess at play, which he managed so discreetly as never to incur the\nreputation of an adventurer, he one day chanced to be at the ordinary,\nwhen the company was surprised by the entrance of such a figure as had\nnever appeared before in that place. This was no other than a person\nhabited in the exact uniform of an English jockey. His leathern cap, cut\nbob, fustian frock, flannel waistcoat, buff breeches, hunting-boots and\nwhip, were sufficient of themselves to furnish out a phenomenon for the\nadmiration of all Paris. But these peculiarities were rendered still\nmore conspicuous by the behaviour of the man who owned them. When he\ncrossed the threshold of the outward door, he produced such a sound from\nthe smack of his whip, as equalled the explosion of an ordinary cohorn;\nand then broke forth into the halloo of a foxhunter, which he uttered\nwith all its variations, in a strain of vociferation that seemed to\nastonish and confound the whole assembly, to whom he introduced himself\nand his spaniel, by exclaiming, in a tone something less melodious than\nthe cry of mackerel or live cod, \"By your leave, gentlevolks, I hope\nthere's no offence, in an honest plain Englishman's coming with money in\nhis pocket, to taste a bit of your Vrench frigasee and ragooze.\"\n\nThis declaration was made in such a wild, fantastical manner, that the\ngreatest part of the company mistook him for some savage monster or\nmaniac, and consulted their safety by starting up from table, and drawing\ntheir swords. The Englishman, seeing such a martial apparatus produced\nagainst him, recoiled two or three steps, saying, \"Waunds! a believe the\npeople are all bewitched. What, do they take me for a beast of prey? is\nthere nobody here that knows Sir Stentor Stile, or can speak to me in my\nown lingo?\" He had no sooner pronounced these words, than the baronet,\nwith marks of infinite surprise, ran towards him, crying, \"Good Heaven!\nSir Stentor, who expected to meet with you in Paris?\" Upon which, the\nother eyeing him very earnestly, \"Odds heartlikins!\" cried he, \"my\nneighbour, Sir Giles Squirrel, as I am a living soul!\" With these words\nhe flew upon him like a tiger, kissed him from ear to ear, demolished his\nperiwig, and disordered the whole economy of his dress, to the no small\nentertainment of the company.\n\nHaving well-nigh stifled his countryman with embraces, and besmeared\nhimself with pulville from head to foot, he proceeded in this manner,\n\"Mercy upon thee, knight, thou art so transmographied, and bedaubed, and\nbedizened, that thou mought rob thy own mother without fear of\ninformation. Look ye here now, I will be trussed, if the very bitch that\nwas brought up in thy own bosom knows thee again. Hey, Sweetlips, here\nhussy, d--n the tuoad, dos't n't know thy old measter? Ey, ey, thou\nmay'st smell till Christmas, I'll be bound to be hanged, knight, if the\ncreature's nose an't foundered by the d----d stinking perfumes you have\ngot among you.\"\n\nThese compliments being passed, the two knights sat down by one another,\nand Sir Stentor being asked by his neighbour, upon what errand he had\ncrossed the sea, gave him to understand, that he had come to France, in\nconsequence of a wager with Squire Snaffle, who had laid a thousand\npounds, that he, Sir Stentor, would not travel to Paris by himself, and\nfor a whole month appear every day at a certain hour in the public walks,\nwithout wearing any other dress than that in which he saw him. \"The\nfellor has got no more stuff in his pate,\" continued this polite\nstranger, \"than a jackass, to think I could not find my way hither thof I\ncould not jabber your French lingo. Ecod! the people of this country are\nsharp enough to find out your meaning, when you want to spend anything\namong them; and, as for the matter of dress, bodikins! for a thousand\npound, I would engage to live in the midst of them, and show myself\nwithout any clothes at all. Odds heart! a true-born Englishman needs not\nbe ashamed to show his face, nor his backside neither, with the best\nFrenchman that ever trod the ground. Thof we Englishmen don't beplaister\nour doublets with gold and silver, I believe as how we have our pockets\nbetter lined than most of our neighbours; and for all my bit of a fustian\nfrock, that cost me in all but forty shillings, I believe, between you\nand me, knight, I have more dust in my fob, than all those powdered\nsparks put together. But the worst of the matter is this; here is no\nsolid belly-timber in this country. One can't have a slice of delicate\nsirloin, or nice buttock of beef, for love nor money. A pize upon them!\nI could get no eatables upon the ruoad, but what they called bully, which\nlooks like the flesh of Pharaoh's lean kine stewed into rags and tatters;\nand then their peajohn, peajohn, rabbet them! One would think every old\nwoman of this kingdom hatched pigeons from her own body.\"\n\nIt is not to be supposed that such an original sat unobserved. The\nFrench and other foreigners, who had never been in England, were struck\ndumb with amazement at the knight's appearance and deportment; while the\nEnglish guests were overwhelmed with shame and confusion, and kept a most\nwary silence, for fear of being recognised by their countryman. As for\nour adventurer, he was inwardly transported with joy at sight of this\ncuriosity. He considered him as a genuine, rich country booby, of the\nright English growth, fresh as imported; and his heart throbbed with\nrapture, when he heard Sir Stentor value himself upon the lining of his\npockets. He foresaw, indeed, that the other knight would endeavour to\nreserve him for his own game; but he was too conscious of his own\naccomplishments to think he should find great difficulty in superseding\nthe influence of Sir Giles.\n\nMeanwhile, the new-comer was by his friend helped to some ragout, which\npleased his palate so well, that he declared he should now make a hearty\nmeal, for the first time since he had crossed the water; and, while his\ngood-humour prevailed, he drank to every individual around the table.\nFerdinand seized this opportunity of insinuating himself into his favour,\nby saying in English, he was glad to find there was anything in France\nthat was agreeable to Sir Stentor. To this compliment the knight replied\nwith an air of surprise: \"Waunds! I find here's another countryman of\nmine in this here company. Sir, I am proud to see you with all my\nheart.\" So speaking, he thrust out his right hand across the table, and\nshook our hero by the fist, with such violence of civility, as proved\nvery grievous to a French marquis, who, in helping himself to soup, was\njostled in such a manner, as to overturn the dividing-spoon in his own\nbosom. The Englishman, seeing the mischief he had produced, cried, \"No\noffence, I hope,\" in a tone of vociferation, which the marquis in all\nprobability misconstrued; for he began to model his features into a very\nsublime and peremptory look, when Fathom interpreted the apology, and at\nthe same time informed Sir Stentor, that although he himself had not the\nhonour of being an Englishman, he had always entertained a most\nparticular veneration for the country, and learned the language in\nconsequence of that esteem.\n\n\"Blood!\" answered the knight, \"I think myself the more obliged to you for\nyour kind opinion, than if you was my countryman in good earnest. For\nthere be abundance of we English--no offence, Sir Giles--that seem to be\nashamed of their own nation, and leave their homes to come and spend\ntheir fortunes abroad, among a parcel of--you understand me, sir--a word\nto the wise, as the saying is.\"--Here he was interrupted by an article of\nthe second course, that seemed to give him great disturbance. This was a\nroasted leveret, very strong of the fumet, which happened to be placed\ndirectly under his nose. His sense of smelling was no sooner encountered\nby the effluvia of this delicious fare, than he started up from table,\nexclaiming, \"Odd's my liver! here's a piece of carrion, that I would not\noffer to e'er a hound in my kennel; 'tis enough to make any Christian\nvomit both gut and gall\"; and indeed by the wry faces he made while he\nran to the door, his stomach seemed ready to justify this last assertion.\n\nThe abbe, who concluded, from these symptoms of disgust, that the leveret\nwas not sufficiently stale, began to exhibit marks of discontent, and\ndesired that it might be brought to the other end of the table for his\nexamination. He accordingly hung over it with the most greedy appetite,\nfeasting his nostrils with the steams of animal putrefaction; and at\nlength declared that the morceau was passable, though he owned it would\nhave been highly perfect, had it been kept another week. Nevertheless,\nmouths were not wanting to discuss it, insipid as it was; for in three\nminutes there was not a vestige to be seen of that which had offended the\norgans of Sir Stentor, who now resumed his place, and did justice to the\ndessert. But what he seemed to relish better than any other part of the\nentertainment, was the conversation of our adventurer, whom, after\ndinner, he begged to have the honour of treating with a dish of coffee,\nto the seeming mortification of his brother knight, over which Fathom\nexulted in his own heart.\n\nIn short, our hero, by his affability and engaging deportment,\nimmediately gained possession of Sir Stentor's good graces, insomuch,\nthat he desired to crack a bottle with him in the evening, and they\nrepaired to an auberge, whither his fellow-knight accompanied him, not\nwithout manifest signs of reluctance. There the stranger gave a loose to\njollity; though at first he d---ed the burgundy as a poor thin liquor,\nthat ran through him in a twinkling, and, instead of warming, cooled his\nheart and bowels. However, it insensibly seemed to give the lie to his\nimputation; for his spirits rose to a more elevated pitch of mirth and\ngood-fellowship; he sung, or rather roared, the Early Horn, so as to\nalarm the whole neighbourhood, and began to slabber his companions with a\nmost bear-like affection. Yet whatever haste he made to the goal of\nebriety, he was distanced by his brother baronet, who from the beginning\nof the party had made little other use of his mouth than to receive the\nglass, and now sunk down upon the floor, in a state of temporary\nannihilation.\n\nHe was immediately carried to bed by the direction of Ferdinand, who now\nsaw himself in a manner possessor of that mine to which he had made such\neager and artful advances. That he might, therefore, carry on the\napproaches in the same cautious manner, he gradually shook off the\ntrammels of sobriety, gave a loose to that spirit of freedom which good\nliquor commonly inspires, and, in the familiarity of drunkenness, owned\nhimself head of a noble family of Poland, from which he had been obliged\nto absent himself on account of an affair of honour, not yet compromised.\n\nHaving made this confession, and laid strong injunctions of secrecy upon\nSir Stentor, his countenance seemed to acquire from every succeeding\nglass a new symptom of intoxication. They renewed their embraces,\nswore eternal friendship from that day, and swallowed fresh bumpers, till\nboth being in all appearance quite overpowered, they began to yawn in\nconcert, and even nod in their chairs. The knight seemed to resent the\nattacks of slumber, as so many impertinent attempts to interrupt their\nentertainment; he cursed his own propensity to sleep, imputing it to the\nd---ed French climate, and proposed to engage in some pastime that would\nkeep them awake. \"Odd's flesh!\" cried the Briton, \"when I'm at home, I\ndefy all the devils in hell to fasten my eyelids together, if so be as\nI'm otherwise inclined. For there's mother and sister Nan, and brother\nNumps and I, continue to divert ourselves at all-fours, brag, cribbage,\ntetotum, husslecap, and chuck-varthing, and, thof I say it, that should\nn't say it, I won't turn my back to e'er a he in England, at any of these\npastimes. And so, Count, if you are so disposed, I am your man, that is,\nin the way of friendship, at which of these you shall please to pitch\nupon.\"\n\nTo this proposal Fathom replied, he was quite ignorant of all the games\nhe had mentioned; but, in order to amuse Sir Stentor, he would play with\nhim at lansquenet, for a trifle, as he had laid it down for a maxim, to\nrisk nothing considerable at play. \"Waunds!\" answered the knight, \"I\nhope you don't think I come here in quest of money. Thank God! I have a\ngood landed estate worth five thousand a year, and owe no man a\nhalfpenny; and I question whether there be many counts in your nation--no\noffence, I hope--that can say a bolder word. As for your lambskin net, I\nknow nothing of the matter; but I will toss up with you for a guinea,\ncross or pile, as the saying is; or, if there's such a thing in this\ncountry as a box and dice, I love to hear the bones rattle sometimes.\"\n\nFathom found some difficulty in concealing his joy at the mention of this\nlast amusement, which had been one of his chief studies, and in which he\nhad made such progress, that he could calculate all the chances with the\nutmost exactness and certainty. However, he made shift to contain\nhimself within due bounds, and, with seeming indifference, consented to\npass away an hour at hazard, provided the implements could be procured.\nAccordingly, the landlord was consulted, and their desire gratified; the\ndice were produced, and the table resounded with the effects of their\nmutual eagerness. Fortune, at first, declared for the Englishman, who\nwas permitted by our adventurer to win twenty broad pieces; and he was so\nelated with his success, as to accompany every lucky throw with a loud\nburst of laughter, and other savage and simple manifestations of\nexcessive joy, exclaiming, in a tone something less sweet than the\nbellowing of a bull, \"Now for the main, Count,--odd! here they come--here\nare the seven black stars, i'faith. Come along, my yellow boys--odd's\nheart! I never liked the face of Lewis before.\"\n\nFathom drew happy presages from these boyish raptures, and, after having\nindulged them for some time, began to avail himself of his arithmetic, in\nconsequence of which the knight was obliged to refund the greatest part\nof his winning. Then he altered his note, and became as intemperate in\nhis chagrin, as he had been before immoderate in his mirth. He cursed\nhimself and his whole generation, d---ed his bad luck, stamped with his\nfeet upon the floor, and challenged Ferdinand to double stakes. This was\na very welcome proposal to our hero, who found Sir Stentor just such a\nsubject as he had long desired to encounter with; the more the Englishman\nlaid, the more he lost, and Fathom took care to inflame his passions, by\ncertain well-timed sarcasms upon his want of judgment, till at length he\nbecame quite outrageous, swore the dice were false, and threw them out at\nthe window; pulled off his periwig, and committed it to the flames, spoke\nwith the most rancorous contempt of his adversary's skill, insisted upon\nhis having stripped many a better man, for all he was a Count, and\nthreatening that, before they parted, he should not only look like a\nPole, but also smell like a pole-cat.\n\nThis was a spirit which our adventurer industriously kept up, observing\nthat the English were dupes to all the world; and that, in point of\ngenius and address, they were no more than noisy braggadocios. In short,\nanother pair of dice was procured, the stakes were again raised, and,\nafter several vicissitudes, fortune declared so much in favour of the\nknight, that Fathom lost all the money in his pocket, amounting to a\npretty considerable sum. By this time he was warmed into uncommon\neagerness and impatience; being equally piqued at the success and\nprovoking exultations of his antagonist, whom he now invited to his\nlodgings, in order to decide the contest. Sir Stentor complied with this\nrequest; the dispute was renewed with various success, till, towards\ndaylight, Ferdinand saw this noisy, raw, inexperienced simpleton, carry\noff all his ready cash, together with his jewels, and almost everything\nthat was valuable about his person; and, to crown the whole, the victor\nat parting told him with a most intolerable sneer, that as soon as the\nCount should receive another remittance from Poland, he would give him\nhis revenge.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE\n\nHE BEARS HIS FATE LIKE A PHILOSOPHER; AND CONTRACTS ACQUAINTANCE WITH A\nVERY REMARKABLE PERSONAGE.\n\n\nThis was a proper subject for our hero to moralise upon; and accordingly\nit did not pass without his remarks; he found himself fairly foiled at\nhis own weapons, reduced to indigence in a foreign land, and, what he\nchiefly regretted, robbed of all those gay expectations he had indulged\nfrom his own supposed excellence in the wiles of fraud; for, upon a\nlittle recollection, he plainly perceived he had fallen a sacrifice to\nthe confederacy he had refused to join; and did not at all doubt that the\ndice were loaded for his destruction. But, instead of beating his head\nagainst the wall, tearing his hair, imprecating vain curses upon himself,\nor betraying other frantic symptoms of despair, he resolved to\naccommodate himself to his fate, and profit by the lesson he had so\ndearly bought.\n\nWith this intention, he immediately dismissed his valet, quitted his\nlodgings, retired to an obscure street on the other side of the river,\nand, covering one eye with a large patch of black silk, presented himself\nin quality of a musician to the director of the opera, who, upon hearing\na trial of his skill, received him into the band without further\nquestion. While he continued in this situation, he not only improved his\ntaste and execution in music, but likewise found frequent opportunities\nto extend his knowledge of mankind; for, besides the employment he\nexercised in public, he was often concerned in private concerts that were\ngiven in the hotels of noblemen; by which means he became more and more\nacquainted with the persons, manners, and characters of high life, which\nhe contemplated with the most industrious attention, as a spectator, who,\nbeing altogether unconcerned in the performance, is at more liberty to\nobserve and enjoy the particulars of the entertainment.\n\nIt was in one of those assemblies he had the pleasure of seeing his\nfriend Sir Stentor, dressed in the most fashionable manner, and behaving\nwith all the overstrained politesse of a native Frenchman. He was\naccompanied by his brother knight and the abbe; and this triumvirate,\neven in Fathom's hearing, gave a most ludicrous detail of the finesse\nthey had practised upon the Polish Count, to their entertainer, who was\nambassador from a certain court, and made himself extremely merry with\nthe particulars of the relation. Indeed, they made shift to describe\nsome of the circumstances in such a ridiculous light, that our adventurer\nhimself, smarting as he was with the disgrace, could not help laughing in\nsecret at the account. He afterwards made it his business to inquire\ninto the characters of the two British knights, and understood they were\nnotorious sharpers, who had come abroad for the good of their country,\nand now hunted in couple among a French pack, that dispersed themselves\nthrough the public ordinaries, walks, and spectacles, in order to make a\nprey of incautious strangers.\n\nThe pride of Ferdinand was piqued at this information; and he was even\nanimated with the desire of making reprisals upon this fraternity, from\nwhich he ardently longed to retrieve his honour and effects. But the\nissue of his last adventure had reinforced his caution; and, for the\npresent, he found means to suppress the dictates of his avarice and\nambition; resolving to employ his whole penetration in reconnoitring the\nground, before he should venture to take the field again. He therefore\ncontinued to act the part of a one-eyed fiddler, under the name of\nFadini, and lived with incredible frugality, that he might save a purse\nfor his future operations. In this manner had he proceeded for the space\nof ten months, during which he acquired a competent knowledge of the city\nof Paris, when his curiosity was attracted by certain peculiarities in\nthe appearance of a man who lived in one of the upper apartments\nbelonging to the house in which he himself had fixed his habitation.\n\nThis was a tall, thin, meagre figure, with a long black beard, an\naquiline nose, a brown complexion, and a most piercing vivacity in his\neyes. He seemed to be about the age of fifty, wore the Persian habit,\nand there was a remarkable severity in his aspect and demeanour. He and\nour adventurer had been fellow-lodgers for some time, and, according to\nthe laudable custom in these days, had hitherto remained as much\nestranged to one another, as if they had lived on opposite sides of the\nglobe; but of late the Persian seemed to regard our hero with particular\nattention; when they chanced to meet on the staircase, or elsewhere, he\nbowed to Ferdinand with great solemnity, and complimented him with the\npas. He even proceeded, in the course of this communication, to open his\nmouth, and salute him with a good-morrow, and sometimes made the common\nremarks upon the weather. Fathom, who was naturally complaisant, did not\ndiscourage these advances. On the contrary, he behaved to him with marks\nof particular respect, and one day desired the favour of his company to\nbreakfast.\n\nThis invitation the stranger declined with due acknowledgment, on\npretence of being out of order; and, in the meantime, our adventurer\nbethought himself of questioning the landlord concerning his outlandish\nguest. His curiosity was rather inflamed than satisfied with the\ninformation he could obtain from this quarter; for all he learned was,\nthat the Persian went by the name of Ali Beker, and that he had lived in\nthe house for the space of four months, in a most solitary and\nparsimonious manner, without being visited by one living soul; that, for\nsome time after his arrival, he had been often heard to groan dismally in\nthe night, and even to exclaim in an unknown language, as if he had\nlaboured under some grievous affliction; and though the first transports\nof his grief had subsided, it was easy to perceive he still indulged a\ndeep-rooted melancholy; for the tears were frequently observed to trickle\ndown his beard. The commissaire of the quarter had at first ordered this\nOriental to be watched in his outgoings, according to the maxims of the\nFrench police; but his life was found so regular and inoffensive, that\nthis precaution was soon set aside.\n\nAny man of humane sentiments, from the knowledge of these particulars,\nwould have been prompted to offer his services to the forlorn stranger;\nbut as our hero was devoid of all these infirmities of human nature, it\nwas necessary that other motives should produce the same effect. His\ncuriosity, therefore, joined with the hopes of converting the confidence\nof Ali to his own emolument, effectually impelled him towards his\nacquaintance; and, in a little time, they began to relish the\nconversation of each other. For, as the reader may have already\nobserved, Fathom possessed all the arts of insinuation, and had\ndiscernment enough to perceive an air of dignity in the Persian, which\nthe humility of his circumstances could not conceal. He was, moreover, a\nman of good understanding, not without a tincture of letters, perfectly\nwell bred, though in a ceremonious style, extremely moral in his\ndiscourse, and scrupulously nice in his notions of honour.\n\nOur hero conformed himself in all respects to the other's opinions, and\nmanaged his discretion so as to pass upon him for a gentleman reduced by\nmisfortunes to the exercise of an employment which was altogether\nunsuitable to his birth and quality. He made earnest and repeated\ntenders of his good offices to the stranger, and pressed him to make use\nof his purse with such cordial perseverance, that, at length, Ali's\nreserve was overcome, and he condescended to borrow of him a small sum,\nwhich in all probability, saved his life; for he had been driven to the\nutmost extremity of want before he would accept of this assistance.\n\nFathom, having gradually stole into his good graces, began to take notice\nof many piteous sighs that escaped him in the moments of their\nintercourse, and seemed to denote an heart fraught with woe; and, on\npretence of administering consolation and counsel, begged leave to know\nthe cause of his distress, observing, that his mind would be disburdened\nby such communication, and, perhaps, his grief alleviated by some means\nwhich they might jointly concert and execute in his behalf.\n\nAli, thus solicited, would often shake his head, with marks of extreme\nsorrow and despondence, and, while the tears gushed from his eyes,\ndeclared that his distress was beyond the power of any remedy but death,\nand that, by making our hero his confidant, he should only extend his\nunhappiness to a friend, without feeling the least remission of his own\ntorture. Notwithstanding these repeated declarations, Ferdinand, who was\nwell enough acquainted with the mind of man to know that such importunity\nis seldom or never disagreeable, redoubled his instances, together with\nhis expressions of sympathy and esteem, until the stranger was prevailed\nupon to gratify his curiosity and benevolence. Having, therefore,\nsecured the chamber door one night, while all the rest of the family were\nasleep, the unfortunate Ali disclosed himself in these words.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY-SIX\n\nTHE HISTORY OF THE NOBLE CASTILIAN.\n\n\nI should be ungrateful, as well as unwise, did I longer resist the desire\nyou express to know the particulars of that destiny which hath driven me\nto this miserable disguise, and rendered me in all considerations the\nmost wretched of men. I have felt your friendship, am confident of your\nhonour, and though my misfortunes are such as can never be repaired,\nbecause I am utterly cut off from hope, which is the wretch's last\ncomfort, yet I may, by your means, be enabled to bear them with some\ndegree of fortitude and resignation.\n\nKnow then, my name is not Ali; neither am I of Persian extraction. I had\nonce the honour to own myself a Castilian, and was, under the appellation\nof Don Diego de Zelos, respected as the head of one of the most ancient\nfamilies of that kingdom. Judge, then, how severe that distress must be,\nwhich compels a Spaniard to renounce his country, his honours, and his\nname. My youth was not spent in inglorious ease, neither did it waste\nunheeded in the rolls of fame. Before I had attained the age of\nnineteen, I was twice wounded in battle. I once fortunately recovered\nthe standard of the regiment to which I belonged, after it had been\nseized by the enemy; and, at another occasion, made shift to save the\nlife of my colonel, when he lay at the mercy of an enraged barbarian.\n\nHe that thinks I recapitulate these particulars out of ostentation, does\nwrong to the unhappy Don Diego de Zelos, who, in having performed these\nlittle acts of gallantry, thinks he has done nothing, but simply approved\nhimself worthy of being called a Castilian. I mean only to do justice to\nmy own character, and to make you acquainted with one of the most\nremarkable incidents of my life. It was my fate, during my third\ncampaign, to command a troop of horse in the regiment of Don Gonzales\nOrgullo, between whom and my father a family feud had long been\nmaintained with great enmity; and that gentleman did not leave me without\nreason to believe he rejoiced at the opportunity of exercising his\nresentment upon his adversary's son; for he withheld from me that\ncountenance which my fellow-officers enjoyed, and found means to subject\nme to divers mortifications, of which I was not at liberty to complain.\nThese I bore in silence for some time, as part of my probation in the\ncharacter of a soldier; resolved, nevertheless, to employ my interest at\ncourt for a removal into another corps, and to take some future\nopportunity of explaining my sentiments to Don Gonzales upon the\ninjustice of his behaviour.\n\nWhile I animated myself with these sentiments against the discouragements\nI underwent, and the hard duty to which I was daily exposed, it was our\nfate to be concerned in the battle of Saragossa, where our regiment was\nso severely handled by the English infantry, that it was forced to give\nground with the loss of one half of its officers and men. Don Gonzales,\nwho acted as brigadier in another wing, being informed of our fate, and\ndreading the disgrace of his corps, which had never turned back to the\nenemy, put spurs to his horse, and, riding across the field at full\nspeed, rallied our broken squadrons, and led us back to the charge with\nsuch intrepidity of behaviour, as did not fail to inspire us all with\nuncommon courage and alacrity. For my own part, I thought myself doubly\ninterested to distinguish my valour, not only on account of my own glory,\nbut likewise on the supposition, that, as I was acting under the eye of\nGonzales, my conduct would be narrowly observed.\n\nI therefore exerted myself with unusual vigour, and as he began the\nattack with the remains of my troop, fought close by his side during the\nrest of the engagement. I even acquired his applause in the very heat of\nbattle. When his hat was struck off, and his horse fell under him, I\naccommodated and remounted him upon my own, and, having seized for my own\nuse another that belonged to a common trooper, attended this stern\ncommander as before, and seconded him in all his repeated efforts; but it\nwas impossible to withstand the numbers and impetuosity of the foe, and\nDon Gonzales having had the mortification to see his regiment cut in\npieces, and the greatest part of the army routed, was fain to yield to\nthe fortune of the day; yet he retired as became a man of honour and a\nCastilian; that is, he marched off with great deliberation in the rear of\nthe Spanish troops, and frequently faced about to check the pursuit of\nthe enemy. Indeed, this exercise of his courage had well-nigh cost him\nhis life; for, in one of those wheelings, he was left almost alone, and a\nsmall party of the Portuguese horse had actually cut off our\ncommunication with the retreating forces of Spain.\n\nIn this dilemma, we had no other chance of saving our lives and liberty,\nthan that of opening a passage sword in hand; and this was what Gonzales\ninstantly resolved to attempt. We accordingly recommended our souls to\nGod, and, charging the line abreast of one another, bore down all\nopposition, and were in a fair way of accomplishing our retreat without\nfurther danger; but the gallant Orgullo, in crossing a ditch, had the\nmisfortune to be thrown from his horse, and was almost the same instant\novertaken by one of the Portuguese dragoons, whose sword was already\nsuspended over his head, as he lay half stunned with his fall; when I\nrode up, discharged a pistol in the ruffian's brain, and, seating my\ncolonel on his horse, had the good fortune to conduct him to a place of\nsafety.\n\nHere he was provided with such accommodation as his case required; for he\nhad been wounded in the battle, and dangerously bruised by his fall, and,\nwhen all the necessary steps were taken towards his recovery, I desired\nto know if he had any further commands for his service, being resolved to\njoin the army without delay. I thought proper to communicate this\nquestion by message, because he had not spoke one word to me during our\nretreat, notwithstanding the good office he had received at my hands; a\nreserve which I attributed to his pride, and resented accordingly. He no\nsooner understood my intention, than he desired to see me in his\napartment, and, as near as I can remember, spoke to this effect:--\n\n\"Were your father Don Alonzo alive, I should now, in consequence of your\nbehaviour, banish every suggestion of resentment, and solicit his\nfriendship with great sincerity. Yes, Don Diego, your virtue hath\ntriumphed over that enmity I bore your house, and I upbraid myself with\nthe ungenerous treatment you have suffered under my command. But it is\nnot enough for me to withdraw that rigour which it was unjust to\nexercise, and would be wicked to maintain. I must likewise atone for the\ninjuries you have sustained, and make some suitable acknowledgment for\nthat life which I have twice to-day owed to your valour and generosity.\nWhatever interest I have at court shall be employed in your behalf; and I\nhave other designs in your favour, which shall be disclosed in due\nseason. Meanwhile, I desire you will still add one obligation to the\ndebt which I have already incurred, and carry this billet in person to my\nEstifania, who, from the news of this fatal overthrow must be in despair\nupon my account.\"\n\nSo saying, he presented a letter, directed to his lady, which I received\nin a transport of joy, with expressions suitable to the occasion, and\nimmediately set out for his country house, which happened to be about\nthirty leagues from the spot. This expedition was equally glorious and\ninteresting; for my thoughts upon the road were engrossed by the hope of\nseeing Don Orgullo's daughter and heiress Antonia, who was reported to be\na young lady of great beauty, and the most amiable accomplishments.\nHowever ridiculous it may seem for a man to conceive a passion for an\nobject which he hath never beheld, certain it is, my sentiments were so\nmuch prepossessed by the fame of her qualifications, that I must have\nfallen a victim to her charms, had they been much less powerful than they\nwere. Notwithstanding the fatigues I had undergone in the field, I\nclosed not an eye until I arrived at the gate of Gonzales, being\ndetermined to precede the report of the battle, that Madame d'Orgullo\nmight not be alarmed for the life of her husband.\n\nI declared my errand, and was introduced into a saloon, where I had not\nwaited above three minutes, when my colonel's lady appeared, and in great\nconfusion received the letter, exclaiming, \"Heaven grant that Don\nGonzales be well!\" In reading the contents, she underwent a variety of\nagitations; but, when she had perused the whole, her countenance regained\nits serenity, and, regarding me with an air of ineffable complacency,\n\"Don Diego,\" said she, \"while I lament the national calamity, in the\ndefeat of our army, I at the same time feel the most sincere pleasure on\nseeing you upon this occasion, and, according to the directions of my\ndear lord, bid you heartily welcome to this house, as his preserver and\nfriend. I was not unacquainted with your character before this last\ntriumph of your virtue, and have often prayed to Heaven for some lucky\ndetermination of that fatal quarrel which raged so long between the\nfamily of Gonzales and your father's house. My prayers have been heard,\nthe long-wished-for reconciliation is now effected, and I hope nothing\nwill ever intervene to disturb this happy union.\"\n\nTo this polite and affectionate declaration, I made such a reply as\nbecame a young man, whose heart overflowed with joy and benevolence, and\ndesired to know how soon her answer to my commander would be ready, that\nI might gratify his impatience with all possible despatch. After having\nthanked me for this fresh proof of my attachment, she begged I would\nretire into a chamber, and repose myself from the uncommon fatigues I\nmust have undergone; but, finding I persisted in the resolution of\nreturning to Don Gonzales, without allowing myself the least benefit of\nsleep, she left me engaged in conversation with an uncle of Don Gonzales,\nwho lodged in the house, and gave orders that a collation should be\nprepared in another apartment, while she retired to her closet, and wrote\na letter to her husband.\n\nIn less than an hour from my first arrival, I was introduced into a most\nelegant dining-room, where a magnificent entertainment was served up, and\nwhere we were joined by Donna Estifania, and her beautiful daughter the\nfair Antonia, who, advancing with the most amiable sweetness, thanked me\nin very warm expressions of acknowledgment, for the generosity of my\nconduct towards her father. I had been ravished with her first\nappearance, which far exceeded my imagination, and my faculties were so\ndisordered by this address, that I answered her compliment with the most\nawkward confusion. But this disorder did not turn to my prejudice in the\nopinion of that lovely creature, who has often told me in the sequel,\nthat she gave herself credit for that perplexity in my behaviour, and\nthat I never appeared more worthy of her regard and affection than at\nthat juncture, when my dress was discomposed, and my whole person\ndisfigured by the toils and duty of the preceding day; for this very\ndishabille presented itself to her reflection as the immediate effect of\nthat very merit by which I was entitled to her esteem.\n\nWretch that I am! to survive the loss of such an excellent woman,\nendeared to my remembrance by the most tender offices of wedlock, happily\nexercised for the space of five-and-twenty years! Forgive these tears;\nthey are not the drops of weakness, but remorse. Not to trouble you with\nidle particulars, suffice it is to say, I was favoured with such marks of\ndistinction by Madame d'Orgullo, that she thought it incumbent upon her\nto let me know she had not overacted her hospitality, and, while we sat\nat table, accosted me in these words: \"You will not be surprised, Don\nDiego, at my expressions of regard, which I own are unusual from a\nSpanish lady to a young cavalier like you, when I communicate the\ncontents of this letter from Don Gonzales.\" So saying, she put the\nbillet into my hand, and I read these words, or words to this effect:--\n\n\"AMIABLE ESTIFANIA,--You will understand that I am as well as a person\ncan possibly be who hath this day lived to see the army of his king\ndefeated. If you would know the particulars of this unfortunate action,\nyour curiosity will be gratified by the bearer, Don Diego de Zelos, to\nwhose virtue and bravery I am twice indebted for my life. I therefore\ndesire you will receive him with that respect and gratitude which you\nshall think due for such an obligation; and, in entertaining him, dismiss\nthat reserve which often disgraces the Spanish hospitality. In a word,\nlet your own virtue and beneficence conduct you upon this occasion, and\nlet my Antonia's endeavours be joined with your own in doing honour to\nthe preserver of her father! Adieu.\"\n\nSuch a testimonial could not fail of being very agreeable to a young\nsoldier, who by this time had begun to indulge the transporting hope of\nbeing happy in the arms of the adorable Antonia. I professed myself\nextremely happy in having met with an opportunity of acquiring such a\ndegree of my colonel's esteem, entertained them with a detail of his\npersonal prowess in the battle, and answered all their questions with\nthat moderation which every man ought to preserve in speaking of his own\nbehaviour. Our repast being ended, I took my leave of the ladies, and at\nparting received a letter from Donna Estifania to her husband, together\nwith a ring of great value, which she begged I would accept, as a token\nof her esteem. Thus loaded with honour and caresses, I set out on my\nreturn for the quarters of Don Gonzales, who could scarce credit his own\neyes when I delivered his lady's billet; for he thought it impossible to\nperform such a journey in so short a time.\n\nWhen he had glanced over the paper, \"Don Diego,\" said he, \"by your short\nstay one would imagine you had met with indifferent reception at my\nhouse. I hope Estifania has not been deficient in her duty?\" I answered\nthis question, by assuring him my entertainment had been so agreeable in\nall respects, that nothing but my duty to him could have induced me to\ngive it up so soon. He then turned the conversation upon Antonia, and\nhinted his intention of giving her in marriage to a young cavalier, for\nwhom he had a particular friendship. I was so much affected by this\ninsinuation, which seemed at once to blast all my hopes of love and\nhappiness, that the blood forsook my face; I was seized with an universal\ntrepidation, and even obliged to retire, on pretence of being suddenly\ntaken ill.\n\nThough Gonzales seemed to impute this disorder to fatigue and want of\nrest, he in his heart ascribed it to the true cause; and, after having\nsounded my sentiments to his own satisfaction, blessed me with a\ndeclaration, importing, that I was the person upon whom he had pitched\nfor a son-in-law. I will not trouble you with a repetition of what\npassed on this interesting occasion, but proceed to observe, that his\nintention in my favour was far from being disagreeable to his lady; and\nthat, in a little time, I had the good fortune to espouse the charming\nAntonia, who submitted to the will of her father without reluctance.\n\nSoon after this happy event, I was, by the influence of Don Gonzales,\njoined to my own interest, promoted to the command of a regiment, and\nserved with honour during the remaining part of the war. After the\ntreaty of Utrecht, I was employed in reducing the Catalans to their\nallegiance; and, in an action with those obstinate rebels had the\nmisfortune to lose my father-in-law, who by that time was preferred to\nthe rank of a major-general. The virtuous Estifania did not long survive\nthis melancholy accident; and the loss of these indulgent parents made\nsuch a deep impression upon the tender heart of my Antonia, that I took\nthe first opportunity of removing her from a place in which every object\nserved to cherish her grief, to a pleasant villa near the city of\nSeville, which I purchased on account of its agreeable situation. That I\nmight the more perfectly enjoy the possession of my amiable partner, who\ncould no longer brook the thoughts of another separation, peace was no\nsooner re-established than I obtained leave to resign my commission, and\nI wholly devoted myself to the joys of a domestic life.\n\nHeaven seemed to smile upon our union, by blessing us with a son, whom,\nhowever, it was pleased to recall in his infancy, to our unspeakable\ngrief and mortification; but our mutual chagrin was afterwards alleviated\nby the birth of a daughter, who seemed born with every accomplishment to\nexcite the love and admiration of mankind. Why did nature debase such a\nmasterpiece with the mixture of an alloy, which hath involved herself and\nher whole family in perdition? But the ways of Providence are\nunsearchable. She hath paid the debt of her degeneracy; peace be with\nher soul! The honour of my family is vindicated; though by a sacrifice\nwhich hath robbed me of everything else that is valuable in life, and\nruined my peace past all redemption. Yes, my friend, all the tortures\nthat human tyranny can inflict would be ease, tranquillity, and delight,\nto the unspeakable pangs and horrors I have felt.\n\nBut, to return from this digression.--Serafina, which was the name of\nthat little darling, as she grew up, not only disclosed all the natural\ngraces of external beauty, but likewise manifested the most engaging\nsweetness of disposition, and a capacity for acquiring with ease all the\naccomplishments of her sex. It is impossible to convey any adequate idea\nof a parent's raptures in the contemplation of such a fair blossom. She\nwas the only pledge of our love, she was presumptive heiress to a large\nfortune, and likely to be the sole representative of two noble Castilian\nfamilies. She was the delight of all who saw her, and a theme of praise\nfor every tongue. You are not to suppose that the education of such a\nchild was neglected. Indeed, it wholly engrossed the attention of me and\nmy Antonia, and her proficiency rewarded our care. Before she had\nattained the age of fifteen, she was mistress of every elegant\nqualification, natural and acquired. Her person was, by that time, the\nconfessed pattern of beauty. Her voice was enchantingly sweet, and she\ntouched the lute with the most ravishing dexterity. Heaven and earth!\nhow did my breast dilate with joy at the thoughts of having given birth\nto such perfection! how did my heart gush with paternal fondness,\nwhenever I beheld this ornament of my name! and what scenes of endearing\ntransport have I enjoyed with my Antonia, in mutual congratulation upon\nour parental happiness!\n\nSerafina, accomplished as she was, could not fail to make conquests among\nthe Spanish cavaliers, who are famous for sensibility in love. Indeed,\nshe never appeared without a numerous train of admirers; and though we\nhad bred her up in that freedom of conversation and intercourse which\nholds a middle space between the French licence and Spanish restraint,\nshe was now so much exposed to the addresses of promiscuous gallantry,\nthat we found it necessary to retrench the liberty of our house, and\nbehave to our male visitants with great reserve and circumspection, that\nour honour and peace might run no risk from the youth and inexperience of\nour daughter.\n\nThis caution produced overtures from a great many young gentlemen of rank\nand distinction, who courted my alliance, by demanding Serafina in\nmarriage; and from the number I had actually selected one person, who was\nin all respects worthy the possession of such an inestimable prize. His\nname was Don Manuel de Mendoza. His birth was noble, and his character\ndignified with repeated acts of generosity and virtue. Yet, before I\nwould signify to him my approbation of his suit, I resolved to inform\nmyself whether or not the heart of Serafina was totally unengaged, and\nindifferent to any other object, that I might not lay a tyrannical\nrestraint upon her inclinations. The result of my inquiry was a full\nconviction of her having hitherto been deaf to the voice of love; and\nthis piece of information, together with my own sentiments in his favour,\nI communicated to Don Manuel, who heard these tidings with transports of\ngratitude and joy. He was immediately favoured with opportunities of\nacquiring the affection of my daughter, and his endeavours were at first\nreceived with such respectful civility, as might have been easily warmed\ninto a mutual passion, had not the evil genius of our family interposed.\n\nO my friend! how shall I describe the depravity of that unhappy virgin's\nsentiments! how recount the particulars of my own dishonour! I that am\ndescended from a long line of illustrious Castilians, who never received\nan injury they did not revenge, but washed away every blemish in their\nfame with the blood of those who attempted to stain it! In that\ncircumstance I have imitated the example of my glorious progenitors, and\nthat consideration alone hath supported me against all the assaults of\ndespair.\n\nAs I grudged no pains and expense in perfecting the education of\nSerafina, my doors were open to every person who made an extraordinary\nfigure in the profession of those amusing sciences in which she\ndelighted. The house of Don Diego de Zelos was a little academy for\npainting, poetry, and music; and Heaven decreed that it should fall a\nsacrifice to its regard for these fatal and delusive arts. Among other\npreceptors, it was her fate to be under the instruction of a cursed\nGerman, who, though his profession was drawing, understood the elements\nand theory of music, possessed a large fund of learning and taste, and\nwas a person remarkable for his agreeable conversation. This traitor,\nwho like you had lost one eye, I not only admitted into my house for the\nimprovement of my daughter, but even distinguished with particular marks\nof confidence and favour, little thinking he had either inclination or\ncapacity to debauch the sentiments of my child. I was rejoiced beyond\nmeasure to see with what alacrity she received his lessons, with what\navidity she listened to his discourse, which was always equally moral,\ninstructing, and entertaining.\n\nAntonia seemed to vie with me in expressions of regard for this\naccomplished stranger, whom she could not help supposing to be a person\nof rank and family, reduced to his present situation by some unfortunate\nvicissitude of fate. I was disposed to concur with this opinion, and\nactually conjured him to make me his confidant, with such protestations\nas left him no room to doubt my honour and beneficence; but he still\npersisted in declaring himself the son of an obscure mechanic in Bohemia;\nan origin to which surely no man would pretend who had the least claim to\nnobility of birth. While I was thus undeceived in my conjecture touching\nhis birth and quality, I was confirmed in an opinion of his integrity and\nmoderation, and looked upon him as a man of honour, in despite of the\nlowness of his pedigree. Nevertheless, he was at bottom a most\nperfidious wretch, and all this modesty and self-denial were the effects\nof the most villanous dissimulation, a cloak under which he, unsuspected,\nrobbed me of my honour and my peace.\n\nNot to trouble you with particulars, the recital of which would tear my\nheart-strings with indignation and remorse, I shall only observe, that,\nby the power of his infernal insinuation, he fascinated the heart of\nSerafina, brought over Antonia herself to the interests of his passion,\nand at once detached them both from their duty and religion. Heaven and\nearth! how dangerous, how irresistible is the power of infatuation!\nWhile I remained in the midst of this blind security, waiting for the\nnuptials of my daughter, and indulging myself with the vain prospect of\nher approaching felicity, Antonia found means to protract the\nnegotiations of the marriage, by representing that it would be a pity to\ndeprive Serafina of the opportunity she then had of profiting by the\nGerman's instructions; and, upon that account, I prevailed upon Don\nManuel to bridle the impatience of his love.\n\nDuring this interval, as I one evening enjoyed the cool air in my own\ngarden, I was accosted by an old duenna, who had been my nurse and lived\nin the family since the time of my childhood.--\"My duty,\" said she, \"will\nno longer permit me to wink in silence at the wrongs I see you daily\nsuffer. Dismiss that German from your house without delay, if you\nrespect the glory of your name, and the rights of our holy religion; the\nstranger is an abominable heretic; and, grant Heaven! he may not have\nalready poisoned the minds of those you hold most dear.\" I had been\nextremely alarmed at the beginning of this address; but, finding the\nimputation limited to the article of religion, in which, thank God, I am\nno bigot, I recovered my serenity of disposition, thanked the old woman\nfor her zeal, commended her piety, and encouraged her to persevere in\nmaking observations on such subjects as should concern my honour and my\nquiet.\n\nWe live in such a world of wickedness and fraud, that a man cannot be too\nvigilant in his own defence: had I employed such spies from the\nbeginning, I should in all probability have been at this day in\npossession of every comfort that renders life agreeable. The duenna,\nthus authorised, employed her sagacity with such success, that I had\nreason to suspect the German of a design upon the heart of Serafina; but,\nas the presumptions did not amount to conviction, I contented myself with\nexiling him from my house, under the pretext of having discovered that he\nwas an enemy to the Catholic church; and forthwith appointed a day for\nthe celebration of my daughter's marriage with Don Manuel de Mendoza. I\ncould easily perceive a cloud of melancholy overspread the faces of\nSerafina and her mother, when I declared these my resolutions; but, as\nthey made no objection to what I proposed, I did not at that time enter\ninto an explanation of the true motives that influenced my conduct. Both\nparties were probably afraid of such expostulation.\n\nMeanwhile, preparations were made for the espousals of Serafina; and,\nnotwithstanding the anxiety I had undergone, on account of her connexion\nwith the German, I began to think that her duty, her glory, had triumphed\nover all such low-born considerations, if ever they had been entertained;\nbecause she, and even Antonia, seemed to expect the ceremony with\nresignation, though the features of both still retained evident marks of\nconcern, which I willingly imputed to the mutual prospect of their\nseparation. This, however, was but a faithless calm, that soon, ah! too\nsoon, brought forth a tempest which hath wrecked my hopes.\n\nTwo days before the appointed union of Don Manuel and Serafina, I was\ninformed by the duenna, that, while she accompanied Antonia's\nwaiting-maid at church, she had seen her receive a billet from an old\nwoman, who, kneeling at her side, had conveyed it in such a mysterious\nmanner, as awakened the duenna's apprehensions about her young lady; she\nhad therefore hastened home to communicate this piece of intelligence,\nthat I might have an opportunity of examining the messenger before she\ncould have time to deposit her trust. I could not help shivering with\nfearful presages upon this occasion, and even abhorring the person to\nwhose duty and zeal I was beholden for the intelligence, even while I\nendeavoured to persuade myself that the inquiry would end in the\ndetection of some paltry intrigue between the maid and her own gallant.\nI intercepted her in returning from church, and, commanding her to follow\nme to a convenient place, extorted from her, by dint of threats, the\nfatal letter, which I read to this effect:--\n\n\"The whole business of my life, O divine Serafina! will be to repay that\naffection I have been so happy as to engage. With what transport then\nshall I obey your summons, in performing that enterprise, which will\nrescue you from the bed of a detested rival, and put myself in full\npossession of a jewel which I value infinitely more than life! Yes,\nadorable creature! I have provided everything for our escape, and at\nmidnight will attend you in your own apartment, from whence you shall be\nconveyed into a land of liberty and peace, where you will, unmolested,\nenjoy the purity of that religion you have espoused, and in full security\nbless the arms of your ever faithful, ORLANDO.\"\n\nWere you a fond parent, a tender husband, and a noble Castilian, I should\nnot need to mention the unutterable horrors that took possession of my\nbosom, when I perused this accursed letter, by which I learned the\napostasy, disobedience, and degeneracy of my idolised Serafina, who had\noverthrown and destroyed the whole plan of felicity which I had erected,\nand blasted all the glories of my name; and when the wretched messenger,\nterrified by my menaces and agitation, confessed that Antonia herself was\nprivy to the guilt of her daughter, whom she had solemnly betrothed to\nthat vile German, in the sight of Heaven, and that by her connivance this\nplebeian intended, that very night, to bereave me of my child, I was for\nsome moments stupefied with grief and amazement, that gave way to an\necstasy of rage, which had well-nigh terminated in despair and\ndistraction.\n\nI now tremble, and my head grows giddy with the remembrance of that\ndreadful occasion. Behold how the drops trickle down my forehead; this\nagony is a fierce and familiar visitant; I shall banish it anon. I\nsummoned my pride, my resentment, to my assistance; these are the\ncordials that support me against all other reflections; those were the\nauxiliaries that enabled me, in the day of trial, to perform that\nsacrifice which my honour demanded, in a strain so loud as to drown the\ncries of nature, love, and compassion. Yes, they espoused that glory\nwhich humanity would have betrayed, and my revenge was noble, though\nunnatural.\n\nMy scheme was soon laid, my resolution soon taken; I privately confined\nthe wretch who had been the industrious slave of this infamous\nconspiracy, that she might take no step to frustrate or interrupt the\nexecution of my design. Then repairing to the house of an apothecary who\nwas devoted to my service, communicated my intention, which he durst not\ncondemn, and could not reveal, without breaking the oath of secrecy I had\nimposed; and he furnished me with two vials of poison for the dismal\ncatastrophe I had planned. Thus provided, I, on pretence of sudden\nbusiness at Seville, carefully avoided the dear, the wretched pair, whom\nI had devoted to death, that my heart might not relent, by means of those\ntender ideas which the sight of them would have infallibly inspired; and,\nwhen daylight vanished, took my station near that part of the house\nthrough which the villain must have entered on his hellish purpose.\nThere I stood, in a state of horrid expectation, my soul ravaged with the\ndifferent passions that assailed it, until the fatal moment arrived; when\nI perceived the traitor approach the window of a lower apartment, which\nled into that of Serafina, and gently lifting the casement, which was\npurposely left unsecured, insinuated half of his body into the house.\nThen rushing upon him, in a transport of fury, I plunged my sword into\nhis heart, crying, \"Villain! receive the reward of thy treachery and\npresumption.\"\n\nThe steel was so well aimed as to render a repetition of the stroke\nunnecessary; he uttered one groan, and fell breathless at my feet.\nExulting with this first success of my revenge, I penetrated into the\nchamber where the robber of my peace was expected by the unhappy Serafina\nand her mother, who, seeing me enter with a most savage aspect, and a\nsword reeking with the vengeance I had taken, seemed almost petrified\nwith fear. \"Behold,\" said I, \"the blood of that base plebeian, who made\nan attempt upon the honour of my house; your conspiracy against the\nunfortunate Don Diego de Zelos is now discovered; that presumptuous\nslave, the favoured Orlando, is now no more.\"\n\nScarce had I pronounced these words, when a loud scream was uttered by\nboth the unhappy victims. \"If Orlando is slain,\" cried the infatuated\nSerafina, \"what have I to do with life? O my dear lord! my husband, and\nmy lover! how are our promised joys at once cut off! here, strike, my\nfather! complete your barbarous sacrifice! the spirit of the murdered\nOrlando still hovers for his wife.\" These frantic exclamations, in which\nshe was joined by Antonia, kept up the fury of my resentment, which by\nmeekness and submission might have been weakened and rendered\nineffectual. \"Yes, hapless wretches,\" I replied, \"ye shall enjoy your\nwish: the honour of my name requires that both shall die; yet I will not\nmangle the breast of Antonia, on which I have so often reposed; I will\nnot shed the blood of Zelos, nor disfigure the beauteous form of\nSerafina, on which I have so often gazed with wonder and unspeakable\ndelight. Here is an elixir, to which I trust the consummation of my\nrevenge.\"\n\nSo saying, I emptied the vials into separate cups, and, presenting one in\neach hand, the miserable, the fair offenders instantly received the\ndestined draughts, which they drank without hesitation; then praying to\nheaven for the wretched Don Diego, sunk upon the same couch, and expired\nwithout a groan. O well-contrived beverage! O happy composition, by\nwhich all the miseries of life are so easily cured!\n\nSuch was the fate of Antonia and Serafina; these hands were the\ninstruments that deprived them of life, these eyes beheld them the\nrichest prize that death had ever won. Powers supreme! does Don Diego\nlive to make this recapitulation? I have done my duty; but ah! I am\nhaunted by the furies of remorse; I am tortured with the incessant stings\nof remembrance and regret; even now the images of my wife and daughter\npresent themselves to my imagination. All the scenes of happiness I have\nenjoyed as a lover, husband, and parent, all the endearing hopes I have\ncherished, now pass in review before me, embittering the circumstances of\nmy inexpressible woe; and I consider myself as a solitary outcast from\nall the comforts of society. But, enough of these unmanly complaints;\nthe yearnings of nature are too importunate.\n\nHaving completed my vengeance, I retired into my closet, and, furnishing\nmyself with some ready money and jewels of considerable value, went into\nthe stable, saddled my favourite steed, which I instantly mounted, and,\nbefore the tumults of my breast subsided, found myself at the town of St.\nLucar. There I learned from inquiry, that there was a Dutch bark in the\nharbour ready to sail; upon which I addressed myself to the master, who,\nfor a suitable gratification, was prevailed upon to weigh anchor that\nsame night; so that, embarking without delay, I soon bid eternal adieu to\nmy native country. It was not from reason and reflection that I took\nthese measures for my personal safety; but, in consequence of an\ninvoluntary instinct, that seems to operate in the animal machine, while\nthe faculty of thinking is suspended.\n\nTo what a dreadful reckoning was I called, when reason resumed her\nfunction! You may believe me, my friend, when I assure you, that I\nshould not have outlived those tragedies I acted, had I not been\nrestrained from doing violence upon myself by certain considerations,\nwhich no man of honour ought to set aside. I could not bear the thought\nof falling ingloriously by the hand of an executioner, and entailing\ndisgrace upon a family that knew no stain; and I was deterred from\nputting an end to my own misery, by the apprehension of posthumous\ncensure, which would have represented me as a desponding wretch, utterly\ndestitute of that patience, fortitude, and resignation, which are the\ncharacteristics of a true Castilian. I was also influenced by religious\nmotives that suggested to me the necessity of living to atone, by my\nsufferings and sorrow, for the guilt I had incurred in complying with a\nsavage punctilio, which is, I fear, displeasing in the sight of Heaven.\n\nThese were the reasons that opposed my entrance into that peaceful\nharbour which death presented to my view; and they were soon reinforced\nby another principle that sanctioned my determination to continue at the\nservile oar of life. In consequence of unfavourable winds, our vessel\nfor some days made small progress in her voyage to Holland, and near the\ncoast of Gallicia we were joined by an English ship from Vigo, the master\nof which gave us to understand, that before he set sail, a courier had\narrived from Madrid at that place, with orders for the corregidore to\nprevent the escape of any native Spaniard by sea from any port within his\ndistrict; and to use his utmost endeavours to apprehend the person of Don\nDiego de Zelos, who was suspected of treasonable practices against the\nstate. Such an order, with a minute description of my person, was at the\nsame time despatched to all the seaports and frontier places in Spain.\n\nYou may easily suppose how I, who was already overwhelmed with distress,\ncould bear this aggravation of misfortune and disgrace: I, who had always\nmaintained the reputation of loyalty, which was acquired at the hazard of\nmy life, and the expense of my blood. To deal candidly, I must own, that\nthis intelligence roused me from a lethargy of grief which had begun to\noverpower my faculties. I immediately imputed this dishonourable charge\nto the evil offices of some villain, who had basely taken the advantage\nof my deplorable situation, and I was inflamed, inspirited with the\ndesire of vindicating my fame, and revenging the injury. Thus animated,\nI resolved to disguise myself effectually from the observation of those\nspies which every nation finds its account in employing in foreign\ncountries; I purchased this habit from the Dutch navigator, in whose\nhouse I kept myself concealed, after our arrival at Amsterdam, until my\nbeard was grown to a sufficient length to favour my design, and then\nappeared as a Persian dealer in jewels. As I could gain no satisfactory\ninformation touching myself in this country, had no purpose to pursue,\nand was extremely miserable among a people, who, being mercenary and\nunsocial, were very ill adapted to alleviate the horrors of my condition,\nI gratified my landlord for his important services, with the best part of\nmy effects; and having, by his means, procured a certificate from the\nmagistracy, repaired to Rotterdam, from whence I set out in a travelling\ncarriage for Antwerp, on my way to this capital; hoping, with a\nsuccession of different objects, to mitigate the anguish of my mind, and\nby the most industrious inquiry, to learn such particulars of that false\nimpeachment, as would enable me to take measures for my own\njustification, as well as for projecting a plan of revenge against the\nvile perfidious author.\n\nThis, I imagined, would be no difficult task, considering the friendship\nand intercourse subsisting between the Spanish and French nations, and\nthe communicative disposition for which the Parisians are renowned; but I\nhave found myself egregiously deceived in my expectation. The officers\nof police in this city are so inquisitive and vigilant that the most\nminute action of a stranger is scrutinised with great severity; and,\nalthough the inhabitants are very frank in discoursing on indifferent\nsubjects, they are at the same time extremely cautious in avoiding all\nconversation that turns upon state occurrences and maxims of government.\nIn a word, the peculiarity of my appearance subjects me so much to\nparticular observation, that I have hitherto thought proper to devour my\ngriefs in silence, and even to bear the want of almost every convenience,\nrather than hazard a premature discovery, by offering my jewels to sale.\n\nIn this emergency I have been so far fortunate as to become acquainted\nwith you, whom I look upon as a man of honour and humanity. Indeed, I\nwas at first sight prepossessed in your favour, for, notwithstanding the\nmistakes which men daily commit in judging from appearances, there is\nsomething in the physiognomy of a stranger from which one cannot help\nforming an opinion of his character and disposition. For once, my\npenetration hath not failed me; your behaviour justifies my decision; you\nhave treated me with that sympathy and respect which none but the\ngenerous will pay to the unfortunate. I have trusted you accordingly. I\nhave put my life, my honour, in your power; and I must beg leave to\ndepend upon your friendship, for obtaining that satisfaction for which\nalone I seek to live. Your employment engages you in the gay world; you\ndaily mingle with the societies of men; the domestics of the Spanish\nambassador will not shun your acquaintance; you may frequent the\ncoffee-houses to which they resort; and, in the course of these\noccasions, unsuspected inform yourself of that mysterious charge which\nlies heavy on the fame of the unfortunate Don Diego. I must likewise\nimplore your assistance in converting my jewels into money, that I may\nbreathe independent of man, until Heaven shall permit me to finish this\nweary pilgrimage of life.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN\n\nA FLAGRANT INSTANCE OF FATHOM'S VIRTUE, IN THE MANNER OF HIS RETREAT TO\nENGLAND.\n\n\nFathom, who had lent an attentive ear to every circumstance of this\ndisastrous story, no sooner heard it concluded, than, with an aspect of\ngenerous and cordial compassion, not even unattended with tears, he\ncondoled the lamentable fate of Don Diego de Zelos, deplored the untimely\ndeath of the gentle Antonia and the fair Serafina, and undertook the\ninterest of the wretched Castilian with such warmth of sympathising zeal,\nas drew a flood from his eyes, while he wrung his benefactor's hand in a\ntransport of gratitude. Those were literally tears of joy, or at least\nof satisfaction, on both sides; as our hero wept with affection and\nattachment to the jewels that were to be committed to his care; but, far\nfrom discovering the true source of his tenderness, he affected to\ndissuade the Spaniard from parting with the diamonds, which he counselled\nhim to reserve for a more pressing occasion; and, in the meantime,\nearnestly entreated him to depend upon his friendship for present relief.\n\nThis generous proffer served only to confirm Don Diego's resolution,\nwhich he forthwith executed, by putting into the hands of Ferdinand\njewels to the value of a thousand crowns, and desiring him to detain for\nhis own use any part of the sum they would raise. Our adventurer thanked\nhim for the good opinion he entertained of his integrity, an opinion\nfully manifested in honouring him with such important confidence, and\nassured him he would transact his affairs with the utmost diligence,\ncaution, and despatch. The evening being by this time almost consumed,\nthese new allies retired separately to rest; though each passed the night\nwithout repose, in very different reflections, the Castilian being, as\nusual, agitated with the unceasing pangs of his unalterable misery,\ninterspersed with gleaming hopes of revenge; and Fathom being kept awake\nwith revolving plans for turning his fellow-lodger's credulity to his own\nadvantage. From the nature of the Spaniard's situation, he might have\nappropriated the jewels to himself, and remained in Paris without fear of\na prosecution, because the injured party had, by the above narrative,\nleft his life and liberty at discretion.--But he did not think himself\nsecure from the personal resentment of an enraged desperate Castilian;\nand therefore determined to withdraw himself privately into that country\nwhere he had all along proposed to fix the standard of his finesse, which\nfortune had now empowered him to exercise according to his wish.\n\nBent upon this retreat, he went abroad in the morning, on pretence of\nacting in the concerns of his friend Don Diego, and having hired a\npost-chaise to be ready at the dawning of next day, returned to his\nlodgings, where he cajoled the Spaniard with a feigned report of his\nnegotiation; then, securing his most valuable effects about his person,\narose with the cock, repaired to the place at which he had appointed to\nmeet the postillion with the carriage, and set out for England without\nfurther delay, leaving the unhappy Zelos to the horrors of indigence, and\nthe additional agony of this fresh disappointment. Yet he was not the\nonly person affected by the abrupt departure of Fathom, which was\nhastened by the importunities, threats, and reproaches of his landlord's\ndaughter, whom he had debauched under promise of marriage, and now left\nin the fourth month of her pregnancy.\n\nNotwithstanding the dangerous adventure in which he had been formerly\ninvolved by travelling in the night, he did not think proper to make the\nusual halts on this journey, for sleep or refreshment, nor did he once\nquit the chaise till his arrival at Boulogne, which he reached in twenty\nhours after his departure from Paris. Here he thought he might safely\nindulge himself with a comfortable meal; accordingly he bespoke a poulard\nfor dinner, and while that was preparing, went forth to view the city and\nharbour. When he beheld the white cliffs of Albion, his heart throbbed\nwith all the joy of a beloved son, who, after a tedious and fatiguing\nvoyage, reviews the chimneys of his father's house. He surveyed the\nneighbouring coast of England with fond and longing eyes, like another\nMoses, reconnoitring the land of Canaan from the top of Mount Pisgah; and\nto such a degree of impatience was he inflamed by the sight, that,\ninstead of proceeding to Calais, he resolved to take his passage directly\nfrom Boulogne, even if he should hire a vessel for the purpose. With\nthese sentiments, he inquired if there was any ship bound for England,\nand was so fortunate as to find the master of a small bark, who intended\nto weigh anchor for Deal that same evening at high water.\n\nTransported with this information, he immediately agreed for his passage,\nsold the post-chaise to his landlord for thirty guineas, as a piece of\nfurniture for which he could have no further use, purchased a\nportmanteau, together with some linen and wearing apparel, and, at the\nrecommendation of his host, took into his service an extra postillion or\nhelper, who had formerly worn the livery of a travelling marquis. This\nnew domestic, whose name was Maurice, underwent, with great applause, the\nexamination of our hero, who perceived in him a fund of sagacity and\npresence of mind, by which he was excellently qualified for being the\nvalet of an adventurer. He was therefore accommodated with a second-hand\nsuit and another shirt, and at once listed under the banners of Count\nFathom, who spent the whole afternoon in giving him proper instructions\nfor the regulation of his conduct.\n\nHaving settled these preliminaries to his own satisfaction, he and his\nbaggage were embarked about six o'clock in the month of September, and it\nwas not without emotion that he found himself benighted upon the great\ndeep, of which, before the preceding day, he had never enjoyed even the\nmost distant prospect. However, he was not a man to be afraid, where\nthere was really no appearance of danger; and the agreeable presages of\nfuture fortune supported his spirits, amidst the disagreeable nausea\nwhich commonly attends landsmen at sea, until he was set ashore upon the\nbeach at Deal, which he entered in good health about seven o'clock in the\nmorning.\n\nLike Caesar, however, he found some difficulty in landing, on account of\nthe swelling surf, that tumbled about with such violence as had almost\noverset the cutter that carried him on shore; and, in his eagerness to\njump upon the strand, his foot slipped from the side of the boat, so that\nhe was thrown forwards in an horizontal direction, and his hands were the\nfirst parts of him that touched English ground. Upon this occasion, he,\nin imitation of Scipio's behaviour on the coast of Africa, hailed the\nomen, and, grasping a handful of the sand, was heard to exclaim, in the\nItalian language: \"Ah, ah, Old England, I have thee fast.\"\n\nAs he walked up to the inn, followed by Maurice loaded with his\nportmanteau, he congratulated himself upon his happy voyage, and the\npeaceable possession of his spoil, and could not help snuffing up the\nBritish air with marks of infinite relish and satisfaction. His first\ncare was to recompense himself for the want of sleep he had undergone,\nand, after he had sufficiently recruited himself with several hours of\nuninterrupted repose, he set out in a post-chaise for Canterbury, where\nhe took a place in the London stage, which he was told would depart next\nmorning, the coach being already full. On this very first day of his\narrival, he perceived between the English and the people among whom he\nhad hitherto lived, such essential difference in customs, appearance, and\nway of living, as inspired him with high notions of that British freedom,\nopulence, and convenience, on which he had often heard his mother\nexpatiate. On the road, he feasted his eyesight with the verdant hills\ncovered with flocks of sheep, the fruitful vales parcelled out into\ncultivated enclosures; the very cattle seemed to profit by the wealth of\ntheir masters, being large, sturdy, and sleek, and every peasant breathed\nthe insolence of liberty and independence. In a word, he viewed the\nwide-extended plains of Kent with a lover's eye, and, his ambition\nbecoming romantic, could not help fancying himself another conqueror of\nthe isle.\n\nHe was not, however, long amused by these vain chimeras, which soon\nvanished before other reflections of more importance and solidity. His\nimagination, it must be owned, was at all times too chaste to admit those\noverweening hopes, which often mislead the mind of the projector. He had\nstudied mankind with incredible diligence, and knew perfectly well how\nfar he could depend on the passions and foibles of human nature. That he\nmight now act consistent with his former sagacity, he resolved to pass\nhimself upon his fellow-travellers for a French gentleman, equally a\nstranger to the language and country of England, in order to glean from\ntheir discourse such intelligence as might avail him in his future\noperations; and his lacquey was tutored accordingly.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT\n\nSOME ACCOUNT OF HIS FELLOW-TRAVELLERS.\n\n\nThose who had taken places for the coach, understanding the sixth seat\nwas engaged by a foreigner, determined to profit by his ignorance; and,\nwith that politeness which is peculiar to this happy island, fixed\nthemselves in the vehicle, in such a manner, before he had the least\nintimation of their design, that he found it barely practicable to\ninsinuate himself sidelong between a corpulent quaker and a fat Wapping\nlandlady, in which attitude he stuck fast, like a thin quarto between two\nvoluminous dictionaries on a bookseller's shelf. And, as if the pain and\ninconvenience of such compression was not sufficient matter of chagrin,\nthe greatest part of the company entertained themselves with laughing at\nhis ludicrous station.\n\nThe jolly dame at his left hand observed, with a loud exclamation of\nmirth, that monsieur would be soon better acquainted with a buttock of\nEnglish beef; and said, by that time they should arrive at their\ndining-place, he might be spitted without larding. \"Yes, verily,\"\nreplied Obadiah, who was a wag in his way, \"but the swine's fat will be\nall on one side.\"--\"So much the better for you,\" cried mine hostess, \"for\nthat side is all your own.\" The quaker was not so much disconcerted by\nthe quickness of this repartee, but that he answered with great\ndeliberation, \"I thank thee for thy love, but will not profit by thy\nloss, especially as I like not the savour of these outlandish fowls; they\nare profane birds of passage, relished only by the children of vanity,\nlike thee.\"\n\nThe plump gentlewoman took umbrage at this last expression, which she\nconsidered as a double reproach, and repeated the words, \"Children of\nvanity!\" with an emphasis of resentment. \"I believe, if the truth were\nknown,\" said she, \"there's more vanity than midriff in that great belly\nof yours, for all your pretending to humility and religion. Sirrah! my\ncorporation is made up of good, wholesome, English fat; but you are\npuffed up with the wind of vanity and delusion; and when it begins to\ngripe your entrails, you pretend to have a motion, and then get up and\npreach nonsense. Yet you'll take it upon you to call your betters\nchildren. Marry come up, Mr. Goosecap, I have got children that are as\ngood men as you, or any hypocritical trembler in England.\"\n\nA person who sat opposite to the quaker, hearing this remonstrance, which\nseemed pregnant with contention, interposed in the conversation with a\nconscious leer, and begged there might be no rupture between the spirit\nand the flesh. By this remonstrance he relieved Obadiah from the satire\nof this female orator, and brought the whole vengeance of her elocution\nupon his own head. \"Flesh!\" cried she, with all the ferocity of an\nenraged Thalestris; \"none of your names, Mr. Yellowchaps. What! I\nwarrant you have an antipathy to flesh, because you yourself are nothing\nbut skin and bone. I suppose you are some poor starved journeyman tailor\ncome from France, where you have been learning to cabbage, and have not\nseen a good meal of victuals these seven years. You have been living\nupon rye-bread and soup-maigre, and now you come over like a walking\natomy with a rat's tail at your wig, and a tinsey jacket. And so,\nforsooth, you set up for a gentleman, and pretend to find fault with a\nsirloin of roast beef.\"\n\nThe gentleman heard this address with admirable patience, and when she\nhad rung out her alarm, very coolly replied, \"Anything but your stinking\nfish madam. Since when, I pray, have you travelled in stage-coaches, and\nleft off your old profession of crying oysters in winter, and rotten\nmackerel in June? You was then known by the name of Kate Brawn, and in\ngood repute among the ale-houses in Thames Street, till that unlucky\namour with the master of a corn-vessel, in which he was unfortunately\ndetected by his own spouse; but you seem to have risen by that fall; and\nI wish you joy of your present plight. Though, considering your\neducation on Bear Quay, you can give but a sorry account of yourself.\"\n\nThe Amazon, though neither exhausted nor dismayed, was really confounded\nat the temper and assurance of this antagonist, who had gathered all\nthese anecdotes from the fertility of his own invention; after a short\npause, however, she poured forth a torrent of obloquy sufficient to\noverwhelm any person who had not been used to take up arms against such\nseas of trouble; and a dispute ensued, which would have not only\ndisgraced the best orators on the Thames, but even have made a figure in\nthe celebration of the Eleusinian mysteries, during which the Athenian\nmatrons rallied one another from different waggons, with that freedom of\naltercation so happily preserved in this our age and country.\n\nSuch a redundancy of epithets, and variety of metaphors, tropes, and\nfigures were uttered between these well-matched opponents, that an epic\nbard would have found his account in listening to the contest; which, in\nall probability, would not have been confined to words, had it not been\ninterrupted for the sake of a young woman of an agreeable countenance and\nmodest carriage; who, being shocked at some of their flowers of speech,\nand terrified by the menacing looks and gestures of the fiery-featured\ndame, began to scream aloud, and beg leave to quit the coach. Her\nperturbation put an end to the high debate. The sixth passenger, who had\nnot opened his mouth, endeavoured to comfort her with assurances of\nprotection; the quaker proposed a cessation of arms; the male disputant\nacquiesced in the proposal, assuring the company he had entered the lists\nfor their entertainment only, without acquiring the least grudge or\nill-will to the fat gentlewoman, whom he protested he had never seen\nbefore that day, and who, for aught he knew, was a person of credit and\nreputation. He then held forth his hand in token of amity, and asked\npardon of the offended party, who was appeased by his submission; and, in\ntestimony of her benevolence, presented to the other female, whom she had\ndiscomposed, an Hungary-water bottle filled with cherry-brandy,\nrecommending it as a much more powerful remedy than the sal-volatile\nwhich the other held to her nose.\n\nPeace being thus re-established, in a treaty comprehending Obadiah and\nall present, it will not be improper to give the reader some further\ninformation, touching the several characters assembled in this vehicle.\nThe quaker was a London merchant, who had been at Deal superintending the\nrepairs of a ship which had suffered by a storm in the Downs. The\nWapping landlady was on her return from the same place, where she had\nattended the payment of a man-of-war, with sundry powers of attorney,\ngranted by the sailors, who had lived upon credit at her house. Her\ncompetitor in fame was a dealer in wine, a smuggler of French lace, and a\npetty gamester just arrived from Paris, in the company of an English\nbarber, who sat on his right hand, and the young woman was daughter of a\ncountry curate, in her way to London, where she was bound apprentice to a\nmilliner.\n\nHitherto Fathom had sat in silent astonishment at the manners of his\nfellow-travellers, which far exceeded the notions he had preconceived of\nEnglish plainness and rusticity. He found himself a monument of that\ndisregard and contempt which a stranger never fails to meet with from the\ninhabitants of this island; and saw, with surprise, an agreeable young\ncreature sit as solitary and unheeded as himself.\n\nHe was, indeed, allured by the roses of her complexion, and the innocence\nof her aspect, and began to repent of having pretended ignorance of the\nlanguage, by which he was restrained from exercising his eloquence upon\nher heart; he resolved, however, to ingratiate himself, if possible, by\nthe courtesy and politeness of dumb show, and for that purpose put his\neyes in motion without farther delay.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY-NINE\n\nANOTHER PROVIDENTIAL DELIVERANCE FROM THE EFFECTS OF THE SMUGGLER'S\nINGENIOUS CONJECTURE.\n\n\nDuring these deliberations, the wine merchant, with a view to make a\nparade of his superior parts and breeding, as well as to pave the way for\na match at backgammon, made a tender of his snuff-box to our adventurer,\nand asked, in bad French, how he travelled from Paris. This question\nproduced a series of interrogations concerning the place of Ferdinand's\nabode in that city, and his business in England, so that he was fain to\npractise the science of defence, and answered with such ambiguity, as\naroused the suspicion of the smuggler, who began to believe our hero had\nsome very cogent reason for evading his curiosity; he immediately set his\nreflection at work, and, after various conjectures, fixed upon Fathom's\nbeing the Young Pretender. Big with this supposition, he eyed him with\nthe most earnest attention, comparing his features with those of the\nChevalier's portrait which he had seen in France, and though the faces\nwere as unlike as any two human faces could be, found the resemblance so\nstriking as to dispel all his doubts, and persuade him to introduce the\nstranger to some justice on the road; a step by which he would not only\nmanifest his zeal for the Protestant succession, but also acquire the\nsplendid reward proposed by parliament to any person who should apprehend\nthat famous adventurer.\n\nThese ideas intoxicated the brain of this man to such a pitch of\nenthusiasm, that he actually believed himself in possession of the thirty\nthousand pounds, and amused his fancy with a variety of magnificent\nprojects to be executed by means of that acquisition, until his reverie\nwas interrupted by the halting of the coach at the inn where the\npassengers used to eat their breakfasts. Waked as he was from the dream\nof happiness, it had made such impression upon his mind, that, seeing\nFathom rise up with an intention to alight, he took it for granted his\ndesign was to escape, and seizing him by the collar, called aloud for\nassistance in the King's name.\n\nOur hero, whose sagacity and presence of mind very often supplied the\nplace of courage, instead of being terrified at this assault, which might\nhave disturbed the tranquillity of an ordinary villain, was so perfectly\nmaster of every circumstance of his own situation, as to know at once\nthat the aggressor could not possibly have the least cause of complaint\nagainst him; and therefore, imputing this violence either to madness or\nmistake, very deliberately suffered himself to be made prisoner by the\npeople of the house, who ran to the coach door in obedience to the\nsummons of the wine merchant. The rest of the company were struck dumb\nwith surprise and consternation at this sudden adventure; and the quaker,\ndreading some fell resistance on the side of the outlandish man, unpinned\nthe other coach door in the twinkling of an eye, and trundled himself\ninto the mud for safety. The others, seeing the temper and resignation\nof the prisoner, soon recovered their recollection, and began to inquire\ninto the cause of his arrest, upon which, the captor, whose teeth\nchattered with terror and impatience, gave them to understand that he was\na state criminal, and demanded their help in conveying him to justice.\n\nLuckily for both parties, there happened to be at the inn a company of\nsquires just returned from the death of a leash of hares, which they had\nordered to be dressed for dinner, and among these gentlemen was one of\nthe quorum, to whom the accuser had immediate recourse, marching before\nthe captive, who walked very peaceably between the landlord and one of\nhis waiters, and followed by a crowd of spectators, some of whom had\nsecured the faithful Maurice, who in his behaviour closely imitated the\ndeliberation of his master. In this order did the procession advance to\nthe apartment in which the magistrate, with his fellows of the chase, sat\nsmoking his morning pipe over a tankard of strong ale, and the smuggler\nbeing directed to the right person, \"May it please your worship,\" said\nhe, \"I have brought this foreigner before you, on a violent suspicion of\nhis being a proclaimed outlaw; and I desire, before these witnesses, that\nmy title may be made good to the reward that shall become due upon his\nconviction.\"\n\n\"Friend,\" replied the justice, \"I know nothing of you or your titles; but\nthis I know, if you have any information to give in, you must come to my\nhouse when I am at home, and proceed in a lawful way, that is, d'ye mind\nme, if you swear as how this here person is an outlaw; then if so be as\nhe has nothing to say to the contrary, my clerk shall make out a\nmittimus, and so to jail with him till next 'size.\" \"But, sir,\" answered\nthe impeacher, \"this is a case that admits of no delay; the person I have\napprehended is a prisoner of consequence to the state.\" \"How, fellor!\"\ncried the magistrate, interrupting him, \"is there any person of more\nconsequence than one of his Majesty's justices of the peace, who is\nbesides a considerable member of the landed interest! D'ye know, sirrah,\nwho you are talking to? If you don't go about your business, I believe I\nshall lay you by the heels.\"\n\nThe smuggler, fearing his prize would escape through the ignorance,\npride, and obstinacy of this country justice, approached his worship, and\nin a whisper which was overheard by all the company, assured him he had\nindubitable reason to believe the foreigner was no other than the\nPretender's eldest son. At mention of this formidable name, every\nindividual of the audience started, with signs of terror and amazement.\nThe justice dropped his pipe, recoiled upon his chair, and, looking most\nridiculously aghast, exclaimed, \"Seize him, in the name of God and his\nMajesty King George! Has he got no secret arms about him!\"\n\nFathom being thus informed of the suspicion under which he stood, could\nnot help smiling at the eagerness with which the spectators flew upon\nhim, and suffered himself to be searched with great composure, well\nknowing they would find no moveables about his person, but such as upon\nexamination would turn to his account; he therefore very calmly presented\nto the magistrate his purse, and a small box that contained his jewels,\nand in the French language desired they might be preserved from the hands\nof the mob. This request was interpreted by the accuser, who, at the\nsame time, laid claim to the booty. The justice took charge of the\ndeposit, and one of his neighbours having undertaken the office of clerk,\nhe proceeded to the examination of the culprit, whose papers were by this\ntime laid on the table before him. \"Stranger,\" said he, \"you stand\ncharged with being son of the Pretender to these realms; what have you to\nsay in your own defence?\" Our hero assured him, in the French language,\nthat he was falsely impeached, and demanded justice on the accuser, who,\nwithout the least reason, had made such a malicious attack upon the life\nand honour of an innocent gentleman.\n\nThe smuggler, instead of acting the part of a faithful interpreter, told\nhis worship, that the prisoner's answer was no more than a simple denial,\nwhich every felon would make who had nothing else to plead in his own\nbehalf, and that this alone was a strong presumption of his guilt,\nbecause, if he was not really the person they suspected him to be, the\nthing would speak for itself, for, if he was not the Young Pretender, who\nthen was he? This argument had great weight with the justice, who,\nassuming a very important aspect, observed, \"Very true, friend, if you\nare not the Pretender, in the name of God, who are you? One may see with\nhalf an eye that he is no better than a promiscuous fellow.\"\n\nFerdinand now began to repent of having pretended ignorance of the\nEnglish language, as he found himself at the mercy of a rascal, who put a\nfalse gloss upon all his words, and addressed himself to the audience\nsuccessively in French, High Dutch, Italian, and Hungarian Latin,\ndesiring to know if any person present understood any of these tongues,\nthat his answers might be honestly explained to the bench. But he might\nhave accosted them in Chinese with the same success: there was not one\nperson present tolerably versed in his mother-tongue, much less\nacquainted with any foreign language, except the wine merchant, who,\nincensed at this appeal, which he considered as an affront to his\nintegrity, gave the judge to understand, that the delinquent, instead of\nspeaking to the purpose, contumaciously insulted his authority in sundry\nforeign lingos, which he apprehended was an additional proof of his being\nthe Chevalier's son, inasmuch as no person would take the pains to learn\nsuch a variety of gibberish, except with some sinister intent.\n\nThis annotation was not lost upon the squire, who was too jealous of the\nhonour of his office to overlook such a flagrant instance of contempt.\nHis eyes glistened, his cheeks were inflated with rage. \"The case is\nplain,\" said he; \"having nothing of signification to offer in his own\nfavour, he grows refractory, and abuses the court in his base Roman\nCatholic jargon; but I'll let you know, for all you pretend to be a\nprince, you are no better than an outlawed vagrant, and I'll show you\nwhat a thing you are when you come in composition with an English\njustice, like me, who have more than once extinguished myself in the\nservice of my country. As nothing else accrues, your purse, black box,\nand papers shall be sealed up before witnesses, and sent by express to\none of his Majesty's secretaries of state; and, as for yourself, I will\napply to the military at Canterbury, for a guard to conduct you to\nLondon.\"\n\nThis was a very unwelcome declaration to our adventurer, who was on the\npoint of haranguing the justice and spectators in their own language,\nwhen he was relieved from the necessity of taking that step by the\ninterposition of a young nobleman just arrived at the inn, who, being\ninformed of this strange examination, entered the court, and, at first\nsight of the prisoner, assured the justice he was imposed upon; for that\nhe himself had often seen the Young Pretender in Paris, and that there\nwas no kind of resemblance between that adventurer and the person now\nbefore him. The accuser was not a little mortified at his lordship's\naffirmation, which met with all due regard from the bench, though the\nmagistrate took notice, that, granting the prisoner was not the Young\nChevalier himself, it was highly probable he was an emissary of that\nhouse, as he could give no satisfactory account of himself, and was\npossessed of things of such value as no honest man could expose to the\naccidents of the road.\n\nFathom, having thus found an interpreter, who signified to him, in the\nFrench tongue, the doubts of the justice, told his lordship, that he\nwas a gentleman of a noble house in Germany, who, for certain reasons,\nhad come abroad incognito, with a view to see the world; and that,\nalthough the letters they had seized would prove the truth of that\nassertion, he should be loth to expose his private concerns to the\nknowledge of strangers, if he could possibly be released without that\nmortification. The young nobleman explained his desire to the court;\nbut, his own curiosity being interested, observed, at the same time,\nthat the justice could not be said to have discharged the duties of his\nstation, until he should have examined every circumstance relating to the\nprisoner. Upon which remonstrance, he was requested by the bench to\nperuse the papers, and accordingly communicated the substance of one\nletter to this effect:--\n\n\"MY DEAR SON,--Though I am far from approving the rash step you have\ntaken in withdrawing yourself from your father's house, in order to avoid\nan engagement which would have been equally honourable and advantageous\nto your family, I cannot so far suppress my affection, as to bear the\nthought of your undergoing those hardships which, for your disobedience,\nyou deserve to suffer. I have therefore, without the knowledge of your\nfather, sent the bearer to attend you in your peregrinations; his\nfidelity you know hath been tried in a long course of service, and I have\nentrusted to his care, for your use, a purse of two hundred ducats, and a\nbox of jewels to the value of twice that sum, which, though not\nsufficient to support an equipage suitable to your birth, will, at least\nfor some time, preserve you from the importunities of want. When you are\ndutiful enough to explain your designs and situation, you may expect\nfurther indulgence from your tender and disconsolate mother,--\n COUNTESS OF FATHOM.\"\n\nThis letter, which, as well as the others, our hero had forged for the\npurpose, effectually answered his intent, in throwing dust in the eyes\nand understanding of the spectators, who now regarded the prisoner with\nlooks of respectful remorse, as a man of quality who had been falsely\naccused. His lordship, to make a parade of his own politeness and\nimportance, assured the bench, he was no stranger to the family of the\nFathoms, and, with a compliment, gave Ferdinand to understand he had\nformerly seen him at Versailles. There being no longer room for\nsuspicion, the justice ordered our adventurer to be set at liberty, and\neven invited him to be seated, with an apology for the rude manner in\nwhich he had been treated, owing to the misinformation of the accuser,\nwho was threatened with the stocks, for his malice and presumption.\n\nBut this was not the only triumph our hero obtained over the wine\nmerchant. Maurice was no sooner unfettered, than, advancing into the\nmiddle of the room, \"My lord,\" said he, addressing himself in French to\nhis master's deliverer, \"since you have been so generous as to protect a\nnoble stranger from the danger of such a false accusation, I hope you\nwill still lay an additional obligation upon the Count, by retorting the\nvengeance of the law upon his perfidious accuser, whom I know to be a\ntrader in those articles of merchandise which are prohibited by the\nordinances of this nation. I have seen him lately at Boulogne, and am\nperfectly well acquainted with some persons who have supplied him with\nFrench lace and embroidery; and, as a proof of what I allege, I desire\nyou will order him and this barber, who is his understrapper, to be\nexamined on the spot.\"\n\nThis charge, which was immediately explained to the bench, yielded\nextraordinary satisfaction to the spectators, one of whom, being an\nofficer of the customs, forthwith began to exercise his function upon the\nunlucky perruquier, who, being stripped of his upper garments, and even\nof his shirt, appeared like the mummy of an Egyptian king, most curiously\nrolled up in bandages of rich figured gold shalloon, that covered the\nskirts of four embroidered waistcoats. The merchant, seeing his\nexpectation so unhappily reversed, made an effort to retire with a most\nrueful aspect, but was prevented by the officer, who demanded the\ninterposition of the civil power, that he might undergo the same\nexamination to which the other had been subjected. He was accordingly\nrifled without loss of time, and the inquiry proved well worth the care\nof him who made it; for a considerable booty of the same sort of\nmerchandise was found in his boots, breeches, hat, and between the\nbuckram and lining of his surtout. Yet, not contented with this prize,\nthe experienced spoiler proceeded to search his baggage, and, perceiving\na false bottom in his portmanteau, detected beneath it a valuable\naccession to the plunder he had already obtained.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTY\n\nTHE SINGULAR MANNER OF FATHOM'S ATTACK AND TRIUMPH OVER THE VIRTUE OF THE\nFAIR ELENOR.\n\n\nProper cognisance being thus taken of these contraband effects, and the\ninformer furnished with a certificate, by which he was entitled to a\nshare of the seizure, the coachman summoned his passengers to the\ncarriage; the purse and jewels were restored to Count Fathom, who thanked\nthe justice, and his lordship in particular, for the candour and\nhospitality with which he had been treated, and resumed his place in the\nvehicle, amidst the congratulations of all his fellow-travellers, except\nthe two forlorn smugglers, who, instead of re-embarking in the coach,\nthought proper to remain at the inn, with view to mitigate, if possible,\nthe severity of their misfortune.\n\nAmong those who felicitated Fathom upon the issue of this adventure, the\nyoung maiden seemed to express the most sensible pleasure at that event.\nThe artful language of his eyes had raised in her breast certain\nfluttering emotions, before she knew the value of her conquest; but now\nthat his rank and condition were discovered, these transports were\nincreased by the ideas of vanity and ambition, which are mingled with the\nfirst seeds of every female constitution. The belief of having\ncaptivated the heart of a man who could raise her to the rank and dignity\nof a countess, produced such agreeable sensations in her fancy, that her\neyes shone with unusual lustre, and a continual smile played in dimples\non her rosy cheeks; so that her attractions, though not powerful enough\nto engage the affection, were yet sufficient to inflame the desire of our\nadventurer, who very honestly marked her chastity for prey to his\nvoluptuous passion. Had she been well seasoned with knowledge and\nexperience, and completely armed with caution against the artifice and\nvillany of man, her virtue might not have been able to withstand the\nengines of such an assailant, considering the dangerous opportunities to\nwhich she was necessarily exposed. How easy then must his victory have\nbeen over an innocent, unsuspecting country damsel, flushed with the\nwarmth of youth, and an utter stranger to the ways of life!\n\nWhile Obadiah, therefore, and his plump companion, were engaged in\nconversation, on the strange incidents which had passed, Fathom acted a\nvery expressive pantomime with this fair buxom nymph, who comprehended\nhis meaning with surprising facility, and was at so little pains to\nconceal the pleasure she took in this kind of intercourse, that several\nwarm squeezes were interchanged between her and her lover, before they\narrived at Rochester, where they proposed to dine. It was during this\nperiod, he learned from the answers she made to the inquisitive quaker,\nthat her sole dependence was upon a relation, to whom she had a letter,\nand that she was a perfect stranger in the great city; circumstances on\nwhich he soon formed the project of her ruin.\n\nUpon their arrival at the Black Bull, he for the first time found himself\nalone with his Amanda, whose name was Elenor, their fellow-travellers\nbeing elsewhere employed about their own concerns; and, unwilling to lose\nthe precious opportunity, he began to act the part of a very importunate\nlover, which he conceived to be a proper sequel to the prelude which had\nbeen performed in the coach. The freedoms which she, out of pure\nsimplicity and good-humour, permitted him to take with her hand, and even\nher rosy lips, encouraged him to practise other familiarities upon her\nfair bosom, which scandalised her virtue so much, that, in spite of the\npassion she had begun to indulge in his behalf, she rejected his advances\nwith all the marks of anger and disdain; and he found it necessary to\nappease the storm he had raised, by the most respectful and submissive\ndemeanour; resolving to change his operations, and carry on his attacks,\nso as to make her yield at discretion, without alarming her religion or\npride. Accordingly, when the bill was called after dinner, he took\nparticular notice of her behaviour, and, perceiving her pull out a large\nleathern purse that contained her money, reconnoitred the pocket in which\nit was deposited, and, while they sat close to each other in the\ncarriage, conveyed it with admirable dexterity into an hole in the\ncushion. Whether the corpulent couple, who sat opposite to these lovers,\nhad entered into an amorous engagement at the inn, or were severally\ninduced by other motives, is uncertain; but sure it is, both left the\ncoach on that part of the road which lies nearest to Gravesend, and bade\nadieu to the other pair, on pretence of having urgent business at that\nplace.\n\nFerdinand, not a little pleased at their departure, renewed his most\npathetic expressions of love, and sung several French songs on that\ntender subject, which seemed to thrill to the soul of his beauteous\nHelen. While the driver halted at Dartford to water his horses, she was\nsmit with the appearance of some cheesecakes, which were presented by the\nlandlady of the house, and having bargained for two or three, put her\nhand in her pocket, in order to pay for her purchase; but what was her\nastonishment, when, after having rummaged her equipage, she understood\nher whole fortune was lost! This mishap was, by a loud shriek, announced\nto our hero, who affected infinite amazement and concern; and no sooner\nlearned the cause of her affliction, than he presented her with his own\npurse, from which he, in emphatic dumb show, begged she would indemnify\nherself for the damage she had sustained. Although this kind proffer was\nsome alleviation of her misfortunes, she did not fail to pour forth a\nmost piteous lamentation, importing that she had not only lost all her\nmoney, amounting to five pounds, but also her letter of recommendation,\nupon which she had altogether relied for present employment.\n\nThe vehicle was minutely searched from top to bottom, by herself and our\nadventurer, assisted by Maurice and the coachman, who, finding their\ninquiry ineffectual, did not scruple to declare his suspicion of the two\nfat turtles who had deserted the coach in such an abrupt manner. In a\nword, he rendered this conjecture so plausible, by wresting the\ncircumstances of their behaviour and retreat, that poor Elenor implicitly\nbelieved they were the thieves by whom she had suffered; and was\nprevailed upon to accept the proffered assistance of the generous Count,\nwho, seeing her very much disordered by this mischance, insisted upon her\ndrinking a large glass of canary, to quiet the perturbation of her\nspirits. This is a season, which of all others is most propitious to the\nattempts of an artful lover; and justifies the metaphorical maxim of\nfishing in troubled waters. There is an affinity and short transition\nbetwixt all the violent passions that agitate the human mind. They are\nall false perspectives, which, though they magnify, yet perplex and\nrender indistinct every object which they represent. And flattery is\nnever so successfully administered, as to those who know they stand in\nneed of friendship, assent, and approbation.\n\nThe cordial she swallowed, far from calming, increased the disturbance of\nher thoughts, and produced an intoxication; during which, she talked in\nan incoherent strain, laughed and wept by turns, and acted other\nextravagances, which are known to be symptoms of the hysterical\naffection. Fathom, though an utter stranger to the sentiments of honour,\npity, and remorse, would not perpetrate his vicious purpose, though\nfavoured by the delirium his villany had entailed upon this unfortunate\nyoung maiden; because his appetite demanded a more perfect sacrifice than\nthat which she could yield in her present deplorable situation, when her\nwill must have been altogether unconcerned in his success. Determined,\ntherefore, to make a conquest of her virtue, before he would take\npossession of her person, he mimicked that compassion and benevolence\nwhich his heart had never felt, and, when the coach arrived at London,\nnot only discharged what she owed for her place, but likewise procured\nfor her an apartment in the house to which he himself had been directed\nfor lodgings, and even hired a nurse to attend her during a severe fever,\nwhich was the consequence of her disappointment and despondence. Indeed,\nshe was supplied with all necessaries by the generosity of this noble\nCount, who, for the interest of his passion, and the honour of his name,\nwas resolved to extend his charity to the last farthing of her own money,\nwhich he had been wise enough to secure for this purpose.\n\nHer youth soon got the better of her distemper, and when she understood\nher obligations to the Count, who did not fail to attend her in person\nwith great tenderness, her heart, which had been before prepossessed in\nhis favour, now glowed with all the warmth of gratitude, esteem, and\naffection. She knew herself in a strange place, destitute of all\nresource but in his generosity. She loved his person, she was dazzled by\nhis rank; and he knew so well how to improve the opportunities and\nadvantages he derived from her unhappy situation, that he gradually\nproceeded in sapping from one degree of intimacy to another, until all\nthe bulwarks of her chastity were undermined, and she submitted to his\ndesire; not with the reluctance of a vanquished people, but with all the\ntransports of a joyful city, that opens its gates to receive a darling\nprince returned from conquest. For by this time he had artfully\nconcentred and kindled up all the inflammable ingredients of her\nconstitution; and she now looked back upon the virtuous principles of her\neducation, as upon a disagreeable and tedious dream, from which she had\nwaked to the fruition of never-fading joy.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTY-ONE\n\nHE BY ACCIDENT ENCOUNTERS HIS OLD FRIEND, WITH WHOM HE HOLDS A\nCONFERENCE, AND RENEWS A TREATY.\n\n\nOur hero, having thus provided himself with a proper subject for his\nhours of dalliance, thought it was now high time to study the ground\nwhich he had pitched upon for the scene of his exploits, and with that\nview made several excursions to different parts of the town, where there\nwas aught of entertainment or instruction to be found. Yet he always, on\nthese occasions, appeared in an obscure ordinary dress, in order to avoid\nsingularity, and never went twice to the same coffee-house, that his\nperson might not be afterwards known, in case he should shine forth to\nthe public in a superior sphere. On his return from one of those\nexpeditions, while he was passing through Ludgate, his eyes were suddenly\nencountered by the apparition of his old friend the Tyrolese, who,\nperceiving himself fairly caught in the toil, made a virtue of necessity,\nand, running up to our adventurer with an aspect of eagerness and joy,\nclasped him in his arms, as some dear friend, whom he had casually found\nafter a most tedious and disagreeable separation.\n\nFathom, whose genius never failed him in such emergencies, far from\nreceiving these advances with the threats and reproaches which the other\nhad deserved at his hands, returned the salute with equal warmth, and was\nreally overjoyed at meeting with a person who might one way or other make\namends for the perfidy of his former conduct. The Tyrolese, whose name\nwas Ratchcali, pleased with his reception, proposed they should adjourn\nto the next tavern, in which they had no sooner taken possession of an\napartment, than he addressed himself to his old companion in these\nwords:--\n\n\"Mr. Fathom, by your frank and obliging manner of treating a man who hath\ndone you wrong, I am more and more confirmed in my opinion of your\nsagacity, which I have often considered with admiration; I will not\ntherefore attempt to make an apology for my conduct at our last parting;\nbut only assure you that this meeting may turn out to our mutual\nadvantage, if we now re-enter into an unreserved union, the ties of which\nwe will soon find it our interest and inclination to preserve. For my\nown part, as my judgment is ripened by experience, so are my sentiments\nchanged since our last association. I have seen many a rich harvest\nlost, for want of a fellow-labourer in the vineyard; and I have more than\nonce fallen a sacrifice to a combination, which I could have resisted\nwith the help of one able auxiliary. Indeed, I might prove what I allege\nby mathematical demonstration; and I believe nobody will pretend to deny,\nthat two heads are better than one, in all cases that require discernment\nand deliberation.\"\n\nFerdinand could not help owning the sanity of his observations, and\nforthwith acquiesced in his proposal of the new alliance; desiring to\nknow the character in which he acted on the English stage, and the scheme\nhe would offer for their mutual emolument. At the same time he resolved\nwithin himself to keep such a strict eye over his future actions, as\nwould frustrate any design he might hereafter harbour, of repeating the\nprank he had so successfully played upon him, in their journey from the\nbanks of the Rhine.\n\n\"Having quitted you at Bar-le-duc,\" resumed the Tyrolese, \"I travelled\nwithout ceasing, until I arrived at Frankfort upon the Maine, where I\nassumed the character of a French chevalier, and struck some masterly\nstrokes, which you yourself would not have deemed unworthy of your\ninvention; and my success was the more agreeable, as my operations were\nchiefly carried on against the enemies of our religion. But my\nprosperity was not of long duration. Seeing they could not foil me at my\nown weapons, they formed a damned conspiracy, by which I not only lost\nall the fruits of my industry, but likewise ran the most imminent hazard\nof my life. I had ordered some of those jewels which I had borrowed of\nmy good friend Fathom to be new set in a fashionable taste, and soon\nafter had an opportunity to sell one of these, at a great advantage, to\none of the fraternity, who offered an extraordinary price for the stone,\non purpose to effect my ruin. In less than four-and-twenty hours after\nthis bargain, I was arrested by the officers of justice upon the oath of\nthe purchaser, who undertook to prove me guilty of a fraud, in selling a\nSaxon pebble for a real diamond; and this accusation was actually true;\nfor the change had been artfully put upon me by the jeweller, who was\nhimself engaged in the conspiracy.\n\n\"Had my conscience been clear of any other impeachment, perhaps I should\nhave rested my cause upon the equity and protection of the law; but I\nforesaw that the trial would introduce an inquiry, to which I was not at\nall ambitious of submitting, and therefore was fain to compromise the\naffair, at the price of almost my whole fortune. Yet this accommodation\nwas not made so secretly, but that my character was blasted, and my\ncredit overthrown; so that I was fain to relinquish my occasional\nequipage, and hire myself as journeyman to a lapidary, an employment\nwhich I had exercised in my youth. In this obscure station, I laboured\nwith great assiduity, until I made myself perfect in the knowledge of\nstones, as well as in the different methods of setting them off to the\nbest advantage; and having, by dint of industry and address, got\npossession of a small parcel, set out for this kingdom, in which I\nhappily arrived about four months ago; and surely England is the paradise\nof artists of our profession.\n\n\"One would imagine that nature had created the inhabitants for the\nsupport and enjoyment of adventurers like you and me. Not that these\nislanders open the arms of hospitality to all foreigners without\ndistinction. On the contrary, they inherit from their fathers an\nunreasonable prejudice against all nations under the sun; and when an\nEnglishman happens to quarrel with a stranger, the first term of reproach\nhe uses is the name of his antagonist's country, characterised by some\nopprobrious epithet, such as a chattering Frenchman, an Italian ape, a\nGerman hog, and a beastly Dutchman; nay, their national prepossession is\nmaintained even against those people with whom they are united under the\nsame laws and government; for nothing is more common than to hear them\nexclaim against their fellow-subjects, in the expressions of a beggarly\nScot, and an impudent Irish bog-trotter. Yet this very prejudice will\nnever fail to turn to the account of every stranger possessed of ordinary\ntalents; for he will always find opportunities of conversing with them in\ncoffee-houses and places of public resort, in spite of their professed\nreserve, which, by the bye, is so extraordinary, that I know some people\nwho have lived twenty years in the same house without exchanging one word\nwith their next-door neighbours; yet, provided he can talk sensibly, and\npreserve the deportment of a sober gentleman, in those occasional\nconversations, his behaviour will be the more remarkably pleasing, as it\nwill agreeably disappoint the expectation of the person who had\nentertained notions to his prejudice. When a foreigner has once crossed\nthis bar, which perpetually occurs, he sails without further difficulty\ninto the harbour of an Englishman's goodwill; for the pique is neither\npersonal nor rancorous, but rather contemptuous and national; so that,\nwhile he despises a people in the lump, an individual of that very\ncommunity may be one of his chief favourites.\n\n\"The English are in general upright and honest, therefore unsuspecting\nand credulous. They are too much engrossed with their own business to\npry into the conduct of their neighbours, and too indifferent, in point\nof disposition, to interest themselves in what they conceive to be\nforeign to their own concerns. They are wealthy and mercantile, of\nconsequence liberal and adventurous, and so well disposed to take a man's\nown word for his importance, that they suffer themselves to be preyed\nupon by such a bungling set of impostors, as would starve for lack of\naddress in any other country under the sun. This being a true sketch of\nthe British character, so far as I have been able to observe and learn,\nyou will easily comprehend the profits that may be extracted from it, by\nvirtue of those arts by which you so eminently excel;--the great, the\nunbounded prospect lies before me! Indeed, I look upon this opulent\nkingdom as a wide and fertile common, on which we adventurers may range\nfor prey, without let or molestation. For so jealous are the natives of\ntheir liberties, that they will not bear the restraint of necessary\npolice, and an able artist may enrich himself with their spoils, without\nrunning any risk of attracting the magistrate, or incurring the least\npenalty of the law.\n\n\"In a word, this metropolis is a vast masquerade, in which a man of\nstratagem may wear a thousand different disguises, without danger of\ndetection. There is a variety of shapes in which we the knights of\nindustry make our appearance in London. One glides into a nobleman's\nhouse in the capacity of a valet-de-chambre, and in a few months leads\nthe whole family by the nose. Another exhibits himself to the public, as\nan empiric or operator for the teeth; and by dint of assurance and\naffidavits, bearing testimony to wonderful cures that never were\nperformed, whirls himself into his chariot, and lays the town under\ncontribution. A third professes the composition of music, as well as the\nperformance, and by means of a few capriciosos on the violin, properly\nintroduced, wriggles himself into the management of private and public\nconcerts. And a fourth breaks forth at once in all the splendour of a\ngay equipage, under the title and denomination of a foreign count. Not\nto mention those inferior projectors, who assume the characters of\ndancers, fencing-masters, and French ushers, or, by renouncing their\nreligion, seek to obtain a provision for life.\n\n\"Either of these parts will turn to the account of an able actor; and, as\nyou are equally qualified for all, you may choose that which is most\nsuitable to your own inclination. Though, in my opinion, you was\ndesigned by nature to shine in the great world, which, after all, is the\nmost ample field for men of genius; because the game is deeper, and\npeople of fashion being, for the most part, more ignorant, indolent,\nvain, and capricious, than their inferiors, are of consequence more\neasily deceived; besides, their morals sit generally so loose about them,\nthat, when a gentleman of our fraternity is discovered in the exercise of\nhis profession, their contempt of his skill is the only disgrace he\nincurs.\"\n\nOur hero was so well pleased with this picture, that he longed to peruse\nthe original, and, before these two friends parted, they settled all the\noperations of the campaign. Ratchcali, that same evening, hired\nmagnificent lodgings for Count Fathom, in the court end of the town, and\nfurnished his wardrobe and liveries from the spoils of Monmouth Street;\nhe likewise enlisted another footman and valet-de-chambre into his\nservice, and sent to the apartments divers large trunks, supposed to be\nfilled with the baggage of this foreign nobleman, though, in reality,\nthey contained little else than common lumber.\n\nNext day, our adventurer took possession of his new habitation, after\nhaving left to his friend and associate the task of dismissing the\nunfortunate Elenor, who was so shocked at the unexpected message, that\nshe fainted away; and when she recovered the use of her senses so well as\nto reflect upon her forlorn condition, she was seized with the most\nviolent transports of grief and dismay, by which her brain was disordered\nto such a degree, that she grew furious and distracted, and was, by the\nadvice and assistance of the Tyrolese, conveyed into the hospital of\nBethlem; where we shall leave her for the present, happily bereft of her\nreason.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTY-TWO\n\nHE APPEARS IN THE GREAT WORLD WITH UNIVERSAL APPLAUSE AND ADMIRATION.\n\n\nMeanwhile, Fathom and his engine were busied in completing his equipage,\nso that in a few days he had procured a very gay chariot, adorned with\npainting, gilding, and a coat of arms, according to his own fancy and\ndirection. The first use he made of this vehicle was that of visiting\nthe young nobleman from whom he had received such important civilities on\nthe road, in consequence of an invitation at parting, by which he learned\nhis title and the place of his abode in London.\n\nHis lordship was not only pleased, but proud to see such a stranger at\nhis gate, and entertained him with excess of complaisance and\nhospitality; insomuch that, by his means, our hero soon became acquainted\nwith the whole circle of polite company, by whom he was caressed for his\ninsinuating manners and agreeable conversation. He had thought proper to\ntell the nobleman, at their first interview in town, that his reasons for\nconcealing his knowledge of the English tongue were now removed, and that\nhe would no longer deny himself the pleasure of speaking a language which\nhad been always music to his ear. He had also thanked his lordship for\nhis generous interposition at the inn, which was an instance of that\ngenerosity and true politeness which are engrossed by the English people,\nwho leave nought to other nations but the mere shadow of these virtues.\n\nA testimony like this, from the mouth of such a noble stranger, won the\nheart of the peer, who professed a friendship for him on the spot, and\nundertook to see justice done to his lacquey, who in a short time was\ngratified with a share of the seizure which had been made upon his\ninformation, amounting to fifty or sixty pounds.\n\nFerdinand put not forth the whole strength of his accomplishments at\nonce, but contrived to spring a new mine of qualification every day, to\nthe surprise and admiration of all his acquaintance. He was gifted with\na sort of elocution, much more specious than solid, and spoke on every\nsubject that occurred in conversation with that familiarity and ease,\nwhich, one would think, could only be acquired by long study and\napplication. This plausibility and confidence are faculties really\ninherited from nature, and effectually serve the possessor, in lieu of\nthat learning which is not to be obtained without infinite toil and\nperseverance. The most superficial tincture of the arts and sciences in\nsuch a juggler, is sufficient to dazzle the understanding of half\nmankind; and, if managed with circumspection, will enable him even to\nspend his life among the literati, without once forfeiting the character\nof a connoisseur.\n\nOur hero was perfectly master of this legerdemain, which he carried to\nsuch a pitch of assurance, as to declare, in the midst of a mathematical\nassembly, that he intended to gratify the public with a full confutation\nof Sir Isaac Newton's philosophy, to the nature of which he was as much a\nstranger as the most savage Hottentot in Africa. His pretensions to\nprofound and universal knowledge were supported not only by this kind of\npresumption, but also by the facility with which he spoke so many\ndifferent languages, and the shrewd remarks he had made in the course of\nhis travels and observation.\n\nAmong politicians, he settled the balance of power upon a certain\nfooting, by dint of ingenious schemes, which he had contrived for the\nwelfare of Europe. With officers, he reformed the art of war, with\nimprovements which had occurred to his reflection while he was engaged in\na military life. He sometimes held forth upon painting, like a member of\nthe Dilettanti club. The theory of music was a theme upon which he\nseemed to expatiate with particular pleasure. In the provinces of love\nand gallantry, he was a perfect Oroondates. He possessed a most\nagreeable manner of telling entertaining stories, of which he had a large\ncollection; he sung with great melody and taste, and played upon the\nviolin with surprising execution. To these qualifications let us add his\naffability and pliant disposition, and then the reader will not wonder\nthat he was looked upon as the pattern of human perfection, and his\nacquaintance courted accordingly.\n\nWhile he thus captivated the favour and affection of the English\nnobility, he did not neglect to take other measures in behalf of the\npartnership to which he had subscribed. The adventure with the two\nsquires at Paris had weakened his appetite for play, which was not at all\nrestored by the observations he had made in London, where the art of\ngaming is reduced into a regular system, and its professors so laudably\ndevoted to the discharge of their functions, as to observe the most\ntemperate regimen, lest their invention should be impaired by the fatigue\nof watching or exercise, and their ideas disturbed by the fumes of\nindigestion. No Indian Brachman could live more abstemious than two of\nthe pack, who hunted in couple, and kennelled in the upper apartments of\nthe hotel in which our adventurer lived. They abstained from animal food\nwith the abhorrence of Pythagoreans, their drink was a pure simple\nelement, they were vomited once a week, took physic or a glyster every\nthird day, spent the forenoon in algebraical calculations, and slept from\nfour o'clock till midnight, that they might then take the field with that\ncool serenity which is the effect of refreshment and repose.\n\nThese were terms upon which our hero would not risk his fortune; he was\ntoo much addicted to pleasure to forego every other enjoyment but that of\namassing; and did not so much depend upon his dexterity in play as upon\nhis talent of insinuation, which, by this time, had succeeded so far\nbeyond his expectation, that he began to indulge the hope of enslaving\nthe heart of some rich heiress, whose fortune would at once raise him\nabove all dependence. Indeed, no man ever set out with a fairer prospect\non such an expedition; for he had found means to render himself so\nagreeable to the fair sex, that, like the boxes of the playhouse, during\nthe representation of a new performance, his company was often bespoke\nfor a series of weeks; and no lady, whether widow, wife, or maiden, ever\nmentioned his name, without some epithet of esteem or affection; such as\nthe dear Count! the charming Man! the Nonpareil, or the Angel!\n\nWhile he thus shone in the zenith of admiration, it is not to be doubted,\nthat he could have melted some wealthy dowager or opulent ward; but,\nbeing an enemy to all precipitate engagements, he resolved to act with\ngreat care and deliberation in an affair of such importance, especially\nas he did not find himself hurried by the importunities of want; for,\nsince his arrival in England, he had rather increased than exhausted his\nfinances, by methods equally certain and secure. In a word, he, with the\nassistance of Ratchcali, carried on a traffic, which yielded great\nprofits, without subjecting the trader to the least loss or\ninconvenience. Fathom, for example, wore upon his finger a large\nbrilliant, which he played to such advantage one night, at a certain\nnobleman's house, where he was prevailed upon to entertain the company\nwith a solo on the violin, that everybody present took notice of its\nuncommon lustre, and it was handed about for the perusal of every\nindividual. The water and the workmanship were universally admired; and\none among the rest having expressed a desire of knowing the value of such\na jewel, the Count seized that opportunity of entertaining them with a\nlearned disquisition into the nature of stones; this introduced the\nhistory of the diamond in question, which he said had been purchased of\nan Indian trader of Fort St. George, at an under price; so that the\npresent proprietor could afford to sell it at a very reasonable rate; and\nconcluded with telling the company, that, for his own part, he had been\nimportuned to wear it by the jeweller, who imagined it would have a\nbetter chance for attracting a purchaser on his finger, than while it\nremained in his own custody.\n\nThis declaration was no sooner made, than a certain lady of quality\nbespoke the refuse of the jewel, and desired Ferdinand to send the owner\nnext day to her house, where he accordingly waited upon her ladyship with\nthe ring, for which he received one hundred and fifty guineas, two-thirds\nof the sum being clear gain, and equally divided betwixt the associates.\nNor was this bargain such as reflected dishonour upon the lady's taste,\nor could be productive of ill consequences to the merchant; for the\nmethod of estimating diamonds is altogether arbitrary; and Ratchcali, who\nwas an exquisite lapidary, had set it in such a manner as would have\nimposed upon any ordinary jeweller. By these means of introduction, the\nTyrolese soon monopolised the custom of a great many noble families, upon\nwhich he levied large contributions, without incurring the least\nsuspicion of deceit. He every day, out of pure esteem and gratitude for\nthe honour of their commands, entertained them with the sight of some new\ntrinket, which he was never permitted to carry home unsold; and from the\nprofits of each job, a tax was raised for the benefit of our adventurer.\n\nYet his indultos were not confined to the article of jewels, which\nconstituted only one part of his revenue. By the industry of his\nunderstrapper, he procured a number of old crazy fiddles, which were\nthrown aside as lumber; upon which he counterfeited the Cremona mark, and\notherwise cooked them up with great dexterity; so that, when he had\noccasion to regale the lovers of music, he would send for one of these\nvamped instruments, and extract from it such tones as quite ravished the\nhearers; among whom there was always some conceited pretender, who spoke\nin raptures of the violin, and gave our hero an opportunity of launching\nout in its praise, and declaring it was the best Cremona he had ever\ntouched. This encomium never failed to inflame the desires of the\naudience, to some one of whom he was generous enough to part with it at\nprime cost--that is, for twenty or thirty guineas clear profit; for he\nwas often able to oblige his friends in this manner, because, being an\neminent connoisseur, his countenance was solicited by all the musicians,\nwho wanted to dispose of such moveables.\n\nNor did he neglect the other resources of a skilful virtuoso. Every\nauction afforded some picture, in which, though it had been overlooked by\nthe ignorance of the times, he recognised the style of a great master,\nand made a merit of recommending it to some noble friend. This commerce\nhe likewise extended to medals, bronzes, busts, intaglios, and old china,\nand kept divers artificers continually employed in making antiques for\nthe English nobility. Thus he went on with such rapidity of success in\nall his endeavours, that he himself was astonished at the infatuation he\nhad produced. Nothing was so wretched among the productions of art, that\nhe could not impose upon the world as a capital performance; and so\nfascinated were the eyes of his admirers, he could easily have persuaded\nthem that a barber's bason was an Etrurian patera, and the cover of a\ncopper pot no other than the shield of Ancus Martius. In short, it was\nbecome so fashionable to consult the Count in everything relating to\ntaste and politeness, that not a plan was drawn, not even a house\nfurnished, without his advice and approbation; nay, to such a degree did\nhis reputation in these matters excel, that a particular pattern of\npaper-hangings was known by the name of Fathom; and his hall was every\nmorning crowded with upholsterers, and other tradesmen, who came, by\norder of their employers, to learn his choice, and take his directions.\n\nThe character and influence he thus acquired, he took care to maintain\nwith the utmost assiduity and circumspection. He never failed to appear\nthe chief personage at all public diversions and private assemblies, not\nonly in conversation and dress, but also in the article of dancing, in\nwhich he outstripped all his fellows, as far as in every other genteel\naccomplishment.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTY-THREE\n\nHE ATTRACTS THE ENVY AND ILL OFFICES OF THE MINOR KNIGHTS OF HIS OWN\nORDER, OVER WHOM HE OBTAINS A COMPLETE VICTORY.\n\n\nSuch a pre-eminence could not be enjoyed without exciting the malevolence\nof envy and detraction, in the propagation of which none were so\nindustrious as the brethren of his own order, who had, like him, made a\ndescent upon this island, and could not, without repining, see the whole\nharvest in the hands of one man, who, with equal art and discretion,\navoided all intercourse with their society. In vain they strove to\ndiscover his pedigree, and detect the particular circumstances of his\nlife and conversation; all their inquiries were baffled by the obscurity\nof his origin, and that solitary scheme which he had adopted in the\nbeginning of his career. The whole fruit of their investigation amounted\nto no more than a certainty that there was no family of any consideration\nin Europe known by the denomination of Fathom; and this discovery they\ndid not fail to divulge for the benefit of our adventurer, who had by\nthis time taken such firm root in the favour of the great, as to set all\nthose little arts at defiance; and when the report reached his ear,\nactually made his friends merry with the conjectures which had been\ncirculated at his expense.\n\nHis adversaries, finding themselves disappointed in this effort, held a\nconsultation to devise other measures against him, and came to a\nresolution of ending him by the sword, or rather of expelling him from\nthe kingdom by the fear of death, which they hoped he had not courage\nenough to resist, because his deportment had always been remarkably mild\nand pacific. It was upon this supposition that they left to the\ndetermination of the dice the choice of the person who should execute\ntheir plan; and the lot falling upon a Swiss, who, from the station of a\nfoot soldier in the Dutch service, out of which he had been drummed for\ntheft, had erected himself into the rank of a self-created chevalier,\nthis hero fortified himself with a double dose of brandy, and betook\nhimself to a certain noted coffee-house, with an intent to affront Count\nFathom in public.\n\nHe was lucky enough to find our adventurer sitting at a table in\nconversation with some persons of the first rank; upon which he seated\nhimself in the next box, and after having intruded himself into their\ndiscourse, which happened to turn upon the politics of some German\ncourts, \"Count,\" said he to Ferdinand, in a very abrupt and disagreeable\nmanner of address, \"I was last night in company with some gentlemen,\namong whom a dispute happened about the place of your nativity; pray,\nwhat country are you of?\" \"Sir,\" answered the other, with great\npoliteness, \"I at present have the honour to be of England.\" \"Oho!\"\nreplied the chevalier, \"I ask your pardon, that is to say, you are incog;\nsome people may find it convenient to keep themselves in that situation.\"\n\"True,\" said the Count, \"but some people are too well known to enjoy that\nprivilege.\" The Swiss being a little disconcerted at this repartee,\nwhich extracted a smile from the audience, after some pause, observed,\nthat persons of a certain class had good reason to drop the remembrance\nof what they have been; but a good citizen will not forget his country,\nor former condition. \"And a bad citizen,\" said Fathom, \"cannot, if he\nwould, provided he has met with his deserts; a sharper may as well forget\nthe shape of a die, or a discarded soldier the sound of a drum.\"\n\nAs the chevalier's character and story were not unknown, this application\nraised an universal laugh at his expense, which provoked him to such a\ndegree, that, starting up, he swore Fathom could not have mentioned any\nobject in nature that he himself resembled so much as a drum, which was\nexactly typified by his emptiness and sound, with this difference,\nhowever, that a drum was never noisy till beaten, whereas the Count would\nnever be quiet, until he should have undergone the same discipline. So\nsaying, he laid his hand upon his sword with a menacing look, and walked\nout as if in expectation of being followed by our adventurer, who\nsuffered himself to be detained by the company, and very calmly took\nnotice, that his antagonist would not be ill pleased at their\ninterposition. Perhaps he would not have comported himself with such\nease and deliberation, had not he made such remarks upon the disposition\nof the chevalier, as convinced him of his own safety. He had perceived a\nperplexity and perturbation in the countenance of the Swiss, when he\nfirst entered the coffee-room; his blunt and precipitate way of accosting\nhim seemed to denote confusion and compulsion; and, in the midst of his\nferocity, this accurate observer discerned the trepidation of fear. By\nthe help of these signs, his sagacity soon comprehended the nature of his\nschemes, and prepared accordingly for a formal defiance.\n\nHis conjecture was verified next morning by a visit from the chevalier,\nwho, taking it for granted that Fathom would not face an adversary in the\nfield, because he had not followed him from the coffee-house, went to his\nlodgings with great confidence, and demanded to see the Count upon an\naffair that would admit of no delay. Maurice, according to his\ninstructions, told him that his master was gone out, but desired he would\nhave the goodness to repose himself in the parlour, till the Count's\nreturn, which he expected every moment. Ferdinand, who had taken post in\na proper place for observation, seeing his antagonist fairly admitted,\ntook the same road, and appearing before him, wrapped up in a long\nSpanish cloak, desired to know what had procured him the honour of such\nan early visit. The Swiss, raising his voice to conceal his agitation,\nexplained his errand, in demanding reparation for the injury his honour\nhad sustained the preceding day, in that odious allusion to a scandalous\nreport which had been raised by the malice of his enemies; and insisted,\nin a very imperious style, upon his attending him forthwith to the\nnursery in Hyde Park. \"Have a little patience,\" said our adventurer with\ngreat composure, \"and I will do myself the pleasure to wait upon you in a\nfew moments.\"\n\nWith these words, he rang the bell, and, calling for a bason of water,\nlaid aside his cloak, and displayed himself in his shirt, with a sword in\nhis right hand, which was all over besmeared with recent blood, as if he\nhad just come from the slaughter of a foe. This phenomenon made such an\nimpression upon the astonished chevalier, already discomposed by the\nresolute behaviour of the Count, that he became jaundiced with terror and\ndismay, and, while his teeth chattered in his head, told our hero he had\nhoped, from his known politeness, to have found him ready to acknowledge\nan injury which might have been the effect of anger or misapprehension,\nin which case the affair might have been compromised to their mutual\nsatisfaction, without proceeding to those extremities which, among men of\nhonour, are always accounted the last resource. To this representation\nFerdinand answered, that the affair had been of the chevalier's own\nseeking, inasmuch as he had intruded himself into his company, and\ntreated him with the most insolent and unprovoked abuse, which plainly\nflowed from a premeditated design against his honour and reputation; he,\ntherefore, far from being disposed to own himself in the wrong, would not\neven accept of a public acknowledgment from him, the aggressor, whom he\nlooked upon as an infamous sharper, and was resolved to chastise\naccordingly.\n\nHere the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a person who was\nbrought to the door in a chair, and conducted into another apartment,\nfrom which a message was brought to the Count, importing, that the\nstranger desired to speak with him upon business of the last importance.\nFathom having chid the servant for admitting people without his order,\ndesired the Swiss to excuse him for a minute longer, and went in to the\nnext room, from whence the following dialogue was overheard by this\nchallenger:--\"Count,\" said the stranger, \"you are not ignorant of my\npretensions to the heart of that young lady, at whose house I met you\nyesterday; therefore you cannot be surprised when I declare myself\ndispleased with your visits and behaviour to my mistress, and demand that\nyou will instantly promise to drop the correspondence.\" \"Else what\nfollows?\" answered Ferdinand, with a cool and temperate voice. \"My\nresentment and immediate defiance,\" replied the other; \"for the only\nalternative I propose is, to forego your design upon that lady, or to\ndecide our pretension by the sword.\"\n\nOur hero, having expressed a regard for this visitant as the son of a\ngentleman whom he honoured, was at the pains to represent the\nunreasonableness of his demand, and the folly of his presumption; and\nearnestly exhorted him to put the issue of his cause upon a more safe and\nequitable footing. But this admonition, instead of appeasing the wrath,\nseemed to inflame the resentment of the opponent, who swore he would not\nleave him until he should have accomplished the purport of his errand.\nIn vain our adventurer requested half an hour for the despatch of some\nurgent business, in which he was engaged with a gentleman in the other\nparlour. This impetuous rival rejected all the terms he could propose,\nand even challenged him to decide the controversy upon the spot; an\nexpedient to which the other having assented with reluctance, the door\nwas secured, the swords unsheathed, and a hot engagement ensued, to the\ninexpressible pleasure of the Swiss, who did not doubt that he himself\nwould be screened from all danger by the event of this rencontre.\nNevertheless, his hope was disappointed in the defeat of the stranger,\nwho was quickly disarmed, in consequence of a wound through the\nsword-arm; upon which occasion Fathom was heard to say, that, in\nconsideration of his youth and family, he had spared his life; but he\nwould not act with the same tenderness towards any other antagonist. He\nthen bound up the limb he had disabled, conducted the vanquished party to\nhis chair, rejoined the chevalier with a serene countenance, and, asking\npardon for having detained him so long, proposed they should instantly\nset out in a hackney-coach for the place of appointment.\n\nThe stratagem thus conducted, had all the success the inventor could\ndesire. The fear of the Swiss had risen almost to an ecstasy before the\nCount quitted the room; but after this sham battle, which had been\npreconcerted betwixt our adventurer and his friend Ratchcali, the\nchevalier's terrors were unspeakable. He considered Fathom as a devil\nincarnate, and went into the coach as a malefactor bound for Tyburn. He\nwould have gladly compounded for the loss of a leg or arm, and\nentertained some transient gleams of hope, that he should escape for half\na dozen flesh-wounds, which he would have willingly received as the price\nof his presumption; but these hopes were banished by the remembrance of\nthat dreadful declaration which he had heard the Count make, after having\novercome his last adversary; and he continued under the power of the most\nunsupportable panic, until the carriage halted at Hyde Park Corner, where\nhe crawled forth in a most piteous and lamentable condition; so that,\nwhen they reached the spot, he was scarce able to stand.\n\nHere he made an effort to speak, and propose an accommodation upon a new\nplan, by which he promised to leave his cause to the arbitrement of those\ngentlemen who were present at the rupture, and to ask pardon of the\nCount, provided he should be found guilty of a trespass upon good\nmanners; but this proposal would not satisfy the implacable Ferdinand,\nwho, perceiving the agony of the Swiss, resolved to make the most of the\nadventure, and giving him to understand he was not a man to be trifled\nwith, desired him to draw without further preamble. Thus compelled, the\nunfortunate gamester pulled off his coat, and, putting himself in a\nposture, to use the words of Nym, \"winked, and held out his cold iron.\"\n\nOur adventurer, far from making a gentle use of the advantages he\npossessed, fiercely attacked him, while he was incapable of making\nresistance, and, aiming at a fleshy part, ran him through the arm and\noutside of the shoulder at the very first pass. The chevalier, already\nstupefied with the horror of expectation, no sooner felt his adversary's\npoint in his body than he fell to the ground, and, concluding he was no\nlonger a man for this world, began to cross himself with great devotion;\nwhile Fathom walked home deliberately, and in his way sent a couple of\nchairmen to the assistance of the wounded knight.\n\nThis achievement, which could not be concealed from the knowledge of the\npublic, not only furnished the character of Fathom with fresh wreaths of\nadmiration and applause, but likewise effectually secured him from any\nfuture attempts of his enemies, to whom the Swiss, for his own sake, had\ncommunicated such terrible ideas of his valour, as overawed the whole\ncommunity.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR\n\nHE PERFORMS ANOTHER EXPLOIT, THAT CONVEYS A TRUE IDEA OF HIS GRATITUDE\nAND HONOUR.\n\n\nIt was not long after this celebrated victory, that he was invited to\nspend part of the summer at the house of a country gentleman, who lived\nabout one hundred miles from London, possessed of a very opulent fortune,\nthe greatest part of which was expended in acts of old English\nhospitality. He had met with our hero by accident at the table of a\ncertain great man, and was so struck with his manner and conversation, as\nto desire his acquaintance, and cultivate his friendship; and he thought\nhimself extremely happy in having prevailed upon him to pass a few weeks\nin his family.\n\nFathom, among his other observations, perceived that there was a domestic\nuneasiness, occasioned by a very beautiful young creature about the age\nof fifteen, who resided in the house under the title of the gentleman's\nniece, though she was in reality his natural daughter, born before his\nmarriage. This circumstance was not unknown to his lady, by whose\nexpress approbation he had bestowed particular attention upon the\neducation of the child, whom we shall distinguish by the name of Celinda.\nTheir liberality in this particular had not been misapplied; for she not\nonly gave marks of uncommon capacity, but, as she grew up, became more\nand more amiable in her person, and was now returned from the boarding\nschool, possessed of every accomplishment that could be acquired by one\nof her age and opportunities. These qualifications, which endeared her\nto every other person, excited the jealousy and displeasure of her\nsupposed aunt, who could not bear to see her own children eclipsed by\nthis illegitimate daughter, whom she therefore discountenanced upon all\noccasions, and exposed to such mortifications as would in all appearance\ndrive her from her father's house. This persecuting spirit was very\ndisagreeable to the husband, who loved Celinda with a truly paternal\naffection, and produced abundance of family disquiet; but being a man of\na peaceable and yielding disposition, he could not long maintain the\nresolution he had taken in her favour, and therefore he ceased opposing\nthe malevolence of his wife.\n\nIn this unfortunate predicament stood the fair bastard, at the arrival of\nour adventurer, who, being allured by her charms, apprised of her\nsituation at the same time, took the generous resolution to undermine her\ninnocence, that he might banquet his vicious appetite with the spoils of\nher beauty. Perhaps such a brutal design might not have entered his\nimagination, if he had not observed, in the disposition of this hapless\nmaiden, certain peculiarities from which he derived the most confident\npresages of success. Besides a total want of experience, that left her\nopen and unguarded against the attacks of the other sex, she discovered a\nremarkable spirit of credulity and superstitious fear, which had been\ncherished by the conversation of her school-fellows. She was\nparticularly fond of music, in which she had made some progress; but so\ndelicate was the texture of her nerves, that one day, while Fathom\nentertained the company with a favourite air, she actually swooned with\npleasure.\n\nSuch sensibility, our projector well knew, must be diffused through all\nthe passions of her heart; he congratulated himself upon the sure\nascendency he had gained over her in this particular; and forthwith began\nto execute the plan he had erected for her destruction. That he might\nthe more effectually deceive the vigilance of her father's wife, he threw\nsuch a dash of affectation in his complaisance towards Celinda, as could\nnot escape the notice of that prying matron, though it was not palpable\nenough to disoblige the young lady herself, who could not so well\ndistinguish between overstrained courtesy and real good breeding. This\nbehaviour screened him from the suspicion of the family, who considered\nit as an effort of politeness, to cover his indifference and disgust for\nthe daughter of his friend, who had by this time given some reason to\nbelieve she looked upon him with the eyes of affection; so that the\nopportunities he enjoyed of conversing with her in private, were less\nliable to intrusion or inquiry. Indeed, from what I have already\nobserved, touching the sentiments of her stepdame, that lady, far from\ntaking measures for thwarting our hero's design, would have rejoiced at\nthe execution of it, and, had she been informed of his intent, might have\nfallen upon some method to facilitate the enterprise; but, as he solely\ndepended upon his own talents, he never dreamed of soliciting such an\nauxiliary.\n\nUnder cover of instructing and accomplishing her in the exercise of\nmusic, he could not want occasions for promoting his aim; when, after\nhaving soothed her sense of hearing, even to a degree of ravishment, so\nas to extort from her an exclamation, importing, that he was surely\nsomething supernatural! he never failed to whisper some insidious\ncompliment or tale of love, exquisitely suited to the emotions of her\nsoul. Thus was her heart insensibly subdued; though more than half his\nwork was still undone; for, at all times, she disclosed such purity of\nsentiment, such inviolable attachment to religion and virtue, and seemed\nso averse to all sorts of inflammatory discourse, that he durst not\npresume upon the footing he had gained in her affection, to explain the\nbaseness of his desire; he therefore applied to another of her passions,\nthat proved the bane of her virtue. This was her timidity, which at\nfirst being constitutional, was afterwards increased by the circumstances\nof her education, and now aggravated by the artful conversation of\nFathom, which he chequered with dismal stories of omens, portents,\nprophecies, and apparitions, delivered upon such unquestionable\ntestimony, and with such marks of conviction, as captivated the belief of\nthe devoted Celinda, and filled her imagination with unceasing terrors.\n\nIn vain she strove to dispel those frightful ideas, and avoid such topics\nof discourse for the future. The more she endeavoured to banish them,\nthe more troublesome they became; and such was her infatuation, that as\nher terrors increased, her thirst after that sort of knowledge was\naugmented. Many sleepless nights did she pass amidst those horrors of\nfancy, starting at every noise, and sweating with dreary apprehension,\nyet ashamed to own her fears, or solicit the comfort of a bedfellow, lest\nshe should incur the ridicule and censure of her father's wife; and what\nrendered this disposition the more irksome, was the solitary situation of\nher chamber, that stood at the end of a long gallery scarce within\nhearing of any other inhabited part of the house.\n\nAll these circumstances had been duly weighed by our projector, who,\nhaving prepared Celinda for his purpose, stole at midnight from his\napartment, which was in another storey, and approaching her door, there\nuttered a piteous groan; then softly retired to his bed, in full\nconfidence of seeing next day the effect of this operation. Nor did his\narrow miss the mark. Poor Celinda's countenance gave such indications of\nmelancholy and dismay, that he could not omit asking the cause of her\ndisquiet, and she, at his earnest request, was prevailed upon to\ncommunicate the dreadful salutation of the preceding night, which she\nconsidered as an omen of death to some person of the family, in all\nprobability to herself, as the groan seemed to issue from one corner of\nher own apartment. Our adventurer argued against this supposition, as\ncontradictory to the common observation of those supernatural warnings\nwhich are not usually imparted to the person who is doomed to die, but to\nsome faithful friend, or trusty servant, particularly interested in the\nevent. He therefore supposed, that the groans foreboded the death of my\nlady, who seemed to be in a drooping state of health, and were, by her\ngenius, conveyed to the organs of Celinda, who was the chief sufferer by\nher jealous and barbarous disposition; he likewise expressed an earnest\ndesire to be an ear-witness of such solemn communication, and, alleging\nthat it was highly improper for a young lady of her delicate feelings to\nexpose herself alone to such another dismal visitation, begged he might\nbe allowed to watch all night in her chamber, in order to defend her from\nthe shocking impressions of fear.\n\nThough no person ever stood more in need of a companion or guard, and her\nheart throbbed with transports of dismay at the prospect of night, she\nrejected his proposal with due acknowledgment, and resolved to trust\nsolely to the protection of Heaven. Not that she thought her innocence\nor reputation could suffer by her compliance with his request; for,\nhitherto, her heart was a stranger to those young desires which haunt the\nfancy, and warm the breast of youth; so that, being ignorant of her\ndanger, she saw not the necessity of avoiding temptation; but she refused\nto admit a man into her bedchamber, merely because it was a step\naltogether opposite to the forms and decorum of life. Nevertheless, far\nfrom being discouraged by this repulse, he knew her fears would multiply\nand reduce that reluctance, which, in order to weaken, he had recourse to\nanother piece of machinery, that operated powerfully in behalf of his\ndesign.\n\nSome years ago, a twelve-stringed instrument was contrived by a very\ningenious musician, by whom it was aptly entitled the \"Harp of Aeolus,\"\nbecause, being properly applied to a stream of air, it produces a wild\nirregular variety of harmonious sounds, that seem to be the effect of\nenchantment, and wonderfully dispose the mind for the most romantic\nsituations. Fathom, who was really a virtuoso in music, had brought one\nof those new-fashioned guitars into the country, and as the effect of it\nwas still unknown in the family, he that night converted it to the\npurposes of his amour, by fixing it in the casement of a window belonging\nto the gallery, exposed to the west wind, which then blew in a gentle\nbreeze. The strings no sooner felt the impression of the balmy zephyr,\nthan they began to pour forth a stream of melody more ravishingly\ndelightful than the song of Philomel, the warbling brook, and all the\nconcert of the wood. The soft and tender notes of peace and love were\nswelled up with the most delicate and insensible transition into a loud\nhymn of triumph and exultation, joined by the deep-toned organ, and a\nfull choir of voices, which gradually decayed upon the ear, until it died\naway in distant sound, as if a flight of angels had raised the song in\ntheir ascent to heaven. Yet the chords hardly ceased to vibrate after\nthe expiration of this overture, which ushered in a composition in the\nsame pathetic style; and this again was succeeded by a third, almost\nwithout pause or intermission, as if the artist's hand had been\nindefatigable, and the theme never to be exhausted.\n\nHis heart must be quite callous, and his ear lost to all distinction, who\ncould hear such harmony without emotion; how deeply, then, must it have\naffected the delicate Celinda, whose sensations, naturally acute, were\nwhetted to a most painful keenness by her apprehension; who could have no\nprevious idea of such entertainment, and was credulous enough to believe\nthe most improbable tale of superstition! She was overwhelmed with awful\nterror, and, never doubting that the sounds were more than mortal,\nrecommended herself to the care of Providence in a succession of pious\nejaculations.\n\nOur adventurer, having allowed some time for the effect of this\ncontrivance, repaired to her chamber door, and, in a whisper, conveyed\nthrough the keyhole, asked if she was awake, begged pardon for such an\nunseasonable visit, and desired to know her opinion of the strange music\nwhich he then heard. In spite of her notions of decency, she was glad of\nhis intrusion, and, being in no condition to observe punctilios, slipped\non a wrapper, opened the door, and, with a faltering voice, owned herself\nfrightened almost to distraction. He pretended to console her with\nreflections, importing, that she was in the hands of a benevolent Being,\nwho would not impose upon his creatures any task which they could not\nbear; he insisted upon her returning to bed, and assured her he would not\nstir from her chamber till day. Thus comforted, she betook herself again\nto rest, while he sat down in an elbow-chair at some distance from the\nbedside, and, in a soft voice, began the conversation with her on the\nsubject of those visitations from above, which, though undertaken on\npretence of dissipating her fear and anxiety, was, in reality, calculated\nfor the purpose of augmenting both.\n\n\"That sweet air,\" said he, \"seems designed for soothing the bodily\nanguish of some saint in his last moments. Hark! how it rises into a\nmore sprightly and elevated strain, as if it were an inspiriting\ninvitation to the realms of bliss! Sure, he is now absolved from all the\nmisery of this life! That full and glorious concert of voices and\ncelestial harps betoken his reception among the heavenly choir, who now\nwaft his soul to paradisian joys! This is altogether great, solemn, and\namazing! The clock strikes one, the symphony hath ceased!\"\n\nThis was actually the case; for he had ordered Maurice to remove the\ninstrument at that hour, lest the sound of it should become too familiar,\nand excite the curiosity of some undaunted domestic, who might frustrate\nhis scheme by discovering the apparatus. As for poor Celinda, her fancy\nwas, by his music and discourse, worked up to the highest pitch of\nenthusiastic terrors; the whole bed shook with her trepidation, the awful\nsilence that succeeded the supernatural music threw an additional damp\nupon her spirits, and the artful Fathom affecting to snore at the same\ntime, she could no longer contain her horror, but called upon his name\nwith a fearful accent, and, having owned her present situation\ninsupportable, entreated him to draw near her bedside, that he might be\nwithin touch on any emergency.\n\nThis was a welcome request to our adventurer, who, asking pardon for his\ndrowsiness, and taking his station on the side of her bed, exhorted her\nto compose herself; then locking her hand fast in his own, was again\nseized with such an inclination to sleep, that he gradually sunk down by\nher side, and seemed to enjoy his repose in that attitude. Meanwhile,\nhis tender-hearted mistress, that he might not suffer in his health by\nhis humanity and complaisance, covered him with the counterpane as he\nslept, and suffered him to take his rest without interruption, till he\nthought proper to start up suddenly with an exclamation of, \"Heaven watch\nover us!\" and then asked, with symptoms of astonishment, if she had heard\nnothing. Such an abrupt address upon such an occasion, did not fail to\namaze and affright the gentle Celinda, who, unable to speak, sprung\ntowards her treacherous protector; and he, catching her in his arms, bade\nher fear nothing, for he would, at the expense of his life, defend her\nfrom all danger.\n\nHaving thus, by tampering with her weakness, conquered the first and\nchief obstacles to his design, he, with great art and perseverance,\nimproved the intercourse to such a degree of intimacy, as could not but\nbe productive of all the consequences which he had foreseen. The groans\nand music were occasionally repeated, so as to alarm the whole family,\nand inspire a thousand various conjectures. He failed not to continue\nhis nocturnal visits and ghastly discourse, until his attendance became\nso necessary to this unhappy maiden, that she durst not stay in her own\nchamber without his company, nor even sleep, except in contact with her\nbetrayer.\n\nSuch a commerce between two such persons of a different sex could not\npossibly be long carried on, without degenerating from the Platonic\nsystem of sentimental love. In her paroxysms of dismay, he did not\nforget to breathe the soft inspirations of his passion, to which she\nlistened with more pleasure, as they diverted the gloomy ideas of her\nfear; and by this time his extraordinary accomplishments had made a\nconquest of her heart. What therefore could be a more interesting\ntransition than that from the most uneasy to the most agreeable sensation\nof the human breast?\n\nThis being the case, the reader will not wonder that a consummate\ntraitor, like Fathom, should triumph over the virtue of an artless,\ninnocent young creature, whose passions he had entirely under his\ncommand. The gradations towards vice are almost imperceptible, and an\nexperienced seducer can strew them with such enticing and agreeable\nflowers, as will lead the young sinner on insensibly, even to the most\nprofligate stages of guilt. All therefore that can be done by virtue,\nunassisted with experience, is to avoid every trial with such a\nformidable foe, by declining and discouraging the first advances towards\na particular correspondence with perfidious man, howsoever agreeable it\nmay seem to be. For here is no security but in conscious weakness.\n\nFathom, though possessed of the spoils of poor Celinda's honour, did not\nenjoy his success with tranquillity. Reflection and remorse often\ninvaded her in the midst of their guilty pleasures, and embittered all\nthose moments they had dedicated to mutual bliss. For the seeds of\nvirtue are seldom destroyed at once. Even amidst the rank productions of\nvice, they regerminate to a sort of imperfect vegetation, like some\nscattered hyacinths shooting up among the weeds of a ruined garden, that\ntestify the former culture and amenity of the soil. She sighed at the\nsad remembrance of that virgin dignity which she had lost; she wept at\nthe prospect of that disgrace, mortification, and misery she should\nundergo, when abandoned by this transient lover, and severely reproached\nhim for the arts he had used to shipwreck her innocence and peace.\n\nSuch expostulations are extremely unseasonable, when addressed to a man\nwell-nigh sated with the effects of his conquest. They act like strong\nblasts of wind applied to embers almost extinguished, which, instead of\nreviving the flame, scatter and destroy every remaining particle of fire.\nOur adventurer, in the midst of his peculiarities, had inconstancy in\ncommon with the rest of his sex. More than half cloyed with the\npossession of Celinda, he could not fail to be disgusted with her\nupbraidings; and had she not been the daughter of a gentleman whose\nfriendship he did not think it his interest to forfeit, he would have\ndropped this correspondence, without reluctance or hesitation. But, as\nhe had measures to keep with a family of such consequence, he constrained\nhis inclinations, so far as to counterfeit those raptures he no longer\nfelt, and found means to appease those intervening tumults of her grief.\n\nForeseeing, however, that it would not be always in his power to console\nher on these terms, he resolved, if possible, to divide her affection,\nwhich now glowed upon him too intensely; and, with that view, whenever\nshe complained of the vapours or dejection, he prescribed, and even\ninsisted upon her swallowing certain cordials of the most palatable\ncomposition, without which he never travelled; and these produced such\nagreeable reveries and flow of spirits, that she gradually became\nenamoured of intoxication; while he encouraged the pernicious passion, by\nexpressing the most extravagant applause and admiration at the wild\nirregular sallies it produced. Without having first made this diversion,\nhe would have found it impracticable to leave the house with\ntranquillity; but, when this bewitching philtre grew into an habit, her\nattachment to Ferdinand was insensibly dissolved; she began to bear his\nneglect with indifference, and, sequestering herself from the rest of the\nfamily, used to solicit this new ally for consolation.\n\nHaving thus put the finishing stroke to the daughter's ruin, he took\nleave of the father, with many acknowledgments and expressions of\ngratitude for his hospitality and friendship, and, riding across the\ncountry to Bristol, took up his habitation near the hot well, where he\nstayed during the remaining part of the season. As for the miserable\nCelinda, she became more and more addicted to the vices in which she had\nbeen initiated by his superlative perfidy and craft, until she was quite\nabandoned by decency and caution. Her father's heart was torn with\nanguish, while his wife rejoiced in her fall; at length her ideas were\nquite debased by her infirmity; she grew every day more and more sensual\nand degenerate, and contracted an intimacy with one of the footmen, who\nwas kind enough to take her to wife, in hope of obtaining a good\nsettlement from his master; but, being disappointed in his aim, he\nconducted her to London, where he made shift to insinuate himself into\nanother service, leaving her to the use, and partly the advantage, of her\nown person, which was still uncommonly attractive.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE\n\nHE REPAIRS TO BRISTOL SPRING, WHERE HE REIGNS PARAMOUNT DURING THE WHOLE\nSEASON.\n\n\nWe shall therefore leave her in this comfortable situation, and return to\nour adventurer, whose appearance at Bristol was considered as a happy\nomen by the proprietor of the hot well, and all the people who live by\nthe resort of company to that celebrated spring. Nor were they deceived\nin their prognostic. Fathom, as usual, formed the nucleus or kernel of\nthe beau monde; and the season soon became so crowded, that many people\nof fashion were obliged to quit the place for want of lodging. Ferdinand\nwas the soul that animated the whole society. He not only invented\nparties of pleasure, but also, by his personal talents, rendered them\nmore agreeable. In a word, he regulated their diversions, and the master\nof the ceremonies never would allow the ball to be begun till the Count\nwas seated.\n\nHaving thus made himself the object of admiration and esteem, his advice\nwas an oracle, to which they had recourse in all doubtful cases of\npunctilio or dispute, or even of medicine; for among his other\naccomplishments, his discourse on that subject was so plausible, and well\nadapted to the understanding of his hearers, that any person who had not\nactually studied the medical art would have believed he was inspired by\nthe spirit of Aesculapius. What contributed to the aggrandisement of his\ncharacter in this branch of knowledge, was a victory he obtained over an\nold physician, who plied at the well, and had one day unfortunately begun\nto harangue in the pump-room upon the nature of the Bristol water. In\nthe course of this lecture he undertook to account for the warmth of the\nfluid; and his ideas being perplexed with a great deal of reading, which\nhe had not been able to digest, his disquisition was so indistinct, and\nhis expression so obscure and unentertaining, that our hero seized the\nopportunity of displaying his own erudition, by venturing to contradict\nsome circumstances of the doctor's hypothesis, and substituting a theory\nof his own, which, as he had invented it for the purpose, was equally\namusing and chimerical.\n\nHe alleged, that fire was the sole vivifying principle that pervaded all\nnature; that, as the heat of the sun concocted the juice of vegetables,\nand ripened those fruits that grow upon the surface of this globe, there\nwas likewise an immense store of central fire reserved within the bowels\nof the earth, not only for the generation of gems, fossils, and all the\npurposes of the mineral world, but likewise for cherishing and keeping\nalive those plants which would otherwise perish by the winter's cold.\nThe existence of such a fire he proved from the nature of all those\nvolcanoes, which in almost every corner of the earth are continually\nvomiting up either flames or smoke. \"These,\" said he, \"are the great\nvents appointed by nature for the discharge of that rarefied air and\ncombustible matter, which, if confined, would burst the globe asunder;\nbut, besides the larger outlets, there are some small chimneys through\nwhich part of the heat transpires; a vapour of that sort, I conceive,\nmust pass through the bed or channel of this spring, the waters of which,\naccordingly retain a moderate warmth.\"\n\nThis account, which totally overthrew the other's doctrine, was so\nextremely agreeable to the audience, that the testy doctor lost his\ntemper, and gave them to understand, without preamble, that he must be a\nperson wholly ignorant of natural philosophy, who could invent such a\nridiculous system, and they involved in worse than an Egyptian fog, that\ncould not at once discern its weakness and absurdity. This declaration\nintroduced a dispute, which was unanimously determined in favour of our\nadventurer. On all such occasions the stream of prejudice runs against\nthe physician, even though his antagonist has nothing to recommend\nhimself to the favour of the spectators; and this decision depends upon\ndivers considerations. In the first place, there is a continual war\ncarried on against the learned professions, by all those who, conscious\nof their own ignorance, seek to level the reputation of their superiors\nwith their own. Secondly, in all disputes upon physic that happen\nbetwixt a person who really understands the art, and an illiterate\npretender, the arguments of the first will seem obscure and\nunintelligible to those who are unacquainted with the previous systems on\nwhich they are built; while the other's theory, derived from common\nnotions, and superficial observation, will be more agreeable, because\nbetter adapted to the comprehension of the hearers. Thirdly, the\njudgment of the multitude is apt to be biassed by that surprise which is\nthe effect of seeing an artist foiled at his own weapons, by one who\nengages him only for amusement.\n\nFathom, besides these advantages, was blessed with a flow of language, an\nelegant address, a polite and self-denying style of argumentation,\ntogether with a temper not to be ruffled; so that the victory could not\nlong waver between him and the physician, to whom he was infinitely\nsuperior in every acquisition but that of solid learning, of which the\njudges had no idea. This contest was not only glorious but profitable to\nour adventurer, who grew into such request in his medical capacity, that\nthe poor doctor was utterly deserted by his patients, and Fathom's advice\nsolicited by every valetudinarian in the place; nor did he forfeit the\ncharacter he thus acquired by any miscarriages in his practice. Being\nbut little conversant with the materia medica, the circle of his\nprescriptions was very small; his chief study was to avoid all drugs of\nrough operation and uncertain effect, and to administer such only as\nshould be agreeable to the palate, without doing violence to the\nconstitution. Such a physician could not but be agreeable to people of\nall dispositions; and, as most of the patients were in some shape\nhypochondriac, the power of imagination, co-operating with his remedies,\noften effected a cure.\n\nOn the whole, it became the fashion to consult the Count in all\ndistempers, and his reputation would have had its run, though the death\nof every patient had given the lie to his pretensions. But empty fame\nwas not the sole fruit of his success. Though no person would presume to\naffront this noble graduate with a fee, they did not fail to manifest\ntheir gratitude by some more valuable present. Every day some superb\npiece of china, curious snuffbox, or jewel, was pressed upon him; so\nthat, at the end of the season, he could almost have furnished a toyshop\nwith the acknowledgments he had received. Not only his avarice, but his\npleasure, was gratified in the course of his medical administration. He\nenjoyed free access, egress, and regress with all the females at the\nwell, and no matron scrupled to put her daughter under his care and\ndirection. These opportunities could not be lost upon a man of his\nintriguing genius; though he conducted his amours with such discretion,\nthat, during the whole season, no lady's character suffered on his\naccount, yet he was highly fortunate in his addresses, and we may venture\nto affirm, that the reproach of barrenness was more than once removed by\nthe vigour of his endeavours.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTY-SIX\n\nHE IS SMITTEN WITH THE CHARMS OF A FEMALE ADVENTURER, WHOSE ALLUREMENTS\nSUBJECT HIM TO A NEW VICISSITUDE OF FORTUNE.\n\n\nAmong those who were distinguished by his gallantry was the young wife of\nan old citizen of London, who had granted her permission to reside at the\nhot well for the benefit of her health, under the eye and inspection of\nhis own sister, who was a maiden of fifty years. The pupil, whose name\nwas Mrs. Trapwell, though low in stature, was finely shaped, her\ncountenance engaging, though her complexion was brown, her hair in colour\nrivalled the raven's back, and her eyes emulated the lustre of the\ndiamond. Fathom had been struck with her first appearance; but found it\nimpracticable to elude the vigilance of her duenna, so as to make a\ndeclaration of his flame; until she herself, guessing the situation of\nhis thoughts, and not displeased with the discovery, thought proper to\nfurnish him with the opportunity he wanted, by counterfeiting an\nindisposition, for the cure of which she knew his advice would be\nimplored. This was the beginning of an acquaintance, which was soon\nimproved to his wish; and so well did she manage her attractions, as in\nsome measure to fix the inconstancy of his disposition; for, at the end\nof the season, his passion was not sated; and they concerted the means of\ncontinuing their commerce, even after their return to London.\n\nThis intercourse effectually answered the purpose of the husband, who had\nbeen decoyed into matrimony by the cunning of his spouse, whom he had\nprivately kept as a concubine before marriage. Conscious of her own\nprecarious situation, she had resolved to impose upon the infirmities of\nTrapwell, and, feigning herself pregnant, gave him to understand she\ncould no longer conceal her condition from the knowledge of her brother,\nwho was an officer in the army, and of such violent passions, that,\nshould he once discover her backsliding, he would undoubtedly wipe away\nthe stains of his family dishonour with her own blood, as well as that of\nher keeper. The citizen, to prevent such a catastrophe, took her to\nwife; but soon after perceiving the trick which had been played upon him,\nset his invention at work, and at length contrived a scheme which he\nthought would enable him, not only to retrieve his liberty, but also\nindemnify himself for the mortification he had undergone.\n\nFar from creating any domestic disturbance, by upbraiding her with her\nfinesse, he seemed perfectly well pleased with his acquisition; and, as\nhe knew her void of any principle, and extremely addicted to pleasure, he\nchose proper occasions to insinuate, that she might gratify her own\ninclination, and at the same time turn her beauty to good account. She\njoyfully listened to these remonstrances, and, in consequence of their\nmutual agreement, she repaired to Bristol Spring, on pretence of an ill\nstate of health, accompanied by her sister-in-law, whom they did not\nthink proper to intrust with the real motive of her journey. Fathom's\nperson was agreeable, and his finances supposed to be in flourishing\norder; therefore, she selected him from the herd of gallants, as a proper\nsacrifice to the powers which she adored; and, on her arrival in London,\nmade her husband acquainted with the importance of her conquest.\n\nTrapwell overwhelmed her with caresses and praise for her discreet and\ndutiful conduct, and faithfully promised that she should pocket in her\nown privy purse one-half of the spoils that should be gathered from her\ngallant, whom she therefore undertook to betray, after he had swore, in\nthe most solemn manner, that his intention was not to bring the affair to\na public trial, which would redound to his own disgrace, but to extort a\nround sum of money from the Count, by way of composition. Confiding in\nthis protestation, she in a few days gave him intelligence of an\nassignation she had made with our adventurer, at a certain bagnio near\nCovent Garden; upon which he secured the assistance of a particular\nfriend and his own journeyman, with whom, and a constable, he repaired to\nthe place of rendezvous, where he waited in an adjoining room, according\nto the directions of his virtuous spouse, until she made the preconcerted\nsignal of hemming three times aloud, when he and his associates rushed\ninto the chamber and surprised our hero in bed with his inamorata.\n\nThe lady on this occasion acted her part to a miracle; she screamed at\ntheir approach; and, after an exclamation of \"Ruined and undone!\"\nfainted away in the arms of her spouse, who had by this time seized her\nby the shoulders, and begun to upbraid her with her infidelity and guilt.\nAs for Fathom, his affliction was unutterable, when he found himself\ndiscovered in that situation, and made prisoner by the two assistants,\nwho had pinioned him in such a manner, that he could not stir, much less\naccomplish an escape. All his ingenuity and presence of mind seemed to\nforsake him in this emergency. The horrors of an English jury overspread\nhis imagination; for he at once perceived that the toil into which he had\nfallen was laid for the purpose; consequently he took it for granted that\nthere would be no deficiency in point of evidence. Soon as he\nrecollected himself, he begged that no violence might be offered to his\nperson, and entreated the husband to favour him with a conference, in\nwhich the affair might be compromised, without prejudice to the\nreputation of either.\n\nAt first Trapwell breathed nothing but implacable revenge, but, by the\npersuasion of his friends, after he had sent home his wife in a chair, he\nwas prevailed upon to hear the proposals of the delinquent, who having\nassured him, by way of apology, that he had always believed the lady was\na widow, made him an offer of five hundred pounds, as an atonement for\nthe injury he had sustained. This being a sum no ways adequate to the\nexpectation of the citizen, who looked upon the Count as possessor of an\nimmense estate, he rejected the terms with disdain, and made instant\napplication to a judge, from whom he obtained a warrant for securing his\nperson till the day of trial. Indeed, in this case, money was but a\nsecondary consideration with Trapwell, whose chief aim was to be legally\ndivorced from a woman he detested. Therefore there was no remedy for the\nunhappy Count, who in vain offered to double the sum. He found himself\nreduced to the bitter alternative of procuring immediate bail, or going\ndirectly to Newgate.\n\nIn this dilemma he sent a messenger to his friend Ratchcali, whose\ncountenance fell when he understood the Count's condition; nor would he\nopen his mouth in the style of consolation, until he had consulted a\ncertain solicitor of his acquaintance, who assured him the law abounded\nwith such resources as would infallibly screen the defendant, had the\nfact been still more palpable than it was. He said there was great\npresumption to believe the Count had fallen a sacrifice to a conspiracy,\nwhich by some means or other would be detected; and, in that case, the\nplaintiff might obtain one shilling in lieu of damages. If that\ndependence should fail, he hinted that, in all probability, the witnesses\nwere not incorruptible; or, should they prove to be so, one man's oath\nwas as good as another's; and, thank Heaven, there was no dearth of\nevidence, provided money could be found to answer the necessary\noccasions.\n\nRatchcali, comforted by these insinuations, and dreading the resentment\nof our adventurer, who, in his despair, might punish him severely for his\nwant of friendship, by some precipitate explanation of the commerce they\nhad carried on; moved, I say, by these considerations, and moreover\ntempted with the prospect of continuing to reap the advantages resulting\nfrom their conjunction, he and another person of credit with whom he\nlargely dealt in jewels, condescended to become sureties for the\nappearance of Fathom, who was accordingly admitted to bail. Not but that\nthe Tyrolese knew Ferdinand too well to confide in his parole. He\ndepended chiefly upon his ideas of self-interest, which, he thought,\nwould persuade him to risk the uncertain issue of a trial, rather than\nquit the field before the harvest was half over; and he was resolved to\nmake his own retreat without ceremony, should our hero be unwise enough\nto abandon his bail.\n\nSuch an adventure could not long lie concealed from the notice of the\npublic, even if both parties had been at pains to suppress the\ncircumstances. But the plaintiff, far from seeking to cover, affected to\ncomplain loudly of his misfortune, that he might interest his neighbours\nin his behalf, and raise a spirit of rancour and animosity, to influence\nthe jury against this insolent foreigner, who had come over into England\nto debauch our wives and deflower our daughters; while he employed a\nformidable band of lawyers to support the indictment, which he laid at\nten thousand pounds damages.\n\nMeanwhile, Fathom and his associate did not fail to take all proper\nmeasures for his defence; they retained a powerful bar of counsel, and\nthe solicitor was supplied with one hundred pounds after another, to\nanswer the expense of secret service; still assuring his clients that\neverything was in an excellent train, and that his adversary would gain\nnothing but shame and confusion of face. Nevertheless, there was a\nnecessity for postponing the trial, on account of a material evidence,\nwho, though he wavered, was not yet quite brought over; and the attorney\nfound means to put off the decision from term to term, until there was no\nquibble left for further delay. While this suit was depending, our hero\ncontinued to move in his usual sphere; nor did the report of his\nsituation at all operate to his disadvantage in the polite world; on the\ncontrary, it added a fresh plume to his character, in the eyes of all\nthose who were not before acquainted with the triumphs of his gallantry.\nNotwithstanding this countenance of his friends, he himself considered\nthe affair in a very serious light; and perceiving that, at any rate, he\nmust be a considerable loser, he resolved to double his assiduity in\ntrade, that he might be the more able to afford the extraordinary expense\nto which he was subjected.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN\n\nFRESH CAUSE FOR EXERTING HIS EQUANIMITY AND FORTITUDE.\n\n\nThe reader may have observed, that Fathom, with all his circumspection,\nhad a weak side, which exposed him to sundry mischances; this was his\ncovetousness, which on some occasions became too hard for his discretion.\nAt this period of time it was, by the circumstances of his situation,\ninflamed to a degree of rapacity. He was now prevailed upon to take a\nhand at whist or piquet, and even to wield the hazard-box; though he had\nhitherto declared himself an irreconcilable enemy to all sorts of play;\nand so uncommon was his success and dexterity at these exercises, as to\nsurprise his acquaintance, and arouse the suspicion of some people, who\nrepined at his prosperity.\n\nBut in nothing was his conduct more inexcusable than in giving way to the\ndangerous temerity of Ratchcali, which he had been always at pains to\nrestrain, and permitting him to practise the same fraud upon an English\nnobleman, which had been executed upon himself at Frankfort. In other\nwords, the Tyrolese, by the canal of Ferdinand's finger and\nrecommendation, sold a pebble for a real brilliant, and in a few days the\ncheat was discovered, to the infinite confusion of our adventurer, who\nnevertheless assumed the guise of innocence with so much art, and\nexpressed such indignation against the villain who had imposed upon his\njudgment and unsuspecting generosity, that his lordship acquitted him of\nany share in the deceit, and contented himself with the restitution,\nwhich he insisted upon making out of his own pocket, until he should be\nable to apprehend the rogue, who had thought proper to abscond for his\nown safety. In spite of all this exculpation, his character did not fail\nto retain a sort of stigma, which indeed the plainest proofs of innocence\nare hardly able to efface; and his connexion with such a palpable knave\nas the Tyrolese appeared to be, had an effect to his prejudice in the\nminds of all those who were privy to the occurrence.\n\nWhen a man's reputation is once brought in question, every trifle is, by\nthe malevolence of mankind, magnified into a strong presumption against\nthe culprit. A few whispers communicated by the envious mouth of\nslander, which he can have no opportunity to answer and refute, shall, in\nthe opinion of the world, convict him of the most horrid crimes; and for\none hypocrite who is decked with the honours of virtue, there are twenty\ngood men who suffer the ignominy of vice; so well disposed are\nindividuals to trample upon the fame of their fellow-creatures. If the\nmost unblemished merit is not protected from this injustice, it will not\nbe wondered at that no quarter was given to the character of an\nadventurer like Fathom, who, among other unlucky occurrences, had the\nmisfortune to be recognised about this time by his two Parisian friends,\nSir Stentor Stile and Sir Giles Squirrel.\n\nThese worthy knights-errant had returned to their own country, after\nhaving made a very prosperous campaign in France, at the end of which,\nhowever, they very narrowly escaped the galleys; and seeing the Polish\nCount seated at the head of taste and politeness, they immediately\ncirculated the story of his defeat at Paris, with many ludicrous\ncircumstances of their own invention, and did not scruple to affirm that\nhe was a rank impostor. When the laugh is raised upon a great man, he\nnever fails to dwindle into contempt. Ferdinand began to perceive a\nchange in the countenance of his friends. His company was no longer\nsolicited with that eagerness which they had formerly expressed in his\nbehalf. Even his entertainments were neglected; when he appeared at any\nprivate or public assembly, the ladies, instead of glowing with pleasure,\nas formerly, now tittered or regarded him with looks of disdain; and a\ncertain pert, little, forward coquette, with a view to put him out of\ncountenance, by raising the laugh at his expense, asked him one night, at\na drum, when he had heard from his relations in Poland? She succeeded in\nher design upon the mirth of the audience, but was disappointed in the\nother part of her aim; for our hero replied, without the least mark of\ndiscomposure, \"They are all in good health at your service, madam; I wish\nI knew in what part of the world your relations reside, that I might\nreturn the compliment.\" By this answer, which was the more severe, as\nthe young lady was of very doubtful extraction, he retorted the laugh\nupon the aggressor, though he likewise failed in his attempt upon her\ntemper; for she was perhaps the only person present who equalled himself\nin stability of countenance.\n\nNotwithstanding this appearance of unconcern, he was deeply touched with\nthese marks of alienation in the behaviour of his friends, and,\nforeseeing in his own disgrace the total shipwreck of his fortune, he\nentered into a melancholy deliberation with himself about the means of\nretrieving his importance in the beau monde, or of turning his address\ninto some other channel, where he could stand upon a less slippery\nfoundation. In this exercise of his thoughts, no scheme occurred more\nfeasible than that of securing the booty he had made, and retiring with\nhis associate, who was also blown, into some other country, where their\nnames and characters being unknown, they might pursue their old plan of\ncommerce without molestation. He imparted this suggestion to the\nTyrolese, who approved the proposal of decamping, though he combated with\nall his might our hero's inclination to withdraw himself before the\ntrial, by repeating the assurances of the solicitor, who told him he\nmight depend upon being reimbursed by the sentence of the court for great\npart of the sums he had expended in the course of the prosecution.\n\nFathom suffered himself to be persuaded by these arguments, supported\nwith the desire of making an honourable retreat, and, waiting patiently\nfor the day of trouble, discharged his sureties, by a personal appearance\nin court. Yet this was not the only score he discharged that morning;\nthe solicitor presented his own bill before they set out for Westminster\nHall, and gave the Count to understand that it was the custom, from time\nimmemorial, for the client to clear with his attorney before trial.\nFerdinand had nothing to object against this established rule, though he\nlooked upon it as a bad omen, in spite of all the solicitor's confidence\nand protestations; and he was not a little confounded, when, looking into\nthe contents, he found himself charged with 350 attendances. He knew it\nwas not his interest to disoblige his lawyer at such a juncture;\nnevertheless, he could not help expostulating with him on this article,\nwhich seemed to be so falsely stated with regard to the number; when his\nquestions drew on an explanation, by which he found he had incurred the\npenalty of three shillings and fourpence for every time he chanced to\nmeet the conscientious attorney, either in the park, the coffee-house, or\nthe street, provided they had exchanged the common salutation; and he had\ngood reason to believe the solicitor had often thrown himself in his way,\nwith a view to swell this item of his account.\n\nWith this extortion our adventurer was fain to comply, because he lay at\nthe mercy of the caitiff; accordingly, he with a good grace paid the\ndemand, which, including his former disbursements, amounted to three\nhundred and sixty-five pounds eleven shillings and threepence three\nfarthings, and then presenting himself before the judge, quietly\nsubmitted to the laws of the realm. His counsel behaved like men of\nconsummate abilities in their profession; they exerted themselves with\nequal industry, eloquence, and erudition, in their endeavours to perplex\nthe truth, browbeat the evidence, puzzle the judge, and mislead the jury;\nbut the defendant found himself wofully disappointed in the deposition of\nTrapwell's journeyman, whom the solicitor pretended to have converted to\nhis interest. This witness, as the attorney afterwards declared, played\nbooty, and the facts came out so clear, that Ferdinand Count Fathom was\nconvicted of criminal conversation with the plaintiff's wife, and cast in\nfifteen hundred pounds, under the denomination of damages.\n\nHe was not so much surprised as afflicted at this decision, because he\nsaw it gradually approaching from the examination of the first evidence.\nHis thoughts were now employed in casting about for some method of\ndeliverance from the snare in which he found himself entangled. To\nescape, he foresaw it would be impracticable, as Trapwell would\nundoubtedly be prepared for arresting him before he could quit\nWestminster Hall; he was too well acquainted with Ratchcali's principles,\nto expect any assistance from that quarter in money matters; and he was\nutterly averse to the payment of the sum awarded against him, which would\nhave exhausted his whole fortune. He therefore resolved to try the\nfriendship of some persons of fashion, with whom he had maintained an\nintimacy of correspondence. Should they fail him in the day of his\nnecessity, he proposed to have recourse to his former sureties, one of\nwhom he meant to bilk, while the other might accompany him in his\nretreat; or, should both these expedients miscarry, he determined, rather\nthan part with his effects, to undergo the most disagreeable confinement,\nin hope of obtaining the jailor's connivance at his escape.\n\nThese resolutions being taken, he met his fate with great fortitude and\nequanimity, and calmly suffered himself to be conveyed to the house of a\nsheriff's officer, who, as he made his exit from the hall, according to\nhis own expectation, executed a writ against him, at the suit of\nTrapwell, for a debt of two thousand pounds. To this place he was\nfollowed by his solicitor, who was allured by the prospect of another\njob, and who, with great demonstrations of satisfaction, congratulated\nhim upon the happy issue of the trial; arrogating to himself the merit of\nhaving saved him eight thousand pounds in the article of damages, by the\nprevious steps he had taken, and the noble defence that he and his\nfriends the counsel had made for their client; he even hinted an\nexpectation of receiving a gratuity for his extraordinary care and\ndiscretion.\n\nFathom, galled as he was with his misfortune, and enraged at the\neffrontery of this pettifogger, maintained a serenity of countenance, and\nsent the attorney with a message to the plaintiff, importing, that, as he\nwas a foreigner, and could not be supposed to have so much cash about\nhim, as to spare fifteen hundred pounds from the funds of his ordinary\nexpense, he would grant him a bond payable in two months, during which\nperiod he should be able to procure a proper remittance from his own\nestate. While the solicitor was employed in this negotiation, he\ndespatched his valet-de-chambre to one nobleman, and Maurice to another,\nwith billets, signifying the nature of the verdict which his adversary\nhad obtained, and desiring that each would lend him a thousand pounds\nupon his parole, until he could negotiate bills upon the Continent.\n\nHis three messengers returned almost at the same instant of time, and\nthese were the answers they brought back.\n\nTrapwell absolutely rejected his personal security; and threatened him\nwith all the horrors of a jail, unless he would immediately discharge the\ndebt, or procure sufficient bondsmen; and one of his quality friends\nfavoured him with this reply to his request:--\n\n\"MY DEAR COUNT!--I am mortally chagrined at the triumph you have\nfurnished to that rascally citizen. By the lard! the judge must have\nbeen in the terrors of cuckoldom, to influence the decision; and the jury\na mere herd of horned beasts, to bring in such a barbarous verdict.\nEgad! at this rate, no gentleman will be able to lie with another man's\nwife, but at the risk of a cursed prosecution. But to waive this\ndisagreeable circumstance, which you must strive to forget; I declare my\nmortification is still the greater, because I cannot at present supply\nyou with the trifle your present exigency requires; for, to tell you a\nsecret, my own finances are in damnable confusion. But a man of Count\nFathom's figure and address can never be puzzled for the want of such a\npaltry sum. Adieu, my dear Count! we shall, I suppose, have the pleasure\nof seeing you to-morrow at White's: meanwhile, I have the honour to be,\nwith the most perfect attachment, yours, GRIZZLEGRIN.\"\n\nThe other noble peer, to whom he addressed himself on this occasion,\ncherished the same sentiments of virtue, friendship, and generosity; but\nhis expression was so different, that we shall, for the edification of\nthe reader, transcribe his letter in his own words:--\n\n\"SIR,--I was never more astonished than at the receipt of your very\nextraordinary billet, wherein you solicit the loan of a thousand pounds,\nwhich you desire may be sent with the bearer on the faith of your parole.\nSir, I have no money to send you or lend you; and cannot help repeating\nmy expressions of surprise at your confidence in making such a strange\nand unwarranted demand. 'Tis true, I may have made professions of\nfriendship, while I looked upon you as a person of honour and good\nmorals; but now that you are convicted of such a flagrant violation of\nthe laws of that kingdom where you have been treated with such\nhospitality and respect, I think myself fully absolved from any such\nconditional promise, which indeed is never interpreted into any other\nthan a bare compliment. I am sorry you have involved your character and\nfortune in such a disagreeable affair, and am, Sir, yours, etc.\n TROMPINGTON.\"\n\nFerdinand was not such a novice in the world as to be disappointed at\nthese repulses; especially as he had laid very little stress upon the\napplication, which was made by way of an experiment upon the gratitude or\ncaprice of those two noblemen, whom he had actually more than once\nobliged with the same sort of assistance which he now solicited, though\nnot to such a considerable amount.\n\nHaving nothing further to expect from the fashionable world, he sent the\nTyrolese to the person who had been bail for his appearance, with full\ninstructions to explain his present occasion in the most favourable\nlight, and desire he would reinforce the credit of the Count with his\nsecurity; but that gentleman, though he placed the most perfect\nconfidence on the honour of our hero, and would have willingly entered\ninto bonds again for his personal appearance, was not quite so well\nsatisfied of his circumstances, as to become liable for the payment of\ntwo thousand pounds, an expense which, in his opinion, the finances of no\nforeign Count were able to defray. He therefore lent a deaf ear to the\nmost pressing remonstrances of the ambassador, who had recourse to\nseveral other merchants, with the same bad success; so that the prisoner,\ndespairing of bail, endeavoured to persuade Ratchcali, that it would be\nhis interest to contribute a thousand pounds towards his discharge, that\nhe might be enabled to quit England with a good grace, and execute his\npart of the plan they had projected.\n\nSo powerful was his eloquence on the occasion, and such strength of\nargument did he use, that even the Tyrolese seemed convinced, though\nreluctantly, and agreed to advance the necessary sum upon the bond and\njudgment of our adventurer, who, being disabled from transacting his own\naffairs in person, was obliged to intrust Ratchcali with his keys,\npapers, and power of attorney, under the check and inspection of his\nfaithful Maurice and the solicitor, whose fidelity he bespoke with the\npromise of an ample recompense.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT\n\nTHE BITER IS BIT.\n\n\nYet, he had no sooner committed his effects to the care of this\ntriumvirate, than his fancy was visited with direful warnings, which\nproduced cold sweats and palpitations, and threw him into such agonies of\napprehension as he had never known before. He remembered the former\ndesertion of the Tyrolese, the recent villany of the solicitor, and\nrecollected the remarks he had made upon the disposition and character of\nhis valet, which evinced him a fit companion for the other two.\n\nAlarmed at these reflections, he entreated the bailiff to indulge him\nwith a visit to his own lodgings, and even offered one hundred guineas as\na gratification for his compliance. But the officer, who had formerly\nlost a considerable sum by the escape of a prisoner, would not run any\nrisk in an affair of such consequence, and our hero was obliged to submit\nto the tortures of his own presaging fears. After he had waited five\nhours in the most racking impatience, he saw the attorney enter with all\nthe marks of hurry, fatigue, and consternation, and heard him exclaim,\n\"Good God, have you seen the gentleman?\"\n\nFathom found his fears realised in this interrogation, to which he\nanswered in a tone of horror and dismay, \"What gentleman? I suppose I am\nrobbed. Speak, and keep me no longer in suspense.\" \"Robbed!\" cried the\nattorney, \"the Lord forbid! I hope you can depend upon the person you\nempowered to receive your jewels and cash? I must own his proceedings\nare a little extraordinary; for after he had rummaged your scrutoire,\nfrom which, in presence of me and your servant, he took one hundred and\nfifty guineas, a parcel of diamond rings and buckles, according to this\nhere inventory, which I wrote with my own hand, and East India bonds to\nthe tune of five hundred more, we adjourned to Garraway's, where he left\nme alone, under pretence of going to a broker of his acquaintance who\nlived in the neighbourhood, while the valet, as I imagined, waited for us\nin the alley. Well, sir, he stayed so long, that I began to be uneasy,\nand at length resolved to send the servant in quest of him, but when I\nwent out for that purpose, deuce a servant was to be found; though I in\nperson inquired for him at every alehouse within half a mile of the\nplace. I then despatched no less than five ticket porters upon the scent\nafter them, and I myself, by a direction from the bar-keeper, went to\nSignior Ratchcali's lodgings, where, as they told me, he had not been\nseen since nine o'clock in the morning. Upon this intimation, I came\ndirectly hither, to give you timely notice, that you may without delay\ntake measures for your own security. The best thing you can do, is to\ntake out writs for apprehending him, in the counties of Middlesex,\nSurrey, Kent, and Essex, and I shall put them in the hands of trusty and\ndiligent officers, who will soon ferret him out of his lurking-place,\nprovided he skulks within ten miles of the bills of mortality. To be\nsure, the job will be expensive; and all these runners must be paid\nbeforehand. But what then? the defendant is worth powder, and if we can\nonce secure him, I'll warrant the prosecution will quit cost.\"\n\nFathom was almost choked with concern and resentment at the news of this\nmischance, so that he could not utter one word until this narrative was\nfinished. Nor was his suspicion confined to the Tyrolese and his own\nlacquey; he considered the solicitor as their accomplice and director,\nand was so much provoked at the latter part of his harangue, that his\ndiscretion seemed to vanish, and, collaring the attorney, \"Villain!\" said\nhe, \"you yourself have been a principal actor in this robbery.\" Then\nturning to the bystanders, \"and I desire in the King's name that he may\nbe secured, until I can make oath before a magistrate in support of the\ncharge. If you refuse your assistance in detaining him, I will make\nimmediate application to one of the secretaries of state, who is my\nparticular friend, and he will see justice done to all parties.\"\n\nAt mention of this formidable name, the bailiff and his whole family were\nin commotion, to obstruct the retreat of the lawyer, who stood aghast and\ntrembled under the grasp of our adventurer. But, soon as he found\nhimself delivered from this embrace, by the interposition of the\nspectators, and collected his spirits, which had been suddenly dissipated\nby Fathom's unexpected assault, he began to display one art of his\noccupation, which he always reserved for extraordinary occasions. This\nwas the talent of abuse, which he poured forth with such fluency of\nopprobrious language, that our hero, smarting as he was, and almost\ndesperate with his loss, deviated from that temperance of behaviour which\nhe had hitherto preserved, and snatching up the poker, with one stroke\nopened a deep trench upon the attorney's skull, that extended from the\nhind head almost to the upper part of the nose, upon each side of which\nit discharged a sanguine stream. Notwithstanding the pain of this\napplication, the solicitor was transported with joy at the sense of the\nsmart, and inwardly congratulated himself upon the appearance of his own\nblood, which he no sooner perceived, than he exclaimed, \"I'm a dead man,\"\nand fell upon the floor at full length.\n\nImmediate recourse was had to a surgeon in the neighbourhood, who, having\nexamined the wound, declared there was a dangerous depression of the\nfirst table of the skull, and that, if he could save the patient's life\nwithout the application of the trepan, it would be one of the greatest\ncures that ever were performed. By this time, Fathom's first transport\nbeing overblown, he summoned up his whole resolution, and reflected upon\nhis own ruin with that fortitude which had never failed him in the\nemergencies of his fate. Little disturbed at the prognostic of the\nsurgeon, which he considered in the right point of view; \"Sir,\" said he,\n\"I am not so unacquainted with the resistance of an attorney's skull, as\nto believe the chastisement I have bestowed on him will at all endanger\nhis life, which is in much greater jeopardy from the hands of the common\nexecutioner. For, notwithstanding this accident, I am determined to\nprosecute the rascal for robbery with the utmost severity of the law;\nand, that I may have a sufficient fund left for that prosecution, I shall\nnot at present throw away one farthing in unnecessary expense, but insist\nupon being conveyed to prison without farther delay.\"\n\nThis declaration was equally unwelcome to the bailiff, surgeon, and\nsolicitor, who, upon the supposition that the Count was a person of\nfortune, and would rather part with an immense sum than incur the\nignominy of a jail, or involve himself in another disgraceful lawsuit,\nhad resolved to fleece him to the utmost of their power. But, now the\nattorney finding him determined to set his fate at defiance, and to\nretort upon him a prosecution, which he had no design to undergo, began\nto repent heartily of the provocation he had given, and to think\nseriously on some method to overcome the obstinacy of the incensed\nforeigner. With this view, while the bailiff conducted him to bed in\nanother apartment, he desired the catchpole to act the part of mediator\nbetween him and the Count, and furnished him with proper instructions for\nthat purpose. Accordingly the landlord, on his return, told Fathom that\nhe was sure the solicitor was not a man for this world; for that he had\nleft him deprived of his senses, and praying to God with great devotion\nfor mercy to his murderer. He then exhorted him, with many protestations\nof friendship, to compromise the unhappy affair by exchanging releases\nwith the attorney before his delirium should be known, otherwise he would\nbring himself into a most dangerous premunire, whether the plaintiff\nshould die of his wound, or live to prosecute him for assault. \"And with\nregard to your charge of robbery against him,\" said he, \"as it is no more\nthan a base suspicion, unsupported by the least shadow of evidence, the\nbill would be thrown out, and then he might sue you for damages. I\ntherefore, out of pure friendship and good-nature, advise you to\ncompromise the affair, and, if you think proper, will endeavour to bring\nabout a mutual release.\"\n\nOur hero, whose passion was by this time pretty well cooled, saw reason\nfor assenting to the proposal; upon which the deed was immediately\nexecuted, the mediator's bill was discharged, and Ferdinand conveyed in\nan hackney-coach to prison, after he had empowered his own landlord to\ndischarge his servants, and convert his effects into ready money. Thus,\nhe saw himself, in the course of a few hours, deprived of his reputation,\nrank, liberty, and friends; and his fortune reduced from two thousand\npounds to something less than two hundred, fifty of which he had carried\nto jail in his pocket.\n\n\nEND OF VOL. I.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventures of Ferdinand Count\nFathom, Part I., by Tobias Smollett\n\n*** "], ["\n\n\n\nProduced by Suzanne Shell and PG Distributed Proofreaders\n\n\n\n\nTHE HUNTED WOMAN\n\nBY\n\nJAMES OLIVER CURWOOD\n\nAuthor of KAZAN, Etc.\n\nIllustrated by\n\nFRANK B. HOFFMAN\n\n\n1915\n\nTO MY WIFE\n\nAND\n\nOUR COMRADES OF THE TRAIL\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\"'Look at MacDonald.... It's not the gold, but MacDonald, that's taking me\nNorth, Ladygray.... Up there, another grave is calling MacDonald.'\"\n\nA tall, slim, exquisitely poised figure.... \"'Another o' them Dotty Dimples\ncome out to save the world. I thought I'd help eggicate her a little, an'\nso I sent her to Bill's place'\"\n\n\"A crowd was gathering.... A slim, exquisitely formed woman in shimmering\nsilk was standing beside a huge brown bear\"\n\n\"'The tunnel is closed,' she whispered.... 'That means we have just\nforty-five minutes to live.... Let us not lie to one another.'\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\nIt was all new--most of it singularly dramatic and even appalling to the\nwoman who sat with the pearl-gray veil drawn closely about her face. For\neighteen hours she had been a keenly attentive, wide-eyed, and partly\nfrightened bit of humanity in this onrush of \"the horde.\" She had heard a\nvoice behind her speak of it as \"the horde\"--a deep, thick, gruff voice\nwhich she knew without looking had filtered its way through a beard. She\nagreed with the voice. It was the Horde--that horde which has always beaten\nthe trails ahead for civilization and made of its own flesh and blood the\nfoundation of nations. For months it had been pouring steadily into the\nmountains--always in and never out, a laughing, shouting, singing,\nblaspheming Horde, every ounce of it toughened sinew and red brawn, except\nthe Straying Angels. One of these sat opposite her, a dark-eyed girl with\nover-red lips and hollowed cheeks, and she heard the bearded man say\nsomething to his companions about \"dizzy dolls\" and \"the little angel in\nthe other seat.\" This same voice, gruffened in its beard, had told her that\nten thousand of the Horde had gone up ahead of them. Then it whispered\nsomething that made her hands suddenly tighten and a hot flush sweep\nthrough her. She lifted her veil and rose slowly from her seat, as if to\nrearrange her dress. Casually she looked straight into the faces of the\nbearded man and his companion in the seat behind. They stared. After that\nshe heard nothing more of the Straying Angels, but only a wildly mysterious\nconfabulation about \"rock hogs,\" and \"coyotes\" that blew up whole\nmountains, and a hundred and one things about the \"rail end.\" She learned\nthat it was taking five hundred steers a week to feed the Horde that lay\nalong the Grand Trunk Pacific between Hogan's Camp and the sea, and that\nthere were two thousand souls at Tete Jaune Cache, which until a few months\nbefore had slumbered in a century-old quiet broken only by the Indian and\nhis trade. Then the train stopped in its twisting trail, and the bearded\nman and his companion left the car. As they passed her they glanced down.\nAgain the veil was drawn close. A shimmering tress of hair had escaped its\nbondage; that was all they saw.\n\n[Illustration: \"Look at MacDonald.... It's not the gold, but MacDonald,\nthat's taking me north, Ladygray.... Up there, another grave is calling\nMacDonald.\"]\n\nThe veiled woman drew a deeper breath when they were gone. She saw that\nmost of the others were getting off. In her end of the car the\nhollow-cheeked girl and she were alone. Even in their aloneness these two\nwomen had not dared to speak until now. The one raised her veil again, and\ntheir eyes met across the aisle. For a moment the big, dark, sick-looking\neyes of the \"angel\" stared. Like the bearded man and his companion, she,\ntoo, understood, and an embarrassed flush added to the colour of the rouge\non her cheeks. The eyes that looked across at her were blue--deep, quiet,\nbeautiful. The lifted veil had disclosed to her a face that she could not\nassociate with the Horde. The lips smiled at her--the wonderful eyes\nsoftened with a look of understanding, and then the veil was lowered again.\nThe flush in the girl's cheek died out, and she smiled back.\n\n\"You are going to Tete Jaune?\" she asked.\n\n\"Yes. May I sit with you for a few minutes? I want to ask questions--so\nmany!\"\n\nThe hollow-cheeked girl made room for her at her side.\n\n\"You are new?\"\n\n\"Quite new--to this.\"\n\nThe words, and the manner in which they were spoken, made the other glance\nquickly at her companion.\n\n\"It is a strange place to go--Tete Jaune,\" she said. \"It is a terrible\nplace for a woman.\"\n\n\"And yet you are going?\"\n\n\"I have friends there. Have you?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nThe girl stared at her in amazement. Her voice and her eyes were bolder\nnow.\n\n\"And without friends you are going--_there?_\" she cried. \"You have no\nhusband--no brother----\"\n\n\"What place is this?\" interrupted the other, raising her veil so that she\ncould look steadily into the other's face. \"Would you mind telling me?\"\n\n\"It is Miette,\" replied the girl, the flush reddening her cheeks again.\n\"There's one of the big camps of the railroad builders down on the Flats.\nYou can see it through the window. That river is the Athabasca.\"\n\n\"Will the train stop here very long?\"\n\nThe Little Angel shrugged her thin shoulders despairingly.\n\n\"Long enough to get me into The Cache mighty late to-night,\" she\ncomplained. \"We won't move for two hours.\"\n\n\"I'd be so glad if you could tell me where I can go for a bath and\nsomething to eat. I'm not very hungry--but I'm terribly dusty. I want to\nchange some clothes, too. Is there a hotel here?\"\n\nHer companion found the question very funny. She had a giggling fit before\nshe answered.\n\n\"You're sure new,\" she explained. \"We don't have hotels up here. We have\nbed-houses, chuck-tents, and bunk-shacks. You ask for Bill's Shack down\nthere on the Flats. It's pretty good. They'll give you a room, plenty of\nwater, and a looking-glass--an' charge you a dollar. I'd go with you, but\nI'm expecting a friend a little later, and if I move I may lose him.\nAnybody will tell you where Bill's place is. It's a red an' white striped\ntent--and it's respectable.\"\n\nThe stranger girl thanked her, and turned for her bag. As she left the car,\nthe Little Angel's eyes followed her with a malicious gleam that gave them\nthe strange glow of candles in a sepulchral cavern. The colours which she\nunfurled to all seeking eyes were not secret, and yet she was filled with\nan inward antagonism that this stranger with the wonderful blue eyes had\ndared to see them and recognize them. She stared after the retreating\nform--a tall, slim, exquisitely poised figure that filled her with envy and\na dull sort of hatred. She did not hear a step behind her. A hand fell\nfamiliarly on her shoulder, and a coarse voice laughed something in her ear\nthat made her jump up with an artificial little shriek of pleasure. The man\nnodded toward the end of the now empty car.\n\n\"Who's your new friend?\" he asked.\n\n\"She's no friend of mine,\" snapped the girl. \"She's another one of them\nDolly Dimples come out to save the world. She's that innocent she wonders\nwhy Tete Jaune ain't a nice place for ladies without escort. I thought I'd\nhelp eggicate her a little an' so I sent her to Bill's place. Oh, my Lord,\nI told her it was respectable!\"\n\nShe doubled over the seat in a fit of merriment, and her companion seized\nthe opportunity to look out of the window.\n\nThe tall, blue-eyed stranger had paused for a moment on the last step of\nthe car to pin up her veil, fully revealing her face. Then she stepped\nlightly to the ground, and found herself facing the sunlight and the\nmountains. She drew a slow, deep breath between her parted lips, and turned\nwonderingly, for a moment forgetful. It was the first time she had left the\ntrain since entering the mountains, and she understood now why some one in\nthe coach had spoken of the Miette Plain as Sunshine Pool. Where-ever she\nlooked the mountains fronted her, with their splendid green s reaching\nup to their bald caps of gray shale and reddish rock or gleaming summits of\nsnow. Into this \"pool\"--this pocket in the mountains--the sun descended in\na wonderful flood. It stirred her blood like a tonic. She breathed more\nquickly; a soft glow her cheeks; her eyes grew more deeply violet\nas they caught the reflection of the blue sky. A gentle wind fretted the\nloose tendrils of brown hair about her face. And the bearded man, staring\nthrough the car window, saw her thus, and for an hour after that the\nhollow-cheeked girl wondered at the strange change in him.\n\nThe train had stopped at the edge of the big fill overlooking the Flats. It\nwas a heavy train, and a train that was helping to make history--a\ncombination of freight, passenger, and \"cattle.\" It had averaged eight\nmiles an hour on its climb toward Yellowhead Pass and the end of steel. The\n\"cattle\" had already surged from their stifling and foul-smelling cars in a\nnoisy inundation of curiously mixed humanity. They were of a dozen\ndifferent nationalities, and as the girl looked at them it was not with\nrevulsion or scorn but with a sudden quickening of heartbeat and a little\nlaugh that had in it something both of wonder and of pride. This was the\nHorde, that crude, monstrous thing of primitive strength and passions that\nwas overturning mountains in its fight to link the new Grand Trunk Pacific\nwith the seaport on the Pacific. In that Horde, gathered in little groups,\nshifting, sweeping slowly toward her and past her, she saw something as\nomnipotent as the mountains themselves. They could not know defeat. She\nsensed it without ever having seen them before. For her the Horde now had a\nheart and a soul. These were the builders of empire--the man-beasts who\nmade it possible for Civilization to creep warily and without peril into\nnew places and new worlds. With a curious shock she thought of the\nhalf-dozen lonely little wooden crosses she had seen through the car window\nat odd places along the line of rail.\n\nAnd now she sought her way toward the Flats. To do this she had to climb\nover a track that was waiting for ballast. A car shunted past her, and on\nits side she saw the big, warning red placards--Dynamite. That one word\nseemed to breathe to her the spirit of the wonderful energy that was\nexpending itself all about her. From farther on in the mountains came the\ndeep, sullen detonations of the \"little black giant\" that had been rumbling\npast her in the car. It came again and again, like the thunderous voice of\nthe mountains themselves calling out in protest and defiance. And each time\nshe felt a curious thrill under her feet and the palpitant touch of\nsomething that was like a gentle breath in her ears. She found another\ntrack on her way, and other cars slipped past her crunchingly. Beyond this\nsecond track she came to a beaten road that led down into the Flats, and\nshe began to descend.\n\n[Illustration: A tall, slim, exquisitely poised figure.... \"Another o' them\nDotty Dimples come out to save the world. I thought I'd help eggicate her a\nlittle, an' so I sent her to Bill's place. Oh, my Lord, I told her it was\nrespectable!\"]\n\nTents shone through the trees on the bottom. The rattle of the cars grew\nmore distant, and she heard the hum and laughter of voices and the jargon\nof a phonograph. At the bottom of the she stepped aside to allow a\nteam and wagon to pass. The wagon was loaded with boxes that rattled and\ncrashed about as the wheels bumped over stones and roots. The driver of the\nteam did not look at her. He was holding back with his whole weight; his\neyes bulged a little; he was sweating, in his face was a comedy of\nexpression that made the girl smile in spite of herself. Then she saw one\nof the bobbing boxes and the smile froze into a look of horror. On it was\npainted that ominous word--DYNAMITE!\n\nTwo men were coming behind her.\n\n\"Six horses, a wagon an' old Fritz--blown to hell an' not a splinter left\nto tell the story,\" one of them was saying. \"I was there three minutes\nafter the explosion and there wasn't even a ravelling or a horsehair left.\nThis dynamite's a dam' funny thing. I wouldn't be a rock-hog for a\nmillion!\"\n\n\"I'd rather be a rock-hog than Joe--drivin' down this hill a dozen times a\nday,\" replied the other.\n\nThe girl had paused again, and the two men stared at her as they were about\nto pass. The explosion of Joe's dynamite could not have startled them more\nthan the beauty of the face that was turned to them in a quietly appealing\ninquiry.\n\n\"I am looking for a place called--Bill's Shack,\" she said, speaking the\nLittle Sister's words hesitatingly. \"Can you direct me to it, please?\"\n\nThe younger of the two men looked at his companion without speaking. The\nother, old enough to regard feminine beauty as a trap and an illusion,\nturned aside to empty his mouth of a quid of tobacco, bent over, and\npointed under the trees.\n\n\"Can't miss it--third tent-house on your right, with canvas striped like a\nbarber-pole. That phonnygraff you hear is at Bill's.\"\n\n\"Thank you.\"\n\nShe went on.\n\nBehind her, the two men stood where she had left them. They did not move.\nThe younger man seemed scarcely to breathe.\n\n\"Bill's place!\" he gasped then. \"I've a notion to tell her. I can't\nbelieve----\"\n\n\"Shucks!\" interjected the other.\n\n\"But I don't. She isn't that sort. She looked like a Madonna--with the\nheart of her clean gone. I never saw anything so white an' so beautiful.\nYou call me a fool if you want to--I'm goin' on to Bill's!\"\n\nHe strode ahead, chivalry in his young and palpitating heart. Quickly the\nolder man was at his side, clutching his arm.\n\n\"Come along, you cotton-head!\" he cried. \"You ain't old enough or big\nenough in this camp to mix in with Bill. Besides,\" he lied, seeing the\nwavering light in the youth's eyes, \"I know her. She's going to the right\nplace.\"\n\nAt Bill's place men were holding their breath and staring. They were not\nunaccustomed to women. But such a one as this vision that walked calmly and\nundisturbed in among them they had never seen. There were half a dozen\nlounging there, smoking and listening to the phonograph, which some one now\nstopped that they might hear every word that was spoken. The girl's head\nwas high. She was beginning to understand that it would have been less\nembarrassing to have gone hungry and dusty. But she had come this far, and\nshe was determined to get what she wanted--if it was to be had. The colour\nshone a little more vividly through the pure whiteness of her skin as she\nfaced Bill, leaning over his little counter. In him she recognized the\nBrute. It was blazoned in his face, in the hungry, seeking look of his\neyes--in the heavy pouches and thick crinkles of his neck and cheeks. For\nonce Bill Quade himself was at a loss.\n\n\"I understand that you have rooms for rent,\" she said unemotionally. \"May I\nhire one until the train leaves for Tete Jaune Cache?\"\n\nThe listeners behind her stiffened and leaned forward. One of them grinned\nat Quade. This gave him the confidence he needed to offset the fearless\nquestioning in the blue eyes. None of them noticed a newcomer in the door.\nQuade stepped from behind his shelter and faced her.\n\n\"This way,\" he said, and turned to the drawn curtains beyond them.\n\nShe followed. As the curtains closed after them a chuckling laugh broke the\nsilence of the on-looking group. The newcomer in the doorway emptied the\nbowl of his pipe, and thrust the pipe into the breast-pocket of his flannel\nshirt. He was bareheaded. His hair was blond, shot a little with gray. He\nwas perhaps thirty-eight, no taller than the girl herself, slim-waisted,\nwith trim, athletic shoulders. His eyes, as they rested on the\nstill-fluttering curtains, were a cold and steady gray. His face was thin\nand bronzed, his nose a trifle prominent. He was a man far from handsome,\nand yet there was something of fascination and strength about him. He did\nnot belong to the Horde. Yet he might have been the force behind it,\ncontemptuous of the chuckling group of rough-visaged men, almost arrogant\nin his posture as he eyed the curtains and waited.\n\nWhat he expected soon came. It was not the usual giggling, the usual\nexchange of badinage and coarse jest beyond the closed curtains. Quade did\nnot come out rubbing his huge hands, his face crinkling with a sort of\nexultant satisfaction. The girl preceded him. She flung the curtains aside\nand stood there for a moment, her face flaming like fire, her blue eyes\nfilled with the flash of lightning. She came down the single step. Quade\nfollowed her. He put out a hand.\n\n\"Don't take offence, girly,\" he expostulated. \"Look here--ain't it\nreasonable to s'pose----\"\n\nHe got no farther. The man in the door had advanced, placing himself at the\ngirl's side. His voice was low and unexcited.\n\n\"You have made a mistake?\" he said.\n\nShe took him in at a glance--his clean-cut, strangely attractive face, his\nslim build, the clear and steady gray of his eyes.\n\n\"Yes, I have made a mistake--a terrible mistake!\"\n\n\"I tell you it ain't fair to take offence,\" Quade went on. \"Now, look\nhere----\"\n\nIn his hand was a roll of bills. The girl did not know that a man could\nstrike as quickly and with as terrific effect as the gray-eyed stranger\nstruck then. There was one blow, and Quade went down limply. It was so\nsudden that he had her outside before she realized what had happened.\n\n\"I chanced to see you go in,\" he explained, without a tremor in his voice.\n\"I thought you were making a mistake. I heard you ask for shelter. If you\nwill come with me I will take you to a friend's.\"\n\n\"If it isn't too much trouble for you, I will go,\" she said. \"And for\nthat--in there--thank you!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\nThey passed down an aisle through the tall trees, on each side of which\nfaced the vari- and many-shaped architecture of the little town. It\nwas chiefly of canvas. Now and then a structure of logs added an appearance\nof solidity to the whole. The girl did not look too closely. She knew that\nthey passed places in which there were long rows of cots, and that others\nwere devoted to trade. She noticed signs which advertised soft drinks and\ncigars--always \"soft drinks,\" which sometimes came into camp marked as\n\"dynamite,\" \"salt pork,\" and \"flour.\" She was conscious that every one\nstared at them as they passed. She heard clearly the expressions of wonder\nand curiosity of two women and a girl who were spreading out blankets in\nfront of a rooming-tent. She looked at the man at her side. She appreciated\nhis courtesy in not attempting to force an acquaintanceship. In her eyes\nwas a ripple of amusement.\n\n\"This is all strange and new to me--and not at all uninteresting,\" she\nsaid. \"I came expecting--everything. And I am finding it. Why do they stare\nat me so? Am I a curiosity?\"\n\n\"You are,\" he answered bluntly. \"You are the most beautiful woman they have\never seen.\"\n\nHis eyes encountered hers as he spoke. He had answered her question fairly.\nThere was nothing that was audacious in his manner or his look. She had\nasked for information, and he had given it. In spite of herself the girl's\nlips trembled. Her colour deepened. She smiled.\n\n\"Pardon me,\" she entreated. \"I seldom feel like laughing, but I almost do\nnow. I have encountered so many curious people and have heard so many\ncurious things during the past twenty-four hours. You don't believe in\nconcealing your thoughts out here in the wilderness, do you?\"\n\n\"I haven't expressed _my_ thoughts,\" he corrected. \"I was telling you what\n_they_ think.\"\n\n\"Oh-h-h--I beg your pardon again!\"\n\n\"Not at all,\" he answered lightly, and now his eyes were laughing frankly\ninto her own. \"I don't mind informing you,\" he went on, \"that I am the\nbiggest curiosity you will meet between this side of the mountains and the\nsea. I am not accustomed to championing women. I allow them to pursue their\nown course without personal interference on my part. But--I suppose it will\ngive you some satisfaction if I confess it--I followed you into Bill's\nplace because you were more than ordinarily beautiful, and because I wanted\nto see fair play. I knew you were making a mistake. I knew what would\nhappen.\"\n\nThey had passed the end of the street, and entered a little green plain\nthat was soft as velvet underfoot. On the farther side of this, sheltered\namong the trees, were two or three tents. The man led the way toward these.\n\n\"Now, I suppose I've spoiled it all,\" he went on, a touch of irony in his\nvoice. \"It was really quite heroic of me to follow you into Bill's place,\ndon't you think? You probably want to tell me so, but don't quite dare.\nAnd I should play up to my part, shouldn't I? But I cannot--not\nsatisfactorily. I'm really a bit disgusted with myself for having taken as\nmuch interest in you as I have. I write books for a living. My name is John\nAldous.\"\n\nWith a little cry of amazement, his companion stopped. Without knowing it,\nher hand had gripped his arm.\n\n\"You are John Aldous--who wrote 'Fair Play,' and 'Women!'\" she gasped.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, amusement in his face.\n\n\"I have read those books--and I have read your plays,\" she breathed, a\nmysterious tremble in her voice. \"You despise women!\"\n\n\"Devoutly.\"\n\nShe drew a deep breath. Her hand dropped from his arm.\n\n\"This is very, very funny,\" she mused, gazing off to the sun-capped peaks\nof the mountains. \"You have flayed women alive. You have made them want to\nmob you. And yet----\"\n\n\"Millions of them read my books,\" he chuckled.\n\n\"Yes--all of them read your books,\" she replied, looking straight into his\nface. \"And I guess--in many ways--you have pointed out things that are\ntrue.\"\n\nIt was his turn to show surprise.\n\n\"You believe that?\"\n\n\"I do. More than that--I have always thought that I knew your secret--the\nbig, hidden thing under your work, the thing which you do not reveal\nbecause you know the world would laugh at you. And so--_you despise me!_\"\n\n\"Not you.\"\n\n\"I am a woman.\"\n\nHe laughed. The tan in his cheeks burned a deeper red.\n\n\"We are wasting time,\" he warned her. \"In Bill's place I heard you say you\nwere going to leave on the Tete Jaune train. I am going to take you to a\nreal dinner. And now--I should let those good people know your name.\"\n\nA moment--unflinching and steady--she looked into his face.\n\n\"It is Joanne, the name you have made famous as the dreadfulest woman in\nfiction. Joanne Gray.\"\n\n\"I am sorry,\" he said, and bowed low. \"Come. If I am not mistaken I smell\nnew-baked bread.\"\n\nAs they moved on he suddenly touched her arm. She felt for a moment the\nfirm clasp of his fingers. There was a new light in his eyes, a glow of\nenthusiasm.\n\n\"I have it!\" he cried. \"You have brought it to me--the idea. I have been\nwanting a name for _her_--the woman in my new book. She is to be a\ntremendous surprise. I haven't found a name, until now--one that fits. I\nshall call her Ladygray!\"\n\nHe felt the girl flinch. He was surprised at the sudden startled look that\nshot into her eyes, the swift ebbing of the colour from her cheeks. He drew\naway his hand at the strange change in her. He noticed how quickly she was\nbreathing--that the fingers of her white hands were clasped tensely.\n\n\"You object,\" he said.\n\n\"Not enough to keep you from using it,\" she replied in a low voice. \"I owe\nyou a great deal.\" He noted, too, how quickly she had recovered herself.\nHer head was a little higher. She looked toward the tents. \"You were not\nmistaken,\" she added. \"I smell new-made bread!\"\n\n\"And I shall emphasize the first half of it--_Lady_gray,\" said John Aldous,\nas if speaking to himself. \"That diminutizes it, you might say--gives it\nthe touch of sentiment I want. You can imagine a lover saying 'Dear little\n_Lady_gray, are you warm and comfy?' He wouldn't say Ladygray as if she\nwore a coronet, would he?\"\n\n\"Smell-o'-bread--fresh bread!\" sniffed Joanne Gray, as if she had not heard\nhim. \"It's making me hungry. Will you please hurry me to it, John Aldous?\"\n\nThey were approaching the first of the three tent-houses, over which was a\ncrudely painted sign which read \"Otto Brothers, Guides and Outfitters.\" It\nwas a large, square tent, with weather-faded red and blue stripes, and from\nit came the cheerful sound of a woman's laughter. Half a dozen\ntrampish-looking Airedale terriers roused themselves languidly as they drew\nnearer. One of them stood up and snarled.\n\n\"They won't hurt you,\" assured Aldous. \"They belong to Jack Bruce and\nClossen Otto--the finest bunch of grizzly dogs in the Rockies.\" Another\nmoment, and a woman had appeared in the door. \"And that is Mrs. Jack Otto,\"\nhe added under his breath. \"If all women were like her I wouldn't have\nwritten the things you have read!\"\n\nHe might have added that she was Scotch. But this was not necessary. The\nlaughter was still in her good-humoured face. Aldous looked at his\ncompanion, and he found her smiling back. The eyes of the two women had\nalready met.\n\nBriefly Aldous explained what had happened at Quade's, and that the young\nwoman was leaving on the Tete Jaune train. The good-humoured smile left\nMrs. Otto's face when he mentioned Quade.\n\n\"I've told Jack I'd like to poison that man some day,\" she cried. \"You poor\ndear, come in, I'll get you a cup of tea.\"\n\n\"Which always means dinner in the Otto camp,\" added Aldous.\n\n\"I'm not so hungry, but I'm tired--so tired,\" he heard the girl say as she\nwent in with Mrs. Otto, and there was a new and strangely pathetic note in\nher voice. \"I want to rest--until the train goes.\"\n\nHe followed them in, and stood for a moment near the door.\n\n\"There's a room in there, my dear,\" said the woman, drawing back a curtain.\n\"Make yourself at home, and lie down on the bed until I have the tea\nready.\"\n\nWhen the curtain had closed behind her, John Aldous spoke in a low voice to\nthe woman.\n\n\"Will you see her safely to the train, Mrs. Otto?\" he asked. \"It leaves at\na quarter after two. I must be going.\"\n\nHe felt that he had sufficiently performed his duty. He left the tent, and\npaused for a moment outside to touzle affectionately the trampish heads of\nthe bear dogs. Then he turned away, whistling. He had gone a dozen steps\nwhen a low voice stopped him. He turned. Joanne had come from the door.\n\nFor one moment he stared as if something more wonderful than anything he\nhad ever seen had risen before him. The girl was bareheaded, and she stood\nin a sun mellowed by a film of cloud. Her head was piled with lustrous\ncoils of gold-brown hair that her hat and veil had hidden. Never had he\nlooked upon such wonderful hair, crushed and crumpled back from her smooth\nforehead; nor such marvellous whiteness of skin and pure blue depths of\neyes! In her he saw now everything that was strong and splendid in woman.\nShe was not girlishly sweet. She was not a girl. She was a woman--glorious\nto look at, a soul glowing out of her eyes, a strength that thrilled him in\nthe quiet and beautiful mystery of her face.\n\n\"You were going without saying good-bye,\" she said. \"Won't you let me thank\nyou--a last time?\"\n\nHer voice brought him to himself again. A moment he bent over her hand. A\nmoment he felt its warm, firm pressure in his own. The smile that flashed\nto his lips was hidden from her as he bowed his blond-gray head.\n\n\"Pardon me for the omission,\" he apologized. \"Good-bye--and may good luck\ngo with you!\"\n\nTheir eyes met once more. With another bow he had turned, and was\ncontinuing his way. At the door Joanne Gray looked back. He was whistling\nagain. His careless, easy stride was filled with a freedom that seemed to\ncome to her in the breath of the mountains. And then she, too, smiled\nstrangely as she reentered the tent.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n\nIf John Aldous had betrayed no visible sign of inward vanquishment he at\nleast was feeling its effect. For years his writings had made him the\ntarget for a world of women, and many men. The men he had regarded with\nindifferent toleration. The women were his life--the \"frail and ineffective\ncreatures\" who gave spice to his great adventure, and made his days\nanything but monotonous. He was not unchivalrous. Deep down in his\nheart--and this was his own secret--he did not even despise women. But he\nhad seen their weaknesses and their frailties as perhaps no other man had\never seen them, and he had written of them as no other man had ever\nwritten. This had brought him the condemnation of the host, the admiration\nof the few. His own personal veneer of antagonism against woman was purely\nartificial, and yet only a few had guessed it. He had built it up about him\nas a sort of protection. He called himself \"an adventurer in the mysteries\nof feminism,\" and to be this successfully he had argued that he must\ndestroy in himself the usual heart-emotions of the sex-man and the animal.\n\nHow far he had succeeded in this he himself did not know--until these last\nmoments when he had bid good-bye to Joanne Gray. He confessed that she had\nfound a cleft in his armour, and there was an uneasy thrill in his blood.\nIt was not her beauty alone that had affected him. He had trained himself\nto look at a beautiful woman as he might have looked at a beautiful flower,\nconfident that if he went beyond the mere admiration of it he would find\nonly burned-out ashes. But in her he had seen something that was more than\nbeauty, something that for a flashing moment had set stirring every\nmolecule in his being. He had felt the desire to rest his hand upon her\nshining hair!\n\nHe turned off into a winding path that led into the thick poplars,\nrestraining an inclination to look back in the direction of the Otto camp.\nHe pulled out the pipe he had dropped into his shirt pocket, filled it with\nfresh tobacco, and began smoking. As he smoked, his lips wore a quizzical\nsmile, for he was honest enough to give Joanne Gray credit for her triumph.\nShe had awakened a new kind of interest in him--only a passing interest, to\nbe sure--but a new kind for all that. The fact amused him. In a large way\nhe was a humourist--few guessing it, and he fully appreciated the humour of\nthe present situation--that he, John Aldous, touted the world over as a\nwoman-hater, wanted to peer out through the poplar foliage and see that\nwonderful gold-brown head shining in the sun once more!\n\nHe wandered more slowly on his way, wondering with fresh interest what his\nfriends, the women, would say when they read his new book. His title for it\nwas \"Mothers.\" It was to be a tremendous surprise.\n\nSuddenly his face became serious. He faced the sound of a distant\nphonograph. It was not the phonograph in Quade's place, but that of a rival\ndealer in soft drinks at the end of the \"street.\" For a moment Aldous\nhesitated. Then he turned in the direction of the camp.\n\nQuade was bolstered up on a stool, his back against the thin partition,\nwhen John Aldous sauntered in. There was still a groggy look in his mottled\nface. His thick bulk hung a bit limply. In his heavy-lidded eyes,\nunder-hung by watery pouches of sin and dissipation, there was a vengeful\nand beastlike glare. He was surrounded by his friends. One of them was\ntaking a wet cloth from his head. There were a dozen in the canvas-walled\nroom, all with their backs to the door, their eyes upon their fallen and\ndishonoured chief. For a moment John Aldous paused in the door. The cool\nand insolent smile hovered about his lips again, and little crinkles had\ngathered at the corners of his eyes.\n\n\"Did I hit you pretty hard, Bill?\" he asked.\n\nEvery head was turned toward him. Bill Quade stared, his mouth open. He\nstaggered to his feet, and stood dizzily.\n\n\"You--damn you!\" he cried huskily.\n\nThree or four of the men had already begun to move toward the stranger.\nTheir hands were knotted, their faces murderously dark.\n\n\"Wait a minute, boys,\" warned Aldous coolly. \"I've got something to say to\nyou--and Bill. Then eat me alive if you want to. Do you want to be square\nenough to give me a word?\"\n\nQuade had settled back sickly on his stool. The others had stopped,\nwaiting. The quiet and insolently confident smile had not left Aldous'\nlips.\n\n\"You'll feel better in a few minutes, Bill,\" he consoled. \"A hard blow on\nthe jaw always makes you sick at the pit of the stomach. That dizziness\nwill pass away shortly. Meanwhile, I'm going to give you and your pals a\nlittle verbal and visual demonstration of what you're up against, and warn\nyou to bait no traps for a certain young woman whom you've lately seen.\nShe's going on to Tete Jaune. And I know how your partner plays his game up\nthere. I'm not particularly anxious to butt into your affairs and the\nbusiness of this pretty bunch that's gathered about you, but I've come to\ngive you a friendly warning for all that. If this young woman is\nembarrassed up at Tete Jaune you're going to settle with me.\"\n\nAldous had spoken without a tremor of excitement in his voice. Not one of\nthe men noticed his speaking lips, his slim hands, or his careless posture\nas he leaned in the door. They were looking straight into his eyes,\nstrangely scintillating and deadly earnest. In such a man mere bulk did not\ncount.\n\n\"That much--for words,\" he went on. \"Now I'm going to give you the visual\ndemonstration. I know your game, Bill. You're already planning what you're\ngoing to do. You won't fight fair--because you never have. You've already\ndecided that some morning I'll turn up missing, or be dug out from under a\nfall of rock, or go peacefully floating down the Athabasca. See! There's\nnothing in that hand, is there?\"\n\nHe stretched out an empty hand toward them, palm up.\n\n\"And now!\"\n\nA twist of the wrist so swift their eyes could not follow, a metallic\nclick, and the startled group were staring into the black muzzle of a\nmenacing little automatic.\n\n\"That's known as the sleeve trick, boys,\" explained Aldous with his\nimperturbable smile. \"It's a relic of the old gun-fighting days when the\nbest man was quickest. From now on, especially at night, I shall carry this\nlittle friend of mine just inside my wristband. There are eleven shots in\nit, and I shoot fairly straight. Good-day!\"\n\nBefore they had recovered from their astonishment he was gone.\n\nHe did not follow the road along which Joanne had come a short time before,\nbut turned again into the winding trail that led riverward through the\npoplars. Where before he had been a little amused at himself, he was now\nmore seriously disgusted. He was not afraid of Quade, who was perhaps the\nmost dangerous man along the line of rail. Neither was he afraid of the\nlawless men who worked his ends. But he knew that he had made powerful\nenemies, and all because of an unknown woman whom he had never seen until\nhalf an hour before. It was this that disturbed his equanimity--the _woman_\nof it, and the knowledge that his interference had been unsolicited and\nprobably unnecessary. And now that he had gone this far he found it not\neasy to recover his balance. Who was this Joanne Gray? he asked himself.\nShe was not ordinary--like the hundred other women who had gone on ahead of\nher to Tete Jaune Cache. If she had been that, he would soon have been in\nhis little shack on the shore of the river, hard at work. He had planned\nwork for himself that afternoon, and he was nettled to discover that his\nenthusiasm for the grand finale of a certain situation in his novel was\ngone. Yet for this he did not blame her. He was the fool. Quade and his\nfriends would make him feel that sooner or later.\n\nHis trail led him to a partly dry muskeg bottom. Beyond this was a thicker\ngrowth of timber, mostly spruce and cedar, from behind which came the\nrushing sound of water. A few moments more and he stood with the wide\ntumult of the Athabasca at his feet. He had chosen this spot for his little\ncabin because the river ran wild here among the rocks, and because\npack-outfits going into the southward mountains could not disturb him by\nfording at this point. Across the river rose the steep embankments that\nshut in Buffalo Prairie, and still beyond that the mountains, thick with\ntimber rising billow on billow until trees looked like twigs, with gray\nrock and glistening snow shouldering the clouds above the last purple line.\nThe cabin in which he had lived and worked for many weeks faced the river\nand the distant Saw Tooth Range, and was partly hidden in a clump of\njack-pines. He opened the door and entered. Through the window to the south\nand west he could see the white face of Mount Geikie, and forty miles away\nin that wilderness of peaks, the sombre frown of Hardesty; through it the\nsun came now, flooding his work as he had left it. The last page of\nmanuscript on which he had been working was in his typewriter. He sat down\nto begin where he had left off in that pivotal situation in his\nmasterpiece.\n\nHe read and re-read the last two or three pages of the manuscript,\nstruggling to pick up the threads where he had dropped them. With each\nreading he became more convinced that his work for that afternoon was\nspoiled. And by whom? By _what?_ A little fiercely he packed his pipe with\nfresh tobacco. Then he leaned back, lighted it, and laughed. More and more\nas the minutes passed he permitted himself to think of the strange young\nwoman whose beauty and personality had literally projected themselves into\nhis workshop. He marvelled at the crudity of the questions which he asked\nhimself, and yet he persisted in asking them. Who was she? What could be\nher mission at Tete Jaune Cache? She had repeated to him what she had said\nto the girl in the coach--that at Tete Jaune she had no friends. Beyond\nthat, and her name, she had offered no enlightenment.\n\nIn the brief space that he had been with her he had mentally tabulated her\nage as twenty-eight--no older. Her beauty alone, the purity of her eyes,\nthe freshness of her lips, and the slender girlishness of her figure, might\nhave made him say twenty, but with those things he had found the maturer\npoise of the woman. It had been a flashlight picture, but one that he was\nsure of.\n\nSeveral times during the next hour he turned to his work, and at last gave\nup his efforts entirely. From a peg in the wall he took down a little\nrifle. He had found it convenient to do much of his own cooking, and he had\nbroken a few laws. The partridges were out of season, but temptingly fat\nand tender. With a brace of young broilers in mind for supper, he left the\ncabin and followed the narrow foot-trail up the river. He hunted for half\nan hour before he stirred a covey of birds. Two of these he shot.\nConcealing his meat and his gun near the trail he continued toward the ford\nhalf a mile farther up, wondering if Stevens, who was due to cross that\nday, had got his outfit over. Not until then did he look at his watch. He\nwas surprised to find that the Tete Jaune train had been gone three\nquarters of an hour. For some unaccountable reason he felt easier. He went\non, whistling.\n\nAt the ford he found Stevens standing close to the river's edge, twisting\none of his long red moustaches in doubt and vexation.\n\n\"Damn this river,\" he growled, as Aldous came up. \"You never can tell what\nit's going to do overnight. Look there! Would you try to cross?\"\n\n\"I wouldn't,\" replied Aldous. \"It's a foot higher than yesterday. I\nwouldn't take the chance.\"\n\n\"Not with two guides, a cook, and a horse-wrangler on your pay-roll--and a\nhospital bill as big as Geikie staring you in the face?\" argued Stevens,\nwho had been sick for three months. \"I guess you'd pretty near take a\nchance. I've a notion to.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't,\" repeated Aldous.\n\n\"But I've lost two days already, and I'm taking that bunch of sightseers\nout for a lump sum, guaranteeing 'em so many days on the trail. This ain't\nwhat you might call _on the trail_. They don't expect to pay for this\ndelay, and that outfit back in the bush is costing me thirty dollars a day.\nWe can get the dunnage and ourselves over in the flat-boat. It'll make our\narms crack--but we can do it. I've got twenty-seven horses. I've a notion\nto chase 'em in. The river won't be any lower to-morrow.\"\n\n\"But you may be a few horses ahead.\"\n\nStevens bit off a chunk of tobacco and sat down. For a few moments he\nlooked at the muddy flood with an ugly eye. Then he chuckled, and grinned.\n\n\"Came through the camp half an hour ago,\" he said. \"Hear you cleaned up on\nBill Quade.\"\n\n\"A bit,\" said Aldous.\n\nStevens rolled his quid and spat into the water slushing at his feet.\n\n\"Guess I saw the woman when she got off the train,\" he went on. \"She\ndropped something. I picked it up, but she was so darned pretty as she\nstood there looking about I didn't dare go up an' give it to her. If it had\nbeen worth anything I'd screwed up my courage. But it wasn't--so I just\ngawped like the others. It was a piece of paper. Mebby you'd like it as a\nsouvenir, seein' as you laid out Quade for her.\"\n\nAs he spoke, Stevens fished a crumpled bit of paper from his pocket and\ngave it to his companion. Aldous had sat down beside him. He smoothed the\npage out on his knee. There was no writing on it, but it was crowded thick\nwith figures, as if the maker of the numerals had been doing some problem\nin mathematics. The chief thing that interested him was that wherever\nmonetary symbols were used it was the \"pound\" and not the \"dollar\" sign.\nThe totals of certain columns were rather startling.\n\n\"Guess she's a millionaire if that's her own money she's been figgering,\"\nsaid Stevens. \"Notice that figger there!\" He pointed with a stubby\nforefinger. \"Pretty near a billion, ain't it?\"\n\n\"Seven hundred and fifty thousand,\" said Aldous.\n\nHe was thinking of the \"pound\" sign. She had not looked like the\nEnglishwomen he had met. He folded the slip of paper and put it in his\npocket.\n\nStevens eyed him seriously.\n\n\"I was coming over to give you a bit of advice before I left for the\nMaligne Lake country,\" he said. \"You'd better move. Quade won't want you\naround after this. Besides----\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"My kid heard something,\" continued the packer, edging nearer. \"You was\nmighty good to the kid when I was down an' out, Aldous. I ought to tell\nyou. It wasn't an hour ago the kid was behind the tent an' he heard Quade\nand Slim Barker talking. So far as I can find from the kid, Quade has gone\nnutty over her. He's ravin'. He told Slim that he'd give ten thousand\ndollars to get her in his hands. What sent the boy down to me was Quade\ntellin' Slim that he'd get _you_ first. He told Slim to go on to Tete\nJaune--follow the girl!\"\n\n\"The deuce you say!\" cried Aldous, clutching the other's arm suddenly.\n\"He's done that?\"\n\n\"That's what the kid says.\"\n\nAldous rose to his feet slowly. The careless smile was playing about his\nmouth again. A few men had learned that in those moments John Aldous was\ndangerous.\n\n\"The kid is undoubtedly right,\" he said, looking down at Stevens. \"But I am\nquite sure the young woman is capable of taking care of herself. Quade has\na tremendous amount of nerve, setting Slim to follow her, hasn't he? Slim\nmay run up against a husband or a brother.\"\n\nStevens haunched his shoulders.\n\n\"It's not the woman I'm thinking about. It's you. I'd sure change my\nlocation.\"\n\n\"Why wouldn't it be just as well if I told the police of his threat?\" asked\nAldous, looking across the river with a glimmer of humour in his eyes.\n\n\"Oh, hell!\" was the packer's rejoinder.\n\nSlowly he unwound his long legs and rose to his feet.\n\n\"Take my advice--move!\" he said. \"As for me, I'm going to cross that cussed\nriver this afternoon or know the reason why.\"\n\nHe stalked away in the direction of his outfit, chewing viciously at his\nquid. For a few moments Aldous stood undecided. He would liked to have\njoined the half-dozen men he saw lounging restfully a distance beyond the\ngrazing ponies. But Stevens had made him acutely aware of a new danger. He\nwas thinking of his cabin--and the priceless achievement of his last months\nof work, his manuscript. If Quade should destroy that----\n\nHe clenched his hands and walked swiftly toward his camp. To \"burn out\" an\nenemy was one of Quade's favourite methods of retaliation. He had heard\nthis. He also knew that Quade's work was done so cleverly that the police\nhad been unable to call him to account.\n\nQuade's status had interested Aldous from the beginning. He had discovered\nthat Quade and Culver Rann, his partner at Tete Jaune, were forces to be\nreckoned with even by the \"powers\" along the line of rail. They were the\ntwo chiefs of the \"underground,\" the men who controlled the most dangerous\nelement from Miette to Fort George. He had once seen Culver Rann, a quiet,\nkeen-eyed, immaculately groomed man of forty--the cleverest scoundrel that\nhad ever drifted into the Canadian west. He had been told that Rann was\nreally the brain of the combination, and that the two had picked up a\nquarter of a million in various ways. But it was Quade with whom he had to\ndeal now, and he began to thank Stevens for his warning. He was filled with\na sense of relief when he reached his cabin and found it as he had left\nit. He always made a carbon copy of his work. This copy he now put into a\nwaterproof tin box, and the box he concealed under a log a short distance\nback in the bush.\n\n\"Now go ahead, Quade,\" he laughed to himself, a curious, almost exultant\nring in his voice. \"I haven't had any real excitement for so long I can't\nremember, and if you start the fun there's going to _be_ fun!\"\n\nHe returned to his birds, perched himself behind a bush at the river's\nedge, and began skinning them. He had almost finished when he heard hoarse\nshouts from up the river. From his position he could see the stream a\nhundred yards below the ford. Stevens had driven in his horses. He could\nsee them breasting the first sweep of the current, their heads held high,\nstruggling for the opposite shore. He rose, dropped his birds, and stared.\n\n\"Good God, what a fool!\" he gasped.\n\nHe saw the tragedy almost before it had begun. Still three hundred yards\nbelow the swimming horses was the gravelly bar which they must reach on the\nopposite side. He noted the grayish strip of smooth water that marked the\nend of the dead-line. Three or four of the stronger animals were forging\nsteadily toward this. The others grouped close together, almost motionless\nin their last tremendous fight, were left farther and farther behind. Then\ncame the break. A mare and her yearling colt had gone in with the bunch.\nAldous saw the colt, with its small head and shoulders high out of the\nwater, sweep down like a chip with the current. A cold chill ran through\nhim as he heard the whinneying scream of the mother--a warning cry that\nheld for him the pathos and the despair of a creature that was human. He\nknew what it meant. \"Wait--I'm coming--I'm coming!\" was in that cry. He saw\nthe mare give up and follow resistlessly with the deadly current, her eyes\nupon her colt. The heads behind her wavered, then turned, and in another\nmoment the herd was sweeping down to its destruction.\n\nAldous felt like turning his head. But the spectacle fascinated him, and he\nlooked. He did not think of Stevens and his loss as the first of the herd\nplunged in among the rocks. He stood with white face and clenched hands,\nleaning over the water boiling at his feet, cursing softly in his\nhelplessness. To him came the last terrible cries of the perishing animals.\nHe saw head after head go under. Out of the white spume of a great rock\nagainst which the flood split itself with the force of an avalanche he saw\none horse pitched bodily, as if thrown from a huge catapault. The last\nanimal had disappeared when chance turned his eyes upstream and close in to\nshore. Here flowed a steady current free of rock, and down this--head and\nshoulders still high out of the water--came the colt! What miracle had\nsaved the little fellow thus far Aldous did not stop to ask. Fifty yards\nbelow it would meet the fate of the others. Half that distance in the\ndirection of the maelstrom below was the dead trunk of a fallen spruce\noverhanging the water for fifteen or twenty feet. In a flash Aldous was\nracing toward it. He climbed out on it, leaned far over, and reached down.\nHis hand touched the water. In the grim excitement of rescue he forgot his\nown peril. There was one chance in twenty that the colt would come within\nhis reach, and it did. He made a single lunge and caught it by the ear. For\na moment after that his heart turned sick. Under the added strain the dead\nspruce sagged down with a warning crack. But it held, and Aldous hung to\nhis grip on the ear. Foot by foot he wormed his way back, until at last he\nhad dragged the little animal ashore.\n\nAnd then a voice spoke behind him, a voice that he would have recognized\namong ten thousand, low, sweet, thrilling.\n\n\"That was splendid, John Aldous!\" it said. \"If I were a man I would want to\nbe a man like you!\"\n\nHe turned. A few steps from him stood Joanne Gray. Her face was as white as\nthe bit of lace at her throat. Her lips were colourless, and her bosom rose\nand fell swiftly. He knew that she, too, had witnessed the tragedy. And the\neyes that looked at him were glorious.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n\nTo John Aldous Joanne's appearance at this moment was like an anti-climax.\nIt plunged him headlong for a single moment into what he believed to be the\nabsurdity of a situation. He had a quick mental picture of himself out on\nthe dead spruce, performing a bit of mock-heroism by dragging in a\nhalf-drowned colt by one ear. In another instant this had passed, and he\nwas wondering why Joanne Gray was not on her way to Tete Jaune.\n\n\"It was splendid!\" she was saying again, her eyes glowing at him. \"I know\nmen who would not have risked that for a human!\"\n\n\"Perhaps they would have been showing good judgment,\" replied Aldous.\n\nHe noticed now that she was holding with one hand the end of a long slender\nsapling which a week or two before he had cut and trimmed for a fish-pole.\nHe nodded toward it, a half-cynical smile on his lips.\n\n\"Were you going to fish me out--or the colt?\" he asked.\n\n\"You,\" she replied. \"I thought you were in danger.\" And then she added, \"I\nsuppose you are deeply grateful that fate did not compel you to be saved by\na woman.\"\n\n\"Not at all. If the spruce had snapped, I would have caught at the end of\nyour sapling like any drowning rat--or man. Allow me to thank you.\"\n\nShe had stepped down to the level strip of sand on which the colt was\nweakly struggling to rise to its feet. She was breathing quickly. Her face\nwas still pale. She was without a hat, and as she bent for a moment over\nthe colt Aldous felt his eyes drawn irresistibly to the soft thick coils of\nher hair, a glory of colour that made him think of the lustrous brown of a\nripe wintelberry. She looked up suddenly and caught his eyes upon her.\n\n\"I came quite by accident,\" she explained quickly. \"I wanted to be alone,\nand Mrs. Otto said this path would lead to the river. When I saw you I was\nabout to turn back. And then I saw the other--the horses coming down the\nstream. It was terrible. Are they all drowned?\"\n\n\"All that you saw. It wasn't a pretty sight, was it?\" There was a\nsuggestive inquiry in his voice as he added, \"If you had gone to Tete Jaune\nyou would have missed the unpleasantness of the spectacle.\"\n\n\"I would have gone, but something happened. They say it was a cave-in, a\nslide--something like that. The train cannot go on until to-morrow.\"\n\n\"And you are to stay with the Ottos?\"\n\nShe nodded.\n\nQuick as a flash she had seemed to read his thoughts.\n\n\"I am sorry,\" she added, before he could speak. \"I can see that I have\nannoyed you. I have literally projected myself into your work, and I am\nafraid that I have caused you trouble. Mrs. Otto has told me of this man\nthey call Quade. She says he is dangerous. And I have made him your enemy.\"\n\n\"I am, not afraid of Quade. The incident was nothing more than an agreeable\ninterruption to what was becoming a rather monotonous existence up here. I\nhave always believed, you know, that a certain amount of physical\nexcitement is good oil for our mental machinery. That, perhaps, was why you\ncaught me hauling at His Coltship's ear.\"\n\nHe had spoken stiffly. There was a hard note in his voice, a suggestion of\nsomething that was displeasing in his forced laugh. He knew that in these\nmoments he was fighting against his inner self--against his desire to tell\nher how glad he was that something had held back the Tete Jaune train, and\nhow wonderful her hair looked in the afternoon sun. He was struggling to\nkeep himself behind the barriers he had built up and so long maintained in\nhis writings. And yet, as he looked, he felt something crumbling into\nruins. He knew that he had hurt her. The hardness of his words, the\ncoldness of his smile, his apparently utter indifference to her had sent\nsomething that was almost like a quick, physical pain into her eyes. He\ndrew a step nearer, so that he caught the soft contour of her cheek. Joanne\nGray heard him, and lowered her head slightly, so that he could not see.\nShe was a moment too late. On her cheek Aldous saw a single creeping\ndrop--a tear.\n\nIn an instant he was at her side. With a quick movement she brushed the\ntear away before she faced him.\n\n\"I've hurt you,\" he said, looking her straight in the eyes. \"I've hurt you,\nand God knows I'm a brute for doing it. I've treated you as badly as\nQuade--only in a different way. I know how I've made you feel--that you've\nbeen a nuisance, and have got me into trouble, and that I don't want to\nhave anything more to do with you. Have I made you feel that?\"\n\n\"I am afraid--you have.\"\n\nHe reached out a hand, and almost involuntarily her own came to it. She saw\nthe change in his face, regret, pain, and then that slow-coming, wonderful\nlaughter in his eyes.\n\n\"That's just how I set out to make you feel,\" he confessed, the warmth of\nher hand sending a thrill through him. \"I might as well be frank, don't you\nthink? Until you came I had but one desire, and that was to finish my book.\nI had planned great work for to-day. And you spoiled it. I couldn't get you\nout of my mind. And it made me--ugly.\"\n\n\"And that was--all?\" she whispered, a tense waiting in her eyes. \"You\ndidn't think----\"\n\n\"What Quade thought,\" he bit in sharply. The grip of his fingers hurt her\nhand. \"No, not that. My God, I didn't make you think _that?_\"\n\n\"I'm a stranger--and they say women don't go to Tete Jaune alone,\" she\nanswered doubtfully.\n\n\"That's true, they don't--not as a general rule. Especially women like you.\nYou're alone, a stranger, and too beautiful. I don't say that to flatter\nyou. You are beautiful, and you undoubtedly know it. To let you go on alone\nand unprotected among three or four thousand men like most of those up\nthere would be a crime. And the women, too--the Little Sisters. They'd\nblast you. If you had a husband, a brother or a father waiting for you it\nwould be different. But you've told me you haven't. You have made me change\nmy mind about my book. You are of more interest to me just now than that.\nWill you believe me? Will you let me be a friend, if you need a friend?\"\n\nTo Aldous it seemed that she drew herself up a little proudly. For a moment\nshe seemed taller. A rose-flush of colour spread over her cheeks. She drew\nher hand from him. And yet, as she looked at him, he could see that she was\nglad.\n\n\"Yes, I believe you,\" she said. \"But I must not accept your offer of\nfriendship. You have done more for me now than I can ever repay. Friendship\nmeans service, and to serve me would spoil your plans, for you are in great\nhaste to complete your book.\"\n\n\"If you mean that you need my assistance, the book can wait.\"\n\n\"I shouldn't have said that,\" she cut in quickly, her lips tightening\nslightly. \"It was utterly absurd of me to hint that I might require\nassistance--that I cannot take care of myself. But I shall be proud of the\nfriendship of John Aldous.\"\n\n\"Yes, you can take care of yourself, Ladygray,\" said Aldous softly, looking\ninto her eyes and yet speaking as if to himself. \"That is why you have\nbroken so curiously into my life. It's _that_--and not your beauty. I have\nknown beautiful women before. But they were--just women, frail things that\nmight snap under stress. I have always thought there is only one woman in\nten thousand who would not do that--under certain conditions. I believe you\nare that one in ten thousand. You can go on to Tete Jaune alone. You can go\nanywhere alone--and care for yourself.\"\n\nHe was looking at her so strangely that she held her breath, her lips\nparted, the flush in her cheeks deepening.\n\n\"And the strangest part of it all is that I have always known you away back\nin my imagination,\" he went on. \"You have lived there, and have troubled\nme. I could not construct you perfectly. It is almost inconceivable that\nyou should have borne the same name--Joanne. Joanne, of 'Fair Play.'\"\n\nShe gave a little gasp.\n\n\"Joanne was--terrible,\" she cried. \"She was bad--bad to the heart and soul\nof her!\"\n\n\"She was splendid,\" replied Aldous, without a change in his quiet voice.\n\"She was splendid--but bad. I racked myself to find a soul for her, and I\nfailed. And yet she was splendid. It was my crime--not hers--that she\nlacked a soul. She would have been my ideal, but I spoiled her. And by\nspoiling her I sold half a million copies of the book. I did not do it\npurposely. I would have given her a soul if I could have found one. She\nwent her way.\"\n\n\"And you compare me to--_her?_\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Aldous deliberately. \"You are that Joanne. But you possess what\nI could not give to her. Joanne of 'Fair Play' was splendid without a soul.\nYou have what she lacked. You may not understand, but you have come to\nperfect what I only partly created.\"\n\nThe colour had slowly ebbed from Joanne's face. There was a mysterious\ndarkness in her eyes.\n\n\"If you were not John Aldous I would--strike you,\" she said. \"As it\nis--yes--I want you as a friend.\"\n\nShe held out her hand. For a moment he felt its warmth again in his own.\nHe bowed over it. Her eyes rested steadily on his blond head, and again she\nnoted the sprinkle of premature gray in his hair. For a second time she\nfelt almost overwhelmingly the mysterious strength of this man. Perhaps\neach took three breaths before John Aldous raised his head. In that time\nsomething wonderful and complete passed between them. Neither could have\ntold the other what it was. When their eyes met again, it was in their\nfaces.\n\n\"I have planned to have supper in my cabin to-night,\" said Aldous, breaking\nthe tension of that first moment. \"Won't you be my guest, Ladygray?\"\n\n\"Mrs. Otto----\" she began.\n\n\"I will go to her at once and explain that you are going to eat partridges\nwith me,\" he interrupted. \"Come--let me show you into my workshop and\nhome.\"\n\nHe led her to the cabin and into its one big room.\n\n\"You will make yourself at home while I am gone, won't you?\" he invited.\n\"If it will give you any pleasure you may peel a few potatoes. I won't be\ngone ten minutes.\"\n\nNot waiting for any protest she might have, Aldous slipped back through the\ndoor and took the path up to the Ottos'.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n\nAs soon as he had passed from the view of the cabin door Aldous shortened\nhis pace. He knew that never in his life had he needed to readjust himself\nmore than at the present moment. A quarter of an hour had seen a complete\nand miraculous revolution within him. It was a change so unusual and\napparently so impossible that he could not grasp the situation and the fact\nall at once. But the truth of it swept over him more and more swiftly as he\nmade his way along the dark, narrow trail that led up to the Miette Plain.\nIt was something that not only amazed and thrilled him. First--as in all\nthings--he saw the humour of it. He, John Aldous of all men, had utterly\nobliterated himself, and for a _woman_. He had even gone so far as to offer\nthe sacrifice of his most important work. Frankly he had told Joanne that\nshe interested him more just now than his book. Again he repeated to\nhimself that it had not been a surrender--but an obliteration. With a pair\nof lovely eyes looking quietly into him, he had wiped the slate clean of\nthe things he had preached for ten years and the laws he had made for\nhimself. And as he came in sight of the big Otto tent, he found himself\nsmiling, his breath coming quickly, strange voices singing within him.\n\nHe stopped to load and light his pipe before he faced Mrs. Otto, and he\nclouded himself in as much smoke as possible while he explained to her\nthat he had almost forced Joanne to stop at his cabin and eat partridges\nwith him. He learned that the Tete Jaune train could not go on until the\nnext day, and after Mrs. Otto had made him take a loaf of fresh bread and a\ncan of home-made marmalade as a contribution to their feast, he turned back\ntoward the cabin, trying to whistle in his old careless way.\n\nThe questions he had first asked himself about Joanne forced themselves\nback upon him now with deeper import. Almost unconsciously he had revealed\nhimself to her. He had spread open for her eyes and understanding the page\nwhich he had so long hidden. He had as much as confessed to her that she\nhad come to change him--to complete what he had only half created. It had\nbeen an almost inconceivable and daring confession, and he believed that\nshe understood him. More than that, she had read about him. She had read\nhis books. She knew John Aldous--the man.\n\nBut what did he know about her beyond the fact that her name was Joanne\nGray, and that the on-sweeping Horde had brought her into his life as\nmysteriously as a storm might have flung him a bit of down from a swan's\nbreast? Where had she come from? And why was she going to Tete Jaune? It\nmust be some important motive was taking her to a place like Tete Jaune,\nthe rail-end, a place of several thousand men, with its crude muscle and\nbrawn and the seven passions of man. It was an impossible place for a young\nand beautiful woman unprotected. If Joanne had known any one among the\nengineers or contractors, or had she possessed a letter of introduction to\nthem, the tense lines would not have gathered so deeply about the corners\nof Aldous' mouth. But these men whose brains were behind the Horde--the\nengineers and the contractors--knew what women alone and unprotected meant\nat Tete Jaune. Such women floated in with the Horde. And Joanne was going\nin with the Horde. There lay the peril--and the mystery of it.\n\nSo engrossed was Aldous in his thoughts that he had come very quietly to\nthe cabin door. It was Joanne's voice that roused him. Sweet and low she\nwas singing a few lines from a song which he had never heard.\n\nShe stopped when Aldous appeared at the door. It seemed to him that her\neyes were a deeper, more wonderful blue as she looked up at him, and\nsmiled. She had found a towel for an apron, and was peeling potatoes.\n\n\"You will have some unusual excuses to make very soon,\" she greeted him.\n\"We had a visitor while you were gone. I was washing the potatoes when I\nlooked up to find a pair of the fiercest, reddest moustaches I have ever\nseen, ornamenting the doorway. The man had two eyes that seemed about to\nfall out when he saw me. He popped away like a rabbit--and--and--there's\nsomething he left behind in his haste!\"\n\nJoanne's eyes were flooded with laughter as she nodded at the door. On the\nsill was a huge quid of tobacco.\n\n\"Stevens!\" Aldous chuckled. \"God bless my soul, if you frightened him into\ngiving up a quid of tobacco like that you sure _did_ startle him some!\" He\nkicked Stevens' lost property out with the toe of his boot and turned to\nJoanne, showing her the fresh bread and marmalade. \"Mrs. Otto sent these to\nyou,\" he said. \"And the train won't leave until to-morrow.\"\n\nIn her silence he pulled a chair in front of her, sat down close, and\nthrust the point of his hunting knife into one of the two remaining\npotatoes.\n\n\"And when it does go I'm going with you,\" he added.\n\nHe expected this announcement would have some effect on her. As she jumped\nup with the pan of potatoes, leaving the one still speared on the end of\nhis knife, he caught only the corner of a bewitching smile.\n\n\"You still believe that I will be unable to take care of myself up at this\nterrible Tete Jaune?\" she asked, bending for a moment over the table. \"Do\nyou?\"\n\n\"No. You can care for yourself anywhere, Ladygray,\" he repeated. \"But I am\nquite sure that it will be less troublesome for me to see that no insults\nare offered you than for you to resent those insults when they come. Tete\nJaune is full of Quades,\" he added.\n\nThe smile was gone from her face when she turned to him. Her blue eyes were\nfilled with a tense anxiety.\n\n\"I had almost forgotten that man,\" she whispered. \"And you mean that you\nwould fight for me--again?\"\n\n\"A thousand times.\"\n\nThe colour grew deeper in her cheeks. \"I read something about you once that\nI have never forgotten, John Aldous,\" she said. \"It was after you returned\nfrom Thibet. It said that you were largely made up of two emotions--your\ncontempt for woman and your love of adventure; that it would be impossible\nfor you not to see a flaw in one, and that for the other--physical\nexcitement--you would go to the ends of the earth. Perhaps it is this--your\ndesire for adventure--that makes you want to go with me to Tete Jaune?\"\n\n\"I am beginning to believe that it will be the greatest adventure of my\nlife,\" he replied, and something in his quiet voice held her silent. He\nrose to his feet, and stood before her. \"It is already the Great\nAdventure,\" he went on. \"I feel it. And I am the one to judge. Until to-day\nI would have staked my life that no power could have wrung from me the\nconfession I am going to make to you voluntarily. I have laughed at the\nopinion the world has held of me. To me it has all been a colossal joke. I\nhave enjoyed the hundreds of columns aimed at me by excited women through\nthe press. They have all asked the same question: Why do you not write of\nthe good things in women instead of always the bad? I have never given them\nan answer. But I answer you now--here. I have not picked upon the\nweaknesses of women because I despise them. Those weaknesses--the\ndestroying frailties of womankind--I have driven over rough-shod through\nthe pages of my books because I have always believed that Woman was the one\nthing which God came nearest to creating _perfect_. I believe they should\nbe perfect. And because they have not quite that perfection which should be\ntheirs I have driven the cold facts home as hard as I could. I have been a\nfool and an iconoclast instead of a builder. This confession to you is\nproof that you have brought me face to face with the greatest adventure of\nall.\"\n\nThe colour in her cheeks had centred in two bright spots. Her lips formed\nwords which came slowly, strangely.\n\n\"I guess--I understand,\" she said. \"Perhaps I, too, would have been that\nkind of an iconoclast--if I could have put the things I have thought into\nwritten words.\" She drew a deep breath, and went on, her eyes full upon\nhim, speaking as if out of a dream. \"The Great Adventure--for you. Yes; and\nperhaps for both.\"\n\nHer hands were drawn tightly to her breast. Something about her as she\nstood there, her back to the table, drew John Aldous to her side, forced\nthe question from his lips: \"Tell me, Ladygray--why are you going to Tete\nJaune?\"\n\nIn that same strange way, as if her lips were framing words beyond their\npower to control, she answered:\n\n\"I am going--to find--my husband.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\n\nSilent, his head bowed a little, John Aldous stood before her after those\nlast words. A slight noise outside gave him the pretext to turn to the\ndoor. She was going to Tete Jaune--to find her husband! He had not expected\nthat. For a breath, as he looked out toward the bush, his mind was in a\nstrange daze. A dozen times she had given him to understand there was no\nhusband, father, or brother waiting for her at the rail-end. She had told\nhim that she was alone--without friends. And now, like a confession, those\nwords had come strangely from her lips.\n\nWhat he had heard was one of Otto's pack-horses coming down to drink. He\nturned toward her again.\n\nJoanne stood with her back still to the table. She had slipped a hand into\nthe front of her dress and had drawn forth a long thick envelope. As she\nopened it, Aldous saw that it contained banknotes. From among these she\npicked out a bit of paper and offered it to him.\n\n\"That will explain--partly,\" she said.\n\nIt was a newspaper clipping, worn and faded, with a date two years old. It\nhad apparently been cut from an English paper, and told briefly of the\ntragic death of Mortimer FitzHugh, son of a prominent Devonshire family,\nwho had lost his life while on a hunting trip in the British Columbia\nWilds.\n\n\"He was my husband,\" said Joanne, as Aldous finished. \"Until six months ago\nI had no reason to believe that the statement in the paper was not true.\nThen--an acquaintance came out here hunting. He returned with a strange\nstory. He declared that he had seen Mr. FitzHugh alive. Now you know why I\nam here. I had not meant to tell you. It places me in a light which I do\nnot think that I can explain away--just now. I have come to prove or\ndisprove his death. If he is alive----\"\n\nFor the first time she betrayed the struggle she was making against some\npowerful emotion which she was fighting to repress. Her face had paled. She\nstopped herself with a quick breath, as if knowing that she had already\ngone too far.\n\n\"I guess I understand,\" said Aldous. \"For some reason your anxiety is not\nthat you will find him dead, Ladygray, but that you may find him alive.\"\n\n\"Yes--yes, that is it. But you must not urge me farther. It is a terrible\nthing to say. You will think I am not a woman, but a fiend. And I am your\nguest. You have invited me to supper. And--the potatoes are ready, and\nthere is no fire!\"\n\nShe had forced a smile back to her lips. John Aldous whirled toward the\ndoor.\n\n\"I will have the partridges in two seconds!\" he cried. \"I dropped them when\nthe horses went through the rapids.\"\n\nThe oppressive and crushing effect of Joanne's first mention of a husband\nwas gone. He made no effort to explain or analyze the two sudden changes\nthat swept over him. He accepted them as facts, and that was all. Where a\nfew moments before there had been the leaden grip of something that seemed\nto be physically choking him, there was now again the strange buoyancy with\nwhich he had gone to the Otto tent. He began to whistle as he went to the\nriver's edge. He was whistling when he returned, the two birds in his hand.\nJoanne was waiting for him in the door. Again her face was a faintly tinted\nvision of tranquil loveliness; her eyes were again like the wonderful blue\npools over the sunlit mountains. She smiled as he came up. He was\namazed--not that she had recovered so completely from the emotional\nexcitement that had racked her, but because she betrayed in no way a sign\nof grief--of suspense or of anxiety. A few minutes ago he had heard her\nsinging. He could almost believe that her lips might break into song again\nas she stood there.\n\nFrom that moment until the sun sank behind the mountains and gray shadows\nbegan to creep in where the light had been, there was no other reference to\nthe things that had happened or the things that had been said since\nJoanne's arrival. For the first time in years John Aldous completely forgot\nhis work. He was lost in Joanne. With the tremendous reaction that was\nworking out in him she became more and more wonderful to him with each\nbreath that he drew. He made no effort to control the change that was\nsweeping through him. His one effort was to keep it from being too apparent\nto her.\n\nThe way in which Joanne had taken his invitation was as delightful as it\nwas new to him. She had become both guest and hostess. With her lovely arms\nbared halfway to the shoulders she rolled out a batch of biscuits. \"Hot\nbiscuits go so well with marmalade,\" she told him. He built a fire. Beyond\nthat, and bringing in the water, she gave him to understand that his duties\nwere at an end, and that he could smoke while she prepared the supper. With\nthe beginning of dusk he closed the cabin door that he might have an excuse\nfor lighting the big hanging lamp a little earlier. He had imagined how its\nwarm glow would flood down upon the thick soft coils of her shining hair.\n\nEvery fibre in him throbbed with a keen and exquisite satisfaction as he\nsat down opposite her. During the meal he looked into the quiet, velvety\nblue of her eyes a hundred times. He found it a delightful sensation to\ntalk to her and look into those eyes at the same time. He told her more\nabout himself than he had ever told another soul. It was she who spoke\nfirst of the manuscript upon which he was working. He had spoken of certain\nadventures that had led up to the writing of one of his books.\n\n\"And this last book you are writing, which you call 'Mothers,'\" she said.\n\"Is it to be like 'Fair Play?'\"\n\n\"It was to have been the last of the trilogy. But it won't be now,\nLadygray. I've changed my mind.\"\n\n\"But it is so nearly finished, you say?\"\n\n\"I would have completed it this week. I was rushing it to an end at fever\nheat when--you came.\"\n\nHe saw the troubled look in her eyes, and hastened to add:\n\n\"Let us not talk about that manuscript, Ladygray. Some day I will let you\nread it, and then you will understand why your coming has not hurt it. At\nfirst I was unreasonably disturbed because I thought that I must finish it\nwithin a week from to-day. I start out on a new adventure then--a strange\nadventure, into the North.\"\n\n\"That means--the wild country?\" she asked. \"Up there in the North--there\nare no people?\"\n\n\"An occasional Indian, perhaps a prospector now and then,\" he said. \"Last\nyear I travelled a hundred and twenty-seven days without seeing a human\nface except that of my Cree companion.\"\n\nShe had leaned a little over the table, and was looking at him intently,\nher eyes shining.\n\n\"That is why I have understood you, and read between the printed lines in\nyour books,\" she said. \"If I had been a man, I would have been a great deal\nlike you. I love those things--loneliness, emptiness, the great spaces\nwhere you hear only the whisperings of the winds and the fall of no other\nfeet but your own. Oh, I should have been a man! It was born in me. It was\na part of me. And I loved it--loved it.\"\n\nA poignant grief had shot into her eyes. Her voice broke almost in a sob.\nAmazed, he looked at her in silence across the table.\n\n\"You have lived that life, Ladygray?\" he said after a moment. \"You have\nseen it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she nodded, clasping and unclasping her slim white hands. \"For years\nand years, perhaps even more than you, John Aldous! I was born in it. And\nit was my life for a long time--until my father died.\" She paused, and he\nsaw her struggling to subdue the quivering throb in her throat. \"We were\ninseparable,\" she went on, her voice becoming suddenly strange and quiet.\n\"He was father, mother--everything to me. It was too wonderful. Together\nwe hunted out the mysteries and the strange things in the out-of-the-way\nplaces of the earth. It was his passion. He had given birth to it in me. I\nwas always with him, everywhere. And then he died, soon after his discovery\nof that wonderful buried city of Mindano, in the heart of Africa. Perhaps\nyou have read----\"\n\n\"Good God,\" breathed Aldous, so low that his voice did not rise above a\nwhisper. \"Joanne--Ladygray--you are not speaking of Daniel Gray--Sir Daniel\nGray, the Egyptologist, the antiquarian who uncovered the secrets of an\nancient and wonderful civilization in the heart of darkest Africa?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And you--are his daughter?\"\n\nShe bowed her head.\n\nLike one in a dream John Aldous rose from his chair and went to her. He\nseized her hands and drew her up so that they stood face to face. Again\nthat strange and beautiful calmness filled her eyes.\n\n\"Our trails have strangely crossed, Lady Joanne,\" he said. \"They have been\ncrossing--for years. While Sir Daniel was at Murja, on the eve of his great\ndiscovery, I was at St. Louis on the Senegal coast. I slept in that little\nCape Verde hotel, in the low whitewashed room overlooking the sea. The\nproprietor told me that Sir Daniel had occupied it before me, and I found a\nbroken fountain pen in the drawer of that sickly black teakwood desk, with\nthe carved serpent's head. And I was at Gampola at another time, headed for\nthe interior of Ceylon, when I learned that I was travelling again one of\nSir Daniel's trails. And you were with him!\"\n\n\"Always,\" said Joanne.\n\nFor a few tense moments they had looked steadily into each other's eyes.\nSwiftly, strangely, the world was bridging itself for them. Their minds\nswept back swiftly as the fire in a thunder-sky. They were no longer\nstrangers. They were no longer friends of a day. The grip of Aldous' hands\ntightened. A hundred things sprang to his lips. Before he could speak, he\nsaw a sudden, startled change leap into Joanne's face. She had turned her\nface a little, so that she was looking toward the window. A frightened cry\nbroke from her lips. Aldous whirled about. There was nothing there. He\nlooked at Joanne again. She was white and trembling. Her hands were\nclutched at her breast. Her eyes, big and dark and staring, were still\nfixed on the window.\n\n\"That man!\" she panted. \"His face was there--against the glass--like a\ndevil's!\"\n\n\"Quade?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nShe caught at his arm as he sprang toward the door.\n\n\"Stop!\" she cried. \"You mustn't go out----\"\n\nFor a moment he turned at the door. He was as she had seen him in Quade's\nplace, terribly cool, a strange, quiet smile on his lips. His eyes were\ngray, smiling steel.\n\n\"Close the door after me and lock it until I return,\" he said. \"You are the\nfirst woman guest I ever had, Ladygray. I cannot allow you to be insulted!\"\n\nAs he went out she saw him slip something from his pocket. She caught the\nglitter of it in the lamp-glow.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\n\nIt was in the blood of John Aldous to kill Quade. He ran with the quickness\nof a hare around the end of the cabin, past the window, and then stopped to\nlisten, his automatic in his hand, his eye piercing the gloom for some\nmoving shadow. He had not counted on an instant's hesitation. He would\nshoot Quade, for he knew why the mottled beast had been at the window.\nStevens' boy had been right. Quade was after Joanne. His ugly soul was\ndisrupted with a desire to possess her, and Aldous knew that when roused by\npassion he was more like a devil-fish than a man--a creeping, slimy,\nnight-seeking creature who had not only the power of the underworld back of\nhim, but wealth as well. He did not think of him as a man as he stood\nlistening, but as a beast. He was ready to shoot. But he saw nothing. He\nheard no sound that could have been made by a stumbling foot or a moving\nbody. An hour later, the moon would have been up, but it was dark now\nexcept for the stars. He heard the hoot of an owl a hundred yards away. Out\nin the river something splashed. From the timber beyond Buffalo Prairie\ncame the yapping bark of a coyote. For five minutes he stood as silent as\none of the rocks behind him. He realized that to go on--to seek blindly for\nQuade in the darkness, would be folly. He went back, tapped at the door,\nand reentered the cabin when Joanne threw back the lock.\n\nShe was still pale. Her eyes were bright.\n\n\"I was coming--in a moment,\" she said, \"I was beginning to fear that----\"\n\n\"--he had struck me down in the dark?\" added Aldous, as she hesitated.\n\"Well, he would like to do just that, Joanne.\" Unconsciously her name had\nslipped from him. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for him to\ncall her Joanne now. \"Is it necessary for me to tell you what this man\nQuade is--why he was looking through the window?\"\n\nShe shuddered.\n\n\"No--no--I understand!\"\n\n\"Only partly,\" continued Aldous, his face white and set. \"It is necessary\nthat you should know more than you have guessed, for your own protection.\nIf you were like most other women I would not tell you the truth, but would\ntry to shield you from it. As it is you should know. There is only one\nother man in the Rocky Mountains more dangerous than Bill Quade. He is\nCulver Rann, up at Tete Jaune. They are partners--partners in crime, in\nsin, in everything that is bad and that brings them gold. Their influence\namong the rougher elements along the line of rail is complete. They are so\nstrongly entrenched that they have put contractors out of business because\nthey would not submit to blackmail. The few harmless police we have\nfollowing the steel have been unable to touch them. They have cleaned up\nhundreds of thousands, chiefly in three things--blackmail, whisky, and\nwomen. Quade is the viler of the two. He is like a horrible beast. Culver\nRann makes me think of a sleek and shining serpent. But it is this man\nQuade----\"\n\nHe found it almost impossible to go on with Joanne's blue eyes gazing so\nsteadily into his.\n\n\"--whom we have made our enemy,\" she finished for him.\n\n\"Yes--and more than that,\" he said, partly turning his head away. \"You\ncannot go on to Tete Jaune alone, Joanne. You must go nowhere alone. If you\ndo----\"\n\n\"What will happen?\"\n\n\"I don't know. Perhaps nothing would happen. But you cannot go alone. I am\ngoing to take you back to Mrs. Otto now. And to-morrow I shall go on to\nTete Jaune with you. It is fortunate that I have a place up there to which\nI can take you, and where you will be safe.\"\n\nAs they were preparing to go, Joanne glanced ruefully at the table.\n\n\"I am ashamed to leave the dishes in that mess,\" she said.\n\nHe laughed, and tucked her hand under his arm as they went through the\ndoor. When they had passed through the little clearing, and the darkness of\nthe spruce and balsam walls shut them in, he took her hand.\n\n\"It is dark and you may stumble,\" he apologized. \"This isn't much like the\nshell plaza in front of the Cape Verde, is it?\"\n\n\"No. Did you pick up any of the little red bloodshells? I did, and they\nmade me shiver. There were strange stories associated with them.\"\n\nHe knew that she was staring ahead into the blank wall of gloom as she\nspoke, and that it was not thought of the bloodshells, but of Quade, that\nmade her fingers close more tightly about his own. His right hand was\ngripping the butt of his automatic. Every nerve in him was on the alert,\nyet she could detect nothing of caution or preparedness in his careless\nvoice.\n\n\"The bloodstones didn't trouble me,\" he answered. \"I can't remember\nanything that upset me more than the snakes. I am a terrible coward when it\ncomes to anything that crawls without feet. I will run from a snake no\nlonger than your little finger--in fact, I'm just as scared of a little\ngrass snake as I am of a python. It's the _thing_, and not its size, that\nhorrifies me. Once I jumped out of a boat into ten feet of water because my\ncompanion caught an eel on his line, and persisted in the argument that it\nwas a fish. Thank Heaven we don't have snakes up here. I've seen only three\nor four in all my experience in the Northland.\"\n\nShe laughed softly in spite of the uneasy thrill the night held for her.\n\n\"It is hard for me to imagine you being afraid,\" she said. \"And yet if you\nwere afraid I know it would be of just some little thing like that. My\nfather was one of the bravest men in the world, and a hundred times I have\nseen him show horror at sight of a spider. If you were afraid of snakes,\nwhy did you go up the Gampola, in Ceylon?\"\n\n\"I didn't know the snakes were there,\" he chuckled. \"I hadn't dreamed there\nwere a half so many snakes in the whole world as there were along that\nconfounded river. I slept sitting up, dressed in rubber wading boots that\ncame to my waist, and wore thick leather gloves. I got out of the country\nat the earliest possible moment.\"\n\nWhen they entered the edge of the Miette clearing and saw the glow of\nlights ahead of them, Aldous caught the sudden upturn of his companion's\nface, laughing at him in the starlight.\n\n\"Kind, thoughtful John Aldous!\" she whispered, as if to herself. \"How nice\nof you it was to talk of such pleasant things while we were coming through\nthat black, dreadful swamp--with a Bill Quade waiting for us on the side!\"\n\nA low ripple of laughter broke from her lips, and he stopped dead in his\ntracks, forgetting to put the automatic back in his pocket. At sight of it\nthe amusement died in her face. She caught his arm, and one of her hands\nseized the cold steel of the pistol.\n\n\"Would he--_dare?_\" she demanded.\n\n\"You can't tell,\" replied Aldous, putting the gun in his pocket. \"And that\nwas a creepy sort of conversation to load you down with, wasn't it,\nLadygray? I imagine you'll catch me in all sorts of blunders like that.\" He\npointed ahead. \"There's Mrs. Otto now. She's looking this way and wondering\nwith all her big heart if you ought not to be at home and in bed.\"\n\nThe door of the Otto home was wide open, and silhouetted in the flood of\nlight was the good-natured Scotchwoman. Aldous gave the whistling signal\nwhich she and her menfolk always recognized, and hurried on with Joanne.\n\nBefore they had quite reached the tent-house, Joanne put a detaining hand\non his arm.\n\n\"I don't want you to go back to the cabin to-night,\" she said. \"The face at\nthe window--was terrible. I am afraid. I don't want you to be there alone.\"\n\nHer words sent a warm glow through him.\n\n\"Nothing will happen,\" he assured her. \"Quade will not come back.\"\n\n\"I don't want you to return to the cabin,\" she persisted. \"Is there no\nother place where you can stay?\"\n\n\"I might go down and console Stevens, and borrow a couple of his horse\nblankets for a bed if that will please you.\"\n\n\"It will,\" she cried quickly. \"If you don't return to the cabin you may go\non to Tete Jaune with me to-morrow. Is it a bargain?\"\n\n\"It is!\" he accepted eagerly. \"I don't like to be chased out, but I'll\npromise not to sleep in the cabin to-night.\"\n\nMrs. Otto was advancing to meet them. At the door he bade them good-night,\nand walked on in the direction of the lighted avenue of tents and shacks\nunder the trees. He caught a last look in Joanne's eyes of anxiety and\nfear. Glancing back out of the darkness that swallowed him up, he saw her\npause for a moment in the lighted doorway, and look in his direction. His\nheart beat faster. Joyously he laughed under his breath. It was strangely\nnew and pleasing to have some one thinking of him in that way.\n\nHe had not intended to go openly into the lighted avenue. From the moment\nhe had plunged out into the night after Quade, his fighting blood was\nroused. He had subdued it while with Joanne, but his determination to find\nQuade and have a settlement with him had grown no less. He told himself\nthat he was one of the few men along the line whom it would be difficult\nfor Quade to harm in other than a physical way. He had no business that\ncould be destroyed by the other's underground methods, and he had no job to\nlose. Until he had seen Joanne enter the scoundrel's red-and-white striped\ntent he had never hated a man as he now hated Quade. He had loathed him\nbefore, and had evaded him because the sight of him was unpleasant; now he\nwanted to grip his fingers around his thick red throat. He had meant to\ncome up behind Quade's tent, but changed his mind and walked into the\nlighted trail between the two rows of tents and shacks, his hands thrust\ncarelessly into his trousers pockets. The night carnival of the railroad\nbuilders was on. Coarse laughter, snatches of song, the click of pool balls\nand the chink of glasses mingled with the thrumming of three or four\nmusical instruments along the lighted way. The phonograph in Quade's place\nwas going incessantly. Half a dozen times Aldous paused to greet men whom\nhe knew. He noted that there was nothing new or different in their manner\ntoward him. If they had heard of his trouble with Quade, he was certain\nthey would have spoken of it, or at least would have betrayed some sign.\nFor several minutes he stopped to talk with MacVeigh, a young Scotch\nsurveyor. MacVeigh hated Quade, but he made no mention of him. Purposely he\npassed Quade's tent and walked to the end of the street, nodding and\nlooking closely at those whom he knew. It was becoming more and more\nevident to him that Quade and his pals were keeping the affair of the\nafternoon as quiet as possible. Stevens had heard of it. He wondered how.\n\nAldous retraced his steps. As though nothing had happened, he entered\nQuade's place. There were a dozen men inside, and among them he recognized\nthree who had been there that afternoon. He nodded to them. Slim Barker was\nin Quade's place behind the counter. Barker was Quade's right-hand man at\nMiette, and there was a glitter in his rat-like eyes as Aldous leaned over\nthe glass case at one end of the counter and asked for cigars. He fumbled a\nbit as he picked out half a dollar's worth from the box. His eyes met\nSlim's.\n\n\"Where is Quade?\" he asked casually.\n\nBarker shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"Busy to-night,\" he answered shortly. \"Want to see him?\"\n\n\"No, not particularly. Only--I don't want him to hold a grudge.\"\n\nBarker replaced the box in the case and turned away. After lighting a cigar\nAldous went out. He was sure that Quade had not returned from the river.\nWas he lying in wait for him near the cabin? The thought sent a sudden\nthrill through him. In the same breath it was gone. With half a dozen men\nready to do his work, Aldous knew that Quade would not redden his own hands\nor place himself in any conspicuous risk. During the next hour he visited\nthe places where Quade was most frequently seen. He had made up his mind to\nwalk over to the engineers' camp, when a small figure darted after him out\nof the gloom of the trees.\n\nIt was Stevens' boy.\n\n\"Dad wants to see you down at the camp,\" he whispered excitedly. \"He says\nright away--an' for no one to see you. He said not to let any one see me.\nI've been waiting for you to come out in the dark.\"\n\n\"Skip back and tell him I'll come,\" replied Aldous quickly. \"Be sure you\nmind what he says--and don't let any one see you!\"\n\nThe boy disappeared like a rabbit. Aldous looked back, and ahead, and then\ndived into the darkness after him.\n\nA quarter of an hour later he came out on the river close to Stevens' camp.\nA little nearer he saw Stevens squatted close to a smouldering fire about\nwhich he was drying some clothes. The boy was huddled in a disconsolate\nheap near him. Aldous called softly, and Stevens slowly rose and stretched\nhimself. The packer advanced to where he had screened himself behind a\nclump of bush. His first look at the other assured him that he was right in\nusing caution. The moon had risen, and the light of it fell in the packer's\nface. It was a dead, stonelike gray. His cheeks seemed thinner than when\nAldous had seen him a few hours before and there was despair in the droop\nof his shoulders. His eyes were what startled Aldous. They were like coals\nof fire, and shifted swiftly from point to point in the bush. For a moment\nthey stood silent.\n\n\"Sit down,\" Stevens said then. \"Get out of the moonlight. I've got\nsomething to tell you.\"\n\nThey crouched behind the bush.\n\n\"You know what happened,\" Stevens said, in a low voice. \"I lost my outfit.\"\n\n\"Yes, I saw what happened, Stevens.\"\n\nThe packer hesitated for a moment. One of his big hands reached out and\ngripped John Aldous by the arm.\n\n\"Let me ask you something before I go on,\" he whispered. \"You won't take\noffence--because it's necessary. She looked like an angel to me when I saw\nher up at the train. But you _know_. Is she good, or----You know what we\nthink of women who come in here alone. That's why I ask.\"\n\n\"She's what you thought she was, Stevens,\" replied Aldous. \"As pure and as\nsweet as she looks. The kind we like to fight for.\"\n\n\"I was sure of it, Aldous. That's why I sent the kid for you. I saw her in\nyour cabin--after the outfit went to hell. When I come back to camp, Quade\nwas here. I was pretty well broken up. Didn't talk to him much. But he seen\nI had lost everything. Then he went on down to your place. He told me that\nlater. But I guessed it soon as he come back. I never see him look like he\ndid then. I'll cut it short. He's mad--loon mad--over that girl. I played\nthe sympathy act, thinkin' of you--an' _her_. He hinted at some easy money.\nI let him understand that at the present writin' I'd be willing to take\nmoney most any way, and that I didn't have any particular likin' for you.\nThen it come out. He made me a proposition.\"\n\nStevens lowered his voice, and stopped to peer again about the bush.\n\n\"Go on,\" urged Aldous. \"We're alone.\"\n\nStevens bent so near that his tobacco-laden breath swept his companion's\ncheek.\n\n\"He said he'd replace my lost outfit if I'd put you out of the way some\ntime day after to-morrow!\"\n\n\"Kill me?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nFor a few moments there was a silence broken only by their tense breathing.\nAldous had found the packer's hand. He was gripping it hard.\n\n\"Thank you, old man,\" he said. \"And he believes you will do it?\"\n\n\"I told him I would--day after to-morrow--an' throw your body in the\nAthabasca.\"\n\n\"Splendid, Stevens! You've got Sherlock Holmes beat by a mile! And does he\nwant you to do this pretty job because I gave him a crack on the jaw?\"\n\n\"Not a bit of it!\" exclaimed Stevens quickly. \"He knows the girl is a\nstranger and alone. You've taken an interest in her. With you out of the\nway, she won't be missed. Dammit, man, don't you know his system? And, if\nhe ever wanted anything in his life he wants her. She's turned that\npoison-blood of his into fire. He raved about her here. He'll go the limit.\nHe'll do anything to get her. He's so crazy I believe he'd give every\ndollar he's got. There's just one thing for you to do. Send the girl back\nwhere she come from. Then you get out. As for myself--I'm goin' to\nemigrate. Ain't got a dollar now, so I might as well hit for the prairies\nan' get a job on a ranch. Next winter I guess me 'n the kid will trap up on\nthe Parsnip River.\"\n\n\"You're wrong--clean wrong,\" said Aldous quietly. \"When I saw your outfit\ngoing down among the rocks I had already made up my mind to help you. What\nyou've told me to-night hasn't made any difference. I would have helped you\nanyway, Stevens. I've got more money than I know what to do with right now.\nRoper has a thirty-horse outfit for sale. Buy it to-morrow. I'll pay for\nit, and you needn't consider yourself a dollar in debt. Some day I'll have\nyou take me on a long trip, and that will make up for it. As for the girl\nand myself--we're going on to Tete Jaune to-morrow.\"\n\nAldous could see the amazed packer staring at him in the gloom. \"You don't\nthink I'm sellin' myself, do you, Aldous?\" he asked huskily. \"That ain't\nwhy you're doin' this--for me 'n the kid--is it?\"\n\n\"I had made up my mind to do it before I saw you to-night,\" repeated\nAldous. \"I've got lots of money, and I don't use but a little of it. It\nsometimes accumulates so fast that it bothers me. Besides, I've promised to\naccept payment for the outfit in trips. These mountains have got a hold on\nme, Stevens. I'm going to take a good many trips before I die.\"\n\n\"Not if you go on to Tete Jaune, you ain't,\" replied Stevens, biting a huge\nquid from a black plug.\n\nAldous had risen to his feet. Stevens stood up beside him.\n\n\"If you go on to Tete Jaune you're a bigger fool than I was in tryin' to\nswim the outfit across the river to-day,\" he added. \"Listen!\" He leaned\ntoward Aldous, his eyes gleaming. \"In the last six months there's been\nforty dead men dragged out of the Frazer between Tete Jaune an' Fort\nGeorge. You know that. The papers have called 'em accidents--the 'toll of\nrailroad building.' Mebby a part of it is. Mebby a half of them forty died\nby accident. The other half didn't. They were sent down by Culver Rann and\nBill Quade. Once you go floatin' down the Frazer there ain't no questions\nasked. Somebody sees you an' pulls you out--mebby a Breed or an Indian--an'\nputs you under a little sand a bit later. If it's a white man he does\nlikewise. There ain't no time to investigate floaters over-particular in\nthe wilderness. Besides, you git so beat up in the rocks you don't look\nlike much of anything. I know, because I worked on the scows three months,\nan' helped bury four of 'em. An' there wasn't anything, not even a scrap of\npaper, in the pockets of two of 'em! Is that suspicious, or ain't it? It\ndon't pay to talk too much along the Frazer. Men keep their mouths shut.\nBut I'll tell you this: Culver Rann an' Bill Quade know a lot.\"\n\n\"And you think I'll go in the Frazer?\"\n\n\"Egzactly. Quade would rather have you in there than in the Athabasca. And\nthen----\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\nStevens spat into the bush, and shrugged his shoulders. \"This beautiful\nlady you've taken an interest in will turn up missing, Aldous. She'll\ndisappear off the face of the map--just like Stimson's wife did. You\nremember Stimson?\"\n\n\"He was found in the Frazer,\" said Aldous, gripping the other's arm in the\ndarkness.\n\n\"Egzactly. An' that pretty wife of his disappeared a little later. Up there\neverybody's too busy to ask where other people go. Culver Rann an' Bill\nQuade know what happened to Stimson, an' they know what happened to\nStimson's wife. You don't want to go to Tete Jaune. You don't want to let\n_her_ go. I know what I'm talking about. Because----\"\n\nThere fell a moment's silence. Aldous waited. Stevens spat again, and\nfinished in a whisper:\n\n\"Quade went to Tete Jaune to-night. He went on a hand-car. He's got\nsomething he wants to tell Culver Rann that he don't dare telephone or\ntelegraph. An' he wants to get that something to him ahead of to-morrow's\ntrain. Understand?\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\n\nJohn Aldous confessed to himself that he did not quite understand, in spite\nof the effort Stevens had made to impress upon him, the importance of not\ngoing to Tete Jaune. He was bewildered over a number of things, and felt\nthat he needed to be alone for a time to clear his mind. He left Stevens,\npromising to return later to share a couple of blankets and a part of his\ntepee, for he was determined to keep his promise to Joanne, and not return\nto his own cabin, even though Quade had left Miette. He followed a moonlit\ntrail along the river to an abandoned surveyors' camp, knowing that he\nwould meet no one, and that in this direction he would have plenty of\nunbroken quiet in which to get some sort of order out of the chaotic tangle\nof events through which he had passed that day.\n\nAldous had employed a certain amount of caution, but until he had talked\nwith Stevens he had not believed that Quade, in his twofold desire to\navenge himself and possess Joanne, would go to the extraordinary ends\npredicted by the packer. His point of view was now entirely changed. He\nbelieved Stevens. He knew the man was not excitable. He was one of the\ncoolest heads in the mountains. And he had abundant nerve. Thought of\nStimson and Stimson's wife had sent the hot blood through Aldous like fire.\nWas Stevens right in that detail? And was Quade actually planning the same\nend for him and Joanne? Why had Quade stolen on ahead to Tete Jaune? Why\nhad he not waited for to-morrow's train?\n\nHe found himself walking swiftly along the road, where he had intended to\nwalk slowly--a hundred questions pounding through his brain. Suddenly a\nthought came to him that stopped him in the trail, his unseeing eyes\nstaring down into the dark chasm of the river. After all, was it so strange\nthat Quade would do these things? Into his own life Joanne had come like a\nwonderful dream-creature transformed into flesh and blood. He no longer\ntried to evade the fact that he could not think without thinking of Joanne.\nShe had become a part of him. She had made him forget everything but her,\nand in a few hours had sent into the dust of ruin his cynicism and\naloneness of a lifetime. If Joanne had come to him like this, making him\nforget his work, filling him more and more with the thrilling desire to\nfight for her, was it so very strange that a beast like Quade would\nfight--in another way?\n\nHe went on down the trail, his hands clenched tightly. After all, it was\nnot fear of Quade or of what he might attempt that filled him with\nuneasiness. It was Joanne herself, her strange quest, its final outcome.\nWith the thought that she was seeking for the man who was her husband, a\nleaden hand seemed gripping at his heart. He tried to shake it off, but it\nwas like a sickness. To believe that she had been the wife of another man\nor that she could ever belong to any other man than himself seemed like\nshutting his eyes forever to the sun. And yet she had told him. She had\nbelonged to another man; she might belong to him even now. She had come to\nfind if he was alive--or dead.\n\nAnd if alive? Aldous stopped again, and looked down into the dark pit\nthrough which the river was rushing a hundred feet below him. It tore in\nfrothing maelstroms through a thousand rocks, filling the night with a low\nthunder. To John Aldous the sound of it might have been a thousand miles\naway. He did not hear. His eye saw nothing in the blackness. For a few\nmoments the question he had asked himself obliterated everything. If they\nfound Joanne's husband alive at Tete Jaune--what then? He turned back,\nretracing his steps over the trail, a feeling of resentment--of hatred for\nthe man he had never seen--slowly taking the place of the oppressive thing\nthat had turned his heart sick within him. Then, in a flash, came the\nmemory of Joanne's words--words in which, white-faced and trembling, she\nhad confessed that her anxiety was not that she would find him dead, but\nthat _she would find him alive_. A joyous thrill shot through him as he\nremembered that. Whoever this man was, whatever he might have been to her\nonce, or was to her now, Joanne did not want to find him alive! He laughed\nsoftly to himself as he quickened his pace. The tense grip of his fingers\nloosened. The grim, almost ghastly part of it did not occur to him--the\nfact that deep in his soul he was wishing a man dead and in his grave.\n\nHe did not return at once to the scenes about Quade's place, but went to\nthe station, three quarters of a mile farther up the track. Here, in a\ncasual way, he learned from the little pink-faced Cockney Englishman who\nwatched the office at night that Stevens had been correct in his\ninformation. Quade had gone to Tete Jaune. Although it was eleven o'clock,\nAldous proceeded in the direction of the engineers' camp, still another\nquarter of a mile deeper in the bush. He was restless. He did not feel that\nhe could sleep that night. The engineers' camp he expected to find in\ndarkness, and he was surprised when he saw a light burning brightly in\nKeller's cabin.\n\nKeller was the assistant divisional engineer, and they had become good\nfriends. It was Keller who had set the first surveyor's line at Tete Jaune,\nand it was he who had reported it as the strategic point from which to push\nforward the fight against mountain and wilderness, both by river and rail.\nHe was, in a way, accountable for the existence of Tete Jaune just where it\ndid exist, and he knew more about it than any other man in the employ of\nthe Grand Trunk Pacific. For this reason Aldous was glad that Keller had\nnot gone to bed. He knocked at the door and entered without waiting for an\ninvitation.\n\nThe engineer stood in the middle of the floor, his coat off, his fat,\nstubby hands thrust into the pockets of his baggy trousers, his red face\nand bald cranium shining in the lamplight. A strange fury blazed in his\neyes as he greeted his visitor. He began pacing back and forth across the\nroom, puffing volumes of smoke from a huge bowled German pipe as he\nmotioned Aldous to a chair.\n\n\"What's the matter, Peter?\"\n\n\"Enough--an' be damned!\" growled Peter. \"If it wasn't enough do you think\nI'd be out of bed at this hour of the night?\"\n\n\"I'm sure it's enough,\" agreed Aldous. \"If it wasn't you'd be in your\nlittle trundle over there, sleeping like a baby. I don't know of any one\nwho can sleep quite as sweetly as you, Peter. But what the devil _is_ the\ntrouble?\"\n\n\"Something that you can't make me feel funny over. You haven't heard--about\nthe bear?\"\n\n\"Not a word, Peter.\"\n\nKeller took his hands from his pockets and the big, bowled pipe from his\nmouth.\n\n\"You know what I did with that bear,\" he said. \"More than a year ago I made\nfriends with her up there on the hill instead of killing her. Last summer I\ngot her so she'd eat out of my hands. I fed her a barrel of sugar between\nJuly and November. We used to chum it an hour at a time, and I'd pet her\nlike a dog. Why, damn it, man, I thought more of that bear than I did of\nany human in these regions! And she got so fond of me she didn't leave to\nden up until January. This spring she came out with two cubs, an' as soon\nas they could waddle she brought 'em out there on the hillside an' waited\nfor me. We were better chums than ever. I've got another half barrel of\nsugar--lump sugar--on the way from Edmonton. An' now what do you think that\ndamned C.N.R. gang has done?\"\n\n\"They haven't shot her?\"\n\n\"No, they haven't shot her. I wish to God they had! They've _blown her\nup!_\"\n\nThe little engineer subsided into a chair.\n\n\"Do you hear?\" he demanded. \"They've blown her up! Put a stick of dynamite\nunder some sugar, attached a battery wire to it, an' when she was licking\nup the sugar touched it off. An' I can't do anything, damn 'em! Bears ain't\nprotected. The government of this province calls 'em 'pests.' Murder 'em\non sight, it says. An' those fiends over there think it's a good joke on\nme--an' the bear!\"\n\nKeller was sweating. His fat hands were clenched, and his round, plump body\nfairly shook with excitement and anger.\n\n\"When I went over to-night they laughed at me--the whole bunch,\" he went on\nthickly. \"I offered to lick every man in the outfit from A to Z, an' I\nain't had a fight in twenty years. Instead of fighting like men, a dozen of\nthem grabbed hold of me, chucked me into a blanket, an' bounced me for\nfifteen minutes straight! What do you think of _that_, Aldous?\nMe--assistant divisional engineer of the G.T.P.--_bounced in a blanket_!\"\n\nPeter Keller hopped from his chair and began pacing back and forth across\nthe room again, sucking truculently on his pipe.\n\n\"If they were on our road I'd--I'd chase every man of them out of the\ncountry. But they're not. They belong to the C.N.R. They're out of my\nreach.\" He stopped, suddenly, in front of Aldous. \"What can I do?\" he\ndemanded.\n\n\"Nothing,\" said Aldous. \"You've had something like this coming to you,\nPeter. I've been expecting it. All the camps for twenty miles up and down\nthe line know what you thought of that bear. You fired Tibbits because, as\nyou said, he was too thick with Quade. You told him that right before\nQuade's face. Tibbits is now foreman of that grading gang over there. Two\nand two make four, you know. Tibbits--Quade--the blown-up bear. Quade\ndoesn't miss an opportunity, no matter how small it is. Tibbits and Quade\ndid this to get even with you. You might report the blanket affair to the\ncontractors of the other road. I don't believe they would stand for it.\"\n\nAldous had guessed correctly what the effect of associating Quade's name\nwith the affair would be. Keller was one of Quade's deadliest enemies. He\nsat down close to Aldous again. His eyes burned deep back. It was not\nKeller's physique, but his brain, and the fearlessness of his spirit, that\nmade him dangerous.\n\n\"I guess you're right, Aldous,\" he said. \"Some day--I'll even up on Quade.\"\n\n\"And so shall I, Peter.\"\n\nThe engineer stared into the other's eyes.\n\n\"You----\"\n\nAldous nodded.\n\n\"Quade left for Tete Jaune to-night, on a hand-car. I follow him to-morrow,\non the train. I can't tell you what's up, Peter, but I don't think it will\nstop this side of death for Quade and Culver Rann--or me. I mean that quite\nliterally. I don't see how more than one side can come out alive. I want to\nask you a few questions before I go on to Tete Jaune. You know every\nmountain and trail about the place, don't you?\"\n\n\"I've tramped them all, afoot and horseback.\"\n\n\"Then perhaps you can direct me to what I must find--a man's grave.\"\n\nPeter Keller paused in the act of relighting his pipe. For a moment he\nstared in amazement.\n\n\"There are a great many graves up at Tete Jaune,\" he said, at last. \"A\ngreat many graves--and many of them unmarked. If it's a _Quade_ grave\nyou're looking for, Aldous, it will be unmarked.\"\n\n\"I am quite sure that it is marked--or _was_ at one time,\" said Aldous.\n\"It's the grave of a man who had quite an unusual name, Peter, and you\nmight remember it--Mortimer FitzHugh.\"\n\n\"FitzHugh--FitzHugh,\" repeated Keller, puffing out fresh volumes of smoke.\n\"Mortimer FitzHugh----\"\n\n\"He died, I believe, before there was a Tete Jaune, or at least before the\nsteel reached there,\" added Aldous. \"He was on a hunting trip, and I have\nreason to think that his death was a violent one.\"\n\nKeller rose and fell into his old habit of pacing back and forth across the\nroom, a habit that had worn a path in the bare pine boards of the floor.\n\n\"There's graves an' graves up there, but not so many that were there before\nTete Jaune came,\" he began, between puffs. \"Up on the side of White Knob\nMountain there's the grave of a man who was torn to bits by a grizzly. But\nhis name was Humphrey. Old Yellowhead John--Tete Jaune, they called\nhim--died years before that, and no one knows where his grave is. We had\nfive men die before the steel came, but there wasn't a FitzHugh among 'em.\nCrabby--old Crabby Tompkins, a trapper, is buried in the sand on the\nFrazer. The last flood swept his slab away. There's two unmarked graves in\nGlacier Canyon, but I guess they're ten years old if a day. Burns was shot.\nI knew him. Plenty died after the steel came, but before that----\"\n\nSuddenly he stopped. He faced Aldous. His breath came in quick jerks.\n\n\"By Heaven, I do remember!\" he cried. \"There's a mountain in the Saw Tooth\nRange, twelve miles from Tete Jaune--a mountain with the prettiest basin\nyou ever saw at the foot of it, with a lake no bigger than this camp, and\nan old cabin which Yellowhead himself must have built fifty years ago.\nThere's a blind canyon runs out of it, short an' dark, on the right. We\nfound a grave there. I don't remember the first name on the slab. Mebby it\nwas washed out. But, so 'elp me God, _the last name was FitzHugh_!\"\n\nWith a sudden cry, Aldous jumped to his feet and caught Keller's arm.\n\n\"You're sure of it, Peter?\"\n\n\"Positive!\"\n\nIt was impossible for Aldous to repress his excitement. The engineer stared\nat him even harder than before.\n\n\"What can that grave have to do with Quade?\" he asked. \"The man died before\nQuade was known in these regions.\"\n\n\"I can't tell you now, Peter,\" replied Aldous, pulling the engineer to the\ntable. \"But I think you'll know quite soon. For the present, I want you to\nsketch out a map that will take me to the grave. Will you?\"\n\nOn the table were pencil and paper. Keller seated himself and drew them\ntoward him.\n\n\"I'm damned if I can see what that grave can have to do with Quade,\" he\nsaid; \"but I'll tell you how to find it!\"\n\nFor several minutes they bent low over the table, Peter Keller describing\nthe trail to the Saw Tooth Mountain as he sketched it, step by step, on a\nsheet of office paper. When it was done, Aldous folded it carefully and\nplaced it in his wallet.\n\n\"I can't go wrong, and--thank you, Keller!\"\n\nAfter Aldous had gone, Peter Keller sat for some time in deep thought.\n\n\"Now I wonder what the devil there can be about a grave to make him so\nhappy,\" he grumbled, listening to the whistle that was growing fainter down\nthe trail.\n\nAnd Aldous, alone, with the moon straight above him as he went back to the\nMiette Plain, felt, in truth, this night had become brighter for him than\nany day he had ever known. For he knew that Peter Keller was not a man to\nmake a statement of which he was not sure. Mortimer FitzHugh was dead. His\nbones lay under the slab up in that little blind canyon in the shadow of\nthe Saw Tooth Mountain. To-morrow he would tell Joanne. And, blindly, he\ntold himself that she would be glad.\n\nStill whistling, he passed the Chinese laundry shack on the creek, crossed\nthe railroad tracks, and buried himself in the bush beyond. A quarter of an\nhour later he stole quietly into Stevens' camp and went to bed.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\n\nStevens, dreaming of twenty horses plunging to death among the rocks in the\nriver, slept uneasily. He awoke before it was dawn, but when he dragged\nhimself from his tepee, moving quietly not to awaken his boy, he found John\nAldous on his knees before a small fire, slicing thin rashers of bacon into\na frying-pan. The weight of his loss was in the tired packer's eyes and\nface and the listless droop of his shoulders. John Aldous, with three hours\nbetween the blankets to his credit, was as cheery as the crackling fire\nitself. He had wanted to whistle for the last half-hour. Seeing Stevens, he\nbegan now.\n\n\"I wasn't going to rouse you until breakfast was ready,\" he interrupted\nhimself to say. \"I heard you groaning, Stevens. I know you had a bad night.\nAnd the kid, too. He couldn't sleep. But I made up my mind you'd have to\nget up early. I've got a lot of business on to-day, and we'll have to rouse\nCurly Roper out of bed to buy his pack outfit. Find the coffee, will you? I\ncouldn't.\"\n\nFor a moment Stevens stood over him.\n\n\"See here, Aldous, you didn't mean what you said last night, did you? You\ndidn't mean--that?\"\n\n\"Confound it, yes! Can't you understand plain English, Stevens? Don't you\nbelieve a man when he's a gentleman? Buy that outfit! Why, I'd buy twenty\noutfits to-day, I'm--I'm feeling so fine, Stevens!\"\n\nFor the first time in forty-eight hours Stevens smiled.\n\n\"I was wondering if I hadn't been dreaming,\" he said. \"Once, a long time\nago, I guess I felt just like you do now.\"\n\nWith which cryptic remark he went for the coffee.\n\nAldous looked up in time to see the boy stagger sleepily out of the tepee.\nThere was something pathetic about the motherlessness of the picture, and\nhe understood a little of what Stevens had meant.\n\nAn hour later, with breakfast over, they started for Curly's. Curly was\npulling on his boots when they arrived, while his wife was frying the\ninevitable bacon in the kitchen.\n\n\"I hear you have some horses for sale, Curly,\" said Aldous.\n\n\"Hi 'ave.\"\n\n\"How many?\"\n\n\"Twenty-nine, 'r twenty-eight--mebby twenty-seven.\"\n\n\"How much?\"\n\nCurly looked up from the task of pulling on his second boot.\n\n\"H'are you buying 'orses or looking for hinformation?\" he asked.\n\n\"I'm buying, and I'm in a hurry. How much do you want a head?\"\n\n\"Sixty, 'r six----\"\n\n\"I'll give you sixty dollars apiece for twenty-eight head, and that's just\nten dollars apiece more than they're worth,\" broke in Aldous, pulling a\ncheck-book and a fountain pen from his pocket. \"Is it a go?\"\n\nA little stupefied by the suddenness of it all, Curly opened his mouth and\nstared.\n\n\"Is it a go?\" repeated Aldous. \"Including blankets, saddles, pack-saddles,\nropes, and canvases?\"\n\nCurly nodded, looking from Aldous to Stevens to see if he could detect\nanything that looked like a joke.\n\n\"Hit's a go,\" he said.\n\nAldous handed him a check for sixteen hundred and eighty dollars.\n\n\"Make out the bill of sale to Stevens,\" he said. \"I'm paying for them, but\nthey're Stevens' horses. And, look here, Curly, I'm buying them only with\nyour agreement that you'll say nothing about who paid for them. Will you\nagree to that?\"\n\nCurly was joyously looking at the check.\n\n\"Gyve me a Bible,\" he demanded. \"Hi'll swear Stevens p'id for them! I give\nyou the word of a Hinglish gentleman!\"\n\nWithout another word Aldous opened the cabin door and was gone, leaving\nStevens quite as much amazed as the little Englishman whom everybody called\nCurly, because he had no hair.\n\nAldous went at once to the station, and for the first time inquired into\nthe condition that was holding back the Tete Jaune train. He found that a\nslide had given way, burying a section of track under gravel and rock. A\nhundred men were at work clearing it away, and it was probable they would\nfinish by noon. A gang boss, who had come back with telegraphic reports,\nsaid that half a dozen men had carried Quade's hand-car over the\nobstruction about midnight.\n\nIt was seven o'clock when Aldous left for the Miette bottom. He believed\nthat Joanne would be up. At this season of the year the first glow of day\nusually found the Ottos at breakfast, and for half an hour the sun had been\nshining on the top of Pyramid Mountain. He was eager to tell her what had\npassed between him and Keller. He laughed softly when he confessed to\nhimself how madly he wanted to see her.\n\nHe always liked to come up to the Otto home very early of a morning, or in\nthe dusk of evening. Very frequently he was filled with a desire to stand\noutside the red-and-white striped walls of the tent-house and listen\nunseen. Inside there was always cheer: at night the crackle of fire and the\nglow of light, the happy laughter of the gentle-hearted Scotchwoman, and\nthe affectionate banter of her \"big mountain man,\" who looked more like a\nbrigand than the luckiest and most contented husband in the mountains--the\nluckiest, quite surely, with the one exception of his brother Clossen, who\nhad, by some occult strategy or other, induced a sweet-faced and\naristocratic little woman to look upon his own honest physiognomy as the\nhandsomest and finest in the world. This morning Aldous followed a narrow\npath that brought him behind the tent-house. He heard no voices. A few\nsteps more and he emerged upon a scene that stopped him and set his heart\nthumping.\n\nLess than a dozen paces away stood Mrs. Otto and Joanne, their backs toward\nhim. They were gazing silently and anxiously in the direction of the thick,\nlow bush across the clearing, through which led the trail to his cabin. He\ndid not look toward the bush. His eyes were upon Joanne. Her slender figure\nwas full in the golden radiance of the morning sun, and Aldous felt himself\nunder the spell of a joyous wonder as he looked at her. For the first time\nhe saw her hair as he had pictured it--as he had given it to that other\n_Joanne_ in the book he had called \"Fair Play.\" She had been brushing it in\nthe sun when he came, but now she stood poised in that tense and waiting\nattitude--silent--gazing in the direction of the bush, with that marvellous\nmantle sweeping about her in a shimmering silken flood. He would not have\nmoved, nor would he have spoken, until Joanne herself broke the spell. She\nturned, and saw him. With a little cry of surprise she flung back her hair.\nHe could not fail to see the swift look of relief and gladness that had\ncome into her eyes. In another instant her face was flushing crimson.\n\n\"I beg your pardon for coming up like an eavesdropper,\" he apologized. \"I\nthought you would just about be at breakfast, Mrs. Otto.\"\n\nThe Scotchwoman heaved a tremendous sigh of relief.\n\n\"Goodness gracious, but I'm glad to see you!\" she exclaimed thankfully.\n\"Jack and Bruce have just gone out to see if they could find your dead\nbody!\"\n\n\"We thought perhaps something might have happened,\" said Joanne, who had\nmoved nearer the door. \"You will excuse me, won't you, while I finish my\nhair?\"\n\nWithout waiting for him to answer, she ran into the tent. No sooner had she\ndisappeared than the good-natured smile left Mrs. Otto's face. There was a\nnote of alarm in her low voice as she whispered:\n\n\"Jack and Bruce went to the barn last night, and she slept with me. She\ntried to be quiet, but I know she didn't sleep much. And she cried. I\ncouldn't hear her, but the pillow was wet. Once my hand touched her cheek,\nand it was wet. I didn't ask any questions. This morning, at breakfast, she\ntold us everything that happened, all about Quade--and your trouble. She\ntold us about Quade looking in at the window, and she was so nervous\nthinking something might have happened to you last night that the poor dear\ncouldn't even drink her coffee until Jack and Bruce went out to hunt for\nyou. But I don't think that was why she cried!\"\n\n\"I wish it had been,\" said Aldous. \"It makes me happy to think she was\nworried about--me.\"\n\n\"Good Lord!\" gasped Mrs. Otto.\n\nHe looked for a moment into the slow-growing amazement and understanding in\nher kind eyes.\n\n\"You will keep my little secret, won't you, Mrs. Otto?\" he asked. \"Probably\nyou'll think it's queer. I've only known her a day. But I feel--like that.\nSomehow I feel that in telling this to you I am confiding in a mother, or a\nsister. I want you to understand why I'm going on to Tete Jaune with her.\nThat is why she was crying--because of the dread of something up there. I'm\ngoing with her. She shouldn't go alone.\"\n\nVoices interrupted them, and they turned to find that Jack and Bruce Otto\nhad come out of the bush and were quite near. Aldous was sorry that Joanne\nhad spoken of his trouble with Quade. He did not want to discuss the\nsituation, or waste time in listening to further advice. He was anxious to\nbe alone again with Joanne, and tell her what he had learned from Peter\nKeller. For half an hour he repressed his uneasiness. The brothers then\nwent on to their corral. A few minutes later Joanne was once more at his\nside, and they were walking slowly over the trail that led to the cabin on\nthe river.\n\nHe could see that the night had made a change in her. There were circles\nunder her eyes which were not there yesterday. When she looked at him their\nvelvety blue depths betrayed something which he knew she was struggling\ndesperately to keep from him. It was not altogether fear. It was more a\nbetrayal of pain--a torment of the soul and not of the body. He noticed\nthat in spite of the vivid colouring of her lips her face was strangely\npale. The beautiful flush that had come into it when she first saw him was\ngone.\n\nThen he began to tell her of his visit to Peter Keller. His own heart was\nbeating violently when he came to speak of the grave and the slab over it\nthat bore the name of FitzHugh. He had expected that what he had discovered\nfrom Keller would create some sort of a sensation. He had even come up to\nthe final fact gradually, so that it would not appear bald and shocking.\nJoanne's attitude stunned him. She looked straight ahead. When she turned\nto him he did not see in her eyes what he had expected to see. They were\nquiet, emotionless, except for that shadow of inward torture which did not\nleave them.\n\n\"Then to-morrow we can go to the grave?\" she asked simply.\n\nHer voice, too, was quiet and without emotion.\n\nHe nodded. \"We can leave at sunrise,\" he said. \"I have my own horses at\nTete Jaune and there need be no delay. We were to start into the North from\nthere.\"\n\n\"You mean on the adventure you were telling me about?\"\n\nShe had looked at him quickly.\n\n\"Yes. Old Donald, my partner, has been waiting for me a week. That's why I\nwas so deuced anxious to rush the book to an end. I'm behind Donald's\nschedule, and he's growing nervous. It's rather an unusual enterprise\nthat's taking us north this time, and Donald can't understand why I should\nhang back to write the tail end of a book. He has lived sixty years in the\nmountains. His full name is Donald MacDonald. Sometimes, back in my own\nmind, I've called him History. He seems like that--as though he'd lived for\nages in these mountains instead of sixty years. If I could only write what\nhe has lived--even what one might imagine that he has lived! But I cannot.\nI have tried three times, and have failed. I think of him as The Last\nSpirit--a strange wandering ghost of the mighty ranges. His kind passed\naway a hundred years ago. You will understand--when you see him.\"\n\nShe put her hand on his arm and let it rest there lightly as they walked.\nInto her eyes had returned some of the old warm glow of yesterday.\n\n\"I want you to tell me about this adventure,\" she entreated softly. \"I\nunderstand--about the other. You have been good--oh! so good to me! And I\nshould tell you things; you are expecting me to explain. It is only fair\nand honest that I should. I know what is in your mind, and I only want you\nto wait--until to-morrow. Will you? And I will tell you then, when we have\nfound the grave.\"\n\nInvoluntarily his hand sought Joanne's. For a single moment he felt the\nwarm, sweet thrill of it in his own as he pressed it more closely to his\narm. Then he freed it, looking straight ahead. A soft flush grew in\nJoanne's cheeks.\n\n\"Do you care a great deal for riches?\" he asked. \"Does the golden pot at\nthe end of the rainbow hold out a lure for you?\" He did not realize the\nstrangeness of his question until their eyes met. \"Because if you don't,\"\nhe added, smiling, \"this adventure of ours isn't going to look very\nexciting to you.\"\n\nShe laughed softly.\n\n\"No, I don't care for riches,\" she replied. \"I am quite sure that just as\ngreat education proves to one how little one knows, so great wealth brings\none face to face with the truth of how little one can enjoy. My father used\nto say that the golden treasure at the end of the rainbow in every human\nlife was happiness, and that is something which you cannot buy. So why\ncrave riches, then? But please don't let my foolish ideas disappoint you.\nI'll promise to be properly excited.\"\n\nShe saw his face suddenly aflame with enthusiasm.\n\n\"By George, but you're a--a brick, Joanne!\" he exclaimed. \"You are! And\nI--I----\" He was fumbling in his breast pocket. He brought out his wallet\nand extracted from it the bit of paper Stevens had given him. \"You dropped\nthat, and Stevens found it,\" he explained, giving it to her. \"I thought\nthose figures might represent your fortune--or your income. Don't mind\ntelling you I went over 'em carefully. There's a mistake in the third\ncolumn. Five and four don't make seven. They make nine. In the final, when\nyou come to the multiplication part of it, that correction will make you\njust thirty-two thousand five hundred dollars richer.\"\n\n\"Thanks,\" said Joanne, lowering her eyes, and beginning to tear the paper\ninto small pieces. \"And will it disappoint you, Mr. John Aldous, if I tell\nyou that all these figures stand for riches which some one else possesses?\nAnd won't you let me remind you that we're getting a long way from what I\nwant to know--about your trip into the North?\"\n\n\"That's just it: we're hot on the trail,\" chuckled Aldous, deliberately\nplacing her hand on his arm again. \"You don't care for riches. Neither do\nI. I'm delighted to know we're going tandem in that respect. I've never had\nany fun with money. It's the money that's had fun with me. I've no use for\nyachts and diamonds and I'd rather travel afoot with a gun over my shoulder\nthan in a private car. Half the time I'm doing my own cooking, and I\nhaven't worn a white shirt in a year. My publishers persist in shoving more\nmoney my way than I know what to do with.\n\n\"You see, I pay only ten cents a plug for my smoking tobacco, and other\nthings accordingly. Somebody has said something about the good Lord sitting\nup in Heaven and laughing at the jokes He plays on men. Well, I'm sitting\nback and laughing now and then at the tussle between men and money over all\ncreation. There's a whole lot of humour in the way men and women fight and\ndie for money, if you only take time to stand out on the side and look on.\nThere's nothing big or dramatic about it. I may be a heathen, but to my\nmind the funniest of all things is to see the world wringing its neck for a\ndollar. And Donald--old History--needs even less money than I. So that puts\nthe big element of humour in this expedition of ours. We don't want money,\nparticularly. Donald wouldn't wear more than four pairs of boots a year if\nhe was a billionaire. And yet----\"\n\nHe turned to Joanne. The pressure of her hand was warmer on his arm. Her\nbeautiful eyes were glowing, and her red lips parted as she waited\nbreathlessly for him to go on.\n\n\"And yet, we're going to a place where you can scoop gold up with a\nshovel,\" he finished. \"That's the funny part of it.\"\n\n\"It isn't funny--it's tremendous!\" gasped Joanne. \"Think of what a man like\nyou could do with unlimited wealth, the good you might achieve, the\nsplendid endowments you might make----\"\n\n\"I have already made several endowments,\" interrupted Aldous. \"I believe\nthat I have made a great many people happy, Ladygray--a great many. I am\ngifted to make endowments, I think, above most people. Not one of the\nendowments I have made has failed of complete success.\"\n\n\"And may I ask what some of them were?\"\n\n\"I can't remember them all. There have been a great, great many. Most\nconspicuous among them were three endowments which I made to some very\nworthy people at various times for seven salted mines. I suppose you know\nwhat a salted mine is, Ladygray? At other times I have endowed railroad\nstocks which were very much in need of my helping mite, two copper\ncompanies, a concern that was supposed to hoist up pure asbestos from the\nstomach of Popocatapetl, and a steamship company that never steamed. As I\nsaid before, they were all very successful endowments.\"\n\n\"And how many of the other kind have you made?\" she asked gently, looking\ndown the trail. \"Like--Stevens', for instance?\"\n\nHe turned to her sharply.\n\n\"What the deuce----\"\n\n\"Did you succeed in getting the new outfit from Mr. Curly?\" she asked.\n\n\"Yes. How did you know?\"\n\nShe smiled at the amazement which had gathered in his face. A glad, soft\nlight shone in her eyes.\n\n\"I guess Mrs. Otto has been like a mother to that poor little boy,\" she\nexplained. \"When you and Mr. Stevens went up to buy the outfit this morning\nJimmy ran over to tell her the news. We were all there--at breakfast. He\nwas so excited he could scarcely breathe. But it all came out, and he ran\nback to camp before you came because he thought you wouldn't want me to\nknow. Wasn't that funny? He told me so when I walked a little way up the\npath with him.\"\n\n\"The little reprobate!\" chuckled Aldous. \"He's the best publicity man I\never had, Ladygray. I did want you to know about this, and I wanted it to\ncome to you in just this way, so that I wouldn't be compelled to tell you\nmyself of the big and noble act I have done. It was my hope and desire that\nyou, through some one else, would learn of it, and come to understand more\nfully what a generous and splendid biped I am. I even plotted to give this\nchild of Stevens' a silver dollar if he would get the news to you in some\none of his innocent ways. He's done it. And he couldn't have done it\nbetter--even for a dollar. Ah, here we are at the cabin. Will you excuse\nme while I pick up a few things that I want to take on to Tete Jaune with\nme?\"\n\nBetween two trees close to the cabin he had built a seat, and here he left\nJoanne. He was gone scarcely five minutes when he reappeared with a small\npack-sack over his shoulders, locked the door, and rejoined her.\n\n\"You see it isn't much of a task for me to move,\" he said, as they turned\nback in the direction of the Ottos'. \"I'll wash the dishes when I come back\nnext October.\"\n\n\"Five months!\" gasped Joanne, counting on her fingers. \"John Aldous, do you\nmean----\"\n\n\"I do,\" he nodded emphatically. \"I frequently leave dishes unwashed for\nquite a spell at a time. That's the one unpleasant thing about this sort of\nlife--washing dishes. It's not so bad in the rainy season, but it's fierce\nduring a dry spell. When it rains I put the dishes out on a flat rock,\ndirty side up, and the good Lord does the scrubbing.\"\n\nHe looked at Joanne, face and eyes aglow with the happiness that was\nsweeping in a mighty tumult within him. Half an hour had worked a\ntransformation in Joanne. There was no longer a trace of anguish or of fear\nin her eyes. Their purity and limpid beauty made him think of the rock\nviolets that grew high up on the mountains. Her lips and cheeks were\nflushed, and the soft pressure of her hand again resting on his arm filled\nhim with the exquisite thrill of possession and joy. He did not speak of\nTete Jaune again until they reached the Otto tent-house, and then only to\nassure her that he would call for her half an hour before the train was\nready to leave.\n\nAs soon as possible after that he went to the telegraph office and sent a\nlong message to MacDonald. Among other things he told him to prepare their\ncabin for a lady guest. He knew this would shock the old mountain wanderer,\nbut he also knew that Donald would follow his instructions in spite of\nwhatever alarm he might have. There were other women at Tete Jaune, the\nwives of men he knew, to whom he might have taken Joanne. Under the\nconditions, however, he believed his own cabin would be her best refuge, at\nleast for a day or so. In that time he could take some one into his\nconfidence, probably Blackton and his wife. In fact, as he thought the\ncircumstances over, he saw the necessity of confiding in the Blacktons that\nvery night.\n\nHe left the station, growing a bit nervous. Was it right for him to take\nJoanne to his cabin at all? He had a tremendous desire to do so, chiefly on\naccount of Quade. The cabin was a quarter of a mile in the bush, and he was\npositive if Joanne was there that Quade, and perhaps Culver Rann, would\ncome nosing about. This would give him the opportunity of putting into\nexecution a plan which he had already arranged for himself and old\nMacDonald. On the other hand, was this arrangement fair to Joanne, even\nthough it gave him the chance to square up accounts with Quade?\n\nHe stopped abruptly, and faced the station. All at once there swept upon\nhim a realization of how blind he had been, and what a fool he had almost\nmade of himself. Blackton was one of the contractors who were working\nmiracles in the mountains. He was a friend who would fight for him if\nnecessary. Mrs. Blackton, who preferred to be on the firing line with her\nhusband than in her luxurious city home, was the leader of all that was\ndecent and womanly in Tete Jaune. Why not have these friends meet them at\nthe train and take Joanne direct to their house? Such recognition and\nfriendship would mean everything to Joanne. To take her to his cabin would\nmean----\n\nInwardly he swore at himself as he hurried back to the station, and his\nface burned hotly as he thought of the chance such a blunder on his part\nwould have given Quade and Culver Rann to circulate the stories with which\nthey largely played their scoundrelly game. He sent another and longer\ntelegram. This time it was to Blackton.\n\nHe ate dinner with Stevens, who had his new outfit ready for the mountains.\nIt was two o'clock before he brought Joanne up to the station. She was\ndressed now as he had first seen her when she entered Quade's place. A veil\ncovered her face. Through the gray film of it he caught the soft warm glow\nof her eyes and the shimmer of gold-brown tendrils of her hair. And he knew\nwhy she wore that veil. It set his heart beating swiftly--the fact that she\nwas trying to hide from all eyes but his own a beauty so pure and wonderful\nthat it made her uncomfortable when under the staring gaze of the Horde.\n\nThe hand that rested on his arm he pressed closer to his side as they\nwalked up the station platform, and under his breath he laughed softly and\njoyously as he felt the thrill of it. He spoke no word. Not until they were\nin their seat in the coach did Joanne look at him after that pressure of\nher hand, and then she did not speak. But in the veiled glow of her eyes\nthere was something that told him she understood--a light that was\nwonderfully gentle and sweet. And yet, without words, she asked him to\nkeep within his soul the things that were pounding madly there for speech.\n\nAs the train rolled on and the babble of voices about them joined the\ncrunching rumble of the wheels, he wanted to lean close to her and tell her\nhow a few hours had changed the world for him. And then, for a moment, her\neyes turned to him again, and he knew that it would be a sacrilege to give\nvoice to the things he wanted to say. For many minutes he was silent,\ngazing with her upon the wild panorama of mountain beauty as it drifted\npast the car window. A loud voice two seats ahead of them proclaimed that\nthey were about to make Templeton's Curve. The man was talking to his\ncompanion.\n\n\"They shot up a hundred thousand pounds of black powder an' dynamite to\nmake way for two hundred feet of steel on that curve,\" he explained in a\nvoice heard all over the car. \"They say you could hear the explosion fifty\nmiles away. Jack Templeton was near-sighted, an' he didn't see a rock\ncoming down on him that was half as big as a house. I helped scrape up what\nwas left of 'im an' we planted him at this end of the curve. It's been\nTempleton's Curve ever since. You'll see his grave--with a slab over it!\"\n\nIt was there almost as he spoke, marked by a white-painted cross in a\ncircle of whitewashed stones. John Aldous felt a sudden shiver pass through\nhis companion. She turned from the window. Through her veil he saw her lips\ntighten. Until he left the car half an hour later the man in the second\nseat ahead talked of Templeton's grave and a dozen other graves along the\nright of way. He was a rock-hog, and a specialist on the subject of\ngraves. Inwardly Aldous cursed him roundly. He cursed him all the way to\nTete Jaune, for to him he attributed the change which had again come over\nJoanne.\n\nThis change she could only partly conceal from him under her veil. She\nasked him many questions about Tete Jaune and the Blacktons, and tried to\ntake an interest in the scenery they were passing. In spite of this he\ncould see that she was becoming more and more nervous as they progressed\ntoward the end of their journey. He felt the slow dampening of his own joy,\nthe deadening clutch of yesterday at his heart. Twice she lifted her veil\nfor a moment and he saw she was pale and the tense lines had gathered about\nher mouth again. There was something almost haggard in her look the second\ntime.\n\nIn the early dusk of evening they arrived at Tete Jaune. Aldous waited\nuntil the car had emptied itself before he rose from his seat. Joanne's\nhand clutched at his arm as they walked down the aisle. He felt the fierce\npressure of her fingers in his flesh. On the car platform they paused for a\nmoment, and he felt her throbbing beside him. She had taken her hand from\nhis arm, and he turned suddenly. She had raised her veil. Her face was dead\nwhite. And she was staring out over the sea of faces under them in a\nstrange questing way, and her breath came from between her slightly parted\nlips as if she had been running. Amazed for the moment, John Aldous did not\nmove. Somewhere in that crowd _Joanne expected to find a face she knew!_\nThe truth struck him dumb--made him inert and lifeless. He, too, stared as\nif in a trance. And then, suddenly, every drop of blood in his body blazed\ninto fierce life.\n\nIn the glow of one of the station lamps stood a group of men. The faces of\nall were turned toward them. One he recognized--a bloated, leering face\ngrinning devilishly at them. It was Quade!\n\nA low, frightened cry broke from Joanne's lips, and he knew that she, too,\nhad seen him. But it was not Quade that she had looked for. It was not his\nface that she had expected to see nor because of him that she had lifted\nher veil for the mob!\n\nHe stepped down from the car and gave her his hand. Her fingers clutched\nhis convulsively. And they were cold as the fingers of the dead.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\n\nA moment later some one came surging through the crowd, and called Aldous\nby name. It was Blackton. His thin, genial face with its little spiked\nmoustache rose above the sea of heads about him, and as he came he grinned\na welcome.\n\n\"A beastly mob!\" he exclaimed, as he gripped his friend's hand. \"I'm sorry\nI couldn't bring my wife nearer than the back platform.\"\n\nAldous turned to Joanne. He was still half in a daze. His heart was choking\nhim with its swift and excited beating. Even as he introduced her to\nBlackton the voice kept crying in his brain that she had expected to find\nsome one in this crowd whom she knew. For a space it was as if the Joanne\nwhom he had known had slipped away from him. She had told him about the\ngrave, but this other she had kept from him. Something that was almost\nanger surged up in him. His face bore marks of the strain as he watched her\ngreet Blackton. In an instant, it seemed to him, she had regained a part of\nher composure. Blackton saw nothing but the haggard lines about her eyes\nand the deep pallor in her face, which he ascribed to fatigue.\n\n\"You're tired, Miss Gray,\" he said. \"It's a killing ride up from Miette\nthese days. If we can get through this mob we'll have supper within fifteen\nminutes!\"\n\nWith a word to Aldous he began worming his long, lean body ahead of them.\nAn instant Joanne's face was very close to Aldous', so close that he felt\nher breath, and a tendril of her hair touched his lips. In that instant her\neyes looked into his steadily, and he felt rush over him a sudden shame. If\nshe was seeking and expecting, it was to him more than ever that she was\nnow looking for protection. The haunting trouble in her eyes, their\nentreaty, their shining faith in him told him that, and he was glad that\nshe had not seen his sudden fear and suspicion. She clung more closely to\nhim as they followed Blackton. Her little fingers held his arm as if she\nwere afraid some force might tear him from her. He saw that she was looking\nquickly at the faces about them with that same questing mystery in her\nsearch.\n\nAt the thin outer edge of the crowd Blackton dropped back beside them. A\nfew steps more and they came to the end of the platform, where a buckboard\nwas waiting in the dim light of one of the station lamps. Blackton\nintroduced Joanne, and assisted her into the seat beside his wife.\n\n\"We'll leave you ladies to become acquainted while we rustle the baggage,\"\nhe said. \"Got the checks, Aldous?\"\n\nJoanne had given Aldous two checks on the train, and he handed them to\nBlackton. Together they made their way to the baggage-room.\n\n\"Thought Miss Gray would have some luggage, so I had one of my men come\nwith another team,\" he explained. \"We won't have to wait. I'll give him the\nchecks.\"\n\nBefore they returned to the buckboard, Aldous halted his friend.\n\n\"I couldn't say much in that telegram,\" he said. \"If Miss Gray wasn't a\nbit tired and unstrung I'd let her explain. I want you to tell Mrs.\nBlackton that she has come to Tete Jaune on a rather unpleasant mission,\nold man. Nothing less than to attend to the grave of a--a near relative.\"\n\n\"I regret that--I regret it very much,\" replied Blackton, flinging away the\nmatch he had lighted without touching it to his cigar. \"I guessed something\nwas wrong. She's welcome at our place, Aldous--for as long as she remains\nin Tete Jaune. Perhaps I knew this relative. If I can assist you--or\nher----\"\n\n\"He died before the steel came,\" said Aldous. \"FitzHugh was his name. Old\nDonald and I are going to take her to the grave. Miss Gray is an old friend\nof mine,\" he lied boldly. \"We want to start at dawn. Will that be too much\ntrouble for you and your wife?\"\n\n\"No trouble at all,\" declared Blackton. \"We've got a Chinese cook who's\nmore like an owl than a human. How will a four o'clock breakfast suit you?\"\n\n\"Splendidly!\"\n\nAs they went on, the contractor said:\n\n\"I carried your word to MacDonald. Hunted him down out in the bush. He is\nvery anxious to see you. He said he would not be at the depot, but that you\nmust not fail him. He's kept strangely under cover of late. Curious old\nghost, isn't he?\"\n\n\"The strangest man in the mountains,\" said Aldous \"And, when you come to\nknow him, the most lovable. We're going North together.\"\n\nThis time it was Blackton who stopped, with a hand on his companion's arm.\nA short distance from them they could see the buckboard in the light of\nthe station lamp.\n\n\"Has old Donald written you lately?\" he asked.\n\n\"No. He says he hasn't written a letter in twenty years.\"\n\nBlackton hesitated.\n\n\"Then you haven't heard of his--accident?\"\n\nThe strange look in the contractor's face as he lighted a cigar made John\nAldous catch him sharply by the arm.\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"He was shot. I happened to be in Dr. Brady's office when he dragged\nhimself in, late at night. Doc got the bullet out of his shoulder. It\nwasn't a bad wound. The old man swore it was an accident, and asked us to\nsay nothing about it. We haven't. But I've been wondering. Old Donald said\nhe was careless with his own pistol. But the fact is, Aldous--_he was shot\nfrom behind!_\"\n\n\"The deuce you say!\"\n\n\"There was no perforation except from _behind_. In some way the bullet had\nspent itself before it reached him. Otherwise it would have killed him.\"\n\nFor a moment Aldous stared in speechless amazement into Blackton's face.\n\n\"When did this happen?\" he asked then.\n\n\"Three days ago. Since then I have not seen old Donald until to-night.\nAlmost by accident I met him out there in the timber. I delivered the\ntelegram you sent him. After he had read it I showed him mine. He scribbled\nsomething on a bit of paper, folded it, and pinned it with a porcupine\nquill. I've been mighty curious, but I haven't pulled out that quill. Here\nit is.\"\n\nFrom his pocket he produced the note and gave it to Aldous.\n\n\"I'll read it a little later,\" said Aldous. \"The ladies may possibly become\nanxious about us.\"\n\nHe dropped it in his pocket as he thanked Blackton for the trouble he had\ntaken in finding MacDonald. As he climbed into the front seat of the\nbuckboard his eyes met Joanne's. He was glad that in a large measure she\nhad recovered her self-possession. She smiled at him as they drove off, and\nthere was something in the sweet tremble of her lips that made him almost\nfancy she was asking his forgiveness for having forgotten herself. Her\nvoice sounded more natural to him as she spoke to Mrs. Blackton. The\nlatter, a plump little blue-eyed woman with dimples and golden hair, was\nalready making her feel at home. She leaned over and placed a hand on her\nhusband's shoulder.\n\n\"Let's drive home by way of town, Paul,\" she suggested. \"It's only a little\nfarther, and I'm quite sure Miss Gray will be interested in our Great White\nWay of the mountains. And I'm crazy to see that bear you were telling me\nabout,\" she added.\n\nNothing could have suited Aldous more than this suggestion. He was sure\nthat Quade, following his own and Culver Rann's old methods, had already\nprepared stories about Joanne, and he not only wanted Quade's friends--but\nall of Tete Jaune as well--to see Joanne in the company of Mrs. Paul\nBlackton and her husband. And this was a splendid opportunity, for the\nnight carnival was already beginning.\n\n\"The bear is worth seeing,\" said Blackton, turning his team in the\ndirection of the blazing light of the half-mile street that was the\nBroadway of Tete Jaune. \"And the woman who rides him is worth seeing, too,\"\nhe chuckled. \"He's a big fellow--and she plays the Godiva act. Rides him up\nand down the street with her hair down, collecting dimes and quarters and\nhalf dollars as she goes.\"\n\nA minute later the length of the street swept out ahead of them. It is\nprobable that the world had never before seen a street just like this\nBroadway in Tete Jaune--the pleasure Mecca of five thousand workers along\nthe line of steel. There had been great \"camps\" in the building of other\nrailroads, but never a city in the wilderness like this--a place that had\nsprung up like magic and which, a few months later, was doomed to disappear\nas quickly. For half a mile it blazed out ahead of them, two garishly\nlighted rows of shacks, big tents, log buildings, and rough board\nstructures, with a rough, wide street between.\n\nTo-night Tete Jaune was like a blazing fire against the darkness of the\nforest and mountain beyond. A hundred sputtering \"jacks\" sent up columns of\nyellow flame in front of places already filled with the riot and tumult of\nthe night. A thousand lamps and lanterns flashed like fireflies\nalong the way, and under them the crowd had gathered, and was flowing back\nand forth. It was a weird and fantastic sight--this one strange and almost\nuncanny street that was there largely for the play and the excitement of\nmen.\n\nAldous turned to Joanne. He knew what this town meant. It was the first and\nthe last of its kind, and its history would never be written. The world\noutside the mountains knew nothing of it. Like the men who made up its\ntransient life it would soon be a forgotten thing of the past. Even the\nmountains would forget it. But more than once, as he had stood a part of\nit, his blood had warmed at the thought of the things it held secret, the\nthings that would die with it, the big human drama it stood for, its hidden\ntragedies, its savage romance, its passing comedy. He found something of\nhis own thought in Joanne's eyes.\n\n\"There isn't much to it,\" he said, \"but to-night, if you made the hunt, you\ncould find men of eighteen or twenty nationalities in that street.\"\n\n\"And a little more besides,\" laughed Blackton. \"If you could write the\ncomplete story of how Tete Jaune has broken the law, Aldous, it would fill\na volume as big as Peggy's family Bible!\"\n\n\"And after all, it's funny,\" said Peggy Blackton. \"There!\" she cried\nsuddenly. \"Isn't _that_ funny?\"\n\nThe glare and noisy life were on both sides of them now. Half a dozen\nphonographs were going. From up the street came the softer strains of a\npiano, and from in between the shrieking notes of bagpipe. Peggy Blackton\nwas pointing to a brilliantly lighted, black-tarpaulined shop. Huge white\nletters on its front announced that Lady Barbers were within. They could\nsee two of them at work through the big window. And they were pretty. The\nplace was crowded with men. Men were waiting outside.\n\n\"Paul says they charge a dollar for a haircut and fifty cents for a shave,\"\nexplained Peggy Blackton. \"And the man over there across the street is\ngoing broke because he can't get business at fifteen cents a shave. _Isn't_\nit funny?\"\n\nAs they went on Aldous searched the street for Quade. Several times he\nturned to the back seat, and always he found Joanne's eyes questing in that\nstrange way for the some one whom she expected to see. Mrs. Blackton was\npointing out lighted places, and explaining things as they passed, but he\nknew that in spite of her apparent attention Joanne heard only a part of\nwhat she was saying. In that crowd she hoped--or feared--to find a certain\nface. And again Aldous told himself that it was not Quade's face.\n\nNear the end of the street a crowd was gathering, and here, for a moment,\nBlackton stopped his team within fifty feet of the objects of attraction. A\nslim, exquisitely formed woman in shimmering silk was standing beside a\nhuge brown bear. Her sleek black hair, shining as if it had been oiled,\nfell in curls about her shoulders. Her rouged lips were smiling. Even at\nthat distance her black eyes sparkled like diamonds. She had evidently just\nfinished taking up a collection, for she was fastening the cord of a silken\npurse about her neck. In another moment she bestrode the bear, the crowd\nfell apart, and as the onlookers broke into a roar of applause the big\nbeast lumbered slowly up the street with its rider.\n\n\"One of Culver Rann's friends,\" said Blackton _sotto voce_, as he drove on.\n\"She takes in a hundred a night if she makes a cent!\"\n\n[Illustration: A slim, exquisitely formed woman in shimmering silk was\nstanding beside a huge brown bear. In another moment she bestrode the bear,\nand the big beast lumbered up the street with its rider.]\n\nBlackton's big log bungalow was close to the engineers' camp half a mile\ndistant from the one lighted street and the hundreds of tents and shacks\nthat made up the residential part of the town. Not until they were inside,\nand Peggy Blackton had disappeared with Joanne for a few moments, did\nAldous take old Donald MacDonald's note from his pocket. He pulled out the\nquill, unfolded the bit of paper, and read the few crudely written words\nthe mountain man had sent him. Blackton turned in time to catch the sudden\namazement in his face. Crushing the note in his hand, Aldous looked at the\nother, his mouth tightening.\n\n\"You must help me make excuses, old man,\" he said quietly. \"It will seem\nstrange to them if I do not stay for supper. But--it is impossible. I must\nsee old Donald as quickly as I can get to him.\"\n\nHis manner more than his words kept Blackton from urging him to remain. The\ncontractor stared at him for a moment, his own eyes growing harder and more\ndirect.\n\n\"It's about the shooting,\" he said. \"If you want me to go with you,\nAldous----\"\n\n\"Thanks. That will be unnecessary.\"\n\nPeggy Blackton and Joanne were returning. Aldous turned toward them as they\nentered the room. With the note still in his hand he repeated to them what\nhe had told Blackton--that he had received word which made it immediately\nurgent for him to go to MacDonald. He shook hands with the Blacktons,\npromising to be on hand for the four o'clock breakfast.\n\nJoanne followed him to the door and out upon the veranda. For a moment they\nwere alone, and now her eyes were wide and filled with fear as he clasped\nher hands closely in his own.\n\n\"I saw him,\" she whispered, her fingers tightening convulsively. \"I saw\nthat man--Quade--at the station. He followed us up the street. Twice I\nlooked behind--and saw him. I am afraid--afraid to let you go back there. I\nbelieve he is somewhere out there now--waiting for you!\"\n\nShe was frightened, trembling; and her fear for him, the fear in her\nshining eyes, in her throbbing breath, in the clasp of her fingers, sent\nthrough John Aldous a joy that almost made him free her hands and crush her\nin his arms in the ecstasy of that wonderful moment. Then Peggy Blackton\nand her husband appeared in the door. He released her hands, and stepped\nout into the gloom. The cheery good-nights of the Blacktons followed him.\nAnd Joanne's good-night was in her eyes--following him until he was gone,\nfilled with their entreaty and their fear.\n\nA hundred yards distant, where the trail split to lead to the camp of the\nengineers, there was a lantern on a pole. Here Aldous paused, out of sight\nof the Blackton bungalow, and in the dim light read again MacDonald's note.\n\nIn a cramped and almost illegible hand the old wanderer of the mountains\nhad written:\n\n Don't go to cabin. Culver Rann waiting to kill you. Don't show\n yorself in town. Cum to me as soon as you can on trail striking\n north to Loon Lake. Watch yorself. Be ready with yor gun.\n\n DONALD MacDONALD.\n\nAldous shoved the note in his pocket and slipped back out of the\nlantern-glow into deep shadow. For several minutes he stood silent and\nlistening.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\n\nAs John Aldous stood hidden in the darkness, listening for the sound of a\nfootstep, Joanne's words still rang in his ears. \"I believe he is out\nthere--waiting for you,\" she had said; and, chuckling softly in the gloom,\nhe told himself that nothing would give him more satisfaction than an\nimmediate and material proof of her fear. In the present moment he felt a\nkeen desire to confront Quade face to face out there in the lantern-glow,\nand settle with the mottled beast once for all. The fact that Quade had\nseen Joanne as the guest of the Blacktons hardened him in his\ndetermination. Quade could no longer be in possible error regarding her. He\nknew that she had friends, and that she was not of the kind who could be\nmade or induced to play his game and Culver Rann's. If he followed her\nafter this----\n\nAldous gritted his teeth and stared up and down the black trail. Five\nminutes passed and he heard nothing that sounded like a footstep, and he\nsaw no moving shadow in the gloom. Slowly he continued along the road until\nhe came to where a narrow pack-trail swung north and east through the thick\nspruce and balsam in the direction of Loon Lake. Remembering MacDonald's\nwarning, he kept his pistol in his hand. The moon was just beginning to\nrise over the shoulder of a mountain, and after a little it lighted up the\nmore open spaces ahead of him. Now and then he paused, and turned to\nlisten. As he progressed with slowness and caution, his mind worked\nswiftly. He knew that Donald MacDonald was the last man in the world to\nwrite such a message as he had sent him through Blackton unless there had\nbeen a tremendous reason for it. But why, he asked himself again and again,\nshould Culver Rann want to kill him? Rann knew nothing of Joanne. He had\nnot seen her. And surely Quade had not had time to formulate a plot with\nhis partner before MacDonald wrote his warning. Besides, an attempt had\nbeen made to assassinate the old mountaineer! MacDonald had not warned him\nagainst Quade. He had told him to guard himself against Rann. And what\nreason could this Culver Rann have for doing him injury? The more he\nthought of it the more puzzled he became. And then, in a flash, the\npossible solution of it all came to him.\n\nHad Culver Rann discovered the secret mission on which he and the old\nmountaineer were going into the North? Had he learned of the gold--where it\nwas to be found? And was their assassination the first step in a plot to\nsecure possession of the treasure?\n\nThe blood in Aldous' veins ran faster. He gripped his pistol harder. More\nclosely he looked into the moonlit gloom of the trail ahead of him. He\nbelieved that he had guessed the meaning of MacDonald's warning. It was the\ngold! More than once thought of the yellow treasure far up in the North had\nthrilled him, but never as it thrilled him now. Was the old tragedy of it\nto be lived over again? Was it again to play its part in a terrible drama\nof men's lives, as it had played it more than forty years ago? The gold!\nThe gold that for nearly half a century had lain with the bones of its\ndead, alone with its terrible secret, alone until Donald MacDonald had\nfound it again! He had not told Joanne the story of it, the appalling and\nalmost unbelievable tragedy of it. He had meant to do so. But they had\ntalked of other things. He had meant to tell her that it was not the gold\nitself that was luring him far to the north--that it was not the gold alone\nthat was taking Donald MacDonald back to it.\n\nAnd now, as he stood for a moment listening to the low sweep of the wind in\nthe spruce-tops, it seemed to him that the night was filled with whispering\nvoices of that long-ago--and he shivered, and held his breath. A cloud had\ndrifted under the moon. For a few moments it was pitch dark. The fingers of\nhis hand dug into the rough bark of a spruce. He did not move. It was then\nthat he heard something above the caressing rustle of the wind in the\nspruce-tops.\n\nIt came to him faintly, from full half a mile deeper in the black forest\nthat reached down to the bank of the Frazer. It was the night call of an\nowl--one of the big gray owls that turned white as the snow in winter.\nMentally he counted the notes in the call. One, two, three, _four_--and a\nflood of relief swept over him. It was MacDonald. They had used that signal\nin their hunting, when they had wished to locate each other without\nfrightening game. Always there were three notes in the big gray owl's\nquavering cry. The fourth was human. He put his hands to his mouth and sent\nback an answer, emphasizing the fourth note. The light breeze had died down\nfor a moment, and Aldous heard the old mountaineer's reply as it floated\nfaintly back to him through the forest. Continuing to hold his pistol, he\nwent on, this time more swiftly.\n\nMacDonald did not signal again. The moon was climbing rapidly into the sky,\nand with each passing minute the night was becoming lighter. He had gone\nhalf a mile when he stopped again and signalled softly. MacDonald's voice\nanswered, so near that for an instant the automatic flashed in the\nmoonlight. Aldous stepped out where the trail had widened into a small open\nspot. Half a dozen paces from him, in the bright flood of the moon, stood\nDonald MacDonald.\n\nThe night, the moon-glow, the tense attitude of his waiting added to the\nweirdness of the picture which the old wanderer of the mountains made as\nAldous faced him. MacDonald was tall; some trick of the night made him\nappear almost unhumanly tall as he stood in the centre of that tiny moonlit\namphitheatre. His head was bowed a little, and his shoulders drooped a\nlittle, for he was old. A thick, shaggy beard fell in a silvery sheen over\nhis breast. His hair, gray as the underwing of the owl whose note he\nforged, straggled in uncut disarray from under the drooping rim of a\nbattered and weatherworn hat. His coat was of buckskin, and it was short at\nthe sleeves--four inches too short; and the legs of his trousers were cut\noff between the knees and the ankles, giving him a still greater appearance\nof height.\n\nIn the crook of his arm MacDonald held a rifle, a strange-looking,\nlong-barrelled rifle of a type a quarter of a century old. And Donald\nMacDonald, in the picture he made, was like his gun, old and gray and\nghostly, as if he had risen out of some graveyard of the past to warm\nhimself in the yellow splendour of the moon. But in the grayness and\ngauntness of him there was something that was mightier than the strength of\nyouth. He was alert. In the crook of his arm there was caution. His eyes\nwere as keen as the eyes of an animal. His shoulders spoke of a strength\nbut little impaired by the years. Ghostly gray beard, ghostly gray hair,\nhaunting eyes that gleamed, all added to the strange and weird\nimpressiveness of the man as he stood before Aldous. And when he spoke, his\nvoice had in it the deep, low, cavernous note of a partridge's drumming.\n\n\"I'm glad you've come, Aldous,\" he said. \"I've been waiting ever since the\ntrain come in. I was afraid you'd go to the cabin!\"\n\nAldous stepped forth and gripped the old mountaineer's outstretched hand.\nThere was intense relief in Donald's eyes.\n\n\"I got a little camp back here in the bush,\" he went on, nodding riverward.\n\"It's safer 'n the shack these days. Yo're sure--there ain't no one\nfollowing?\"\n\n\"Quite certain,\" assured Aldous. \"Look here, MacDonald--what in thunder has\nhappened? Don't continue my suspense! Who shot you? Why did you warn me?\"\n\nDeep in his beard the old hunter laughed.\n\n\"Same fellow as would have shot you, I guess,\" he answered. \"They made a\nbad job of it, Johnny, an awful bad job, an' mebby there'd been a better\nman layin' for you!\"\n\nHe was pulling Aldous in the bush as he spoke. For ten minutes he dived on\nahead through a jungle in which there was no trail. Suddenly he turned,\nled the way around the edge of a huge mass of rock, and paused a moment\nlater before a small smouldering fire. Against the face of a gigantic\nboulder was a balsam shelter. A few cooking utensils were scattered about.\nIt was evident that MacDonald had been living here for several days.\n\n\"Looks as though I'd run away, don't it, Johnny?\" he asked, laughing in his\ncurious, chuckling way again. \"An' so I did, boy. From the mountain up\nthere I've been watching things through my telescope--been keepin' quiet\nsince Doc pulled the bullet out. I've been layin' for the Breed. I wanted\nhim to think I'd vamoosed. I'm goin' to kill him!\"\n\nHe had squatted down before the fire, his long rifle across his knees, and\nspoke as quietly as though he was talking of a partridge or a squirrel\ninstead of a human being. He wormed a hand into one of his pockets and\nproduced a small dark object which he handed to Aldous The other felt an\nuncanny chill as it touched his fingers. It was a mis-shapened bullet.\n\n\"Doc gave me the lead,\" continued MacDonald coolly, beginning to slice a\npipeful of tobacco from a tar-black plug. \"It come from Joe's gun. I've\nhunted with him enough to know his bullet. He fired through the window of\nthe cabin. If it hadn't been for the broom handle--just the end of it\nstickin' up\"--he shrugged his gaunt shoulders as he stuffed the tobacco\ninto the bowl of his pipe--\"I'd been dead!\" he finished tersely.\n\n\"You mean that Joe----\"\n\n\"Has sold himself to Culver Rann!\" exclaimed MacDonald. He sprang to his\nfeet. For the first time he showed excitement. His eyes blazed with\nrepressed rage. A hand gripped the barrel of his rifle as if to crush it.\n\"He's sold himself to Culver Rann!\" he repeated. \"He's sold him our secret.\nHe's told him where the gold is, Johnny! He's bargained to guide Rann an'\nhis crowd to it! An' first--they're goin' to kill _us!_\"\n\nWith a low whistle Aldous took off his hat. He ran a hand through his\nblond-gray hair. Then he replaced his hat and drew two cigars from his\npocket. MacDonald accepted one. Aldous' eyes were glittering; his lips were\nsmiling.\n\n\"They are, are they, Donald? They're going to kill us?\"\n\n\"They're goin' to try,\" amended the old hunter, with another curious\nchuckle in his ghostly beard. \"They're goin' to try, Johnny. That's why I\ntold you not to go to the cabin. I wasn't expecting you for a week.\nTo-morrow I was goin' to start on a hike for Miette. I been watching\nthrough my telescope from the mountain up there. I see Quade come in this\nmorning on a hand-car. Twice I see him and Rann together. Then I saw\nBlackton hike out into the bush. I was worrying about you an' wondered if\nhe had any word. So I laid for him on the trail--an' I guess it was lucky.\nI ain't been able to set my eyes on Joe. I looked for hours through the\ntelescope--an' I couldn't find him. He's gone, or Culver Rann is keeping\nhim out of sight.\"\n\nFor several moments Aldous looked at his companion in silence. Then he\nsaid:\n\n\"You're sure of all this, are you, Donald? You have good proof--that Joe\nhas turned traitor?\"\n\n\"I've been suspicious of him ever since we come down from the North,\"\nspoke MacDonald slowly. \"I watched him--night an' day. I was afraid he'd\nget a grubstake an' start back alone. Then I saw him with Culver Rann. It\nwas late. I heard 'im leave the shack, an' I followed. He went to Rann's\nhouse--an' Rann was expecting him. Three times I followed him to Culver\nRann's house. I knew what was happening then, an' I planned to get him back\nin the mountains on a hunt, an' kill him. But I was too late. The shot came\nthrough the window. Then he disappeared. An'--Culver Rann is getting an\noutfit together! Twenty head of horses, with grub for three months!\"\n\n\"The deuce! And our outfit? Is it ready?\"\n\n\"To the last can o' beans!\"\n\n\"And your plan, Donald?\"\n\nAll at once the old mountaineer's eyes were aflame with eagerness as he\ncame nearer to Aldous.\n\n\"Get out of Tete Jaune to-night!\" he cried in a low, hissing voice that\nquivered with excitement. \"Hit the trail before dawn! Strike into the\nmountains with our outfit--far enough back--and then wait!\"\n\n\"Wait?\"\n\n\"Yes--wait. If they follow us--_fight!_\"\n\nSlowly Aldous held out a hand. The old mountaineer's met it. Steadily they\nlooked into each other's eyes.\n\nThen John Aldous spoke:\n\n\"If this had been two days ago I would have said yes. But to-night--it is\nimpossible.\"\n\nThe fingers that had tightened about his own relaxed. Slowly a droop came\ninto MacDonald's shoulders. Disappointment, a look that was almost despair\nsettled in his eyes. Seeing the change, Aldous held the old hunter's hand\nmore firmly.\n\n\"That doesn't mean we're not going to fight,\" he said quickly. \"Only we've\ngot to plan differently. Sit down, Donald. Something has been happening to\nme. And I'm going to tell you about it.\"\n\nA little back from the fire they seated themselves, and Aldous told Donald\nMacDonald about Joanne.\n\nHe began at the beginning, from the moment his eyes first saw her as she\nentered Quade's place. He left nothing out. He told how she had come into\nhis life, and how he intended to fight to keep her from going out of it. He\ntold of his fears, his hopes, the mystery of their coming to Tete Jaune,\nand how Quade had preceded them to plot the destruction of the woman he\nloved. He described her as she had stood that morning, like a radiant\ngoddess in the sun; and when he came to that he leaned nearer, and said\nsoftly:\n\n\"And when I saw her there, Donald, with her hair streaming about her like\nthat, I thought of the time you told me of that other woman--the woman of\nyears and years ago--and how you, Donald, used to look upon her in the sun,\nand rejoice in your possession. Her spirit has been with you always. You\nhave told me how for nearly fifty years you have followed it over these\nmountains. And this woman means as much to me. If she should die to-night\nher spirit would live with me in that same way. You understand, Donald. I\ncan't go into the mountains to-night. God knows when I can go--now. But\nyou----\"\n\nMacDonald had risen. He turned his face to the black wall of the forest.\nAldous thought he saw a sudden quiver pass through the great, bent\nshoulders.\n\n\"And I,\" said MacDonald slowly, \"will have the horses ready for you at\ndawn. We will fight this other fight--later.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\n\nFor an hour after Donald MacDonald had pledged himself to accompany Joanne\nand Aldous on their pilgrimage to the grave in the Saw Tooth Range the two\nmen continued to discuss the unusual complications in which they had\nsuddenly become involved, and at the same time prepared themselves a supper\nof bacon and coffee over the fire. They agreed upon a plan of action with\none exception. Aldous was determined to return to the town, arguing there\nwas a good strategic reason for showing himself openly and without fear.\nMacDonald opposed this apprehensively.\n\n\"Better lay quiet until morning,\" he expostulated. \"You'd better listen to\nme, an' do that, Johnny. I've got something in my shoulder that tells me\nyou'd better!\"\n\nIn the face of the old hunter's misgiving, Aldous prepared to leave. It was\nnearly ten o'clock when he set back in the direction of Tete Jaune, Donald\naccompanying him as far as the moonlit amphitheatre in the forest. There\nthey separated, and Aldous went on alone.\n\nHe believed that Joanne and the Blacktons would half expect him to return\nto the bungalow after he had seen MacDonald. He was sure that Blackton, at\nleast, would look for him until quite late. The temptation to take\nadvantage of their hospitality was great, especially as it would bring him\nin the company of Joanne again. On the other hand, he was certain that this\nfirst night in Tete Jaune held very large possibilities for him. The\ndetective instinct in him was roused, and his adventurous spirit was alive\nfor action. First of all, he wanted proof of what MacDonald had told him.\nThat an attempt had been made to assassinate the old mountaineer he did not\nfor an instant doubt. But had Joe DeBar, the half-breed, actually betrayed\nthem? Had he sold himself to Culver Rann, and did Rann hold the key to the\nsecret expedition they had planned into the North? He did not, at first,\ncare to see Rann. He made up his mind that if he did meet him he would stop\nand chat casually with him, as though he had heard and seen nothing to\nrouse his suspicions. He particularly wanted to find DeBar; and, next to\nDeBar, Quade himself.\n\nThe night carnival was at its height when Aldous re-entered the long,\nlighted street. From ten until eleven was the liveliest hour of the night.\nEven the restaurants and soup-kitchens were crowded then. He strolled\nslowly down the street until he came to a little crowd gathered about the\nbear equestrienne. The big canvas dance-hall a few doors away had lured\nfrom her most of her admirers by this time, and Aldous found no difficulty\nin reaching the inner circle. He looked first for the half-breed. Failing\nto find him, he looked at the woman, who stood only a few feet from him.\nHer glossy black curls were a bit dishevelled, and the excitement of the\nnight had added to the vivid colouring of her rouged lips and cheeks. Her\nbody was sleek and sinuous in its silken vesture; arms and shoulders were\nstartlingly white; and when she turned, facing Aldous, her black eyes\nflashed fires of deviltry and allurement.\n\nFor a moment he stared into her face. If he had not been looking closely he\nwould not have caught the swift change that shot into the siren-like play\nof her orbs. It was almost instantaneous. Her slow-travelling glance\nstopped as she saw him. He saw the quick intake of her breath, a sudden\ncompression of her lips, the startled, searching scrutiny of a pair of eyes\nfrom which, for a moment, all the languor and coquetry of her trade were\ngone. Then she passed him, smiling again, nodding, sweeping a hand and arm\neffectively through her handsome curls as she flung a shapely limb over the\nbroad back of the bear. In a garish sort of way the woman was beautiful,\nand this night, as on all others, her beauty had nearly filled the silken\ncoin-bag suspended from her neck. As she rode down the street Aldous\nrecalled Blackton's words: She was a friend of Culver Rann's. He wondered\nif this fact accounted for the strangeness of the look she had given him.\n\nHe passed on to the dance-hall. It was crowded, mostly with men. But here\nand there, like so many faces peering forth from living graves, he saw the\nLittle Sisters of Tete Jaune Cache. Outnumbered ten to one, their voices\nrang out in shrill banter and delirious laughter above the rumble of men.\nAt the far end, a fiddle, a piano, and a clarinet were squealing forth\nmusic. The place smelled strongly of whisky. It always smelled of that, for\nmost of the men who sought amusement here got their whisky in spite of the\nlaw. There were rock-hogs from up the line, and rock-hogs from down the\nline, men of all nationalities and of almost all ages; teamsters,\ntrail-cutters, packers, and rough-shod navvies; men whose daily task was to\nplay with dynamite and giant powder; steel-men, tie-men, and men who\ndrilled into the hearts of mountains. More than once John Aldous had looked\nupon this same scene, and had listened to the trample and roar and wild\nrevelry of it, marvelling that to-morrow the men of this saturnalia would\nagain be the builders of an empire. The thin, hollow-cheeked faces that\npassed and repassed him, rouged and smiling, could not destroy in his mind\nthe strength of the picture. They were but moths, fluttering about in their\nown doom, contending with each other to see which should quickest achieve\ndestruction.\n\nFor several minutes Aldous scanned the faces in the big tent-hall, and\nnowhere did he see DeBar. He dropped out, and continued leisurely along the\nlighted way until he came to Lovak's huge black-and-white striped\nsoup-tent. At ten o'clock, and until twelve, this was as crowded as the\ndance-hall. Aldous knew Lovak, the Hungarian.\n\nThrough Lovak he had found the key that had unlocked for him many curious\nand interesting things associated with that powerful Left Arm of the Empire\nBuilders--the Slav. Except for a sprinkling of Germans, a few Italians, and\nnow and then a Greek or Swiss, only the Slavs filled Lovak's place!--Slavs\nfrom all the Russias and the nations south: the quick and chattering Polak;\nthe thick-set, heavy-jowled Croatian; the silent and dangerous-eyed\nLithuanian. All came in for Lovak's wonderful soup, which he sold in big\nyellow bowls at ten cents a bowl--soup of barley, rice, and cabbage, of\nbeef and mutton, of everything procurable out of which soup could be made,\nand, whether of meat or vegetable, smelling to heaven of garlic.\n\nFifty men were eating when Aldous went in, devouring their soup with the\nutter abandon and joy of the Galician, so that the noise they made was like\nthe noise of fifty pigs at fifty troughs. Now and then DeBar, the\nhalf-breed, came here for soup, and Aldous searched quickly for him. He was\nturning to go when his friend, Lovak, came to him. No, Lovak had not seen\nDeBar. But he had news. That day the authorities--the police--had\nconfiscated twenty dressed hogs, and in each porcine carcass they had found\nfour-quart bottles of whisky, artistically imbedded in the leaf-lard fat.\nThe day before those same authorities had confiscated a barrel of\n\"kerosene.\" They were becoming altogether too officious, Lovak thought.\n\nAldous went on. He looked in at a dozen restaurants, and twice as many\nsoft-drink emporiums, where phonographs were worked until they were cracked\nand dizzy. He stopped at a small tobacco shop, and entered to buy himself\nsome cigars. There was one other customer ahead of him. He was lighting a\ncigar, and the light of a big hanging lamp flashed on a diamond ring. Over\nhis sputtering match his eyes met those of John Aldous. They were dark\neyes, neither brown nor black, but dark, with the keenness and strange\nglitter of a serpent's. He wore a small, clipped moustache; his hands were\nwhite; he was a man whom one might expect to possess the _sang froid_ of a\ndevil in any emergency. For barely an instant he hesitated in the operation\nof lighting his cigar as he saw Aldous. Then he nodded.\n\n\"Hello, John Aldous,\" he said.\n\n\"Good evening, Culver Rann,\" replied Aldous.\n\nFor a moment his nerves had tingled--the next they were like steel. Culver\nRann's teeth gleamed. Aldous smiled back. They were cold, hard, rapierlike\nglances. Each understood now that the other was a deadly enemy, for Quade's\nenemies were also Culver Rann's. Aldous moved carelessly to the glass case\nin which were the cigars. With the barest touch of one of his slim white\nhands Culver Rann stopped him.\n\n\"Have one of mine, Aldous,\" he invited, opening a silver case filled with\ncigars. \"We've never had the pleasure of smoking together, you know.\"\n\n\"Never,\" said Aldous, accepting one of the cigars. \"Thanks.\"\n\nAs he lighted it, their eyes met again. Aldous turned to the case.\n\n\"Half a dozen 'Noblemen,'\" he said to the man behind the counter; then, to\nRann: \"Will you have one on me?\"\n\n\"With pleasure,\" said Rann. He added, smiling straight into the other's\neyes, \"What are you doing up here, Aldous? After local colour?\"\n\n\"Perhaps. The place interests me.\"\n\n\"It's a lively town.\"\n\n\"Decidedly. And I understand that you've played an important part in the\nmaking of it,\" replied Aldous carelessly.\n\nFor a flash Rann's eyes darkened, and his mouth hardened, then his white\nteeth gleamed again. He had caught the insinuation, and he had scarcely\nbeen able to ward off the shot.\n\n\"I've tried to do my small share,\" he admitted. \"If you're after local\ncolour for your books, Aldous, I possibly may be able to assist you--if\nyou're in town long.\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly you could,\" said Aldous. \"I think you could tell me a great\ndeal that I would like to know, Rann. But--will you?\"\n\nThere was a direct challenge in his coldly smiling eyes.\n\n\"Yes, I think I shall be quite pleased to do so,\" said Rann.\n\"Especially--if you are long in town.\" There was an odd emphasis on those\nlast words.\n\nHe moved toward the door.\n\n\"And if you are here very long,\" he added, his eyes gleaming significantly,\n\"it is possible you may have experiences of your own which would make very\ninteresting reading if they ever got into print. Good-night, Aldous!\"\n\nFor two or three minutes after Rann had gone Aldous loitered in the tobacco\nshop. Then he went out. All at once it struck him that he should have kept\nhis eyes on Quade's partner. He should have followed him. With the hope of\nseeing him again he walked up and down the street. It was eleven o'clock\nwhen he went into Big Ben's pool-room. Five minutes later he came out just\nas a woman hurried past him, carrying with her a strong scent of perfume.\nIt was the Lady of the Bear. She was in a street dress now, her glossy\ncurls still falling loose about her--probably homeward bound after her\nnight's harvest. It struck Aldous that the hour was early for her\nretirement, and that she seemed somewhat in a hurry.\n\nThe woman was going in the direction of Rann's big log bungalow, which was\nbuilt well out of town toward the river. She had not seen him as he stood\nin the pool-room doorway, and before she had passed out of sight he was\nfollowing her. There were a dozen branch trails and \"streets\" on the way to\nRann's, and into the gloom of some one of these the woman disappeared, so\nthat Aldous lost her entirely. He was not disappointed when he found she\nhad left the main trail.\n\nFive minutes later he stood close to Rann's house. From the side on which\nhe had approached it was dark. No gleam of light showed through the\nwindows. Slowly he walked around the building, and stopped suddenly on the\nopposite side. Here a closely drawn curtain was illuminated by a glow from\nwithin. Cautiously Aldous made his way along the log wall of the house\nuntil he came to the window. At one side the curtain had caught against\nsome object, leaving perhaps a quarter of an inch of space through which\nthe light shone. Aldous brought his eyes on a level with this space.\n\nA half of the room came within his vision. Directly in front of him,\nlighted by a curiously shaped iron lamp suspended from the ceiling, was a\ndull red mahogany desk-table. At one side of this, partly facing him, was\nCulver Rann. Opposite him sat Quade.\n\nRann was speaking, while Quade, with his bullish shoulders hunched forward\nand his fleshy red neck, rolling over the collar of his coat, leaned across\nthe table in a tense and listening attitude. With his eyes glued to the\naperture, Aldous strained his ears to catch what Rann was saying. He heard\nonly the low and unintelligible monotone of his voice. A mocking smile was\naccompanying Rann's words. To-night, as at all times, this hawk who preyed\nupon human lives was immaculate. In all ways but one he was the antithesis\nof the beefy scoundrel who sat opposite him. On the hand that toyed\ncarelessly with the fob of his watch flashed a diamond; another sparkled in\nhis cravat. His dark hair was sleek and well brushed; his bristly little\nmoustache was clipped in the latest fashion. He was not large. His hands,\nas he made a gesture toward Quade, were of womanish whiteness. Casually, on\nthe street or in a Pullman, Aldous would have taken him for a gentleman.\nNow, as he stared through the narrow slit between the bottom of the curtain\nand the sill, he knew that he was looking upon one of the most dangerous\nmen in all the West. Quade was a villain. Culver Rann, quiet and cool and\nsuave, was a devil. Behind his depravity worked the brain which Quade\nlacked, and a nerve which, in spite of that almost effeminate\nimmaculateness, had been described to Aldous as colossal.\n\nSuddenly Quade turned, and Aldous saw that he was flushed and excited. He\nstruck the desk a blow with his fist. Culver Rann leaned back and smiled.\nAnd John Aldous slipped away from the window.\n\nHis nerves were quivering; in the darkness he unbuttoned the pocket that\nheld his automatic. Through the window he had seen an open door behind\nRann, and his blood thrilled with the idea that had come to him. He was\nsure the two partners in crime were discussing himself and MacDonald--and\nJoanne. To hear what they were saying, to discover their plot, would be\nthree quarters of the fight won, if it came to a fight. The open door was\nan inspiration.\n\nSwiftly and silently he went to the rear of the house. He tried the door\nand found it unlocked. Softly he opened it, swinging it inward an inch at\na time, and scarcely breathing as he entered. It was dark, and there was a\nsecond closed door ahead of him. From beyond that he heard voices. He\nclosed the outer door so that he would not be betrayed by a current of air\nor a sound from out of the night. Then, even more cautiously and slowly, he\nbegan to open the second door.\n\nAn inch at first, then two inches, three inches--a foot--he worked the door\ninward. There was no light in this second room, and he lay close to the\nfloor, head and shoulders thrust well in. Through the third and open door\nhe saw Quade and Culver Rann. Rann was laughing softly as he lighted a\nfresh cigar. His voice was quiet and good humoured, but filled with a\nbanter which it was evident Quade was not appreciating.\n\n\"You amaze me,\" Rann was saying. \"You amaze me utterly. You've gone\nmad--mad as a rock-rabbit, Quade! Do you mean to tell me you're on the\nsquare when you offer to turn over a half of your share in the gold if I\nhelp you to get this woman?\"\n\n\"I do,\" replied Quade thickly. \"I mean just that! And we'll put it down in\nblack an' white--here, now. You fix the papers, same as any other deal, and\nI'll sign!\"\n\nFor a moment Culver Rann did not reply. He leaned back in his chair, thrust\nthe thumbs of his white hands in his vest, and sent a cloud of smoke above\nhis head. Then he looked at Quade, a gleam of humour in his eyes.\n\n\"Nothing like a woman for turning a man's head soft,\" he chuckled. \"Nothing\nin the world like it, 'pon my word, Quade. First it was DeBar. I don't\nbelieve we'd got him if he hadn't seen Marie riding her bear. Marie and\nher curls and her silk tights, Quade--s'elp me, it wouldn't have surprised\nme so much if you'd fallen in love with _her!_ And over this other woman\nyou're as mad as Joe is over Marie. At first sight he was ready to sell his\nsoul for her. So--I gave Marie to him. And now, for some other woman,\nyou're just as anxious to surrender a half of your share of what we've\nbought through Marie. Good heaven, man, if you were in love with Marie----\"\n\n\"Damn Marie!\" growled Quade. \"I know the time when you were bugs over her\nyourself, Rann. It wasn't so long ago. If I'd looked at her then----\"\n\n\"Of course, not then,\" interrupted Rann smilingly. \"That would have been\nimpolite, Quade, and not at all in agreement with the spirit of our\nbrotherly partnership. And, you must admit, Marie is a devilish\ngood-looking girl. I've surrendered her only for a brief spell to DeBar.\nAfter he has taken us to the gold--why, the poor idiot will probably have\nbeen sufficiently happy to----\"\n\nHe paused, with a suggestive shrug of his shoulders.\n\n\"--go into cold storage,\" finished Quade.\n\n\"Exactly.\"\n\nAgain Quade leaned over the table, and for a moment there was silence, a\nsilence in which Aldous thought the pounding of his heart must betray him.\nHe lay motionless on the floor. The nails of his fingers dug into the bare\nwood. Under the palm of his right hand lay his automatic.\n\nThen Quade spoke. There must have been more in his face than was spoken in\nhis words, for Culver Rann took the cigar from between his lips, and a\nlight that was deadly serious slowly filled his eyes.\n\n\"Rann, we'll talk business!\" Quade's voice was harsh, deep, and quivering.\n\"I want this woman. I may be a fool, but I'm going to have her. I might get\nher alone, but we've always done things together--an' so I made you that\nproposition. It ain't a hard job. It's one of the easiest jobs we ever had.\nOnly that fool of a writer is in the way--an' he's got to go anyway. We've\ngot to get rid of him on account of the gold, him an' MacDonald. We've got\nthat planned. An' I've showed you how we can get the woman, an' no one ever\nknow. Are you in on this with me?\"\n\nCulver Rann's reply was as quick and sharp as a pistol shot.\n\n\"I am.\"\n\nFor another moment there was silence. Then Quade asked:\n\n\"Any need of writin', Culver?\"\n\n\"No. There can't be a written agreement in this deal because--it's\ndangerous. There won't be much said about old MacDonald. But questions, a\ngood many of them, will be asked about this man Aldous. As for the\nwoman----\" Rann shrugged his shoulders with a sinister smile. \"She will\ndisappear like the others,\" he finished. \"No one will ever get on to that.\nIf she doesn't make a pal like Marie--after a time, why----\"\n\nAgain Aldous saw that peculiar shrug of his shoulders.\n\nQuade's head nodded on his thick neck.\n\n\"Of course, I agree to that,\" he said. \"After a time. But most of 'em have\ncome over, ain't they, Culver? Eh? Most of 'em have,\" he chuckled coarsely.\n\"When you see her you won't call me a fool for going dippy over her,\nCulver. And she'll come round all right after she's gone through what we've\ngot planned for her. I'll make a pal of her!\"\n\nIn that moment, as he listened to the gloating passion and triumph in\nQuade's brutal voice, something broke in the brain of John Aldous. It\nfilled him with a fire that in an instant had devoured every thought or\nplan he had made, and in this madness he was consumed by a single\ndesire--the desire to kill. And yet, as this conflagration surged through\nhim, it did not blind or excite him. It did not make him leap forth in\nanimal rage. It was something more terrible. He rose so quietly that the\nothers did not see or hear him in the dark outer room. They did not hear\nthe slight metallic click of the safety on his pistol.\n\nFor the space of a breath he stood and looked at them. He no longer sensed\nthe words Quade was uttering. He was going in coolly and calmly to kill\nthem. There was something disagreeable in the flashing thought that he\nmight kill them from where he stood. He would not fire from the dark. He\nwanted to experience the exquisite sensation of that one first moment when\nthey would writhe back from him, and see in him the presence of death. He\nwould give them that one moment of life--just that one. Then he would kill.\n\nWith his pistol ready in his hand he stepped out into the lighted room.\n\n\"Good evening, gentlemen!\" he said.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\n\nFor a space of perhaps twenty seconds after John Aldous announced himself\nthere was no visible sign of life on the part of either Quade or Culver\nRann. The latter sat stunned. Not the movement of a finger broke the\nstonelike immobility of his attitude. His eyes were like two dark coals\ngazing steadily as a serpent's over Quade's hunched shoulders and bowed\nhead. Quade seemed as if frozen on the point of speaking to Rann. One hand\nwas still poised a foot above the table. It was he who broke the tense and\nlifeless tableau.\n\nSlowly, almost as slowly as Aldous had opened the door, Quade turned his\nhead, and stared into the coldly smiling face of the man whom he had\nplotted to kill, and saw the gleaming pistol in his hand. A curious look\novercame his pouchy face, a look not altogether of terror--but of shock. He\nknew Aldous had heard. He accepted in an instant, and perceptibly, the\nsignificance of the pistol in his hand. But Culver Rann sat like a rock.\nHis face expressed nothing. Not for the smallest part of a second had he\nbetrayed any emotion that might be throbbing within him. In spite of\nhimself Aldous admired the man's unflinching nerve.\n\n\"Good evening, gentlemen!\" he repeated.\n\nThen Rann leaned slowly forward over the table. One hand rose to his\nmoustache. It was his right hand. The other was invisible. Quade pulled\nhimself together and stepped to the end of the table, his two empty hands\nin front of him. Aldous, still smiling, faced Rann's glittering eyes and\ncovered him with his automatic. Culver Rann twisted the end of his\nmoustache, and smiled back.\n\n\"Well?\" he said. \"Is it checkmate?\"\n\n\"It is,\" replied Aldous. \"I've promised you scoundrels one minute of life.\nI guess that minute is about up.\"\n\nThe last word was scarcely out of his mouth when the room was in\ndarkness--a darkness so complete and sudden that for an instant his hand\nfaltered, and in that instant he heard the overturning of a chair and the\nfalling of a body. Twice his automatic sent a lightning-flash of fire where\nCulver Rann had sat; twice it spat threadlike ribbons of flame through the\nblackness where Quade had stood. He knew what had happened, and also what\nto expect if he lost out now. The curiously shaped iron lamp had concealed\nan electric bulb, and Rann had turned off the switch-key under the table.\nHe had no further time to think. An object came hurtling through the thick\ngloom and fell with terrific force on his outstretched pistol arm. His\nautomatic flew from his hand and struck against the wall. Unarmed, he\nsprang back toward the open door--full into the arms of Quade!\n\nAldous knew that it was Quade and not Culver Rann, and he struck out with\nall the force he could gather in a short-arm blow. His fist landed against\nQuade's thick neck. Again and again he struck, and Quade's grip loosened.\nIn another moment he would have reached the door if Rann had not caught him\nfrom behind. Never had Aldous felt the clutch of hands like those of the\nwomanish hands of Culver Rann. It was as if sinuous fingers of steel were\nburying themselves in his flesh. Before they found his throat he flung\nhimself backward with all his weight, and with a tremendous effort freed\nhimself.\n\nBoth Quade and Culver Rann now stood between him and the door. He could\nhear Quade's deep, panting breath. Rann, as before, was silent as death.\nThen he heard the door close. A key clicked in the lock. He was trapped.\n\n\"Turn on the light, Billy,\" he heard Rann say in a quiet, unexcited voice.\n\"We've got this house-breaker cornered, and he's lost his gun. Turn on the\nlight--and I'll make one shot do the business!\"\n\nAldous heard Quade moving, but he was not coming toward the table.\nSomewhere in the room was another switch connected with the iron lamp, and\nAldous felt a curious chill shoot up his spine. Without seeing through that\npitch darkness of the room he sensed the fact that Culver Rann was standing\nwith his back against the locked door, a revolver in his hand. And he knew\nthat Quade, feeling his way along the wall, held a revolver in his hand.\nMen like these two did not go unarmed. The instant the light was turned on\nthey would do their work. As he stood, silent as Culver Rann, he realized\nthe tables were turned. In that moment's madness roused by Quade's gloating\nassurance of possessing Joanne he had revealed himself like a fool, and now\nhe was about to reap the whirlwind of his folly. Deliberately he had given\nhimself up to his enemies. They, too, would be fools if they allowed him to\nescape alive.\n\nHe heard Quade stop. His thick hand was fumbling along the wall. Aldous\nguessed that he was feeling for the switch. He almost fancied he could see\nRann's revolver levelled at him through the darkness. In that thrilling\nmoment his mind worked with the swiftness of a powder flash. One of his\nhands touched the edge of the desk-table, and he knew that he was standing\ndirectly opposite the curtained window, perhaps six feet from it. If he\nflung himself through the window the curtain would save him from being cut\nto pieces.\n\nNo sooner had the idea of escape come to him than he had acted. A flood of\nlight filled the room as his body crashed through the glass. He heard a\ncry--a single shot--as he struck the ground. He gathered himself up and ran\nswiftly. Fifty yards away he stopped, and looked back. Quade and Rann were\nin the window. Then they disappeared, and a moment later the room was again\nin gloom.\n\nFor a second time Aldous hurried in the direction of MacDonald's camp. He\nknew that, in spite of the protecting curtain, the glass had cut him. He\nfelt the warm blood dripping over his face; both hands were wet with it,\nThe arm on which he had received the blow from the unseen object in the\nroom gave him considerable pain, and he had slightly sprained an ankle in\nhis leap through the window, so that he limped a little. But his mind was\nclear--so clear that in the face of his physical discomfort he caught\nhimself laughing once or twice as he made his way along the trail.\n\nAldous was not of an ordinary type. To a curious and superlative degree he\ncould appreciate a defeat as well as a triumph. His adventures had been a\npart of a life in which he had not always expected to win, and in\nto-night's game he admitted that he had been hopelessly and ridiculously\nbeaten. Tragedy, to him, was a first cousin of comedy; to-night he had set\nout to kill, and, instead of killing, he had run like a jack-rabbit for\ncover. Also, in that same half-hour Rann and Quade had been sure of him,\nand he had given them the surprise of their lives by his catapultic\ndisappearance through the window. There was something ludicrous about it\nall--something that, to him, at least, had turned a possible tragedy into a\nvery good comedy-drama.\n\nNor was Aldous blind to the fact that he had made an utter fool of himself,\nand that the consequences of his indiscretion might prove extremely\nserious. Had he listened to the conspirators without betraying himself he\nwould have possessed an important advantage over them. The knowledge he had\ngained from overhearing their conversation would have made it comparatively\neasy for MacDonald and him to strike them a perhaps fatal blow through the\nhalf-breed DeBar. As the situation stood now, he figured that Quade and\nCulver Rann held the advantage. Whatever they had planned to do they would\nput into quick execution. They would not lose a minute.\n\nIt was not for himself that Aldous feared. Neither did he fear for Joanne.\nEvery drop of red fighting blood in him was ready for further action, and\nhe was determined that Quade should find no opportunity of accomplishing\nany scheme he might have against Joanne's person. On the other hand, unless\nthey could head off DeBar, he believed that Culver Rann's chances of\nreaching the gold ahead of them would grow better with the passing of each\nhour. To protect Joanne from Quade he must lose no time. MacDonald would\nbe in the same predicament, while Rann, assisted by as many rascals of his\nown colour as he chose to take with him, would be free to carry out the\nother part of the conspirators' plans.\n\nThe longer he thought of the mess he had stirred up the more roundly Aldous\ncursed his imprudence. And this mess, as he viewed it in these cooler\nmoments, was even less disturbing than the thought of what might have\nhappened had he succeeded in his intention of killing both Quade and Rann.\nTwenty times as he made his way through the darkness toward MacDonald's\ncamp he told himself that he must have been mad. To have killed Rann or\nQuade in self-defence, or in open fight, would have been playing the game\nwith a shadow of mountain law behind it. But he had invaded Rann's home.\nHad he killed them he would have had but little more excuse than a\nhouse-breaker or a suspicious husband might have had. Tete Jaune would not\ncountenance cold-blooded shooting, even of criminals. He should have taken\nold Donald's advice and waited until they were in the mountains. An\nunpleasant chill ran through him as he thought of the narrowness of his\ndouble escape.\n\nTo his surprise, John Aldous found MacDonald awake when he arrived at the\ncamp in the thickly timbered coulee. He was preparing a midnight cup of\ncoffee over a fire that was burning cheerfully between two big rocks.\nPurposely Aldous stepped out into the full illumination of it. The old\nhunter looked up. For a moment he stared into the blood-smeared face of his\nfriend; then he sprang to his feet, and caught him by the arm.\n\n\"Yes, I got it,\" nodded Aldous cheerfully. \"I went out for it, Mac, and I\ngot it! Get out your emergency kit, will you? I rather fancy I need a\nlittle patching up.\"\n\nMacDonald uttered not a word. From the balsam lean-to he brought out a\nsmall rubber bag and a towel. Into a canvas wash-basin he then turned a\nhalf pail of cold water, and Aldous got on his knees beside this. Not once\ndid the old mountaineer speak while he was washing the blood from Aldous'\nface and hands. There was a shallow two-inch cut in his forehead, two\ndeeper ones in his right cheek, and a gouge in his chin. There were a dozen\ncuts on his hands, none of them serious. Before he had finished MacDonald\nhad used two thirds of a roll of court-plaster.\n\nThen he spoke.\n\n\"You can soak them off in the morning,\" he said. \"If you don't, the lady'll\nthink yo're a red Indian on the warpath. Now, yo' fool, what have yo' gone\nan' done?\"\n\nAldous told him what had happened, and before MacDonald could utter an\nexpression of his feelings he admitted that he was an inexcusable idiot and\nthat nothing MacDonald might say could drive that fact deeper home.\n\n\"If I'd come out after hearing what they had to say, we could have got\nDeBar at the end of a gun and settled the whole business,\" he finished. \"As\nit is, we're in a mess.\"\n\nMacDonald stretched his gaunt gray frame before the fire. He picked up his\nlong rifle, and fingered the lock.\n\n\"You figger they'll get away with DeBar?\"\n\n\"Yes, to-night.\"\n\nMacDonald threw open the breech of his single-loader and drew out a\ncartridge as long as his finger. Replacing it, he snapped the breech shut.\n\n\"Don't know as I'm pertic'lar sad over what's happened,\" he said, with a\ncurious look at Aldous. \"We might have got out of this without what you\ncall strenu'us trouble. Now--it's _fight!_ It's goin' to be a matter of\nguns an' bullets, Johnny--back in the mountains. You figger Rann an' the\nsnake of a half-breed'll get the start of us. Let 'em have a start! They've\ngot two hundred miles to go, an' two hundred miles to come back. Only--they\nwon't come back!\"\n\nUnder his shaggy brows the old hunter's eyes gleamed as he looked at\nAldous.\n\n\"To-morrow we'll go to the grave,\" he added. \"Yo're cur'ous to know what's\ngoin' to happen when we find that grave, Johnny. So am I. I hope----\"\n\n\"What do you hope?\"\n\nMacDonald shook his great gray head in the dying firelight.\n\n\"Let's go to bed, Johnny,\" he rumbled softly in his beard. \"It's gettin'\nlate.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\n\nTo sleep after the excitement through which he had passed, and with\nto-morrow's uncertainties ahead of him, seemed to Aldous a physical\nimpossibility. Yet he slept, and soundly. It was MacDonald who roused him\nthree hours later. They prepared a quick breakfast over a small fire, and\nAldous heated water in which he soaked his face until the strips of\ncourt-plaster peeled off. The scratches were lividly evident, but, inasmuch\nas he had a choice of but two evils, he preferred that Joanne should see\nthese instead of the abominable disfigurement of court-plaster strips.\n\nOld Donald took one look at him through half-closed eyes.\n\n\"You look as though you'd come out of a tussle with a grizzly,\" he grinned.\n\"Want some fresh court-plaster?\"\n\n\"And look as though I'd come out of a circus--no!\" retorted Aldous. \"I'm\ninvited to breakfast at the Blacktons', Mac. How the devil am I going to\nget out of it?\"\n\n\"Tell 'em you're sick,\" chuckled the old hunter, who saw something funny in\nthe appearance of Aldous' face. \"Good Lord, how I'd liked to have seen you\ncome through that window--in daylight!\"\n\nAldous led off in the direction of the trail. MacDonald followed close\nbehind him. It was dark--that almost ebon-black hour that precedes summer\ndawn in the northern mountains. The moon had long ago disappeared in the\nwest. When a few minutes later they paused in the little opening on the\ntrail Aldous could just make out the shadowy form of the old mountaineer.\n\n\"I lost my gun when I jumped through the window, Mac,\" he explained.\n\"There's another thirty-eight automatic in my kit at the corral. Bring\nthat, and the .303 with the gold-bead sight--and plenty of ammunition.\nYou'd better take that forty-four hip-cannon of yours along, as well as\nyour rifle. Wish I could civilize you, Mac, so you'd carry one of the\nSavage automatics instead of that old brain-storm of fifty years ago!\"\n\nMacDonald gave a grunt of disgust that was like the whoof of a bear.\n\n\"It's done business all that time,\" he growled good humouredly. \"An' it\nain't ever made me jump through any window as I remember of, Johnny!\"\n\n\"Enough,\" said Aldous, and in the gloom he gripped the other's hand.\n\"You'll be there, Mac--in front of the Blacktons'--just as it's growing\nlight?\"\n\n\"That means in three quarters of an hour, Johnny. I'll be there. Three\nsaddle-horses and a pack.\"\n\nWhere the trail divided they separated. Aldous went directly to the\nBlacktons'. As he had expected, the bungalow was alight. In the kitchen he\nsaw Tom, the Oriental cook, busy preparing breakfast. Blackton himself,\ncomfortably dressed in duck trousers and a smoking-jacket, and puffing on a\npipe, opened the front door for him. The pipe almost fell from his mouth\nwhen he saw his friend's excoriated face.\n\n\"What in the name of Heaven!\" he gasped.\n\n\"An accident,\" explained Aldous, with a suggestive shrug of his shoulders.\n\"Blackton, I want you to do me another good turn. Tell the ladies anything\nyou can think of--something reasonable. The truth is, I went through a\nwindow--a window with plenty of glass in it. Now how the deuce can I\nexplain going through a window like a gentleman?\"\n\nWith folded arms, Blackton inspected him thoughtfully for a moment.\n\n\"You can't,\" he said. \"But I don't think you went through a window. I\nbelieve you fell over a cliff and were caught in an armful of wait-a-bit\nbushes. They're devilish those wait-a-bits!\"\n\nThey shook hands.\n\n\"I'm ready to blow up with curiosity again,\" said Blackton. \"But I'll play\nyour game, Aldous.\"\n\nA few minutes later Joanne and Peggy Blackton joined them. He saw again the\nquick flush of pleasure in Joanne's lovely face when she entered the room.\nIt changed instantly when she saw the livid cuts in his skin. She came to\nhim quickly, and gave him her hand. Her lips trembled, but she did not\nspeak. Blackton accepted this as the psychological moment.\n\n\"What do you think of a man who'll wander off a trail, tumble over a ledge,\nand get mixed up in a bunch of wait-a-bit like _that?_\" he demanded,\nlaughing as though he thought it a mighty good joke on Aldous. \"Wait-a-bit\nthorns are worse than razors, Miss Gray,\" he elucidated further.\n\"They're--they're perfectly devilish, you know!\"\n\n\"Indeed they _are_,\" emphasized Peggy Blackton, whom her husband had given\na quick look and a quicker nudge, \"They're dreadful!\"\n\nLooking straight into Joanne's eyes, Aldous guessed that she did not\nbelieve, and scarcely heard, the Blacktons.\n\n\"I had a presentiment something was going to happen,\" she said, smiling at\nhim. \"I'm glad it was no worse than that.\"\n\nShe withdrew her hand, and turned to Peggy Blackton. To John's delight she\nhad arranged her wonderful shining hair in a braid that rippled in a thick,\nsinuous rope of brown and gold below her hips. Peggy Blackton had in some\nway found a riding outfit for her slender figure, a typical mountain\noutfit, with short divided skirt, loose blouse, and leggings. She had never\nlooked more beautiful to him. Her night's rest had restored the colour to\nher soft cheeks and curved lips; and in her eyes, when she looked at him\nagain, there was a strange, glowing light that thrilled him. During the\nnext half-hour he almost forgot his telltale disfigurements. At breakfast\nPaul and Peggy Blackton were beautifully oblivious of them. Once or twice\nhe saw in Joanne's clear eyes a look which made him suspect that she had\nguessed very near to the truth.\n\nMacDonald was prompt to the minute. Gray day, with its bars of golden tint,\nwas just creeping over the shoulders of the eastern mountains when he rode\nup to the Blacktons'. The old hunter was standing close to the horse which\nJoanne was to ride when Aldous brought her out. Joanne gave him her hand,\nand for a moment MacDonald bowed his shaggy head over it. Five minutes\nlater they were trailing up the rough wagon-road, MacDonald in the lead,\nand Joanne and Aldous behind, with the single pack horse between.\n\nFor several miles this wagon-trail reached back through the thick timber\nthat filled the bottom between the two ranges of mountains. They had\ntravelled but a short distance when Joanne drew her horse close in beside\nAldous.\n\n\"I want to know what happened last night,\" she said. \"Will you tell me?\"\n\nAldous met her eyes frankly. He had made up his mind that she would believe\nonly the truth, and he had decided to tell her at least a part of that. He\nwould lay his whole misadventure to the gold. Leaning over the pommel of\nhis saddle he recounted the occurrences of the night before, beginning with\nhis search for Quade and the half-breed, and his experience with the woman\nwho rode the bear. He left out nothing--except all mention of herself. He\ndescribed the events lightly, not omitting those parts which appealed to\nhim as being very near to comedy.\n\nIn spite of his effort to rob the affair of its serious aspect his recital\nhad a decided effect upon Joanne. For some time after he had finished one\nof her small gloved hands clutched tightly at the pommel of her saddle; her\nbreath came more quickly; the colour had ebbed from her cheeks, and she\nlooked straight ahead, keeping her eyes from meeting his. He began to\nbelieve that in some way she was convinced he had not told her the whole\ntruth, and was possibly displeased, when she again turned her face to him.\nIt was tense and white. In it was the fear which, for a few minutes, she\nhad tried to keep from him.\n\n\"They would have killed you?\" she breathed.\n\n\"Perhaps they would only have given me a good scare,\" said Aldous. \"But I\ndidn't have time to wait and find out. I was very anxious to see MacDonald\nagain. So I went through the window!\"\n\n\"No, they would have killed you,\" said Joanne. \"Perhaps I did wrong, Mr.\nAldous, but I confided--a little--in Peggy Blackton last night. She seemed\nlike a sister. I love her. And I wanted to confide in some one--a woman,\nlike her. It wasn't much, but I told her what happened at Miette: about\nyou, and Quade, and how I saw him at the station, and again--later,\nfollowing us. And then--she told me! Perhaps she didn't know how it was\nfrightening me, but she told me all about these men--Quade and Culver Rann.\nAnd now I'm more afraid of Culver Rann than Quade, and I've never seen him.\nThey can't hurt me. But I'm afraid for you!\"\n\nAt her words a joy that was like the heat of a fire leaped into his brain.\n\n\"For me?\" he said. \"Afraid--for me?\"\n\n\"Yes. Why shouldn't I be, if I know that you are in danger?\" she asked\nquietly. \"And now, since last night, and the discovery of your secret by\nthese men, I am terrified. Quade has followed you here. Mrs. Blackton told\nme that Culver Rann was many times more dangerous than Quade. Only a little\nwhile ago you told me you did not care for riches. Then why do you go for\nthis gold? Why do you run the risk? Why----\"\n\nHe waited. The colour was flooding back into her face in an excited,\nfeverish flush. Her blue eyes were dark as thunder-clouds in their\nearnestness.\n\n\"Don't you understand?\" she went on. \"It was because of me that you\nincurred this deadly enmity of Quade's. If anything happens to you, I shall\nhold myself responsible!\"\n\n\"No, you will not be responsible,\" replied Aldous, steadying the tremble in\nhis voice. \"Besides, nothing is going to happen. But you don't know how\nhappy you have made me by taking this sort of an interest in me. It--it\nfeels good,\" he laughed.\n\nFor a few paces he dropped behind her, where the overhead spruce boughs\nleft but the space for a single rider between. Then, again, he drew up\nclose beside her.\n\n\"I was going to tell you about this gold,\" he said. \"It isn't the gold\nwe're going after.\"\n\nHe leaned over until his hand rested on her saddle-bow.\n\n\"Look ahead,\" he went on, a curious softness in his voice. \"Look at\nMacDonald!\"\n\nThe first shattered rays of the sun were breaking over the mountains and\nreflecting their glow in the valley. Donald MacDonald had lifted his face\nto the sunrise; out from under his battered hat the morning breeze sweeping\nthrough the valley of the Frazer tossed his shaggy hair; his great owl-gray\nbeard swept his breast; his broad, gaunt shoulders were hunched a little\nforward as he looked into the east. Again Aldous looked into Joanne's eyes.\n\n\"It's not the gold, but MacDonald, that's taking me north, Ladygray. And\nit's not the gold that is taking MacDonald. It is strange, almost\nunbelievedly strange--what I am going to tell you. To-day we are seeking a\ngrave--for you. And up there, two hundred miles in the north, another grave\nis calling MacDonald. I am going with him. It just happens that the gold is\nthere. You wouldn't guess that for more than forty years that blessed old\nwanderer ahead of us has loved a dead woman, would you? You wouldn't think\nthat for nearly half a century, year in and year out, winter and summer\nalike, he has tramped the northern mountains--a lost spirit with but one\ndesire in life--to find at last her resting-place? And yet it is so,\nLadygray. I guess I am the only living creature to whom he has opened his\nheart in many a long year. A hundred times beside our campfire I have\nlistened to him, until at last his story seems almost to be a part of my\nown. He may be a little mad, but it is a beautiful madness.\"\n\nHe paused.\n\n\"Yes,\" whispered Joanne. \"Go on--John Aldous.\"\n\n\"It's--hard to tell,\" he continued. \"I can't put the feeling of it in\nwords, the spirit of it, the wonder of it. I've tried to write it, and I\ncouldn't. Her name was Jane. He has never spoken of her by any other name\nthan that, and I've never asked for the rest of it. They were kids when\ntheir two families started West over the big prairies in Conestoga wagons.\nThey grew up sweethearts. Both of her parents, and his mother, died before\nthey were married. Then, a little later, his father died, and they were\nalone. I can imagine what their love must have been. I have seen it still\nliving in his eyes, and I have seen it in his strange hour-long dreams\nafter he has talked of her. They were always together. He has told me how\nthey roamed the mountains hand in hand in their hunts; how she was comrade\nand chum when he went prospecting. He has opened his lonely old heart to\nme--a great deal. He's told me how they used to be alone for months at a\ntime in the mountains, the things they used to do, and how she would sing\nfor him beside their campfire at night. 'She had a voice sweet as an\nangel,' I remember he told me once. Then, more than forty years ago, came\nthe gold-rush away up in the Stikine River country. They went. They joined\na little party of twelve--ten men and two women. This party wandered far\nout of the beaten paths of the other gold-seekers. And at last they found\ngold.\"\n\nAhead of them Donald MacDonald had turned in his saddle and was looking\nback. For a moment Aldous ceased speaking.\n\n\"Please--go on!\" said Joanne.\n\n\"They found gold,\" repeated Aldous. \"They found so much of it, Ladygray,\nthat some of them went mad--mad as beasts. It was placer gold--loose gold,\nand MacDonald says that one day he and Jane filled their pockets with\nnuggets. Then something happened. A great storm came; a storm that filled\nthe mountains with snow through which no living creature as heavy as a man\nor a horse could make its way. It came a month earlier than they had\nexpected, and from the beginning they were doomed. Their supplies were\nalmost gone.\n\n\"I can't tell you the horrors of the weeks and months that followed, as old\nDonald has told them to me, Joanne. You must imagine. Only, when you are\ndeep in the mountains, and the snow comes, you are like a rat in a trap. So\nthey were caught--eleven men and three women. They who could make their\nbeds in sheets of yellow gold, but who had no food. The horses were lost in\nthe storm. Two of their frozen carcasses were found and used for food. Two\nof the men set out on snowshoes, leaving their gold behind, and probably\ndied.\n\n\"Then the first terrible thing happened. Two men quarrelled over a can of\nbeans, and one was killed. He was the husband of one of the women. The next\nterrible thing happened to her--and there was a fight. On one side there\nwere young Donald and the husband of the other woman; on the other\nside--the beasts. The husband was killed, and Donald and Jane sought refuge\nin the log cabin they had built. That night they fled, taking what little\nfood they possessed, and what blankets they could carry. They knew they\nwere facing death. But they went together, hand in hand.\n\n\"At last Donald found a great cave in the side of a mountain. I have a\npicture of that cave in my brain--a deep, warm cave, with a floor of soft\nwhite sand, a cave into which the two exhausted fugitives stumbled, still\nhand in hand, and which was home. But they found it a little too late.\nThree days later Jane died. And there is another picture in my brain--a\npicture of young Donald sitting there in the cave, clasping in his arms the\ncold form of the one creature in the world that he loved; moaning and\nsobbing over her, calling upon her to come back to life, to open her eyes,\nto speak to him--until at last his brain cracked and he went mad. That is\nwhat happened. He went mad.\"\n\nJoanne's breath was coming brokenly through her lips. Unconsciously she had\nclasped her fingers about the hand Aldous rested on her pommel.\n\n\"How long he remained in the cave with his dead, MacDonald has never been\nable to say,\" he resumed.\n\n\"He doesn't know whether he buried his wife or left her lying on the sand\nfloor of the cave. He doesn't know how he got out of the mountains. But he\ndid, and his mind came back. And since then, Joanne--for a matter of forty\nyears--his life has been spent in trying to find that cave. All those years\nhis search was unavailing. He could find no trace of the little hidden\nvalley in which the treasure-seekers found their bonanza of gold. No word\nof it ever came out of the mountains; no other prospector ever stumbled\nupon it. Year after year Donald went into the North; year after year he\ncame out as the winter set in, but he never gave up hope.\n\n\"Then he began spending winter as well as summer in that forgotten\nworld--forgotten because the early gold-rush was over, and the old\nTelegraph trail was travelled more by wolves than men. And always, Donald\nhas told me, his beloved Jane's spirit was with him in his wanderings over\nthe mountains, her hand leading him, her voice whispering to him in the\nloneliness of the long nights. Think of it, Joanne! Forty years of that!\nForty years of a strange, beautiful madness, forty years of undying love,\nof faith, of seeking and never finding! And this spring old Donald came\nalmost to the end of his quest. He knows, now; he knows where that little\ntreasure valley is hidden in the mountains, he knows where to find the\ncave!\"\n\n\"He found her--he found her?\" she cried. \"After all those years--he found\nher?\"\n\n\"Almost,\" said Aldous softly. \"But the great finale in the tragedy of\nDonald MacDonald's life is yet to come, Ladygray. It will come when once\nmore he stands in the soft white sand of that cavern floor, and sometimes\nI tremble when I think that when that moment comes I will be at his side.\nTo me it will be terrible. To him it will be--what? That hour has not quite\narrived. It happened this way: Old Donald was coming down from the North on\nthe early slush snows this spring when he came to a shack in which a man\nwas almost dead of the smallpox. It was DeBar, the half-breed.\n\n\"Fearlessly MacDonald nursed him. He says it was God who sent him to that\nshack. For DeBar, in his feverish ravings, revealed the fact that he had\nstumbled upon that little Valley of Gold for which MacDonald had searched\nthrough forty years. Old Donald knew it was the same valley, for the\nhalf-breed raved of dead men, of rotting buckskin sacks of yellow nuggets,\nof crumbling log shacks, and of other things the memories of which stabbed\nlike knives into Donald's heart. How he fought to save that man! And, at\nlast, he succeeded.\n\n\"They continued south, planning to outfit and go back for the gold. They\nwould have gone back at once, but they had no food and no horses. Foot by\nfoot, in the weeks that followed, DeBar described the way to the hidden\nvalley, until at last MacDonald knew that he could go to it as straight as\nan eagle to its nest. When they reached Tete Jaune he came to me. And I\npromised to go with him, Ladygray--back to the Valley of Gold. He calls it\nthat; but I--I think of it as The Valley of Silent Men. It is not the gold,\nbut the cavern with the soft white floor that is calling us.\"\n\nIn her saddle Joanne had straightened. Her head was thrown back, her lips\nwere parted, and her eyes shone as the eyes of a Joan of Arc must have\nshone when she stood that day before the Hosts.\n\n\"And this man, the half-breed, has sold himself--for a woman?\" she said,\nlooking straight ahead at the bent shoulders of old MacDonald.\n\n\"Yes, for a woman. Do you ask me why I go now? Why I shall fight, if\nfighting there must be?\"\n\nShe turned to him. Her face was a blaze of glory.\n\n\"No, no, no!\" she cried. \"Oh, John Aldous! if I were only a man, that I\nmight go with you and stand with you two in that Holy Sepulchre--the\nCavern----If I were a man, I'd go--and, yes, I would fight!\"\n\nAnd Donald MacDonald, looking back, saw the two clasping hands across the\ntrail. A moment later he turned his horse from the broad road into a narrow\ntrail that led over the range.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\n\nFrom the hour in which she had listened to the story of old MacDonald a\nchange seemed to have come over Joanne. It was as if she had risen out of\nherself, out of whatever fear or grief she might have possessed in her own\nheart. John Aldous knew that there was some deep significance in her visit\nto the grave under the Saw Tooth Mountain, and that from the beginning she\nhad been fighting under a tremendous mental and physical strain. He had\nexpected this day would be a terrible day for her; he had seen her efforts\nto strengthen herself for the approaching crisis that morning. He believed\nthat as they drew nearer to their journey's end her suspense and\nuneasiness, the fear which she was trying to keep from him, would, in spite\nof her, become more and more evident. For these reasons the change which he\nsaw in her was not only delightfully unexpected but deeply puzzling. She\nseemed to be under the influence of some new and absorbing excitement. Her\ncheeks were flushed. There was a different poise to her head; in her voice,\ntoo, there was a note which he had not noticed before.\n\nIt struck him, all at once, that this was a new Joanne--a Joanne who, at\nleast for a brief spell, had broken the bondage of oppression and fear that\nhad fettered her. In the narrow trail up the mountain he rode behind her,\nand in this he found a pleasure even greater than when he rode at her\nside. Only when her face was turned from him did he dare surrender himself\nat all to the emotions which had transformed his soul. From behind he could\nlook at her, and worship without fear of discovery. Every movement of her\nslender, graceful body gave him a new and exquisite thrill; every dancing\nlight and every darkening shadow in her shimmering hair added to the joy\nthat no fear or apprehension could overwhelm within him now. Only in those\nwonderful moments, when her presence was so near, and yet her eyes did not\nsee him, could he submerge himself completely in the thought of what she\nhad become to him and of what she meant to him.\n\nDuring the first hour of their climb over the break that led into the\nvalley beyond they had but little opportunity for conversation. The trail\nwas an abandoned Indian path, narrow, and in places extremely steep. Twice\nAldous helped Joanne from her horse that she might travel afoot over places\nwhich he considered dangerous. When he assisted her in the saddle again,\nafter a stiff ascent of a hundred yards, she was panting from her exertion,\nand he felt the sweet thrill of her breath in his face. For a space his\nhappiness obliterated all thoughts of other things. It was MacDonald who\nbrought them back.\n\nThey had reached the summit of the break, and through his long brass\ntelescope the old mountaineer was scanning the valley out of which they had\ncome. Under them lay Tete Jaune, gleaming in the morning sun, and it dawned\nsuddenly upon Aldous that this was the spot from which MacDonald had spied\nupon his enemies. He looked at Joanne. She was breathing quickly as she\nlooked upon the wonder of the scene below them. Suddenly she turned, and\nencountered his eyes.\n\n\"They might--follow?\" she asked.\n\nHe shook his head.\n\n\"No danger of that,\" he assured her.\n\nMacDonald had dismounted, and now he lay crouched behind a rock, with his\ntelescope resting over the top of it. He had leaned his long rifle against\nthe boulder; his huge forty-four, a relic of the old Indian days, hung at\nhis hip. Joanne saw these omens of preparedness, and her eyes shifted again\nto Aldous. His .303 swung from his saddle. At his waist was the heavy\nautomatic. She smiled. In her eyes was understanding, and something like a\nchallenge. She did not question him again, but under her gaze Aldous\nflushed.\n\nA moment later MacDonald closed his telescope and without a word mounted\nhis horse. Where the descent into the second valley began he paused again.\nTo the north through the haze of the morning sun gleamed the snow-capped\npeaks of the Saw Tooth Range. Apparently not more than an hour's ride\ndistant rose a huge red sandstone giant which seemed to shut in the end of\nthe valley MacDonald stretched forth a long arm in its direction.\n\n\"What we're seekin' is behind that mountain,\" he said. \"It's ten miles from\nhere.\" He turned to the girl. \"Are you gettin' lame, Mis' Joanne?\"\n\nAldous saw her lips tighten.\n\n\"No. Let us go on, please.\"\n\nShe was staring fixedly at the sombre red mass of the mountain. Her eyes\ndid not take in the magnificent sweep of the valley below. They saw\nnothing of the snow-capped peaks beyond. There was something wild and\nunnatural in their steady gaze. Aldous dropped behind her as they began the\ngradual descent from the crest of the break and his own heart began to beat\nmore apprehensively; the old question flashed back upon him, and he felt\nagain the oppression that once before had held him in its grip. His eyes\ndid not leave Joanne. And always she was staring at the mountain behind\nwhich lay the thing they were seeking! It was not Joanne herself that set\nhis blood throbbing. Her face had not paled. Its colour was like the hectic\nflush of a fever. Her eyes alone betrayed her; their strange intensity--the\nalmost painful steadiness with which they hung to the distant mountain, and\na dread of what was to come seized upon him. Again he found himself asking\nhimself questions which he could not answer. Why had Joanne not confided\nmore fully in him? What was the deeper significance of this visit to the\ngrave, and of her mission in the mountains?\n\nDown the narrow Indian trail they passed into the thick spruce timber. Half\nan hour later they came out into the grassy creek bottom of the valley.\nDuring that time Joanne did not look behind her, and John Aldous did not\nspeak. MacDonald turned north, and the sandstone mountain was straight\nahead of them. It was not like the other mountains. There was something\nsinister and sullen about it. It was ugly and broken. No vegetation grew\nupon it, and through the haze of sunlight its barren sides and battlemented\ncrags gleamed a dark and humid red after the morning mists, as if freshly\nstained with blood. Aldous guessed its effect upon Joanne, and he\ndetermined to put an end to it. Again he rode up close beside her.\n\n\"I want you to get better acquainted with old Donald,\" he said. \"We're sort\nof leaving him out in the cold, Ladygray. Do you mind if I tell him to come\nback and ride with you for a while?\"\n\n\"I've been wanting to talk with him,\" she replied. \"If you don't mind----\"\n\n\"I don't,\" he broke in quickly. \"You'll love old Donald, Ladygray. And, if\nyou can, I'd like to have you tell him all that you know about--Jane. Let\nhim know that I told you.\"\n\nShe nodded. Her lips trembled in a smile.\n\n\"I will,\" she said.\n\nA moment later Aldous was telling MacDonald that Joanne wanted him. The old\nmountaineer stared. He drew his pipe from his mouth, beat out its\nhalf-burned contents, and thrust it into its accustomed pocket.\n\n\"She wants to see me?\" he asked. \"God bless her soul--what for?\"\n\n\"Because she thinks you're lonesome up here alone, Mac. And look\nhere\"--Aldous leaned over to MacDonald--\"her nerves are ready to snap. I\nknow it. There's a mighty good reason why I can't relieve the strain she is\nunder. But you can. She's thinking every minute of that mountain up there\nand the grave behind it. You go back, and talk. Tell her about the first\ntime you ever came up through these valleys--you and Jane. Will you, Mac?\nWill you tell her that?\"\n\nMacDonald did not reply, but he dropped behind. Aldous took up the lead. A\nfew minutes later he looked back, and laughed softly under his breath.\nJoanne and the old hunter were riding side by side in the creek bottom, and\nJoanne was talking. He looked at his watch. He did not look at it again\nuntil the first gaunt, red shoulder of the sandstone mountain began to loom\nover them. An hour had passed since he left Joanne. Ahead of him, perhaps a\nmile distant, was the cragged spur beyond which--according to the sketch\nKeller had drawn for him at the engineers' camp--was the rough canyon\nleading back to the basin on the far side of the mountain. He had almost\nreached this when MacDonald rode up.\n\n\"You go back, Johnny,\" he said, a singular softness in his hollow voice.\n\"We're a'most there.\"\n\nHe cast his eyes over the western peaks, where dark clouds were shouldering\ntheir way up in the face of the sun, and added:\n\n\"There's rain in that. I'll trot on ahead with Pinto and have a tent ready\nwhen you come. I reckon it can't be more'n a mile up the canyon.\"\n\n\"And the grave, Mac?\"\n\n\"Is right close to where I'll pitch the tent,\" said MacDonald, swinging\nsuddenly behind the pack-horse Pinto, and urging him into a trot. \"Don't\nwaste any time, Johnny.\"\n\nAldous rode back to Joanne.\n\n\"It looks like rain,\" he explained. \"These Pacific showers come up quickly\nthis side of the Divide, and they drench you in a jiffy. Donald is going on\nahead to put up a tent.\"\n\nBy the time they reached the mouth of the canyon MacDonald was out of\nsight. A little creek that was a swollen torrent in spring time trickled\nout of the gorge. Its channel was choked with a chaotic confusion of\nsandstone rock and broken slate, and up through this Aldous carefully\npicked his way, followed closely by Joanne. The sky continued to darken\nabove them, until at last the sun died out, and a thick and almost palpable\ngloom began to envelop them. Low thunder rolled through the mountains in\nsullen, rumbling echoes. He looked back at Joanne, and was amazed to see\nher eyes shining, and a smile on her lips as she nodded at him.\n\n\"It makes me think of Henrik Hudson and his ten-pin players,\" she called\nsoftly. \"And ahead of us--is Rip Van Winkle!\"\n\nThe first big drops were beginning to fall when they came to an open place.\nThe gorge swung to the right; on their left the rocks gave place to a\nrolling meadow of buffalo grass, and Aldous knew they had reached the\nbasin. A hundred yards up the was a fringe of timber, and as he\nlooked he saw smoke rising out of this. The sound of MacDonald's axe came\nto them. He turned to Joanne, and he saw that she understood. They were at\ntheir journey's end. Perhaps her fingers gripped her rein a little more\ntightly. Perhaps it was imagination that made him think there was a slight\ntremble in her voice when she said:\n\n\"This--is the place?\"\n\n\"Yes. It should be just above the timber. I believe I can see the upper\nbreak of the little box canyon Keller told me about.\"\n\nShe rode without speaking until they entered the timber. They were just in\ntime. As he lifted her down from her horse the clouds opened, and the rain\nfell in a deluge. Her hair was wet when he got her in the tent. MacDonald\nhad spread out a number of blankets, but he had disappeared. Joanne sank\ndown upon them with a little shiver. She looked up at Aldous. It was almost\ndark in the tent, and her eyes were glowing strangely. Over them the\nthunder crashed deafeningly. For a few minutes it was a continual roar,\nshaking the mountains with mighty reverberations that were like the\nexplosions of giant guns. Aldous stood holding the untied flap against the\nbeat of the rain. Twice he saw Joanne's lips form words. At last he heard\nher say:\n\n\"Where is Donald?\"\n\nHe tied the flap, and dropped down on the edge of the blankets before he\nanswered her.\n\n\"Probably out in the open watching the lightning, and letting the rain\ndrench him,\" he said. \"I've never known old Donald to come in out of a\nrain, unless it was cold. He was tying up the horses when I ran in here\nwith you.\"\n\nHe believed she was shivering, yet he knew she was not cold. In the half\ngloom of the tent he wanted to reach over and take her hand.\n\nFor a few minutes longer there was no break in the steady downpour and the\ncrashing of the thunder. Then, as suddenly as the storm had broken, it\nbegan to subside. Aldous rose and flung back the tent-flap.\n\n\"It is almost over,\" he said. \"You had better remain in the tent a little\nlonger, Ladygray. I will go out and see if MacDonald has succeeded in\ndrowning himself.\"\n\nJoanne did not answer, and Aldous stepped outside. He knew where to find\nthe old hunter. He had gone up to the end of the timber, and probably this\nminute was in the little box canyon searching for the grave. It was a\nmatter of less than a hundred yards to the upper fringe of timber, and when\nAldous came out of this he stood on the summit of the grassy divide that\nseparated the tiny lake Keller had described from the canyon. It was less\nthan a rifle shot distant, and on the farther side of it MacDonald was\nalready returning. Aldous hurried down to meet him. He did not speak when\nthey met, but his companion answered the question in his eyes, while the\nwater dripped in streams from his drenched hair and beard.\n\n\"It's there,\" he said, pointing back. \"Just behind that big black rock.\nThere's a slab over it, an' you've got the name right. It's Mortimer\nFitzHugh.\"\n\nAbove them the clouds were splitting asunder. A shaft of sunlight broke\nthrough, and as they stood looking over the little lake the shaft\nbroadened, and the sun swept in golden triumph over the mountains.\nMacDonald beat his limp hat against his knee, and with his other hand\ndrained the water from his beard.\n\n\"What you goin' to do?\" he asked.\n\nAldous turned toward the timber. Joanne herself answered the question. She\nwas coming up the . In a few moments she stood beside them. First she\nlooked down upon the lake. Then her eyes turned to Aldous. There was no\nneed for speech. He held out his hand, and without hesitation she gave him\nher own. MacDonald understood. He walked down ahead of them toward the\nblack rock. When he came to the rock he paused. Aldous and Joanne passed\nhim. Then they, too, stopped, and Aldous freed the girl's hand.\n\nWith an unexpectedness that was startling they had come upon the grave. Yet\nnot a sound escaped Joanne's lips. Aldous could not see that she was\nbreathing. Less than ten paces from them was the mound, protected by its\ncairn of stones; and over the stones rose a weather-stained slab in the\nform of a cross. One glance at the grave and Aldous riveted his eyes upon\nJoanne. For a full minute she stood as motionless as though the last breath\nhad left her body. Then, slowly, she advanced. He could not see her face.\nHe followed, quietly, step by step as she moved. For another minute she\nleaned over the slab, making out the fine-seared letters of the name. Her\nbody was bent forward; her two hands were clenched tightly at her side.\nEven more slowly than she had advanced she turned toward Aldous and\nMacDonald. Her face was dead white. She lifted her hands to her breast, and\nclenched them there.\n\n\"It is his name,\" she said, and there was something repressed and terrible\nin her low voice. \"It is his name!\"\n\nShe was looking straight into the eyes of John Aldous, and he saw that she\nwas fighting to say something which she had not spoken. Suddenly she came\nto him, and her two hands caught his arm.\n\n\"It is terrible--what I am going to ask of you,\" she struggled. \"You will\nthink I am a ghoul. But I must have proof! I must--I must!\"\n\nShe was staring wildly at him, and all at once there leapt fiercely through\nhim a dawning of the truth. The name was there, seared by hot iron in that\nslab of wood. The name! But under the cairn of stones----\n\nBehind them MacDonald had heard. He towered beside them now. His great\nmountain-twisted hands drew Joanne a step back, and strange gentleness was\nin his voice as he said:\n\n\"You an' Johnny go back an' build a fire, Mis' Joanne. I'll find the\nproof!\"\n\n\"Come,\" said Aldous, and he held out his hand again.\n\nMacDonald hurried on ahead of them. When they reached the camp he was gone,\nso that Joanne did not see the pick and shovel which he carried back. She\nwent into the tent and Aldous began building a fire where MacDonald's had\nbeen drowned out. There was little reason for a fire; but he built it, and\nfor fifteen minutes added pitch-heavy fagots of storm-killed jack-pine and\nspruce to it, until the flames leapt a dozen feet into the air. Half a\ndozen times he was impelled to return to the grave and assist MacDonald in\nhis gruesome task. But he knew that MacDonald had meant that he should stay\nwith Joanne. If he returned, she might follow.\n\nHe was surprised at the quickness with which MacDonald performed his work.\nNot more than half an hour had passed when a low whistle drew his eyes to a\nclump of dwarf spruce back in the timber. The mountaineer was standing\nthere, holding something in his hand. With a backward glance to see that\nJoanne had not come from the tent, Aldous hastened to him. What he could\nsee of MacDonald's face was the lifeless colour of gray ash. His eyes\nstared as if he had suffered a strange and unexpected shock. He went to\nspeak, but no words came through his beard. In his hand he held his faded\nred neck-handkerchief. He gave it to Aldous.\n\n\"It wasn't deep,\" he said. \"It was shallow, turribly shallow, Johnny--just\nunder the stone!\"\n\nHis voice was husky and unnatural.\n\nThere was something heavy in the handkerchief, and a shudder passed through\nAldous as he placed it on the palm of his hand and unveiled its contents.\nHe could not repress an exclamation when he saw what MacDonald had brought.\nIn his hand, with a single thickness of the wet handkerchief between the\nobjects and his flesh, lay a watch and a ring. The watch was of gold. It\nwas tarnished, but he could see there were initials, which he could not\nmake out, engraved on the back of the case. The ring, too, was of gold. It\nwas one of the most gruesome ornaments Aldous had ever seen. It was in the\nform of a coiled and writhing serpent, wide enough to cover half of one's\nmiddle finger between the joints. Again the eyes of the two men met, and\nagain Aldous observed that strange, stunned look in the old hunter's face.\nHe turned and walked back toward the tent, MacDonald following him slowly,\nstill staring, his long gaunt arms and hands hanging limply at his side.\n\nJoanne heard them, and came out of the tent. A choking cry fell from her\nlips when she saw MacDonald. For a moment one of her hands clutched at the\nwet canvas of the tent, and then she swayed forward, knowing what John\nAldous had in his hand. He stood voiceless while she looked. In that tense\nhalf-minute when she stared at the objects he held it seemed to him that\nher heart-strings must snap under the strain. Then she drew back from\nthem, her eyes filled with horror, her hands raised as if to shut out the\nsight of them, and a panting, sobbing cry broke from between her pallid\nlips.\n\n\"Oh, my God!\" she breathed. \"Take them away--take them away!\"\n\nShe staggered back to the tent, and stood there with her hands covering her\nface. Aldous turned to the old hunter and gave him the things he held.\n\nA moment later he stood alone where the three had been, staring now as\nJoanne had stared, his heart beating wildly.\n\nFor Joanne, in entering the tent, had uncovered her face; it was not grief\nthat he saw there, but the soul of a woman new-born. And as his own soul\nresponded in a wild rejoicing, MacDonald, going over the summit and down\ninto the hollow, mumbled in his beard:\n\n\"God ha' mercy on me! I'm doin' it for her an' Johnny, an' because she's\nlike my Jane!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\n\nPlunged from one extreme of mental strain to another excitement that was as\nacute in its opposite effect, John Aldous stood and stared at the tent-flap\nthat had dropped behind Joanne. Only a flash he had caught of her face; but\nin that flash he had seen the living, quivering joyousness of freedom\nblazing where a moment before there had been only horror and fear. As if\nashamed of her own betrayal, Joanne had darted into the tent. She had\nanswered his question a thousand times more effectively than if she had\nremained to tell him with her lips that MacDonald's proofs were\nsufficient--that the grave in the little box canyon had not disappointed\nher. She had recognized the ring and the watch; from them she had shrank in\nhorror, as if fearing that the golden serpent might suddenly leap into life\nand strike.\n\nIn spite of the mightiest efforts she might have made for self-control\nAldous had seen in her tense and tortured face a look that was more than\neither dread or shock--it was abhorrence, hatred. And his last glimpse of\nher face had revealed those things gone, and in their place the strange joy\nshe had run into the tent to hide. That she should rejoice over the dead,\nor that the grim relics from the grave should bring that new dawn into her\nface and eyes, did not strike him as shocking. In Joanne his sun had\nalready begun to rise and set. He had come to understand that for her the\ngrave must hold its dead; that the fact of death, death under the slab that\nbore Mortimer FitzHugh's name, meant life for her, just as it meant life\nand all things for him. He had prayed for it, even while he dreaded that it\nmight not be. In him all things were now submerged in the wild thought that\nJoanne was free, and the grave had been the key to her freedom.\n\nA calmness began to possess him that was in singular contrast to the\nperturbed condition of his mind a few minutes before. From this hour Joanne\nwas his to fight for, to win if he could; and, knowing this, his soul rose\nin triumph above his first physical exultation, and he fought back the\nalmost irresistible impulse to follow her into the tent and tell her what\nthis day had meant for him. Following this came swiftly a realization of\nwhat it had meant for her--the suspense, the terrific strain, the final\nshock and gruesome horror of it. He was sure, without seeing, that she was\nhuddled down on the blankets in the tent. She had passed through an ordeal\nunder which a strong man might have broken, and the picture he had of her\nstruggle in there alone turned him from the tent filled with a\ndetermination to make her believe that the events of the morning, both with\nhim and MacDonald, were easily forgotten.\n\nHe began to whistle as he threw back the wet canvas from over the camp\noutfit that had been taken from Pinto's back. In one of the two cow-hide\npanniers he saw that thoughtful old Donald had packed materials for their\ndinner, as well as utensils necessary for its preparation. That dinner they\nwould have in the valley, well beyond the red mountain. He began to repack,\nwhistling cheerily. He was still whistling when MacDonald returned. He\nbroke off sharply when he saw the other's face.\n\n\"What's the matter, Mac?\" he asked. \"You sick?\"\n\n\"It weren't pleasant, Johnny.\"\n\nAldous nodded toward the tent.\n\n\"It was--beastly,\" he whispered. \"But we can't let her feel that way about\nit, Mac. Cheer up--and let's get out of this place. We'll have dinner\nsomewhere over in the valley.\"\n\nThey continued packing until only the tent remained to be placed on Pinto's\nback. Aldous resumed his loud whistling as he tightened up the\nsaddle-girths, and killed time in half a dozen other ways. A quarter of an\nhour passed. Still Joanne did not appear. Aldous scratched his head\ndubiously, and looked at the tent.\n\n\"I don't want to disturb her, Mac,\" he said in a low voice. \"Let's keep up\nthe bluff of being busy. We can put out the fire.\"\n\nTen minutes later, sweating and considerably smokegrimed, Aldous again\nlooked toward the tent.\n\n\"We might cut down a few trees,\" suggested MacDonald.\n\n\"Or play leap-frog,\" added Aldous.\n\n\"The trees'd sound more natcherel,\" said MacDonald. \"We could tell her----\"\n\nA stick snapped behind them. Both turned at the same instant. Joanne stood\nfacing them not ten feet away.\n\n\"Great Scott!\" gasped Aldous. \"Joanne, I thought you were in the tent!\"\n\nThe beautiful calmness in Joanne's face amazed him. He stared at her as he\nspoke, forgetting altogether the manner in which he had intended to greet\nher when she came from the tent.\n\n\"I went out the back way--lifted the canvas and crawled under just like a\nboy,\" she explained. \"And I've walked until my feet are wet.\"\n\n\"And the fire is out!\"\n\n\"I don't mind wet feet,\" she hurried to assure him.\n\nOld Donald was already at work pulling the tent-pegs. Joanne came close to\nAldous, and he saw again that deep and wonderful light in her eyes. This\ntime he knew that she meant he should see it, and words which he had\ndetermined not to speak fell softly from his lips.\n\n\"You are no longer afraid, Ladygray? That which you dreaded----\"\n\n\"Is dead,\" she said. \"And you, John Aldous? Without knowing, seeing me only\nas you have seen me, do you think that I am terrible?\"\n\n\"No, could not think that.\"\n\nHer hand touched his arm.\n\n\"Will you go out there with me, in the sunlight, where we can look down\nupon the little lake?\" she asked. \"Until to-day I had made up my mind that\nno one but myself would ever know the truth. But you have been good to me,\nand I must tell you--about myself--about him.\"\n\nHe found no answer. He left no word with MacDonald. Until they stood on the\ngrassy knoll, with the lakelet shimmering in the sunlight below them,\nJoanne herself did not speak again. Then, with a little gesture, she said:\n\n\"Perhaps you think what is down there is dreadful to me. It isn't. I shall\nalways remember that little lake, almost as Donald remembers the\ncavern--not because it watches over something I love, but because it guards\na thing that in life would have destroyed me! I know how you must feel,\nJohn Aldous--that deep down in your heart you must wonder at a woman who\ncan rejoice in the death of another human creature. Yet death, and death\nalone, has been the key from bondage of millions of souls that have lived\nbefore mine; and there are men--men, too--whose lives have been warped and\ndestroyed because death did not come to save them. One was my father. If\ndeath had come for him, if it had taken my mother, that down there would\nnever have happened--for me!\"\n\nShe spoke the terrible words so quietly, so calmly, that it was impossible\nfor him entirely to conceal their effect upon him. There was a bit of\npathos in her smile.\n\n\"My mother drove my father mad,\" she went on, with a simple directness that\nwas the most wonderful thing he had ever heard come from human lips. \"The\nworld did not know that he was mad. It called him eccentric. But he was\nmad--in just one way. I was nine years old when it happened, and I can\nremember our home most vividly. It was a beautiful home. And my father!\nNeed I tell you that I worshipped him--that to me he was king of all men?\nAnd as deeply as I loved him, so, in another way, he worshipped my mother.\nShe was beautiful. In a curious sort of way I used to wonder, as a child,\nhow it was possible for a woman to be so beautiful. It was a dark beauty--a\nrecurrence of French strain in her English blood.\n\n\"One day I overheard my father tell her that, if she died, he would kill\nhimself. He was not of the passionate, over-sentimental kind; he was a\nphilosopher, a scientist, calm and self-contained--and I remembered those\nwords later, when I had outgrown childhood, as one of a hundred proofs of\nhow devoutly he had loved her. It was more than love, I believe. It was\nadoration. I was nine, I say, when things happened. Another man, a divorce,\nand on the day of the divorce this woman, my mother, married her lover.\nSomewhere in my father's brain a single thread snapped, and from that day\nhe was mad--mad on but one subject; and so deep and intense was his madness\nthat it became a part of me as the years passed, and to-day I, too, am\npossessed of that madness. And it is the one greatest thing in the world\nthat I am proud of, John Aldous!\"\n\nNot once had her voice betrayed excitement or emotion. Not once had it\nrisen above its normal tone; and in her eyes, as they turned from the lake\nto him, there was the tranquillity of a child.\n\n\"And that madness,\" she resumed, \"was the madness of a man whose brain and\nsoul were overwrought in one colossal hatred--a hatred of divorce and the\nlaws that made it possible. It was born in him in a day, and it lived until\nhis death. It turned him from the paths of men, and we became wanderers\nupon the face of the earth. Two years after the ruin of our home my mother\nand the man she had married died in a ship that was lost at sea. This had\nno effect upon my father. Possibly you will not understand what grew up\nbetween us in the years and years that followed. To the end he was a\nscientist, a man seeking after the unknown, and my education came to be a\ncomposite of teachings gathered in all parts of the world. We were never\napart. We were more than father and daughter; we were friends,\ncomrades--he was my world, and I was his.\n\n\"I recall, as I became older, how his hatred of that thing that had broken\nour home developed more and more strongly in me. His mind was titanic. A\nthousand times I pleaded with him to employ it in the great fight I wanted\nhim to make--a fight against the crime divorce. I know, now, why he did\nnot. He was thinking of me. Only one thing he asked of me. It was more than\na request. It was a command. And this command, and my promise, was that so\nlong as I lived--no matter what might happen in my life--I would sacrifice\nmyself body and soul sooner than allow that black monster of divorce to\nfasten its clutches on me. It is futile for me to tell you these things,\nJohn Aldous. It is impossible--you cannot understand!\"\n\n\"I can,\" he replied, scarcely above a whisper. \"Joanne, I begin--to\nunderstand!\"\n\nAnd still without emotion, her voice as calm as the unruffled lake at their\nfeet, she continued:\n\n\"It grew in me. It is a part of me now. I hate divorce as I hate the worst\nsin that bars one from Heaven. It is the one thing I hate. And it is\nbecause of this hatred that I suffered myself to remain the wife of the man\nwhose name is over that grave down there--Mortimer FitzHugh. It came about\nstrangely--what I am going to tell you now. You will wonder. You will think\nI was insane. But remember, John Aldous--the world had come to hold but one\nfriend and comrade for me, and he was my father. It was after Mindano. He\ncaught the fever, and he was dying.\"\n\nFor the first time her breath choked her. It was only for an instant. She\nrecovered herself, and went on:\n\n\"Out of the world my father had left he had kept one friend--Richard\nFitzHugh; and this man, with his son, was with us during those terrible\ndays of fever. I met Mortimer as I had met a thousand other men. His\nfather, I thought, was the soul of honour, and I accepted the son as such.\nWe were much together during those two weeks of my despair, and he seemed\nto be attentive and kind. Then came the end. My father was dying. And I--I\nwas ready to die. In his last moments his one thought was of me. He knew I\nwas alone, and the fear of it terrified him. I believe he did not realize\nthen what he was asking of me. He pleaded with me to marry the son of his\nold friend before he died. And I--John Aldous, I could not fight his last\nwish as he lay dying before my eyes. We were married there at his bedside.\nHe joined our hands. And the words he whispered to me last of all were:\n'Remember--Joanne--thy promise and thine honour!'\"\n\nFor a moment Joanne stood facing the little lake, and when she spoke again\nthere was a note of thankfulness, of subdued joy and triumph, in her voice.\n\n\"Before that day had ended I had displeased Mortimer FitzHugh,\" she said,\nand Aldous saw the fingers of her hands close tightly. \"I told him that\nuntil a month had passed I would not live with him as a wife lives with her\nhusband. And he was displeased. And my father was not yet buried! I was\nshocked. My soul revolted.\n\n\"We went to London and I was made welcome in the older FitzHugh's wifeless\nhome, and the papers told of our wedding. And two days later there came\nfrom Devonshire a woman--a sweet-faced little woman with sick, haunted\neyes; in her arms she brought a baby; and that baby _was Mortimer\nFitzHugh's!_\n\n\"We confronted him--the mother, the baby, and I; and then I knew that he\nwas a fiend. And the father was a fiend. They offered to buy the woman off,\nto support her and the child. They told me that many English gentlemen had\nmade mistakes like this, and that it was nothing--that it was quite common.\nMortimer FitzHugh had never touched me with his lips, and now, when he came\nto touch me with his hands, I struck him. It was a serpent's house, and I\nleft it.\n\n\"My father had left me a comfortable fortune, and I went into a house of my\nown. Day after day they came to me, and I knew that they feared I was going\nto secure a divorce. During the six months that followed I learned other\nthings about the man who was legally my husband. He was everything that was\nvile. Brazenly he went into public places with women of dishonour, and I\nhid my face in shame.\n\n\"His father died, and for a time Mortimer FitzHugh became one of the\ntalked-about spendthrifts of London. Swiftly he gambled and dissipated\nhimself into comparative poverty. And now, learning that I would not get a\ndivorce, he began to regard me as a slave in chains. I remember, one time,\nthat he succeeded in laying his hands on me, and they were like the touch\nof things that were slimy and poisonous. He laughed at my revulsion. He\ndemanded money of me, and to keep him away from me I gave it to him. Again\nand again he came for money; I suffered as I cannot tell you, but never\nonce in my misery did I weaken in my promise to my father and to myself.\nBut--at last--I ran away.\n\n\"I went to Egypt, and then to India. A year later I learned that Mortimer\nFitzHugh had gone to America, and I returned to London. For two years I\nheard nothing of him; but day and night I lived in fear and dread. And then\ncame the news that he had died, as you read in the newspaper clipping. I\nwas free! For a year I believed that; and then, like a shock that had come\nto destroy me, I was told that he _was not dead_ but that he was alive, and\nin a place called Tete Jaune Cache, in British Columbia. I could not live\nin the terrible suspense that followed. I determined to find out for myself\nif he was alive or dead. And so I came, John Aldous. And he is dead. He is\ndown there--dead. And I am glad that he is dead!\"\n\n\"And if he was not dead,\" said Aldous quietly, \"I would kill him!\"\n\nHe could find nothing more to say than that. He dared trust himself no\nfurther, and in silence he held out his hands, and for a moment Joanne gave\nhim her own. Then she withdrew them, and with a little gesture, and the\nsmile which he loved to see trembling about her mouth, she said:\n\n\"Donald will think this is scandalous. We must go back and apologize!\"\n\nShe led him down the , and her face was filled with the pink flush of\na wild rose when she ran up to Donald, and asked him to help her into her\nsaddle. John Aldous rode like one in a dream as they went back into the\nvalley, for with each minute that passed Joanne seemed more and more to\nhim like a beautiful bird that had escaped from its prison-cage, and in him\nmind and soul were absorbed in the wonder of it and in his own rejoicing.\nShe was free, and in her freedom she was happy!\n\nFree! It was that thought that pounded steadily in his brain. He forgot\nQuade, and Culver Rann, and the gold; he forgot his own danger, his own\nwork, almost his own existence. Of a sudden the world had become\ninfinitesimally small for him, and all he could see was the soft shimmer of\nJoanne's hair in the sun, the wonder of her face, the marvellous blue of\nher eyes--and all he could hear was the sweet thrill of her voice when she\nspoke to him or old Donald, and when, now and then, soft laughter trembled\non her lips in the sheer joy of the life that had dawned anew for her this\nday.\n\nThey stopped for dinner, and then went on over the range and down into the\nvalley where lay Tete Jaune. And all this time he fought to keep from\nflaming in his own face the desire that was like a hot fire within him--the\ndesire to go to Joanne and tell her that he loved her as he had never\ndreamed it possible for love to exist in the whole wide world. He knew that\nto surrender to that desire in this hour would be something like sacrilege.\nHe did not guess that Joanne saw his struggle, that even old MacDonald\nmumbled low words in his beard. When they came at last to Blackton's\nbungalow he thought that he had kept this thing from her, and he did not\nsee--and would not have understood if he had seen--the wonderful and\nmysterious glow in Joanne's eyes when she kissed Peggy Blackton.\n\nBlackton had come in from the work-end, dust-covered and jubilant.\n\n\"I'm glad you folks have returned,\" he cried, beaming with enthusiasm as he\ngripped Aldous by the hand. \"The last rock is packed, and to-night we're\ngoing to shake the earth. We're going to blow up Coyote Number\nTwenty-seven, and you won't forget the sight as long as you live!\"\n\nNot until Joanne had disappeared into the house with Peggy Blackton did\nAldous feel that he had descended firmly upon his feet once more into a\nmatter-of-fact world. MacDonald was waiting with the horses, and Blackton\nwas pointing over toward the steel workers, and was saying something about\nten thousand pounds of black powder and dynamite and a mountain that had\nstood a million years and was going to be blown up that night.\n\n\"It's the best bit of work I've ever done, Aldous--that and Coyote Number\nTwenty-eight. Peggy was going to touch the electric button to Twenty-seven\nto-night, but we've decided to let Miss Gray do that, and Peggy'll fire\nTwenty-eight to-morrow night. Twenty-eight is almost ready. If you say so,\nthe bunch of us will go over and see it in the morning. Mebby Miss Gray\nwould like to see for herself that a coyote isn't only an animal with a\nbushy tail, but a cavern dug into rock an' filled with enough explosives to\nplay high jinks with all the navies in the world if they happened to be on\nhand at the time. What do you say?\"\n\n\"Fine!\" said Aldous.\n\n\"And Peggy wants me to say that it's a matter of only common, every-day\ndecency on your part to make yourself our guest while here,\" added the\ncontractor, stuffing his pipe. \"We've got plenty of room, enough to eat,\nand a comfortable bed for you. You're going to be polite enough to accept,\naren't you?\"\n\n\"With all my heart,\" exclaimed Aldous, his blood tingling at the thought of\nbeing near Joanne. \"I've got some business with MacDonald and as soon as\nthat's over I'll domicile myself here. It's bully of you, Blackton! You\nknow----\"\n\n\"Why, dammit, of course I know!\" chuckled Blackton, lighting his pipe.\n\"Can't I see, Aldous? D'ye think I'm blind? I was just as gone over Peggy\nbefore I married her. Fact is, I haven't got over it yet--and never will. I\ncome up from the work four times a day regular to see her, and if I don't\ncome I have to send up word I'm safe. Peggy saw it first. She said it was a\nshame to put you off in that cabin with Miss Gray away up here. I don't\nwant to stick my nose in your business, old man, but--by George!--I\ncongratulate you! I've only seen one lovelier woman in my life, and that's\nPeggy.\"\n\nHe thrust out a hand and pumped his friend's limp arm, and Aldous felt\nhimself growing suddenly warm under the other's chuckling gaze.\n\n\"For goodness sake don't say anything, or act anything, old man,\" he\npleaded. \"I'm--just--hoping.\"\n\nBlackton nodded with prodigious understanding in his eyes.\n\n\"Come along when you get through with MacDonald,\" he said. \"I'm going in\nand clean up for to-night's fireworks.\"\n\nA question was in Aldous' mind, but he did not put it in words. He wanted\nto know about Quade and Culver Rann.\n\n\"Blackton is such a ridiculously forgetful fellow at times that I don't\nwant to rouse his alarm,\" he said to MacDonald as they were riding toward\nthe corral a few minutes later. \"He might let something out to Joanne and\nhis wife, and I've got reasons--mighty good reasons, Mac--for keeping this\naffair as quiet as possible. We'll have to discover what Rann and Quade are\ndoing ourselves.\"\n\nMacDonald edged his horse in nearer to Aldous.\n\n\"See here, Johnny, boy--tell me what's in your mind?\"\n\nAldous looked into the grizzled face, and there was something in the glow\nof the old mountaineer's eyes that made him think of a father.\n\n\"You know, Mac.\"\n\nOld Donald nodded.\n\n\"Yes, I guess I do, Johnny,\" he said in a low voice. \"You think of Mis'\nJoanne as I used to--to--think of _her_. I guess I know. But--what you\ngoin' to do?\"\n\nAldous shook his head, and for the first time that afternoon a look of\nuneasiness and gloom overspread his face.\n\n\"I don't know, Mac. I'm not ashamed to tell you. I love her. If she were to\npass out of my life to-morrow I would ask for something that belonged to\nher, and the spirit of her would live in it for me until I died. That's how\nI care, Mac. But I've known her such a short time. I can't tell her yet. It\nwouldn't be the square thing. And yet she won't remain in Tete Jaune very\nlong. Her mission is accomplished. And if--if she goes I can't very well\nfollow her, can I, Mac?\"\n\nFor a space old Donald was silent. Then he said, \"You're thinkin' of me,\nJohnny, an' what we was planning on?\"\n\n\"Partly.\"\n\n\"Then don't any more. I'll stick to you, an' we'll stick to her. Only----\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"If you could get Peggy Blackton to help you----\"\n\n\"You mean----\" began Aldous eagerly.\n\n\"That if Peggy Blackton got her to stay for a week--mebby ten\ndays--visitin' her, you know, it wouldn't be so bad if you told her then,\nwould it, Johnny?\"\n\n\"By George, it wouldn't!\"\n\n\"And I think----\"\n\n\"Yes----\"\n\n\"Bein' an old man, an' seein' mebby what you don't see----\"\n\n\"Yes----\"\n\n\"That she'd take you, Johnny.\"\n\nIn his breast John's heart seemed suddenly to give a jump that choked him.\nAnd while he stared ahead old Donald went on.\n\n\"I've seen it afore, in a pair of eyes just like her eyes, Johnny--so soft\nan' deeplike, like the sky up there when the sun's in it. I seen it when we\nwas ridin' behind an' she looked ahead at you, Johnny. I did. An' I've seen\nit afore. An' I think----\"\n\nAldous waited, his heart-strings ready to snap.\n\n\"An' I think--she likes you a great deal, Johnny.\"\n\nAldous reached over and gripped MacDonald's hand.\n\n\"The good Lord bless you, Donald! We'll stick! As for Quade and Culver\nRann----\"\n\n\"I've been thinkin' of them,\" interrupted MacDonald. \"You haven't got time\nto waste on them, Johnny. Leave 'em to me. If it's only a week you've got\nto be close an' near by Mis' Joanne. I'll find out what Quade an' Rann are\ndoing, and what they're goin' to do. I've got a scheme. Will you leave 'em\nto me?\"\n\nAldous nodded, and in the same breath informed MacDonald of Peggy\nBlackton's invitation. The old hunter chuckled exultantly. He stopped his\nhorse, and Aldous halted.\n\n\"It's workin' out fine, Johnny!\" he exclaimed. \"There ain't no need of you\ngoin' any further. We understand each other, and there ain't nothin' for\nyou to do at the corral. Jump off your horse and go back. If I want you\nI'll come to the Blacktons' 'r send word, and if you want me I'll be at the\ncorral or the camp in the coulee. Jump off, Johnny!\"\n\nWithout further urging Aldous dismounted. They shook hands again, and\nMacDonald drove on ahead of him the saddled horses and the pack. And as\nAldous turned back toward the bungalow old Donald was mumbling low in his\nbeard again, \"God ha' mercy on me, but I'm doin' it for her an' Johnny--for\nher an' Johnny!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\n\nHalf an hour later Blackton had shown Aldous to his room and bath. It was\nfour o'clock when he rejoined the contractor in the lower room, freshly\nbathed and shaven and in a change of clothes. He had not seen Joanne, but\nhalf a dozen times he had heard her and Peggy Blackton laughing and talking\nin Mrs. Blackton's big room at the head of the stairs, and he heard them\nnow as they sat down to smoke their cigars. Blackton was filled with\nenthusiasm over the accomplishment of his latest work, and Aldous tried\nhard not to betray the fact that the minutes were passing with gruelling\nslowness while he waited for Joanne. He wanted to see her. His heart was\nbeating like an excited boy's. He could hear her footsteps over his head,\nand he distinguished her soft laughter, and her sweet voice when she spoke.\nThere was something tantalizing in her nearness and the fact that she did\nnot once show herself at the top of the stair. Blackton was still talking\nabout \"coyotes\" and dynamite when, an hour later, Aldous looked up, and his\nheart gave a big, glad jump.\n\nPeggy Blackton, a plump little golden-haired vision of happiness, was\nalready half a dozen steps down the stairs. At the top Joanne, for an\ninstant, had paused. Through that space, before the contractor had turned,\nher eyes met those of John Aldous. She was smiling. Her eyes were shining\nat him. Never had he seen her look at him in that way, he thought, and\nnever had she seemed such a perfect vision of loveliness. She was dressed\nin a soft, clinging something with a flutter of white lace at her throat,\nand as she came down he saw that she had arranged her hair in a marvellous\nway. Soft little curls half hid themselves in the shimmer of rich coils she\nhad wreathed upon her head, and adorable little tendrils caressed the\nlovely flush in her cheeks, and clung to the snow-whiteness of her neck.\n\nFor a moment, as Peggy Blackton went to her husband, he stood very close to\nJoanne, and into his eyes she was smiling, half laughing, her beautiful\nmouth aquiver, her eyes glowing, the last trace of their old suspense and\nfear vanished in a new and wondrous beauty. He would not have said she was\ntwenty-eight now. He would have sworn she was twenty.\n\n\"Joanne,\" he whispered, \"you are wonderful. Your hair is glorious!\"\n\n\"Always--my hair,\" she replied, so low that he alone heard. \"Can you never\nsee beyond my hair, John Aldous?\"\n\n\"I stop there,\" he said. \"And I marvel. It is glorious!\"\n\n\"Again!\" And up from her white throat there rose a richer, sweeter colour.\n\"If you say that again now, John Aldous, I shall never make curls for you\nagain as long as I live!\"\n\n\"For me----\"\n\nHis heart seemed near bursting with joy. But she had left him, and was\nlaughing with Peggy Blackton, who was showing her husband where he had\nmissed a stubbly patch of beard on his cheek. He caught her eyes, turned\nswiftly to him, and they were laughing at him, and there came a sudden\npretty upturn to her chin as he continued to stare, and he saw again the\ncolour deepening in her face. When Peggy Blackton led her husband to the\nstair, and drove him up to shave off the stubbly patch, Joanne found the\nopportunity to whisper to him:\n\n\"You are rude, John Aldous! You must not stare at me like that!\"\n\nAnd as she spoke the rebellious colour was still in her face, in spite of\nthe tantalizing curve of her red lips and the sparkle in her eyes.\n\n\"I can't help it,\" he pleaded. \"You are--glorious!\"\n\nDuring the next hour, and while they were at supper, he could see that she\nwas purposely avoiding his eyes, and that she spoke oftener to Paul\nBlackton than she did to him, apparently taking the keenest interest in his\nfriend's enthusiastic descriptions of the mighty work along the line of\nsteel. And as pretty Peggy Blackton never seemed quite so happy as when\nlistening to her husband, he was forced to content himself by looking at\nJoanne most of the time, without once receiving her smile.\n\nThe sun was just falling behind the western mountains when Peggy and\nJoanne, hurried most incontinently by Blackton, who had looked at his\nwatch, left the table to prepare themselves for the big event of the\nevening.\n\n\"I want to get you there before dusk,\" he explained. \"So please hurry!\"\n\nThey were back in five minutes. Joanne had slipped on a long gray coat, and\nwith a veil that trailed a yard down her back she had covered her head.\nNot a curl or a tress of her hair had she left out of its filmy prison, and\nthere was a mischievous gleam of triumph in her eyes when she looked at\nAldous.\n\nA moment later, when they went ahead of Blackton and his wife to where the\nbuckboard was waiting for them, he said:\n\n\"You put on that veil to punish me, Ladygray?\"\n\n\"It is a pretty veil,\" said she.\n\n\"But your hair is prettier,\" said he.\n\n\"And you embarrassed me very much by staring as you did, John Aldous!\"\n\n\"Forgive me. It is--I mean you are--so beautiful.\"\n\n\"And you are sometimes--most displeasing,\" said she. \"Your ingenuousness,\nJohn Aldous, is shocking!\"\n\n\"Forgive me,\" he said again.\n\n\"And you have known me but two days,\" she added.\n\n\"Two days--is a long time,\" he argued. \"One can be born, and live, and die\nin two days. Besides, our trails have crossed for years.\"\n\n\"But--it displeases me.\"\n\n\"What I have said?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And the way I have looked at you?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nHer voice was low and quiet now, her eyes were serious, and she was not\nsmiling.\n\n\"I know--I know,\" he groaned, and there was a deep thrill in his voice.\n\"It's been only two days after all, Ladygray. It seems like--like a\nlifetime. I don't want you to think badly of me. God knows I don't!\"\n\n\"No, no. I don't,\" she said quickly and gently. \"You are the finest\ngentleman I ever knew, John Aldous. Only--it embarrasses me.\"\n\n\"I will cut out my tongue and put out my eyes----\"\n\n\"Nothing so terrible,\" she laughed softly. \"Will you help me into the\nwagon? They are coming.\"\n\nShe gave him her hand, warm and soft; and Blackton forced him into the seat\nbetween her and Peggy, and Joanne's hand rested in his arm all the way to\nthe mountain that was to be blown up, and he told himself that he was a\nfool if he were not supremely happy. The wagon stopped, and he helped her\nout again, her warm little hand again close in his own, and when she looked\nat him he was the cool, smiling John Aldous of old, so cool, and strong,\nand unemotional that he saw surprise in her eyes first, and then that\ngentle, gathering glow that came when she was proud of him, and pleased\nwith him. And as Blackton pointed out the mountain she unknotted the veil\nunder her chin and let it drop back over her shoulders, so that the last\nlight of the day fell richly in the trembling curls and thick coils of her\nhair.\n\n\"And that is my reward,\" said John Aldous, but he whispered it to himself.\n\nThey had stopped close to a huge flat rock, and on this rock men were at\nwork fitting wires to a little boxlike thing that had a white button-lever.\nPaul Blackton pointed to this, and his face was flushed with excitement.\n\n\"That's the little thing that's going to blow it up, Miss Gray--the touch\nof your finger on that little white button. Do you see that black base of\nthe mountain yonder?--right there where you can see men moving about? It's\nhalf a mile from here, and the 'coyote' is there, dug into the wall of\nit.\"\n\nThe tremble of enthusiasm was in his voice as he went on, pointing with his\nlong arm: \"Think of it! We're spending a hundred thousand dollars going\nthrough that rock that people who travel on the Grand Trunk Pacific in the\nfuture will be saved seven minutes in their journey from coast to coast!\nWe're spending a hundred thousand there, and millions along the line, that\nwe may have the smoothest roadbed in the world when we're done, and the\nquickest route from sea to sea. It looks like waste, but it isn't. It's\nscience! It's the fight of competition! It's the determination behind the\nforces--the determination to make this road the greatest road in the world!\nListen!\"\n\nThe gloom was thickening swiftly. The black mountain was fading slowly\naway, and up out of that gloom came now ghostly and far-reaching voices of\nmen booming faintly through giant megaphones.\n\n\"_Clear away! Clear away! Clear away!_\" they said, and the valley and the\nmountain-sides caught up the echoes, until it seemed that a hundred voices\nwere crying out the warning. Then fell a strange and weird silence, and the\nechoes faded away like the voices of dying men, and all was still save the\nfar-away barking of a coyote that answered the mysterious challenges of the\nnight. Joanne was close to the rock. Quietly the men who had been working\non the battery drew back.\n\n\"It is ready!\" said one.\n\n\"Wait!\" said Blackton, as his wife went to speak, \"Listen!\"\n\nFor five minutes there was silence. Then out of the night a single\nmegaphone cried the word:\n\n\"_Fire!_\"\n\n\"All is clear,\" said the engineer, with a deep breath. \"All you have to do,\nMiss Gray, is to move that little lever from the side on which it now rests\nto the opposite side. Are you ready?\"\n\nIn the darkness Joanne's left hand had sought John's. It clung to his\ntightly. He could feel a little shiver run through her.\n\n\"Yes,\" she whispered.\n\n\"Then--if you please--press the button!\"\n\nSlowly Joanne's right hand crept out, while the fingers of her left clung\ntighter to Aldous. She touched the button--thrust it over. A little cry\nthat fell from between her tense lips told them she had done the work, and\na silence like that of death fell on those who waited.\n\nA half a minute--perhaps three quarters--and a shiver ran under their feet,\nbut there was no sound; and then a black pall, darker than the night,\nseemed to rise up out of the mountain, and with that, a second later, came\nthe explosion. There was a rumbling and a jarring, as if the earth were\nconvulsed under foot; volumes of dense black smoke shot upward, and in\nanother instant these rolling, twisting volumes of black became lurid, and\nan explosion like that of a thousand great guns rent the air. As fast as\nthe eye could follow sheets of flame shot up out of the sea of smoke,\nclimbing higher and higher, in lightning flashes, until the lurid tongues\nlicked the air a quarter of a mile above the startled wilderness. Explosion\nfollowed explosion, some of them coming in hollow, reverberating booms,\nothers sounding as if in midair. Unseen by the watchers, the heavens were\nfilled with hurtling rocks; solid masses of granite ten feet square were\nthrown a hundred feet away; rocks weighing a ton were hurled still farther,\nas if they were no more than stones flung by the hands of a giant; chunks\nthat would have crashed from the roof to the basement of a skyscraper\ndropped a third of a mile away. For three minutes the frightful convulsions\ncontinued, and the tongues of flame leaped into the night. Then the lurid\nlights died out, shorter and shorter grew the sullen flashes, and then\nagain fell--silence!\n\nDuring those appalling moments, unconscious of the act, Joanne had shrank\nclose to Aldous, so that he felt the soft crush of her hair and the swift\nmovement of her bosom. Blackton's voice brought them back to life.\n\nHe laughed, and it was the laugh of a man who had looked upon work well\ndone.\n\n\"It has done the trick,\" he said. \"To-morrow we will come and see. And I\nhave changed my plans about Coyote Number Twenty-eight. Hutchins, the\nsuperintendent, is passing through in the afternoon, and I want him to see\nit.\" He spoke now to a man who had come up out of the darkness. \"Gregg,\nhave Twenty-eight ready at four o'clock to-morrow afternoon--four\no'clock--sharp!\"\n\nThen he said:\n\n\"Dust and a bad smell will soon be settling about us. Come, let's go home!\"\n\nAnd as they went back to the buckboard wagon through the gloom John Aldous\nstill held Joanne's hand in his own, and she made no effort to take it from\nhim.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\n\nThe next morning, when Aldous joined the engineer in the dining-room below,\nhe was disappointed to find the breakfast table prepared for two instead of\nfour. It was evident that Peggy Blackton and Joanne were not going to\ninterrupt their beauty nap on their account.\n\nBlackton saw his friend's inquiring look, and chuckled.\n\n\"Guess we'll have to get along without 'em this morning, old man. Lord\nbless me, did you hear them last night--after you went to bed?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"You were too far away,\" chuckled Blackton again, \"I was in the room across\nthe hall from them. You see, old man, Peggy sometimes gets fairly starved\nfor the right sort of company up here, and last night they didn't go to bed\nuntil after twelve o'clock. I looked at my watch. Mebby they were in bed,\nbut I could hear 'em buzzing like two bees, and every little while they'd\ngiggle, and then go on buzzing again. By George, there wasn't a break in\nit! When one let up the other'd begin, and sometimes I guess they were both\ngoing at once. Consequently, they're sleeping now.\"\n\nWhen breakfast was finished Blackton looked at his watch.\n\n\"Seven o'clock,\" he said. \"We'll leave word for the girls to be ready at\nnine. What are you going to do meantime, Aldous?\"\n\n\"Hunt up MacDonald, probably.\"\n\n\"And I'll run down and take a look at the work.\"\n\nAs they left the house the engineer nodded down the road. MacDonald was\ncoming.\n\n\"He has saved you the trouble,\" he said. \"Remember, Aldous--nine o'clock\nsharp!\"\n\nA moment later Aldous was advancing to meet the old mountaineer.\n\n\"They've gone, Johnny,\" was Donald's first greeting.\n\n\"Gone?\"\n\n\"Yes. The whole bunch--Quade, Culver Rann, DeBar, and the woman who rode\nthe bear. They've gone, hide and hair, and nobody seems to know where.\"\n\nAldous was staring.\n\n\"Also,\" resumed old Donald slowly, \"Culver Rann's outfit is gone--twenty\nhorses, including six saddles. An' likewise others have gone, but I can't\nfind out who.\"\n\n\"Gone!\" repeated Aldous again.\n\nMacDonald nodded.\n\n\"And that means----\"\n\n\"That Culver Rann ain't lost any time in gettin' under way for the gold,\"\nsaid Donald. \"DeBar is with him, an' probably the woman. Likewise three\ncut-throats to fill the other saddles. They've gone prepared to fight.\"\n\n\"And Quade?\"\n\nOld Donald hunched his shoulders, and suddenly John's face grew dark and\nhard.\n\n\"I understand,\" he spoke, half under his breath. \"Quade has\ndisappeared--but he isn't with Culver Rann. He wants us to believe he has\ngone. He wants to throw us off our guard. But he's watching, and\nwaiting--somewhere--like a hawk, to swoop down on Joanne! He----\"\n\n\"That's it!\" broke in MacDonald hoarsely. \"That's it, Johnny! It's his old\ntrick--his old trick with women. There's a hunderd men who've got to do his\nbidding--do it 'r get out of the mountains--an' we've got to watch Joanne.\nWe have, Johnny! If she should disappear----\"\n\nAldous waited.\n\n\"You'd never find her again, so 'elp me God, you wouldn't, Johnny!\" he\nfinished.\n\n\"We'll watch her,\" said Aldous quietly. \"I'll be with her to-day, Mac, and\nto-night I'll come down to the camp in the coulee to compare notes with\nyou. They can't very well steal her out of Blackton's house while I'm\ngone.\"\n\nFor an hour after MacDonald left him he walked about in the neighbourhood\nof the Blackton bungalow smoking his pipe. Not until he saw the contractor\ndrive up in the buckboard did he return. Joanne and Peggy were more than\nprompt. They were waiting. If such a thing were possible Joanne was more\nradiantly lovely than the night before. To Aldous she became more beautiful\nevery time he looked at her. But this morning he did not speak what was in\nhis heart when, for a moment, he held her hand, and looked into her eyes.\nInstead, he said:\n\n\"Good morning, Ladygray. Have you used----\"\n\n\"I have,\" she smiled. \"Only it's Potterdam's Tar Soap, and not the other.\nAnd you--have not shaved, John Aldous!\"\n\n\"Great Scott, so I haven't!\" he exclaimed, rubbing his chin. \"But I did\nyesterday afternoon, Ladygray!\"\n\n\"And you will again this afternoon, if you please,\" she commanded. \"I don't\nlike bristles.\"\n\n\"But in the wilderness----\"\n\n\"One can shave as well as another can make curls,\" she reminded him, and\nthere came an adorable little dimple at the corner of her mouth as she\nlooked toward Paul Blackton.\n\nAldous was glad that Paul and Peggy Blackton did most of the talking that\nmorning. They spent half an hour where the explosion of the night before\nhad blown out the side of the mountain, and then drove on to Coyote Number\nTwenty-eight. It was in the face of a sandstone cliff, and all they could\nsee of it when they got out of the wagon was a dark hole in the wall of\nrock. Not a soul was about, and Blackton rubbed his hands with\nsatisfaction.\n\n\"Everything is completed,\" he said. \"Gregg put in the last packing this\nmorning, and all we are waiting for now is four o'clock this afternoon.\"\n\nThe hole in the mountain was perhaps four feet square. Ten feet in front of\nit the engineer paused, and pointed to the ground. Up out of the earth came\ntwo wires, which led away from the mouth of the cavern.\n\n\"Those wires go down to the explosives,\" he explained. \"They're battery\nwires half a mile long. But we don't attach the battery until the final\nmoment, as you saw last night. There might be an accident.\"\n\nHe bent his tall body and entered the mouth of the cavern, leading his wife\nby the hand. Observing that Joanne had seen this attention on the\ncontractor's part, Aldous held out his own hand, and Joanne accepted it.\nFor perhaps twenty feet they followed the Blacktons with lowered heads.\nThey seemed to have entered a black, cold pit, sloping slightly downward,\nand only faintly could they see Blackton when he straightened.\n\nHis voice came strange and sepulchral:\n\n\"You can stand up now. We're in the chamber. Don't move or you might\nstumble over something. There ought to be a lantern here.\"\n\nHe struck a match, and as he moved slowly toward a wall of blackness,\nsearching for the lantern, he called back encouragingly through the gloom:\n\n\"You folks are now standing right over ten tons of dynamite, and there's\nanother five tons of black powder----\"\n\nA little shriek from Peggy Blackton stopped him, and his match went out.\n\n\"What in heaven's name is the matter?\" he asked anxiously. \"Peggy----\"\n\n\"Why in heaven's name do you light a match then, with us standing over all\nthose tons of dynamite?\" demanded Peggy. \"Paul Blackton, you're----\"\n\nThe engineer's laughter was like a giant's roar in the cavern, and Joanne\ngave a gasp, while Peggy shiveringly caught Aldous by the arm.\n\n\"There--I've got the lantern!\" exclaimed Blackton. \"There isn't any danger,\nnot a bit. Wait a minute and I'll tell you all about it.\" He lighted the\nlantern, and in the glow of it Joanne's and Peggy's faces were white and\nstartled. \"Why, bless my soul, I didn't mean to frighten you!\" he cried. \"I\nwas just telling you facts. See, we're standing on a solid floor--four feet\nof packed rock and cement. The dynamite and black powder are under that.\nWe're in a chamber--a cave--an artificial cavern. It's forty feet deep,\ntwenty wide, and about seven high.\"\n\nHe held the lantern even with his shoulders and walked deeper into the\ncavern as he spoke. The others followed. They passed a keg on which was a\nhalf-burned candle. Close to the keg was an empty box. Beyond these things\nthe cavern was empty.\n\n\"I thought it was full of powder and dynamite,\" apologized Peggy.\n\n\"You see, it's like this,\" Blackton began. \"We put the powder and dynamite\ndown there, and pack it over solid with rock and cement. If we didn't leave\nthis big air-chamber above it there would be only one explosion, and\nprobably two thirds of the explosive would not fire, and would be lost.\nThis chamber corrects that. You heard a dozen explosions last night, and\nyou'll hear a dozen this afternoon, and the biggest explosion of all is\nusually the fourth or fifth. A 'coyote' isn't like an ordinary blast or\nshot. It's a mighty expensive thing, and you see it means a lot of work.\nNow, if some one were to touch off those explosives at this minute----\nWhat's the matter, Peggy? Are you cold? You're shivering!\"\n\n\"Ye-e-e-e-s!\" chattered Peggy.\n\nAldous felt Joanne tugging at his hand.\n\n\"Let's take Mrs. Blackton out,\" she whispered. \"I'm--I'm--afraid she'll\ntake cold!\"\n\nIn spite of himself Aldous could not restrain his laughter until they had\ngot through the tunnel. Out in the sunlight he looked at Joanne, still\nholding her hand. She withdrew it, looking at him accusingly.\n\n\"Lord bless me!\" exclaimed Blackton, who seemed to understand at last.\n\"There's no danger--not a bit!\"\n\n\"But I'd rather look at it from outside, Paul, dear,\" said Mrs. Blackton.\n\n\"But--Peggy--if it went off now you'd be in just as bad shape out here!\"\n\n\"I don't think we'd be quite so messy, really I don't, dear,\" she\npersisted.\n\n\"Lord bless me!\" he gasped.\n\n\"And they'd probably be able to find something of us,\" she added.\n\n\"Not a button, Peggy!\"\n\n\"Then I'm going to move, if you please!\" And suiting her action to the word\nPeggy led the way to the buckboard. There she paused and took one of her\nhusband's big hands fondly in both her own. \"It's perfectly wonderful,\nPaul--and I'm proud of you!\" she said. \"But, honestly, dear, I can enjoy it\nso much better at four o'clock this afternoon.\"\n\nSmiling, Blackton lifted her into the buckboard.\n\n\"That's why I wish Paul had been a preacher or something like that,\" she\nconfided to Joanne as they drove homeward. \"I'm growing old just thinking\nof him working over that horrid dynamite and powder all the time. Every\nlittle while some one is blown into nothing.\"\n\n\"I believe,\" said Joanne, \"that I'd like to do something like that if I\nwere a man. I'd want to be a man, not that preachers aren't men, Peggy,\ndear--but I'd want to do things, like blowing up mountains for instance, or\nfinding buried cities, or\"--she whispered, very, very softly under her\nbreath--\"writing books, John Aldous!\"\n\nOnly Aldous heard those last words, and Joanne gave a sharp little cry; and\nwhen Peggy asked her what the matter was Joanne did not tell her that John\nAldous had almost broken her hand on the opposite side--for Joanne was\nriding between the two.\n\n\"It's lame for life,\" she said to him half an hour later, when he was\nbidding her good-bye, preparatory to accompanying Blackton down to the\nworking steel. \"And I deserve it for trying to be kind to you. I think some\nwriters of books are--are perfectly intolerable!\"\n\n\"Won't you take a little walk with me right after dinner?\" he was asking\nfor the twentieth time.\n\n\"I doubt it very, very much.\"\n\n\"Please, Ladygray!\"\n\n\"I may possibly think about it.\"\n\nWith that she left him, and she did not look back as she and Peggy Blackton\nwent into the house. But as they drove away they saw two faces at the\nwindow that overlooked the townward road, and two hands were waving\ngood-bye. Both could not be Peggy Blackton's hands.\n\n\"Joanne and I are going for a walk this afternoon, Blackton,\" said Aldous,\n\"and I just want to tell you not to worry if we're not back by four\no'clock. Don't wait for us. We may be watching the blow-up from the top of\nsome mountain.\"\n\nBlackton chuckled.\n\n\"Don't blame you,\" he said. \"From an observer's point of view, John, it\nlooks to me as though you were going to have something more than hope to\nlive on pretty soon!\"\n\n\"I--I hope so.\"\n\n\"And when I was going with Peggy I wouldn't have traded a quiet little walk\nwith her--like this you're suggesting--for a front seat look at a blow-up\nof the whole Rocky Mountain system!\"\n\n\"And you won't forget to tell Mrs. Blackton that we may not return by four\no'clock?\"\n\n\"I will not. And\"--Blackton puffed hard at his pipe--\"and, John--the Tete\nJaune preacher is our nearest neighbour,\" he finished.\n\nFrom then until dinner time John Aldous lived in an atmosphere that was not\nquite real, but a little like a dream. His hopes and his happiness were at\ntheir highest. He knew that Joanne would go walking with him that\nafternoon, and in spite of his most serious efforts to argue to the\ncontrary he could not keep down the feeling that the event would mean a\ngreat deal for him. Almost feverishly he interested himself in Paul\nBlackton's work. When they returned to the bungalow, a little before noon,\nhe went to his room, shaved himself, and in other ways prepared for dinner.\n\nJoanne and the Blacktons were waiting when he came down.\n\nHis first look at Joanne assured him. She was dressed in a soft gray\nwalking-suit. Never had the preparation of a dinner seemed so slow to him,\nand a dozen times he found himself inwardly swearing at Tom, the Chinese\ncook. It was one o'clock before they sat down at the table and it was two\no'clock when they arose. It was a quarter after two when Joanne and he left\nthe bungalow.\n\n\"Shall we wander up on the mountain?\" he asked. \"It would be fine to look\ndown upon the explosion.\"\n\n\"I have noticed that in some things you are very observant,\" said Joanne,\nignoring his question. \"In the matter of curls, for instance, you are\nunapproachable; in others you are--quite blind, John Aldous!\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" he asked, bewildered.\n\n\"I lost my scarf this morning, and you did not notice it. It is quite an\nunusual scarf. I bought it in Cairo, and I don't want to have it blown up.\"\n\n\"You mean----\"\n\n\"Yes. I must have dropped it in the cavern. I had it when we entered.\"\n\n\"Then we'll return for it,\" he volunteered. \"We'll still have plenty of\ntime to climb up the mountain before the explosion.\"\n\nTwenty minutes later they came to the dark mouth of the tunnel. There was\nno one in sight, and for a moment Aldous searched for matches in his\npocket.\n\n\"Wait here,\" he said. \"I won't be gone two minutes.\"\n\nHe entered, and when he came to the chamber he struck a match. The lantern\nwas on the empty box. He lighted it, and began looking for the scarf.\nSuddenly he heard a sound. He turned, and saw Joanne standing in the glow\nof the lantern.\n\n\"Can you find it?\" she asked.\n\n\"I haven't--yet.\"\n\nThey bent over the rock floor, and in a moment Joanne gave a little\nexclamation of pleasure as she caught up the scarf. In that same moment, as\nthey straightened and faced each other, John Aldous felt his heart cease\nbeating, and Joanne's face had gone as white as death. The rock-walled\nchamber was atremble; they heard a sullen, distant roaring, and as Aldous\ncaught Joanne's hand and sprang toward the tunnel the roar grew into a\ndeafening crash, and a gale of wind rushed into their faces, blowing out\nthe lantern, and leaving them in darkness. The mountain seemed crumbling\nabout them, and above the sound of it rang out a wild, despairing cry from\nJoanne's lips. For there was no longer the brightness of sunshine at the\nend of the tunnel, but darkness--utter darkness; and through that tunnel\nthere came a deluge of dust and rock that flung them back into the\nblackness of the pit, and separated them.\n\n\"John--John Aldous!\"\n\n\"I am here, Joanne! I will light the lantern!\"\n\nHis groping hands found the lantern. He relighted it, and Joanne crept to\nhis side, her face as white as the face of the dead. He held the lantern\nabove him, and together they stared at where the tunnel had been. A mass of\nrock met their eyes. The tunnel was choked. And then, slowly, each turned\nto the other; and each knew that the other understood--for it was Death\nthat whispered about them now in the restless air of the rock-walled tomb,\na terrible death, and their lips spoke no words as their eyes met in that\nfearful and silent understanding.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\n\nJoanne's white lips spoke first.\n\n\"The tunnel is closed!\" she whispered.\n\nHer voice was strange. It was not Joanne's voice. It was unreal, terrible,\nand her eyes were terrible as they looked steadily into his. Aldous could\nnot answer; something had thickened in his throat, and his blood ran cold\nas he stared into Joanne's dead-white face and saw the understanding in her\neyes. For a space he could not move, and then, as suddenly as it had fallen\nupon him, the effect of the shock passed away.\n\n[Illustration: \"The tunnel is closed,\" she whispered.... \"That means we\nhave just forty-five minutes to live.... Let us not lie to one another.\"]\n\nHe smiled, and put out a hand to her.\n\n\"A slide of rock has fallen over the mouth of the tunnel,\" he said, forcing\nhimself to speak as if it meant little or nothing. \"Hold the lantern,\nJoanne, while I get busy.\"\n\n\"A slide of rock,\" she repeated after him dumbly.\n\nShe took the lantern, her eyes still looking at him in that stricken way,\nand with his naked hands John Aldous set to work. Five minutes and he knew\nthat it was madness to continue. Hands alone could not clear the tunnel.\nAnd yet he worked, tearing into the rock and shale like an animal; rolling\nback small boulders, straining at larger ones until the tendons of his arms\nseemed ready to snap and his veins to burst. For a few minutes after that\nhe went mad. His muscles cracked, he panted as he fought with the rock\nuntil his hands were torn and bleeding, and over and over again there ran\nthrough his head Blackton's last words--_Four o'clock this afternoon!--Four\no'clock this afternoon!_\n\nThen he came to what he knew he would reach very soon, a solid wall! Rock\nand shale and earth were packed as if by battering rams. For a few moments\nhe fought to control himself before facing Joanne. Over him swept the grim\nrealization that his last fight must be for her. He steadied himself, and\nwiped the dust and grime from his face with his handkerchief. For the last\ntime he swallowed hard. His soul rose within him almost joyously now in the\nface of this last great fight, and he turned--John Aldous, the super-man.\nThere was no trace of fear in his face as he went to her. He was even\nsmiling in that ghostly glow of the lantern.\n\n\"It is hard work, Joanne.\"\n\nShe did not seem to hear what he had said. She was looking at his hands.\nShe held the lantern nearer.\n\n\"Your hands are bleeding, John!\"\n\nIt was the first time she had spoken his name like that, and he was\nthrilled by the calmness of her voice, the untrembling gentleness of her\nhand as it touched his hand. From his bruised and bleeding flesh she raised\nher eyes to him, and they were no longer the dumb, horrified eyes he had\ngazed into fifteen minutes before. In the wonder of it he stood silent, and\nthe moment was weighted with an appalling silence.\n\nIt came to them both in that instant--the _tick-tick-tick_ of the watch in\nhis pocket!\n\nWithout taking her eyes from his face she asked:\n\n\"What time is it. John?\"\n\n\"Joanne----\"\n\n\"I am not afraid,\" she whispered. \"I was afraid this afternoon, but I am\nnot afraid now. What time is it, John?\"\n\n\"My God--they'll dig us out!\" he cried wildly. \"Joanne, you don't think\nthey won't dig us out, do you? Why, that's impossible! The slide has\ncovered the wires. They've got to dig us out! There is no danger--none at\nall. Only it's chilly, and uncomfortable, and I'm afraid you'll take cold!\"\n\n\"What time is it?\" she repeated softly.\n\nFor a moment he looked steadily at her, and his heart leaped when he saw\nthat she must believe him, for though her face was as white as an ivory\ncross she was smiling at him--yes! she was smiling at him in that gray and\nghastly death-gloom of the cavern!\n\nHe brought out his watch, and in the lantern-glow they looked at it.\n\n\"A quarter after three,\" he said. \"By four o'clock they will be at\nwork--Blackton and twenty men. They will have us out in time for supper.\"\n\n\"A quarter after three,\" repeated Joanne, and the words came steadily from\nher lips. \"That means----\"\n\nHe waited.\n\n\"_We have forty-five minutes in which to live!_\" she said.\n\nBefore he could speak she had thrust the lantern into his hand, and had\nseized his other hand in both her own.\n\n\"If there are only forty-five minutes let us not lie to one another,\" she\nsaid, and her voice was very close. \"I know why you are doing it, John\nAldous. It is for me. You have done a great deal for me in these two days\nin which one 'can be born, and live, and die.' But in these last minutes\nI do not want you to act what I know cannot be the truth. You know--and I\nknow. The wires are laid to the battery rock. There is no hope. At four\no'clock--we both know what will happen. And I--am not afraid.\"\n\nShe heard him choking for speech. In a moment he said:\n\n\"There are other lanterns--Joanne. I saw them when I was looking for the\nscarf. I will light them.\"\n\nHe found two lanterns hanging against the rock wall. He lighted them, and\nthe half-burned candle.\n\n\"It is pleasanter,\" she said.\n\nShe stood in the glow of them when he turned to her, tall, and straight,\nand as beautiful as an angel. Her lips were pale; the last drop of blood\nhad ebbed from her face; but there was something glorious in the poise of\nher head, and in the wistful gentleness of her mouth and the light in her\neyes. And then, slowly, as he stood looking with a face torn in its agony\nfor her, she held out her arms.\n\n\"John--John Aldous----\"\n\n\"Joanne! Oh, my God!--Joanne!\"\n\nShe swayed as he sprang to her, but she was smiling--smiling in that new\nand wonderful way as her arms reached out to him, and the words he heard\nher say came low and sobbing:\n\n\"John--John, if you want to, now--you can tell me that my hair is\nbeautiful!\"\n\nAnd then she was in his arms, her warm, sweet body crushed close to him,\nher face lifted to him, her soft hands stroking his face, and over and over\nagain she was speaking his name while from out of his soul there rushed\nforth the mighty flood of his great love; and he held her there, forgetful\nof time now, forgetful of death itself; and he kissed her tender lips, her\nhair, her eyes--conscious only that in the hour of death he had found life,\nthat her hands were stroking his face, and caressing his hair, and that\nover and over again she was whispering sobbingly his name, and that she\nloved him. The pressure of her hands against his breast at last made him\nfree her. And now, truly, she was glorious. For the triumph of love had\noverridden the despair of death, and her face was flooded with its colour\nand in her eyes was its glory.\n\nAnd then, as they stood there, a step between them, there came--almost like\nthe benediction of a cathedral bell--the soft, low tinkling chime of the\nhalf-hour bell in Aldous' watch!\n\nIt struck him like a blow. Every muscle in him became like rigid iron, and\nhis torn hands clenched tightly at his sides.\n\n\"Joanne--Joanne, it is impossible!\" he cried huskily, and he had her close\nin his arms again, even as her face was whitening in the lantern-glow. \"I\nhave lived for you, I have waited for you--all these years you have been\ncoming, coming, coming to me--and now that you are mine--_mine_--it is\nimpossible! It cannot happen----\"\n\nHe freed her again, and caught up a lantern. Foot by foot he examined the\npacked tunnel. It was solid--not a crevice or a break through which might\nhave travelled the sound of his voice or the explosion of a gun. He did not\nshout. He knew that it would be hopeless, and that his voice would be\nterrifying in that sepulchral tomb. Was it possible that there might be\nsome other opening--a possible exit--in that mountain wall? With the\nlantern in his hand he searched. There was no break. He came back to\nJoanne. She was standing where he had left her. And suddenly, as he looked\nat her, all fear went out of him, and he put down the lantern and went to\nher.\n\n\"Joanne,\" he whispered, holding her two hands against his breast, \"you are\nnot afraid?\"\n\n\"No, I am not afraid.\"\n\n\"And you know----\"\n\n\"Yes, I know,\" and she leaned forward so that her head lay partly against\ntheir clasped hands and partly upon his breast.\n\n\"And you love me, Joanne?\"\n\n\"As I never dreamed that I should love a man, John Aldous,\" she whispered.\n\n\"And yet it has been but two days----\"\n\n\"And I have lived an eternity,\" he heard her lips speak softly.\n\n\"You would be my wife?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"To-morrow?\"\n\n\"If you wanted me then, John.\"\n\n\"I thank God,\" he breathed in her hair. \"And you would come to me without\nreservation, Joanne, trusting me, believing in me--you would come to me\nbody, and heart, and soul?\"\n\n\"In all those ways--yes.\"\n\n\"I thank God,\" he breathed again.\n\nHe raised her face. He looked deep into her eyes, and the glory of her love\ngrew in them, and her lips trembled as she lifted them ever so little for\nhim to kiss.\n\n\"Oh, I was happy--so happy,\" she whispered, putting her hands to his face.\n\"John, I knew that you loved me, and oh! I was fighting so hard to keep\nmyself from letting you know how happy it made me. And here, I was afraid\nyou wouldn't tell me--before it happened. And John--John----\"\n\nShe leaned back from him, and her white hands moved like swift shadows in\nher hair, and then, suddenly, it billowed about her--her glorious\nhair--covering her from crown to hip; and with her hands she swept and\npiled the lustrous masses of it over him until his face, and head, and\nshoulders were buried in the flaming sheen and sweet perfume of it.\n\nHe strained her closer. Through the warm richness of her tresses his lips\npressed her lips, and they ceased to breathe. And up to their ears,\npounding through that enveloping shroud of her hair came the\n_tick-tick-tick_ of the watch in his pocket.\n\n\"Joanne,\" he whispered.\n\n\"Yes, John.\"\n\n\"You are not afraid of--death?\"\n\n\"No, not when you are holding me like this, John.\"\n\nHe still clasped her hands, and a sweet smile crept over her lips.\n\n\"Even now you are splendid,\" she said. \"Oh, I would have you that way, my\nJohn!\"\n\nAgain they stood up in the unsteady glow of the lanterns.\n\n\"What time is it?\" she asked.\n\nHe drew out his watch, and as they both looked his blood ran cold.\n\n\"Twelve minutes,\" she murmured, and there was not a quiver in her voice.\n\"Let us sit down, John--you on this box, and I on the floor, at your\nfeet--like this.\"\n\nHe seated himself on the box, and Joanne nestled herself at his knees, her\nhands clasped in his.\n\n\"I think, John,\" she said softly, \"that very, very often we would have\nvisited like this--you and I--in the evening.\"\n\nA lump choked him, and he could not answer.\n\n\"I would very often have come and perched myself at your feet like this.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, my beloved.\"\n\n\"And you would always have told me how beautiful my hair was--always. You\nwould not have forgotten that, John--or have grown tired?\"\n\n\"No, no--never!\"\n\nHis arms were about her. He was drawing her closer.\n\n\"And we would have had beautiful times together, John--writing, and going\nadventuring, and--and----\"\n\nHe felt her trembling, throbbing, and her arms tightened about him.\n\nAnd now, again up through the smother of her hair, came the\n_tick-tick-tick_ of his watch.\n\nHe felt her fumbling at his watch pocket, and in a moment she was holding\nthe timepiece between them, so that the light of the lantern fell on the\nface of it.\n\n\"It is three minutes of four, John.\"\n\nThe watch slipped from her fingers, and now she drew herself up so that her\narms were about his neck, and their faces touched.\n\n\"Dear John, you love me?\"\n\n\"So much that even now, in the face of death, I am happy,\" he whispered.\n\"Joanne, sweetheart, we are not going to be separated. We are\ngoing--together. Through all eternity it must be like this--you and I,\ntogether. Little girl, wind your hair about me--tight!\"\n\n\"There--and there--and there, John! I have tied you to me, and you are\nburied in it! Kiss me, John----\"\n\nAnd then the wild and terrible fear of a great loneliness swept through\nhim. For Joanne's voice had died away in a whispering breath, and the lips\nhe kissed did not kiss him back, and her body lay heavy, heavy, heavy in\nhis arms. Yet in his loneliness he thanked God for bringing her oblivion in\nthese last moments, and with his face crushed to hers he waited. For he\nknew that it was no longer a matter of minutes, but of seconds, and in\nthose seconds he prayed, until up through the warm smother of her\nhair--with the clearness of a tolling bell--came the sound of the little\ngong in his watch striking the Hour of Four!\n\nIn space other worlds might have crumbled into ruin; on earth the stories\nof empires might have been written and the lives of men grown old in those\nfirst century-long seconds in which John Aldous held his breath and waited\nafter the chiming of the hour-bell in the watch on the cavern floor. How\nlong he waited he did not know; how closely he was crushing Joanne to his\nbreast he did not realize. Seconds, minutes, and other minutes--and his\nbrain ran red in dumb, silent madness. And the watch! It _ticked, ticked,\nticked!_ It was like a hammer.\n\nHe had heard the sound of it first coming up through her hair. But it was\nnot in her hair now. It was over him, about him--it was no longer a\nticking, but a throb, a steady, jarring, beating throb. It grew louder,\nand the air stirred with it. He lifted his head. With the eyes of a madman\nhe stared--and listened. His arms relaxed from about Joanne, and she\nslipped crumpled and lifeless to the floor. He stared--and that steady\n_beat-beat-beat_--a hundred times louder than the ticking of a\nwatch--pounded in his brain. Was he mad? He staggered to the choked mouth\nof the tunnel, and then there fell shout upon shout, and shriek upon shriek\nfrom his lips, and twice, like a madman now, he ran back to Joanne and\ncaught her up in his arms, calling and sobbing her name, and then\nshouting--and calling her name again. She moved; her eyes opened, and like\none gazing upon the spirit of the dead she looked into the face of John\nAldous, a madman's face in the lantern-glow.\n\n\"John--John----\"\n\nShe put up her hands, and with a cry he ran with her in his arms to the\nchoked tunnel.\n\n\"Listen! Listen!\" he cried wildly. \"Dear God in Heaven, Joanne--can you not\nhear them? It's Blackton--Blackton and his men! Hear--hear the rock-hammers\nsmashing! Joanne--Joanne--we are saved!\"\n\nShe did not sense him. She swayed, half on her feet, half in his arms, as\nconsciousness and reason returned to her. Dazedly her hands went to his\nface in their old, sweet way. Aldous saw her struggling to understand--to\ncomprehend; and he kissed her soft upturned lips, fighting back the\nexcitement that made him want to raise his voice again in wild and joyous\nshouting.\n\n\"It is Blackton!\" he said over and over again. \"It is Blackton and his men!\nListen!--you can hear their picks and the pounding of their rock-hammers!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\n\nAt last Joanne realized that the explosion was not to come, that Blackton\nand his men were working to save them. And now, as she listened with him,\nher breath began to come in sobbing excitement between her lips--for there\nwas no mistaking that sound, that steady _beat-beat-beat_ that came from\nbeyond the cavern wall and seemed to set strange tremors stirring in the\nair about their ears. For a few moments they stood stunned and silent, as\nif not yet quite fully comprehending that they had come from out of the pit\nof death, and that men were fighting for their rescue. They asked\nthemselves no questions--why the \"coyote\" had not been fired? how those\noutside knew they were in the cavern. And, as they listened, there came to\nthem a voice. It was faint, so faint that it seemed to whisper to them\nthrough miles and miles of space--yet they knew that it was a voice!\n\n\"Some one is shouting,\" spoke Aldous tensely. \"Joanne, my darling, stand\naround the face of the wall so flying rock will not strike you and I will\nanswer with my pistol!\"\n\nWhen he had placed her in safety from split lead and rock chips, he drew\nhis automatic and fired it close up against the choked tunnel. He fired\nfive times, steadily, counting three between each shot, and then he placed\nhis ear to the mass of stone and earth and listened. Joanne slipped to him\nlike a shadow. Her hand sought his, and they held their breaths. They no\nlonger heard sounds--nothing but the crumbling and falling of dust and\npebbles where the bullets had struck, and their own heart-beats. The picks\nand rock-hammers had ceased.\n\nTighter and tighter grew the clasp of Joanne's fingers, and a terrible\nthought flashed into John's brain. Perhaps a, rock from the slide had cut a\nwire, and they had found the wire--had repaired it! Was that thought in\nJoanne's mind, too? Her finger-nails pricked his flesh. He looked at her.\nHer eyes were closed, and her lips were tense and gray. And then her eyes\nshot open--wide and staring. They heard, faintly though it came to\nthem--once, twice, three times, four, five--the firing of a gun!\n\nJohn Aldous straightened, and a great breath fell from his lips.\n\n\"Five times!\" he said. \"It is an answer. There is no longer doubt.\"\n\nHe was holding out his arms to her, and she came into them with a choking\ncry; and now she sobbed like a little child with her head against his\nbreast, and for many minutes he held her close, kissing her wet face, and\nher damp hair, and her quivering lips, while the beat of the picks and the\ncrash of the rock-hammers came steadily nearer.\n\nWhere those picks and rock-hammers fell a score of men were working like\nfiends: Blackton, his arms stripped to the shoulders; Gregg, sweating and\nurging the men; and among them--lifting and tearing at the rock like a\nmadman--old Donald MacDonald, his shirt open, his great hands bleeding, his\nhair and beard tossing about him in the wind. Behind them, her hands\nclasped to her breast--crying out to them to hurry, _hurry_--stood Peggy\nBlackton. The strength of five men was in every pair of arms. Huge boulders\nwere rolled back. Men pawed earth and shale with their naked hands.\nRock-hammers fell with blows that would have cracked the heart of a granite\nobelisk. Half an hour--three quarters--and Blackton came back to where\nPeggy was standing, his face black and grimed, his arms red-seared where\nthe edges of the rocks had caught them, his eyes shining.\n\n\"We're almost there, Peggy,\" he panted. \"Another five minutes and----\"\n\nA shout interrupted him. A cloud of dust rolled out of the mouth of the\ntunnel, and into that dust rushed half a dozen men led by old Donald.\nBefore the dust had settled they began to reappear, and with a shrill\nscream Peggy Blackton darted forward and flung her arms about the\ngold-shrouded figure of Joanne, swaying and laughing and sobbing in the\nsunshine. And old Donald, clasping his great arms about Aldous, cried\nbrokenly:\n\n\"Oh, Johnny, Johnny--something told me to foller ye--an' I was just in\ntime--just in time to see you go into the coyote!\"\n\n\"God bless you, Mac!\" said Aldous, and then Paul Blackton was wringing his\nhands; and one after another the others shook his hand, but Peggy Blackton\nwas crying like a baby as she hugged Joanne in her arms.\n\n\"MacDonald came just in time,\" explained Blackton a moment later; and he\ntried to speak steadily, and tried to smile. \"Ten minutes more, and----\"\n\nHe was white.\n\n\"Now that it has turned out like this I thank God that it happened, Paul,\"\nsaid Aldous, for the engineer's ears alone. \"We thought we were facing\ndeath, and so--I told her. And in there, on our knees, we pledged ourselves\nman and wife. I want the minister--as quick as you can get him, Blackton.\nDon't say anything to Joanne, but bring him to the house right away, will\nyou?\"\n\n\"Within half an hour,\" replied Blackton. \"There comes Tony with the\nbuckboard. We'll hustle up to the house and I'll have the preacher there in\na jiffy.\"\n\nAs they went to the wagon, Aldous looked about for MacDonald. He had\ndisappeared. Requesting Gregg to hunt him up and send him to the bungalow,\nhe climbed into the back seat, with Joanne between him and Peggy. Her\nlittle hand lay in his. Her fingers clung to him. But her hair hid her\nface, and on the other side of her Peggy Blackton was laughing and talking\nand crying by turns.\n\nAs they entered the bungalow, Aldous whispered to Joanne:\n\n\"Will you please go right to your room, dear? I want to say something to\nyou--alone.\"\n\nWhen she went up the stair, Peggy caught a signal from her husband. Aldous\nremained with them. In two minutes he told the bewildered and finally\ndelighted Peggy what was going to happen, and as Blackton hustled out for\nthe minister's house he followed Joanne. She had fastened her door behind\nher. He knocked. Slowly she opened it.\n\n\"John----\"\n\n\"I have told them, dear,\" he whispered happily. \"They understand. And,\nJoanne, Paul Blackton will be back in ten minutes--with the minister. Are\nyou glad?\"\n\nShe had opened the door wide, and he was heading out his arms to her again.\nFor a moment she did not move, but stood there trembling a little, and\ndeeper and sweeter grew the colour in her face, and tenderer the look in\nher eyes.\n\n\"I must brush my hair,\" she answered, as though she could think of no other\nwords. \"I--I must dress.\"\n\nLaughing joyously, he went to her and gathered the soft masses of her hair\nin his hands, and piled it up in a glorious disarray about her face and\nhead, holding it there, and still laughing into her eyes.\n\n\"Joanne, you are mine!\"\n\n\"Unless I have been dreaming--I am, John Aldous!\"\n\n\"Forever and forever.\"\n\n\"Yes, forever--and ever.\"\n\n\"And because I want the whole world to know, we are going to be married by\na minister.\"\n\nShe was silent.\n\n\"And as my wife to be,\" he went on, his voice trembling with his happiness,\n\"you must obey me!\"\n\n\"I think that I shall, John.\"\n\n\"Then you will not brush your hair, and you will not change your dress, and\nyou will not wash the dust from your face and that sweet little beauty-spot\nfrom the tip of your nose,\" he commanded, and now he drew her head close to\nhim, so that he whispered, half in her hair: \"Joanne, my darling, I want\nyou _wholly_ as you came to me there, when we thought we were going to die.\nIt was there you promised to become my wife, and I want you as you were\nthen--when the minister comes.\"\n\n\"John, I think I hear some one coming up the front steps!\"\n\nThey listened. The door opened. They heard voices--Blackton's voice,\nPeggy's voice, and another voice--a man's voice.\n\nBlackton's voice came up to them very distinctly.\n\n\"Mighty lucky, Peggy,\" he said. \"Caught Mr. Wollaver just as he was passing\nthe house. Where's----\"\n\n\"Sh-h-hh!\" came Peggy Blackton's sibilant whisper.\n\nJoanne's hands had crept to John's face.\n\n\"I think,\" she said, \"that it is the minister, John.\"\n\nHer warm lips were near, and he kissed them.\n\n\"Come, Joanne. We will go down.\"\n\nHand in hand they went down the stair; and when the minister saw Joanne,\ncovered in the tangle and glory of her hair; and when he saw John Aldous,\nwith half-naked arms and blackened face; and when, with these things, he\nsaw the wonderful joy shining in their eyes, he stood like one struck dumb\nat sight of a miracle descending out of the skies. For never had Joanne\nlooked more beautiful than in this hour, and never had man looked more like\nentering into paradise than John Aldous.\n\nShort and to the point was the little mountain minister's service, and when\nhe had done he shook hands with them, and again he stared at them as they\nwent back up the stair, still hand in hand. At her door they stopped. There\nwere no words to speak now, as her heart lay against his heart, and her\nlips against his lips. And then, after those moments, she drew a little\nback, and there came suddenly that sweet, quivering, joyous play of her\nlips as she said:\n\n\"And now, my husband, may I dress my hair?\"\n\n\"My hair,\" he corrected, and let her go from his arms.\n\nHer door closed behind her. A little dizzily he turned to his room. His\nhand was on the knob when he heard her speak his name. She had reopened her\ndoor, and stood with something in her hand, which she was holding toward\nhim. He went back, and she gave him a photograph.\n\n\"John, you will destroy this,\" she whispered. \"It is his\nphotograph--Mortimer FitzHugh's. I brought it to show to people, that it\nmight help me in my search. Please--destroy it!\"\n\nHe returned to his room and placed the photograph on his table. It was\nwrapped in thin paper, and suddenly there came upon him a most compelling\ndesire to see what Mortimer FitzHugh had looked like in life. Joanne would\nnot care. Perhaps it would be best for him to know.\n\nHe tore off the paper. And as he looked at the picture the hot blood in his\nveins ran cold. He stared--stared as if some wild and maddening joke was\nbeing played upon his faculties. A cry rose to his lips and broke in a\ngasping breath, and about him the floor, the world itself, seemed slipping\naway from under his feet.\n\nFor the picture he held in his hand was the picture of Culver Rann!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\n\nFor a minute, perhaps longer, John Aldous stood staring at the photograph\nwhich he held in his hand. It was the picture of Culver Rann--not once did\nhe question that fact, and not once did the thought flash upon him that\nthis might be only an unusual and startling resemblance. It was assuredly\nCulver Rann! The picture dropped from his hand to the table, and he went\ntoward the door. His first impulse was to go to Joanne. But when he reached\nthe door he locked it, and dropped into a chair, facing the mirror in his\ndresser.\n\nThe reflection of his own face was a shock to him. If he was pale, the dust\nand grime of his fight in the cavern concealed his pallor. But the face\nthat stared at him from out of the glass was haggard, wildly and almost\ngrotesquely haggard, and he turned from it with a grim laugh, and set his\njaws hard. He returned to the table, and bit by bit tore the photograph\ninto thin shreds, and then piled the shreds on his ash-tray and burned\nthem. He opened a window to let out the smoke and smell of charring paper,\nand the fresh, cool air of early evening struck his face. He could look off\nthrough the fading sunshine of the valley and see the mountain where Coyote\nNumber Twenty-eight was to have done its work, and as he looked he gripped\nthe window-sill so fiercely that the nails of his fingers were bent and\nbroken against the wood. And in his brain the same words kept repeating\nthemselves over and over again. Mortimer FitzHugh was not dead. He was\nalive. He was Culver Rann. And Joanne--Joanne was not _his_ wife; she was\nstill the wife of Mortimer FitzHugh--of Culver Rann!\n\nHe turned again to the mirror, and there was another look in his face. It\nwas grim, terribly grim--and smiling. There was no excitement, nothing of\nthe passion and half-madness with which he had faced Quade and Rann the\nnight before. He laughed softly, and his nails dug as harshly into the\npalms of his hands as they had dug into the sills of the window.\n\n\"You poor, drivelling, cowardly fool!\" he said to his reflection. \"And you\ndare to say--you dare to _think_ that she is not your wife?\"\n\nAs if in reply to his words there came a knock at the door, and from the\nhall Blackton called:\n\n\"Here's MacDonald, Aldous. He wants to see you.\"\n\nAldous opened the door and the old hunter entered.\n\n\"If I ain't interruptin' you, Johnny----\"\n\n\"You're the one man in the world I want to see, Mac. No, I'll take that\nback; there's one other I want to see worse than you--Culver Rann.\"\n\nThe strange look in his face made old Donald stare.\n\n\"Sit down,\" he said, drawing two chairs close to the table. \"There's\nsomething to talk about. It was a terribly close shave, wasn't it?\"\n\n\"An awful close shave, Johnny. As close a shave as ever was.\"\n\nStill, as if not quite understanding what he saw, old Donald was staring\ninto John's face.\n\n\"I'm glad it happened,\" said Aldous, and his voice became softer. \"She\nloves me, Mac. It all came out when we were in there, and thought we were\ngoing to die. Not ten minutes ago the minister was here, and he made us man\nand wife.\"\n\nWords of gladness that sprang to the old man's lips were stopped by that\nstrange, cold, tense look in the face of John Aldous.\n\n\"And in the last five minutes,\" continued Aldous, as quietly as before, \"I\nhave learned that Mortimer FitzHugh, her husband, is not dead. Is it very\nremarkable that you do not find me happy, Mac? If you had come a few\nminutes ago----\"\n\n\"Oh, my God! Johnny! Johnny!\"\n\nMacDonald had pitched forward over the table, and now he bowed his great\nshaggy head in his hands, and his gaunt shoulders shook as his voice came\nbrokenly through his beard.\n\n\"I did it, Johnny; I did it for you an' her! When I knew what it would mean\nfor her--I _couldn't_, Johnny, I couldn't tell her the truth, 'cause I knew\nshe loved you, an' you loved her, an' it would break her heart. I thought\nit would be best, an' you'd go away together, an' nobody would ever know,\nan' you'd be happy. I didn't lie. I didn't say anything. But\nJohnny--Johnny, _there weren't no bones in the grave!_\"\n\n\"My God!\" breathed Aldous.\n\n\"There were just some clothes,\" went on MacDonald huskily, \"an' the watch\nan' the ring were on top. Johnny, there weren't nobody ever buried there,\nan' I'm to blame--I'm to blame.\"\n\n\"And you did that for us,\" cried Aldous, and suddenly he reached over and\ngripped old Donald's hands. \"It wasn't a mistake, Mac. I thank God you kept\nsilent. If you had told her that the grave was empty, that it was a fraud,\nI don't know what would have happened. And now--she is _mine!_ If she had\nseen Culver Rann, if she had discovered that this scoundrel, this\nblackmailer and murderer, was Mortimer FitzHugh, her husband----\"\n\n\"Johnny! John Aldous!\"\n\nDonald MacDonald's voice came now like the deep growling roar of a\nshe-bear, and as he cried the other's name he sprang to his feet, and his\neyes gleamed in their deep sockets like raging fires.\n\n\"Johnny!\"\n\nAldous rose, and he was smiling. He nodded.\n\n\"That's it,\" he said. \"Mortimer FitzHugh is Culver Rann!\"\n\n\"An'--an' you know this?\"\n\n\"Absolutely. Joanne gave me Mortimer FitzHugh's photograph to destroy. I am\nsorry that I burned it before you saw it. But there is no doubt. Mortimer\nFitzHugh and Culver Rann are the same man.\"\n\nSlowly the old mountaineer turned to the door. Aldous was ahead of him, and\nstood with his hand on the knob.\n\n\"I don't want you to go yet, Mac.\"\n\n\"I--I'll see you a little later,\" said Donald clumsily.\n\n\"Donald!\"\n\n\"Johnny!\"\n\nFor a full half minute they looked steadily into each other's eyes.\n\n\"Only a week, Johnny,\" pleaded Donald. \"I'll be back in a week.\"\n\n\"You mean that you will kill him?\"\n\n\"He'll never come back. I swear it, Johnny!\"\n\nAs gently as he might have led Joanne, Aldous drew the mountaineer back to\nthe chair.\n\n\"That would be cold-blooded murder,\" he said, \"and I would be the murderer.\nI can't send you out to do my killing, Mac, as I might send out a hired\nassassin. Don't you see that I can't? Good heaven, some day--very soon--I\nwill tell you how this hound, Mortimer FitzHugh, poisoned Joanne's life,\nand did his worst to destroy her. It's to me he's got to answer, Donald.\nAnd to me he shall answer. I am going to kill him. But it will not be\nmurder. Since you have come into this room I have made my final plan, and I\nshall follow it to the end coolly and deliberately. It will be a great\ngame, Mac--and it will be a fair game; and I shall play it happily, because\nJoanne will not know, and I will be strengthened by her love.\n\n\"Quade wants my life, and tried to hire Stevens, up at Miette, to kill me.\nCulver Rann wants my life; a little later it will come to be the greatest\ndesire of his existence to have me dead and out of the way. I shall give\nhim the chance to do the killing, Mac. I shall give him a splendid chance,\nand he will not fail to accept his opportunity. Perhaps he will have an\nadvantage, but I am as absolutely certain of killing him as I am that the\nsun is going down behind the mountains out there. If others should step\nin, if I should have more than Culver Rann on my hands--why, then you may\ndeal yourself a hand if you like, Donald. It may be a bigger game than One\nagainst One.\"\n\n\"It will,\" rumbled MacDonald. \"I learned other things early this afternoon,\nJohnny. Quade did not stay behind. He went with Rann. DeBar and the woman\nare with them, and two other men. They went over the Lone Cache Pass, and\nthis minute are hurrying straight for the headwaters of the Parsnip. There\nare five of 'em--five men.\"\n\n\"And we are two,\" smiled Aldous. \"So there _is_ an advantage on their side,\nisn't there, Mac? And it makes the game most eminently fair, doesn't it?\"\n\n\"Johnny, we're good for the five!\" cried old Donald in a low, eager voice.\n\"If we start now----\"\n\n\"Can you have everything ready by morning?\"\n\n\"The outfit's waiting. It's ready now, Johnny.\"\n\n\"Then we'll leave at dawn. I'll come to you to-night in the coulee, and\nwe'll make our final plans. My brain is a little muddled now, and I've got\nto clear it, and make myself presentable before supper. We must not let\nJoanne know. She must suspect nothing--absolutely nothing.\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" repeated MacDonald as he went to the door.\n\nThere he paused and, hesitating for a moment, leaned close to Aldous, and\nsaid in a low voice:\n\n\"Johnny, I've been wondering why the grave were empty. I've been wondering\nwhy there weren't somebody's bones there just t' give it the look it should\n'a' had an' why the clothes were laid out so nicely with the watch an' the\nring on top!\"\n\nWith that he was gone, and Aldous closed and relocked the door.\n\nHe was amazed at his own composure as he washed himself and proceeded to\ndress for supper. What had happened had stunned him at first, had even\nterrified him for a few appalling moments. Now he was superbly\nself-possessed. He asked himself questions and answered them with a\npromptness which left no room for doubt in his mind as to what his actions\nshould be. One fact he accepted as absolute: Joanne belonged to him. She\nwas his wife. He regarded her as that, even though Mortimer FitzHugh was\nalive. In the eyes of both God and man FitzHugh no longer had a claim upon\nher. This man, who was known as Culver Rann, was worse than Quade, a\nscoundrel of the first water, a procurer, a blackmailer, even a\nmurderer--though he had thus far succeeded in evading the rather loose and\npoorly working tentacles of mountain law.\n\nNot for an instant did he think of Joanne as Culver Rann's wife. She was\n_his_ wife. It was merely a technicality of the law--a technicality that\nJoanne might break with her little finger--that had risen now between them\nand happiness. And it was this that he knew was the mountain in his path,\nfor he was certain that Joanne would not break that last link of bondage.\nShe would know, with Mortimer FitzHugh alive, that the pledge between them\nin the \"coyote,\" and the marriage ceremony in the room below, meant\nnothing. Legally, she was no more to him now than she was yesterday, or the\nday before. And she would leave him, even if it destroyed her, heart and\nsoul. He was sure of that. For years she had suffered her heart to be\nground out of her because of the \"bit of madness\" that was in her, because\nof that earlier tragedy in her life--and her promise, her pledge to her\nfather, her God, and herself. Without arguing a possible change in her\nbecause of her love for him, John Aldous accepted these things. He believed\nthat if he told Joanne the truth he would lose her.\n\nHis determination not to tell her, to keep from her the secret of the grave\nand the fact that Mortimer FitzHugh was alive, grew stronger in him with\neach breath that he drew. He believed that it was the right thing to do,\nthat it was the honourable and the only thing to do. Now that the first\nshock was over, he did not feel that he had lost Joanne, or that there was\na very great danger of losing her. For a moment it occurred to him that he\nmight turn the law upon Culver Rann, and in the same breath he laughed at\nthis absurdity. The law could not help him. He alone could work out his own\nand Joanne's salvation. And what was to happen must happen very soon--up in\nthe mountains. When it was all over, and he returned, he would tell Joanne.\n\nHis heart beat more quickly as he finished dressing. In a few minutes more\nhe would be with Joanne, and in spite of what had happened, and what might\nhappen, he was happy. Yesterday he had dreamed. To-day was reality--and it\nwas a glorious reality. Joanne belonged to him. She loved him. She was his\nwife, and when he went to her it was with the feeling that only a serpent\nlay in the path of their paradise--a serpent which he would crush with as\nlittle compunction as that serpent would have destroyed her. Utterly and\nremorselessly his mind was made up.\n\nThe Blacktons' supper hour was five-thirty, and he was a quarter of an hour\nlate when he tapped at Joanne's door. He felt the warmth of a strange and\ndelightful embarrassment flushing his face as the door opened, and she\nstood before him. In her face, too, was a telltale riot of colour which the\ndeep tan partly concealed in his own.\n\n\"I--I am a little late, am I not, Joanne?\" he asked.\n\n\"You are, sir. If you have taken all this time dressing you are worse than\na woman. I have been waiting fifteen minutes!\"\n\n\"Old Donald came to see me,\" he apologized. \"Joanne----\"\n\n\"You mustn't, John!\" she expostulated in a whisper. \"My face is afire now!\nYou mustn't kiss me again--until after supper----\"\n\n\"Only once,\" he pleaded.\n\n\"If you will promise--just once----\"\n\nA moment later she gasped:\n\n\"Five times! John Aldous, I will never believe you again as long as I\nlive!\"\n\nThey went down to the Blacktons, and Peggy and Paul, who were busy over\nsome growing geraniums in the dining-room window, faced about with a forced\nand incongruous appearance of total oblivion to everything that had\nhappened. It lasted less than ten seconds. Joanne's lips quivered. Aldous\nsaw the two little dimples at the corners of her mouth fighting to keep\nthemselves out of sight--and then he looked at Peggy. Blackton could stand\nit no longer, and grinned broadly.\n\n\"For goodness sake go to it, Peggy!\" he laughed. \"If you don't you'll\nexplode!\"\n\nThe next moment Peggy and Joanne were in each other's arms, and the two men\nwere shaking hands.\n\n\"We know just how you feel,\" Blackton tried to explain. \"We felt just like\nyou do, only we had to face twenty people instead of two. And you're not\nhungry. I'll wager that. I'll bet you don't feel like swallowing a\nmouthful. It had that peculiar effect on us, didn't it, Peggy?\"\n\n\"And I--I almost choked myself,\" gurgled Peggy as they took their places at\nthe table. \"There really did seem to be something thick in my throat,\nJoanne, dear. I coughed and coughed and coughed before all those people\nuntil I wanted to die right there! And I'm wondering----\"\n\n\"If I'm going to choke, too?\" smiled Joanne. \"Indeed not, Peggy. I'm as\nhungry as a bear!\"\n\nAnd now she did look glorious and self-possessed to Aldous as she sat\nopposite him at that small round table, which was just fitted for four. He\ntold her so when the meal was finished, and they were following the\nBlacktons into the front room. Blackton had evidently been carefully\ndrilled along the line of a certain scheme which Peggy had formed, for in\nspite of a negative nod from her, which signified that he was to wait a\nwhile, he pulled out his watch, and said:\n\n\"It isn't at all surprising if you people have forgotten that to-morrow is\nSunday. Peggy and I always do some Saturday-night shopping, and if you\ndon't mind, we'll leave you to care for the house while we go to town. We\nwon't be gone more than an hour.\"\n\nA few minutes later, when the door had closed behind them, Aldous led\nJoanne to a divan, and sat down beside her.\n\n\"I couldn't have arranged it better myself, dear,\" he exclaimed. \"I have\nbeen wondering how I could have you alone for a few minutes, and tell you\nwhat is on my mind before I see MacDonald again to-night. I'm afraid you\nwill be displeased with me, Joanne. I hardly know how to begin. But--I've\ngot to.\"\n\nA moment's uneasiness came into her eyes as she saw how seriously he was\nspeaking.\n\n\"You don't mean, John--there's more about Quade--and Culver Rann?\"\n\n\"No, no--nothing like that,\" he laughed, as though amused at the absurdity\nof her question. \"Old Donald tells me they have skipped the country,\nJoanne. It's not that. It's you I'm thinking of, and what you may think of\nme a minute from now. Joanne, I've given my word to old Donald. He has\nlived in my promise. I've got to keep that promise--I must go into the\nNorth with him.\"\n\nShe had drawn one of his hands into her lap and was fondling it with her\nown soft palm and fingers.\n\n\"Of course, you must, John. I love old Donald.\"\n\n\"And I must go--soon,\" he added.\n\n\"It is only fair to him that you should,\" she agreed.\n\n\"He--he is determined we shall go in the morning,\" he finished, keeping his\neyes from her.\n\nFor a moment Joanne did not answer. Her fingers interweaved with his, her\nwarm little palm stroked the rough back of his hand. Then she said, very\nsoftly:\n\n\"And why do you think that will displease me, John, dear? I will be ready!\"\n\n\"You!\"\n\nHer eyes were on him, full, and dark, and glowing, and in them were both\nlove and laughter.\n\n\"You dear silly John!\" she laughed. \"Why don't you come right out and tell\nme to stay at home, instead of--of--'beating 'round the bush'--as Peggy\nBlackton says? Only you don't know what a terrible little person you've\ngot, John. You really don't. So you needn't say any more. We'll start in\nthe morning--and I am going with you!\"\n\nIn a flash John Aldous saw his whole scheme shaking on its foundation.\n\n\"It's impossible--utterly impossible!\" he gasped.\n\n\"And why utterly?\" she asked, bending her head so that her soft hair\ntouched his face and lips. \"John, have you already forgotten what we said\nin that terrible cavern--what we told ourselves we would have done if we\nhad lived? We were going adventuring, weren't we? And we are not dead--but\nalive. And this will be a glorious trip! Why, John, don't you see, don't\nyou understand? It will be our honeymoon trip!\"\n\n\"It will be a long, rough journey,\" he argued. \"It will be hard--hard for a\nwoman.\"\n\nWith a little laugh, Joanne sprang up and stood before him in a glow of\nlight, tall, and slim, and splendid, and there was a sparkle of beautiful\ndefiance and a little of triumph in her eyes as she looked down on him.\n\n\"And it will be dangerous, too? You are going to tell me that?\"\n\n\"Yes, it will be dangerous.\"\n\nShe came to him and rumpled up his hair, and turned his face up so that she\ncould look into his eyes.\n\n\"Is it worse than fever, and famine, and deep swamps, and crawling\njungles?\" she asked. \"Are we going to encounter worse things than beasts,\nand poisonous serpents, and murderous savages--even hunger and thirst,\nJohn? For many years we dared those together--my father and I. Are these\ngreat, big, beautiful mountains more treacherous than those Ceylon jungles\nfrom which you ran away--even you, John? Are they more terrible to live in\nthan the Great African Desert? Are your bears worse than tigers, your\nwolves more terrible than lions? And if, through years and years, I faced\nthose things with my father, do you suppose that I want to be left behind\nnow, and by my husband?\"\n\nSo sweet and wonderful was the sound of that name as it came softly from\nher lips, that in his joy he forgot the part he was playing, and drew her\nclose down in his arms, and in that moment all that remained of the scheme\nhe had built for keeping her behind crumbled in ruin about him.\n\nYet in a last effort he persisted.\n\n\"Old Donald wants to travel fast--very fast, Joanne. I owe a great deal to\nhim. Even you I owe to him--for he saved us from the 'coyote.'\"\n\n\"I am going, John.\"\n\n\"If we went alone we would be able to return very soon.\"\n\n\"I am going.\"\n\n\"And some of the mountains--it is impossible for a woman to climb them!\"\n\n\"Then I will let you carry me up them, John. You are so strong----\"\n\nHe groaned hopelessly.\n\n\"Joanne, won't you stay with the Blacktons, to please me?\"\n\n\"No. I don't care to please you.\"\n\nHer fingers were stroking his cheek.\n\n\"John?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Father taught me to shoot, and as we get better acquainted on our\nhoneymoon trip I'll tell you about some of my hunting adventures. I don't\nlike to shoot wild things, because I love them too well. But I can shoot.\nAnd I want a gun!\"\n\n\"Great Scott!\"\n\n\"Not a toy--but a real gun,\" she continued. \"A gun like yours. And then, if\nby any chance we should have trouble--with Culver Rann----\"\n\nShe felt him start, and her hands pressed harder against his face.\n\n\"Now I know,\" she whispered. \"I guessed it all along. You told me that\nCulver Rann and the others were after the gold. They've gone--and their\ngoing isn't quite 'skipping the country' as you meant me to understand it,\nJohn Aldous! So please let's not argue any more. If we do we may quarrel,\nand that would be terrible. I'm going. And I will be ready in the morning.\nAnd I want a gun. And I want you to be nice to me, and I want it to be our\nhoneymoon--even if it is going to be exciting!\"\n\nAnd with that she put her lips to his, and his last argument was gone.\n\nTwo hours later, when he went to the coulee, he was like one who had come\nout of a strange and disturbing and altogether glorious dream. He had told\nJoanne and the Blacktons that it was necessary for him to be with MacDonald\nthat night. Joanne's good-night kiss was still warm on his lips, the loving\ntouch of her hands still trembled on his face, and the sweet perfume of her\nhair was in his nostrils. He was drunk with the immeasurable happiness that\nhad come to him, every fibre in him was aquiver with it--and yet, possessed\nof his great joy, he was conscious of a fear; a fear that was new and\ngrowing, and which made him glad when he came at last to the little fire in\nthe coulee.\n\nHe did not tell MacDonald the cause of this fear at first. He told the\nstory of Mortimer FitzHugh and Joanne, leaving no part of it unbared, until\nhe could see Donald MacDonald's great gaunt hands clenching in the\nfirelight, and his cavernous eyes flaming darkly through the gloom. Then he\ntold what had happened when the Blacktons went to town, and when he had\nfinished, and rose despairingly beside the fire, Donald rose, too, and his\nvoice boomed in a sort of ecstasy.\n\n\"My Jane would ha' done likewise,\" he cried in triumph. \"She would that,\nJohnny--she would!\"\n\n\"But this is different!\" groaned Aldous. \"What am I going to do, Mac? What\ncan I do? Don't you see how impossible it is! Mac, Mac--she isn't my\nwife--not entirely, not absolutely, not in the last and vital sense of\nbeing a wife by law! If she knew the truth, she wouldn't consider herself\nmy wife; she would leave me. For that reason I can't take her. I can't.\nThink what it would mean!\"\n\nOld Donald had come close to his side, and at the look in the gray old\nmountaineer's face John Aldous paused. Slowly Donald laid his hands on his\nshoulders.\n\n\"Johnny,\" he said gently, \"Johnny, be you sure of yourself? Be you a man,\nJohnny?\"\n\n\"Good heaven, Donald. You mean----\"\n\nTheir eyes met steadily.\n\n\"If you are, Johnny,\" went on MacDonald in a low voice, \"I'd take her with\nme. An' if you ain't, I'd leave these mount'ins to-night an' never look in\nher sweet face again as long as I lived.\"\n\n\"You'd take her along?\" demanded Aldous eagerly.\n\n\"I would. I've been thinkin' it over to-night. An' something seemed to tell\nme we mustn't dare leave her here alone. There's just two things to do,\nJohnny. You've got to stay with her an' let me go on alone or--you've got\nto take her.\"\n\nSlowly Aldous shook his head. He looked at his watch. It was a little after\nten.\n\n\"If I could make myself believe that she would not be safe here--I would\ntake her,\" he said. \"But I can't quite make up my mind to that, Mac. She\nwill be in good hands with the Blacktons. I will warn Paul. Joanne is\ndetermined to go, and I know she will think it pretty indecent to be told\nemphatically that she can't go. But I've got to do it. I can't see----\"\n\nA break in the stillness of the night stopped him with the suddenness of a\nbullet in his brain. It was a scream--a woman's scream, and there followed\nit shriek after shriek, until the black forest trembled with the fear and\nagony of the cries, and John Aldous stood as if suddenly stripped of the\npower to move or act. Donald MacDonald roused him to life. With a roar in\nhis beard, he sprang forth into the darkness. And Aldous followed, a hot\nsweat of fear in his blood where a moment before had been only a chill of\nwonder and horror. For in Donald's savage beastlike cry he had caught\nJoanne's name, and an answering cry broke from his own lips as he followed\nthe great gaunt form that was tearing with the madness of a wounded bear\nahead of him through the night.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\n\nNot until they had rushed up out of the coulee and had reached the pathlike\ntrail did the screaming cease. For barely an instant MacDonald paused, and\nthen ran on with a speed that taxed Aldous to keep up. When they came to\nthe little open amphitheatre in the forest MacDonald halted again. Their\nhearts were thumping like hammers, and the old mountaineer's voice came\nhusky and choking when he spoke.\n\n\"It wasn't far--from here!\" he panted.\n\nScarcely had he uttered the words when he sped on again. Three minutes\nlater they came to where the trail crossed the edge of a small\nrock-cluttered meadow, and with a sudden spurt Aldous darted ahead of\nMacDonald into this opening, where he saw two figures in the moonlight.\nHalf a dozen feet from them he stopped with a cry of horror. They were Paul\nand Peggy Blackton! Peggy was dishevelled and sobbing, and was frantically\nclutching at her husband. It was Paul Blackton who dragged the cry from his\nlips. The contractor was swaying. He was hatless; his face was covered with\nblood, and his eyes were only half open, as if he were fighting to pull\nhimself back into consciousness after a terrible blow. Peggy's hair was\ndown, her dress was torn at the throat, and she was panting so that for a\nmoment she could not speak.\n\n\"They've got--Joanne!\" she cried then. \"They went--there!\"\n\nShe pointed, and Aldous ran where she pointed--into the timber on the far\nside of the little meadow. MacDonald caught his arm as they ran.\n\n\"You go straight in,\" he commanded. \"I'll swing--to right--toward\nriver----\"\n\nFor two minutes after that Aldous tore straight ahead. Then for barely a\nmoment he stopped. He had not paused to question Peggy Blackton. His own\nfears told him who Joanne's abductors were. They were men working under\ninstructions from Quade. And they could not be far away, for scarcely ten\nminutes had passed since the first scream. He listened, and held his breath\nso that the terrific beating of his heart would not drown the sound of\ncrackling brush. All at once the blood in him was frozen by a fierce yell.\nIt was MacDonald, a couple of hundred yards to his right, and after that\nyell came the bellowing shout of his name.\n\n\"Johnny! Johnny! Oh, Johnny!\"\n\nHe dashed in MacDonald's direction, and a few moments later heard the\ncrashing of bodies in the undergrowth. Fifty seconds more and he was in the\narena. MacDonald was fighting three men in a space over which the\nspruce-tops grew thinly. The moon shone upon them as they swayed in a\nstruggling mass, and as Aldous sprang to the combat one of the three reeled\nbackward and fell as if struck by a battering-ram. In that same moment\nMacDonald went down, and Aldous struck a terrific blow with the butt of his\nheavy Savage. He missed, and the momentum of his blow carried him over\nMacDonald. He tripped and fell. By the time he had regained his, feet the\ntwo men had disappeared into the thick shadows of the spruce forest. Aldous\nwhirled toward the third man, whom he had seen fall. He, too, had\ndisappeared. A little lamely old Donald brought himself to his feet. He was\nsmiling.\n\n\"Now, what do 'ee think, Johnny?\"\n\n\"Where is she? Where is Joanne?\" demanded Aldous.\n\n\"Twenty feet behind you, Johnny, gagged an' trussed up nice as a whistle!\nIf they hadn't stopped to do that work you wouldn't ha' seen her ag'in,\nJohnny--s'elp me, God, you wouldn't! They was hikin' for the river. Once\nthey had reached the Frazer, and a boat----\"\n\nHe broke off to lead Aldous to a clump of dwarf spruce. Behind this, white\nand still in the moonlight, but with eyes wide open and filled with horror,\nlay Joanne. Hands and feet were bound, and a big handkerchief was tied over\nher mouth. Twenty seconds later Aldous held her shivering and sobbing and\nlaughing hysterically by turns in his arms, while MacDonald's voice brought\nPaul and Peggy Blackton to them. Blackton had recovered from the blow that\nhad dazed him. Over Joanne's head he stared at Aldous. And MacDonald was\nstaring at Blackton. His eyes were burning a little darkly.\n\n\"It's all come out right,\" he said, \"but it ain't a special nice time o'\nnight to be taking a' evening walk in this locality with a couple o'\nladies!\"\n\nBlackton was still staring at Aldous, with Peggy clutching his arm as if\nafraid of losing him.\n\nIt was Peggy who answered MacDonald.\n\n\"And it was a nice time of night for you to send a message asking us to\nbring Joanne down the trail!\" she cried, her voice trembling.\n\n\"We----\" began Aldous, when he saw a sudden warning movement on MacDonald's\npart, and stopped. \"Let us take the ladies home,\" he said.\n\nWith Joanne clinging to him, he led the way. Behind them all MacDonald\ngrowled loudly:\n\n\"There's got t' be something done with these damned beasts of furriners.\nIt's gettin' so no woman ain't safe at night!\"\n\nTwenty minutes later they reached the bungalow. Leaving Joanne and Peggy\ninside, now as busily excited as two phoebe birds, and after Joanne had\ninsisted upon Aldous sleeping at the Blacktons' that night, the two men\naccompanied MacDonald a few steps on his way back to camp.\n\nAs soon as they were out of earshot Blackton began cursing softly under his\nbreath.\n\n\"So you didn't send that damned note?\" he asked. \"You haven't said so, but\nI've guessed you didn't send it!\"\n\n\"No, we didn't send a note.\"\n\n\"And you had a reason--you and MacDonald--for not wanting the girls to know\nthe truth?\"\n\n\"A mighty good reason,\" said Aldous. \"I've got to thank MacDonald for\nclosing my mouth at the right moment. I was about to give it away. And now,\nBlackton, I've got to confide in you. But before I do that I want your word\nthat you will repeat nothing of what I say to another person--even your\nwife.\"\n\nBlackton nodded.\n\n\"Go on,\" he said. \"I've suspected a thing or two, Aldous. I'll give you my\nword. Go on.\"\n\nAs briefly as possible, and without going deeply into detail, Aldous told\nof Quade and his plot to secure possession of Joanne.\n\n\"And this is his work,\" he finished. \"I've told you this, Paul, so that you\nwon't worry about Peggy. You can see from to-night's events that they were\nnot after her, but wanted Joanne. Joanne must not learn the truth. And your\nwife must not know. I am going to settle with Quade. Just how and where and\nwhen I'm going to settle with him I don't care to say now. But he's going\nto answer to me. And he's going to answer soon.\"\n\nBlackton whistled softly.\n\n\"A boy brought the note,\" he said. \"He stood in the dark when he handed it\nto me. And I didn't recognize any one of the three men who jumped out on\nus. I didn't have much of a chance to fight, but if there's any one on the\nface of the earth who has got it over Peggy when it comes to screaming, I'd\nlike to know her name! Joanne didn't have time to make a sound. But they\ndidn't touch Peggy until she began screaming, and then one of the men began\nchoking her. They had about laid me out with a club, so I was helpless.\nGood God----\"\n\nHe shuddered.\n\n\"They were river men,\" said MacDonald. \"Probably some of Tomman's scow-men.\nThey were making for the river.\"\n\nA few minutes later, when Aldous was saying good-night to MacDonald, the\nold hunter said again, in a whisper:\n\n\"Now what do 'ee think, Johnny?\"\n\n\"That you're right, Mac,\" replied Aldous in a low voice. \"There is no\nlonger a choice. Joanne must go with us. You will come early?\"\n\n\"At dawn, Johnny.\"\n\nHe returned to the bungalow with Blackton, and until midnight the lights\nthere burned brightly while the two men answered a thousand questions about\nthe night's adventure, and Aldous told of his and Joanne's plans for the\nhoneymoon trip into the North that was to begin the next day.\n\nIt was half-past twelve when be locked the door of his and sat down to\nthink.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\n\nThere was no doubt in the mind of John Aldous now. The attempt upon Joanne\nleft him but one course to pursue: he must take her with him, in spite of\nthe monumental objections which he had seen a few hours before. He realized\nwhat a fight this would mean for him, and with what cleverness and resource\nhe must play his part. Joanne had not given herself to him as she had once\ngiven herself to Mortimer FitzHugh. In the \"coyote,\" when they had faced\ndeath, she had told him that were there to be a to-morrow in life for them\nshe would have given herself to him utterly and without reservation. And\nthat to-morrow had dawned. It was present. She was his wife. And she had\ncome to him as she had promised. In her eyes he had seen love and trust and\nfaith--and a glorious happiness. She had made no effort to hide that\nhappiness from him. Consciousness of it filled him with his own great\nhappiness, and yet it made him realize even more deeply how hard his fight\nwas to be. She was his wife. In a hundred little ways she had shown him\nthat she was proud of her wifehood. And again he told himself that she had\ncome to him as she had promised, that she had given into his keeping all\nthat she had to give. And yet--_she was not his wife!_\n\nHe groaned aloud, and his fingers dug into the flesh of his knees as he\nthought of that. Could he keep that terrible truth from her? If she went\nwith him into the North, would she not guess? And, even though he kept the\ntruth from her until Mortimer FitzHugh was dead, would he be playing fair\nwith her? Again he went over all that he had gone over before. He knew that\nJoanne would leave him to-morrow, and probably forever, if he told her that\nFitzHugh was alive. The law could not help him, for only death--and never\ndivorce--would free her. Within himself he decided for the last time. He\nwas about to do the one thing left for him to do. And it was the honourable\nthing, for it meant freedom for her and happiness for them both. To him,\nDonald MacDonald had become a man who lived very close to the heart and the\nright of things, and Donald had said that he should take her. This was the\ngreatest proof that he was right.\n\nBut could he keep Joanne from guessing? Could he keep her from discovering\nthe truth until it was time for her to know that truth? In this necessity\nof keeping her from suspecting that something was wrong he saw his greatest\nfight. Compared with it, the final settlement with Quade and Mortimer\nFitzHugh sank into a second importance. He knew what would happen then. But\nJoanne--Joanne on the trail, as his wife----\n\nHe began pacing back and forth in his room, clouding himself in the smoke\nof his pipe. Frequently Joanne's mind had filled him with an exquisite\ndelight by its quickness and at times almost magic perceptiveness, and he\nrealized that in these things, and the fineness of her woman's intuition,\nnow lay his greatest menace. He was sure that she understood the meaning of\nthe assault upon her that night, though she had apparently believed what\nhe and Blackton had told them--that it had been the attack of\nirresponsible and drunken hoodlums. Yet he was certain that she had already\nguessed that Quade had been responsible.\n\nHe went to bed, dreading what questions and new developments the morning\nmight bring forth. And when the morning came, he was both amazed and\ndelighted. The near tragedy of the previous night might never have happened\nin so far as he could judge from Joanne's appearance. When she came out of\nher room to meet him, in the glow of a hall lamp, her eyes were like stars,\nand the colour in her cheeks was like that of a rose fresh from its slumber\nin dew.\n\n\"I'm so happy, and what happened last night seems so like a bad dream,\" she\nwhispered, as he held her close to him for a few moments before descending\nthe stairs. \"I shall worry about Peggy, John. I shall. I don't understand\nhow her husband dares to bring her among savages like these. You wouldn't\nleave me among them, would you?\" And as she asked the question, and his\nlips pressed hers, John Aldous still believed that in her heart she knew\nthe truth of that night attack.\n\nIf she did know, she kept her secret from him all that day. They left Tete\nJaune before sunrise with an outfit which MacDonald had cut down to six\nhorses. Its smallness roused Joanne's first question, for Aldous had\ndescribed to her an outfit of twenty horses. He explained that a large\noutfit made travel much more difficult and slow, but he did not tell her\nthat with six horses instead of twenty they could travel less\nconspicuously, more easily conceal themselves from enemies, and, if\nnecessary, make quick flight or swift pursuit.\n\nThey stopped to camp for the night in a little basin that drew from Joanne\nan exclamation of joy and wonder. They had reached the upper timber-line,\nand on three sides the basin was shut in by treeless and brush-naked walls\nof the mountains. In the centre of the dip was a lake fed by a tiny stream\nthat fell in a series of ribbonlike cataracts a sheer thousand feet from\nthe snow-peaks that towered above them. Small, parklike clumps of spruce\ndotted the miniature valley; over it hung a sky as blue as sapphire and\nunder their feet was a carpet of soft grass sprayed with little blue\nforget-me-nots and wild asters.\n\n\"I have never seen anything a half so beautiful as this!\" cried Joanne, as\nAldous helped her from her horse.\n\nAs her feet touched the ground she gave a little cry and hung limply in his\narms.\n\n\"I'm lame--lame for life!\" she laughed in mock humour. \"John, I can't\nstand. I really can't!\"\n\nOld Donald was chuckling in his beard as he came up.\n\n\"You ain't nearly so lame as you'll be to-morrow,\" he comforted her. \"An'\nyou won't be nearly so lame to-morrow as you'll be next day. Then you'll\nbegin to get used to it, Mis' Joanne.\"\n\n\"_Mrs. Aldous_, Donald,\" she corrected sweetly. \"Or--just Joanne.\"\n\nAt that Aldous found himself holding her so closely that she gave a little\ngasp.\n\n\"Please don't,\" she expostulated. \"Your arms are terribly strong, John!\"\n\nMacDonald had turned away, still chuckling, and began to unpack. Joanne\nlooked behind her, then quickly held up her softly pouted lips. Aldous\nkissed her, and would have kissed her again but she slipped suddenly from\nhis arms and going to Pinto began to untie a dishpan that was fastened to\nthe top of his pack.\n\n\"Get to work, John Aldous!\" she commanded.\n\nMacDonald had camped before in the basin, and there were tepee poles ready\ncut, as light and dry as matchwood. Joanne watched them as they put up the\ntent, and when it was done, and she looked inside, she cried delightedly:\n\n\"It's the snuggest little home I ever had, John!\"\n\nAfter that she busied herself in a way that was a constantly growing\npleasure to him. She took possession at once of pots and pans and kettles.\nShe lost no time in impressing upon both Aldous and MacDonald the fact that\nwhile she was their docile follower on the trail she was to be at the head\nof affairs in camp. While they were straightening out the outfit, hobbling\nthe horses, and building a fire, she rummaged through the panniers and took\nstock of their provisions. She bossed old Donald in a manner that made him\nfairly glow with pleasure. She bared her white arms to the elbows and made\nbiscuits for the \"reflector\" instead of bannock, while Aldous brought water\nfrom the lake, and MacDonald cut wood. Her cheeks were aflame. Her eyes\nwere laughing, joyous, happy. MacDonald seemed years younger. He obeyed her\nlike a boy, and once Aldous caught him looking at her in a way that set him\nthinking again of those days of years and years ago, and of other camps,\nand of another woman--like Joanne.\n\nMacDonald had thought of this first camp--and there were porterhouse steaks\nfor supper, which he had brought packed in a kettle of ice. When they sat\ndown to the meal, Joanne was facing a distant snow-capped ridge that cut\nthe skyline, and the last of the sun, reflected from the face of the\nmountain on the east, had set brown-and-gold fires aglow in her hair. They\nwere partly through when her eyes rested on the distant snow-ridge. Aldous\nsaw her looking steadily. Suddenly she pointed beyond him.\n\n\"I see something moving over the snow on that mountain!\" she cried a little\nexcitedly. \"It is hurrying toward the summit--just under the skyline! What\nis it?\"\n\nAldous and MacDonald looked toward the ridge. Fully a mile away, almost\neven with the skyline now, a small dark object was moving over the white\nsurface of the snow.\n\n\"It ain't a goat,\" said MacDonald, \"because a goat is white, and we\ncouldn't see it on the snow. It ain't a sheep, 'cause it's too dark, an'\nmovin' too slow. It must be a bear, but why in the name o' sin a bear would\nbe that high, I don't know!\"\n\nHe jumped up and ran for his telescope.\n\n\"A grizzly,\" whispered Joanne tensely. \"Would it be a grizzly, John?\"\n\n\"Possibly,\" he answered. \"Indeed, it's very likely. This is a grizzly\ncountry. If we hurry you can get a look at him through the telescope.\"\n\nMacDonald was already studying the object through his long glass when they\njoined him.\n\n\"It's a bear,\" he said.\n\n\"Please--please let me look at him,\" begged Joanne.\n\nThe dark object was now almost on the skyline. Half A minute more and it\nwould pass over and out of sight. MacDonald still held his eye to the\ntelescope, as though he had not heard Joanne. Not until the moving object\nhad crossed the skyline, and had disappeared, did he reply to her.\n\n\"The light's bad, an' you couldn't have made him out very well,\" he said.\n\"We'll show you plenty o' grizzlies, an' so near you won't want a\ntelescope. Eh, Johnny?\"\n\nAs he looked at Aldous there was a strange look in his eyes, and during the\nremainder of the supper he was restless, and ate hurriedly. When he had\nfinished he rose and picked up his long rifle.\n\n\"There's sheep somewhere near this basin, Johnny,\" he explained. \"An' I\nreckon Joanne'll scold us if we don't keep her in fresh meat. I'm goin' to\nbring in some mutton if there's any to be got, an' I probably won't be back\nuntil after dark.\"\n\nAldous knew that he had more to say, and he went with him a few steps\nbeyond the camp.\n\nAnd MacDonald continued in a low, troubled voice:\n\n\"Be careful, Johnny. Watch yo'rself. I'm going to take a look over into the\nnext valley, an' I won't be back until late. It wasn't a goat, an' it\nwasn't a sheep, an' it wasn't a bear. It was two-legged! It was a man,\nJohnny, an' he was there to watch this trail, or my name ain't Donald\nMacDonald. Mebby he came ahead of us last night, an' mebby he was here\nbefore that happened. Anyway, be on your guard while I look over into the\nnext range.\"\n\nWith that he struck off in the direction of the snow-ridge, and for a few\nmoments Aldous stood looking after the tall, picturesque figure until it\ndisappeared behind a clump of spruce. Swiftly he was telling himself that\nit was not the hunting season, and that it was not a prospector whom they\nhad seen on the snow-ridge. As a matter of caution, there could be but one\nconclusion to draw. The man had been stationed there either by Quade or\nFitzHugh, or both, and had unwittingly revealed himself.\n\nHe turned toward Joanne, who had already begun to gather up the supper\nthings. He could hear her singing happily, and as he looked she pressed a\nfinger to her lips and threw a kiss to him. His heart smote him even as he\nsmiled and waved a hand in response. Then he went to her. How slim and\nwonderful she looked in that glow of the setting sun, he thought. How white\nand soft were her hands, how tender and fragile her lovely neck! And how\nhelpless--how utterly helpless she would be if anything happened to him and\nMacDonald! With an effort he flung the thought from him. On his knees he\nwiped the dishes and pots and pans for Joanne. When this was done, he\nseized an axe and showed her how to gather a bed. This was a new and\ndelightful experience for Joanne.\n\n\"You always want to cut balsam boughs when you can get them,\" he explained,\npausing before two small trees. \"Now, this is a cedar, and this is a\nbalsam. Notice how prickly and needlelike on all sides these cedar branches\nare. And now look at the balsam. The needles lay flat and soft. Balsam\nmakes the best bed you can get in the North, except moss, and you've got to\ndry the moss.\"\n\nFor fifteen minutes he clipped off the soft ends of the balsam limbs and\nJoanne gathered them in her arms and carried them into the tepee. Then he\nwent in with her, and showed her how to make the bed. He made it a narrow\nbed, and a deep bed, and he knew that Joanne was watching him, and he was\nglad the tan hid the uncomfortable glow in his face when he had finished\ntucking in the end of the last blanket.\n\n\"You will be as cozy as can be in that,\" he said.\n\n\"And you, John?\" she asked, her face flushing rosily. \"I haven't seen\nanother tent for you and Donald.\"\n\n\"We don't sleep in a tent during the summer,\" he said. \"Just our\nblankets--out in the open.\"\n\n\"But--if it should rain?\"\n\n\"We get under a balsam or a spruce or a thick cedar.\"\n\nA little later they stood beside the fire. It was growing dusk. The distant\nsnow-ridge was swiftly fading into a pale and ghostly sheet in the gray\ngloom of the night. Up that ridge Aldous knew that MacDonald was toiling.\n\nJoanne put her hands to his shoulders.\n\n\"Are you sorry--so very, very sorry that you let me come, John?\"\n\n\"I didn't let you come,\" he laughed softly, drawing her to him. \"You came!\"\n\n\"And are you sorry?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nIt was deliciously sweet to have her tilt up her head and put her soft lips\nto his, and it was still sweeter when her tender hands stroked his cheeks,\nand eyes and lips smiled their love and gladness. He stood stroking her\nhair, with her face laying warm and close against him, and over her head he\nstared into the thickening darkness of the spruce and cedar copses. Joanne\nherself had piled wood on the fire, and in its glow they were dangerously\nilluminated. With one of her hands she was still caressing his cheek.\n\n\"When will Donald return?\" she asked.\n\n\"Probably not until late,\" he replied, wondering what it was that had set a\nstone rolling down the side of the mountain nearest to them. \"He hunted\nuntil dark, and may wait for the moon to come up before he returns.\"\n\n\"John----\"\n\n\"Yes, dear?----\" And mentally he measured the distance to the nearest clump\nof timber between them and the mountain.\n\n\"Let's build a big fire, and sit down on the pannier canvases.\"\n\nHis eyes were still on the timber, and he was wondering what a man with a\nrifle, or even a pistol, might do at that space. He made a good target, and\nMacDonald was probably several miles away.\n\n\"I've been thinking about the fire,\" he said. \"We must put it out, Joanne.\nThere are reasons why we should not let it burn. For one thing, the smoke\nwill drive any game away that we may hope to see in the morning.\"\n\nHer hands lay still against his cheek.\n\n\"I--understand, John,\" she replied quickly, and there was the smallest bit\nof a shudder in her voice. \"I had forgotten. We must put it out!\"\n\nFive minutes later only a few glowing embers remained where the fire had\nbeen. He had spread out the pannier canvases, and now he seated himself\nwith his back to a tree. Joanne snuggled close to him.\n\n\"It is much nicer in the dark,\" she whispered, and her arms reached up\nabout him, and her lips pressed warm and soft against his hand. \"Are you\njust a little ashamed of me, John?\"\n\n\"Ashamed? Good heaven----\"\n\n\"Because,\" she interrupted him, \"we have known each other such a very short\ntime, and I have allowed myself to become so very, very well acquainted\nwith you. It has all been so delightfully sudden, and strange, and I\nam--just as happy as I can be. You don't think it is immodest for me to say\nthese things to my husband, John--even if I have only known him three\ndays?\"\n\nHe answered by crushing her so closely in his arms that for a few moments\nafterward she lay helplessly on his breast, gasping for breath. His brain\nwas afire with the joyous madness of possession. Never had woman come to\nman more sweetly than Joanne had come to him, and as he felt her throbbing\nand trembling against him he was ready to rise up and shout forth a\nchallenge to a hundred Quades and Culver Ranns hiding in the darkness of\nthe mountains. For a long time he held her nestled close in his arms, and\nat intervals there were silences between them, in which they listened to\nthe glad tumult of their own hearts, and the strange silence that came to\nthem from out of the still night.\n\nIt was their first hour alone--of utter oblivion to all else but\nthemselves; to Joanne the first sacrament hour of her wifehood, to him the\nfirst hour of perfect possession and understanding. In that hour their\nsouls became one, and when at last they rose to their feet, and the moon\ncame up over a crag of the mountain and flooded them in its golden light,\nthere was in Joanne's face a tenderness and a gentle glory that made John\nAldous think of an angel. He led her to the tepee, and lighted a candle\nfor her, and at the last, with the sweet demand of a child in the manner of\nher doing it, she pursed up her lips to be kissed good-night.\n\nAnd when he had tied the tent-flap behind her, he took his rifle and sat\ndown with it across his knees in the deep black shadow of a spruce, and\nwaited and listened for the coming of Donald MacDonald.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\n\nFor an hour after Joanne had gone into her tent Aldous sat silent and\nwatchful. From where he had concealed himself he could see over a part of\nthe moonlit basin, and guard the open space between the camp and the clump\nof timber that lay in the direction of the nearest mountain. After Joanne\nhad blown out her candle the silence of the night seemed to grow deeper\nabout him. The hobbled horses had wandered several hundred yards away, and\nonly now and then could he hear the thud of a hoof, or the clank of a steel\nshoe on rock. He believed that it was impossible for any one to approach\nwithout ears and eyes giving him warning, and he felt a distinct shock when\nDonald MacDonald suddenly appeared in the moonlight not twenty paces from\nhim. With an ejaculation of amazement he jumped to his feet and went to\nhim.\n\n\"How the deuce did you get here?\" he demanded.\n\n\"Were you asleep, Johnny?\"\n\n\"I was awake--and watching!\"\n\nThe old hunter chuckled.\n\n\"It was so still when I come to those trees back there that I thought mebby\nsomething had 'appened,\" he said.\n\n\"So, I sneaked up, Johnny.\"\n\n\"Did you see anything over the range?\" asked Aldous anxiously.\n\n\"I found footprints in the snow, an' when I got to the top I smelled smoke,\nbut couldn't see a fire. It was dark then.\" MacDonald nodded toward the\ntepee. \"Is she asleep, Johnny?\"\n\n\"I think so. She must be very tired.\"\n\nThey drew back into the shadow of the spruce. It was a simultaneous\nmovement of caution, and both, without speaking their thoughts, realized\nthe significance of it. Until now they had had no opportunity of being\nalone since last night.\n\nMacDonald spoke in a low, muffled voice:\n\n\"Quade an' Culver Rann are goin' the limit, Johnny,\" he said. \"They left\nmen on the job at Tete Jaune, and they've got others watching us.\nConsequently, I've hit on a scheme--a sort of simple and unreasonable\nscheme, mebby, but an awful good scheme at times.\"\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"Whenever you see anything that ain't a bear, or a goat, or a sheep, don't\nwait to change the time o' day--but shoot!\" said MacDonald.\n\nAldous smiled grimly.\n\n\"If I had any ideas of chivalry, or what I call fair play, they were taken\nout of me last night, Mac,\" he said. \"I'm ready to shoot on sight!\"\n\nMacDonald grunted his satisfaction.\n\n\"They can't beat us if we do that, Johnny. They ain't even ordinary\ncut-throats--they're sneaks in the bargain; an' if they could walk in our\ncamp, smilin' an' friendly, and brain us when our backs was turned, they'd\ndo it. We don't know who's with them, and if a stranger heaves in sight\nmeet him with a chunk o' lead. They're the only ones in these mountains,\nan' we won't make any mistake. See that bunch of spruce over there?\"\n\nThe old hunter pointed to a clump fifty yards beyond the tepee toward the\nlittle lake. Aldous nodded.\n\n\"I'll take my blankets over there,\" continued MacDonald. \"You roll yourself\nup here, and the tepee'll be between us. You see the system, Johnny? If\nthey make us a visit during the night we've got 'em between us, and\nthere'll be some real burying to do in the morning!\"\n\nBack under the low-hanging boughs of the dwarf spruce Aldous spread out his\nblanket a few minutes later. He had made up his mind not to sleep, and for\nhours he lay watchful and waiting, smoking occasionally, with his face\nclose to the ground so that the odour of tobacco would cling to the earth.\nThe moon rose until it was straight overhead, flooding the valley in a\ngolden splendour that he wished Joanne might have seen. Then it began\nsinking into the west; slowly at first, and then more swiftly, its radiance\ndiminished. He looked at his watch before the yellow orb effaced itself\nbehind the towering peak of a distant mountain. It was a quarter of two.\n\nWith deepening darkness, his eyes grew heavier. He closed them for a few\nmoments at a time; and each time the interval was longer, and it took\ngreater effort to force himself into wakefulness. Finally he slept. But he\nwas still subconsciously on guard, and an hour later that consciousness was\nbeating and pounding within him, urging him to awake. He sat up with a\nstart and gripped his rifle. An owl was hooting--softly, very softly. There\nwere four notes. He answered, and a little later MacDonald came like a\nshadow out of the gloom. Aldous advanced to meet him, and he noticed that\nover the eastern mountains there was a break of gray.\n\n\"It's after three, Johnny,\" MacDonald greeted him. \"Build a fire and get\nbreakfast. Tell Joanne I'm out after another sheep. Until it's good an'\nlight I'm going to watch from that clump of timber up there. In half an\nhour it'll be dawn.\"\n\nHe moved toward the timber, and Aldous set about building a fire. He was\ncareful not to awaken Joanne. The fire was crackling cheerily when he went\nto the lake for water. Returning he saw the faint glow of candlelight in\nJoanne's tepee. Five minutes later she appeared, and all thought of danger,\nand the discomfort of his sleepless night, passed from him at sight of her.\nHer eyes were still a little misty with sleep when he took her in his arms\nand kissed her, but she was deliciously alive, and glad, and happy. In one\nhand she had brought a brush and in the other a comb.\n\n\"You slept like a log,\" he cried happily. \"It can't be that you had very\nbad dreams, little wife?\"\n\n\"I had a beautiful dream, John,\" she laughed softly, and the colour flooded\nup into her face.\n\nShe unplaited the thick silken strands of her braid and began brushing her\nhair in the firelight, while Aldous sliced the bacon. Some of the slices\nwere thick, and some were thin, for he could not keep his eyes from her as\nshe stood there like a goddess, buried almost to her knees in that wondrous\nmantle. He found himself whistling with a very light heart as she braided\nher hair, and afterward plunged her face in a bath of cold water he had\nbrought from the lake. From that bath she emerged like a glowing Naiad.\nHer eyes sparkled. Her cheeks were pink and her lips full and red. Damp\nlittle tendrils of hair clung adorably about her face and neck. For another\nfull minute Aldous paused in his labours, and he wondered if MacDonald was\nwatching them from the clump of timber. The bacon was sputtering when\nJoanne ran to it and rescued it from burning.\n\nDawn followed quickly after that first break of day in the east, but not\nuntil one could see a full rifle-shot away did MacDonald return to the\ncamp. Breakfast was waiting, and as soon as he had finished the old hunter\nwent after the horses. It was five o'clock, and bars of the sun were\nshooting over the tops of the mountains when once more they were in the\nsaddle and on their way.\n\nMost of this day Aldous headed the outfit up the valley. On the pretext of\nsearching for game MacDonald rode so far in advance that only twice during\nthe forenoon was he in sight. When they stopped to camp for the night his\nhorse was almost exhausted, and MacDonald himself showed signs of\ntremendous physical effort. Aldous could not question him before Joanne. He\nwaited. And MacDonald was strangely silent.\n\nThe proof of MacDonald's prediction concerning Joanne was in evidence this\nsecond night. Every bone in her body ached, and she was so tired that she\nmade no objection to going to her bed as soon as it was dark.\n\n\"It always happens like this,\" consoled old Donald, as she bade him\ngood-night. \"To-morrow you'll begin gettin' broke in, an' the next day you\nwon't have any lameness at all.\"\n\nShe limped to the tepee with John's arm snugly about her slim waist.\nMacDonald waited patiently until he returned. He motioned Aldous to seat\nhimself close at his side. Both men lighted their pipes before the\nmountaineer spoke.\n\n\"We can't both sleep at once to-night, Johnny,\" he said. \"We've got to take\nturns keeping watch.\"\n\n\"You've discovered something to-day?\"\n\n\"No. It's what I haven't discovered that counts. There weren't no tracks in\nthis valley, Johnny, from mount'in to mount'in. They haven't travelled\nthrough this range, an' that leaves just two things for us to figger on.\nThey're behind us--or DeBar is hitting another trail into the north. There\nisn't no danger ahead right now, because we're gettin' into the biggest\nranges between here an' the Yukon. If Quade and Rann are in the next valley\nthey can't get over the mount'ins to get at us. Quade, with all his flesh,\ncouldn't climb over that range to the west of us inside o' three days, if\nhe could get over it at all. They're hikin' straight for the gold over\nanother trail, or they're behind us, an' mebby both.\"\n\n\"How--both?\" asked Aldous.\n\n\"Two parties,\" explained MacDonald, puffing hard at his pipe. \"If there's\nan outfit behind us they were hid in the timber on the other side of the\nsnow-ridge, and they're pretty close this minute. Culver Rann--or FitzHugh,\nas you call him--is hustling straight on with DeBar. Mebby Quade is with\nhim, an' mebby he ain't. Anyway, there's a big chance of a bunch behind us\nwith special instructions from Quade to cut our throats and keep Joanne.\"\n\nThat day Aldous had been turning a question over in his own mind. He asked\nit now.\n\n\"Mac, are you sure you can go to the valley of gold without DeBar?\"\n\nFor a long half minute MacDonald looked at him, and then his voice rumbled\nin a low, exultant laugh in his beard.\n\n\"Johnny,\" he said, with a strange quiver in his voice, \"I can go to it now\nstraighter an' quicker than DeBar! I know why I never found it. DeBar\nhelped me that much. The trail is mapped right out in my brain now, Johnny.\nFive years ago I was within ten miles of the cavern--an' didn't know it!\"\n\n\"And we can get there ahead of them?\"\n\n\"We could--if it wasn't for Joanne. We're makin' twenty miles a day. We\ncould make thirty.\"\n\n\"If we could beat them to it!\" exclaimed Aldous, clenching his hands. \"If\nwe only could, Donald--the rest would be easy!\"\n\nMacDonald laid a heavy hand on his knee.\n\n\"You remember what you told me, Johnny, that you'd play the game fair, and\ngive 'em a first chance? You ain't figgerin' on that now, be you?\"\n\n\"No, I'm with you now, Donald. It's----\"\n\n\"Shoot on sight!\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nAldous rose from his seat as he spoke.\n\n\"You turn in, Mac,\" he said. \"You're about bushed after the work you've\ndone to-day. I'll keep first watch. I'll conceal myself fifty or sixty\nyards from camp, and if we have visitors before midnight the fun will all\nbe mine.\"\n\nHe knew that MacDonald was asleep within fifteen minutes after he had\nstationed himself at his post. In spite of the fact that he had had almost\nno sleep the preceding night, he was more than usually wakeful. He was\nfilled with a curious feeling that events were impending. Yet the hours\npassed, the moon flooded the valley again, the horses grazed without alarm,\nand nothing happened. He had planned not to awaken old Donald at midnight,\nbut MacDonald roused himself, and came to take his place a little before\ntwelve. From that hour until four Aldous slept like the dead. He was\ntremendously refreshed when he arose, to find that the candle was alight in\nJoanne's tepee, and that MacDonald had built a fire. He waited for Joanne,\nand went with her to the tiny creek near the camp, where both bathed their\nfaces in the snow-cold water from the mountain tops. Joanne had slept\nsoundly for eight hours, and she was as fresh and as happy as a bird. Her\nlameness was almost gone, and she was eager for the day's journey.\n\nAs they filed again up the valley that morning, with the early sun\ntransfiguring the great snow-topped ranges about them into a paradise of\ncolour and warmth, Aldous found himself mentally wondering if it were\nreally possible that a serious danger menaced them. He did not tell\nMacDonald what was in his mind. He did not confess that he was about ready\nto believe that the man on the snow-ridge had been a hunter or a prospector\nreturning to his camp in the other valley, and that the attack in Tete\nJaune was the one and only effort Quade would make to secure possession of\nJoanne. While a few hours before he had almost expected an immediate\nattack, he was now becoming more and more convinced that Quade, to a large\nextent, had dropped out of the situation. He might be with Mortimer\nFitzHugh, and probably was--a dangerous and formidable enemy to be\naccounted for when the final settlement came.\n\nBut as an immediate menace to Joanne, Aldous was beginning to fear him less\nas the hours passed. Joanne, and the day itself, were sufficient to disarm\nhim of his former apprehension. In places they could see for miles ahead\nand behind them. And Joanne, each time that he looked at her, was a greater\njoy to him. Constantly she was pointing out the wonders of the mountains to\nhim and MacDonald. Each new rise or fall in the valley held fresh and\ndelightful surprises for her; in the craggy peaks she pointed out\ncastlements, and towers, and battlemented strongholds of ancient princes\nand kings. Her mind was a wild and beautiful riot of imagination, of\nwonder, and of happiness, and in spite of the grimness of the mission they\nwere on even MacDonald found himself rejoicing in her spirit, and he\nlaughed and talked with them as they rode into the North.\n\nThey were entering now into a hunter's paradise. For the first time Joanne\nsaw white, moving dots far up on a mountain-side, which MacDonald told her\nwere goats. In the afternoon they saw mountain sheep feeding on a slide\nhalf a mile away, and for ten breathless minutes Joanne watched them\nthrough the telescope. Twice caribou sped over the opens ahead of them. But\nit was not until the sun was settling toward the west again that Joanne saw\nwhat she had been vainly searching the sides of the mountains to find.\nMacDonald had stopped suddenly in the trail, motioning them to advance.\nWhen they rode up to him he pointed to a green two hundred yards\nahead.\n\n\"There's yo'r grizzly, Joanne,\" he said.\n\nA huge, tawny beast was ambling slowly along the crest of the , and at\nsight of him Joanne gave a little cry of excitement.\n\n\"He's hunting for gophers,\" explained MacDonald.\n\n\"That's why he don't seem in a hurry. He don't see us because a b'ar's eyes\nare near-sighted, but he could smell us half a mile away if the wind was\nright.\"\n\nHe was unslinging his long rifle as he spoke. Joanne was near enough to\ncatch his arm.\n\n\"Don't shoot--please don't shoot!\" she begged. \"I've seen lions, and I've\nseen tigers--and they're treacherous and I don't like them. But there's\nsomething about bears that I love, like dogs. And the lion isn't a king\namong beasts compared with him. Please don't shoot!\"\n\n\"I ain't a-goin' to,\" chuckled old Donald. \"I'm just getting ready to give\n'im the proper sort of a handshake if he should happen to come this way,\nJoanne. You know a grizzly ain't pertic'lar afraid of anything on earth as\nI know of, an' they're worse 'n a dynamite explosion when they come\nhead-on. There--he's goin' over the !\"\n\n\"Got our wind,\" said Aldous.\n\nThey went on, a colour in Joanne's face like the vivid sunset. They camped\ntwo hours before dusk, and MacDonald figured they had made better than\ntwenty miles that day. The same precautions were observed in guarding the\ncamp as the night before, and the long hours of vigil were equally\nuneventful. The next day added still more to Aldous' peace of mind\nregarding possible attack from Quade, and on the night of this day, their\nfourth in the mountains, he spoke his mind to MacDonald.\n\nFor a few moments afterward the old hunter smoked quietly at his pipe. Then\nhe said:\n\n\"I don't know but you're right, Johnny. If they were behind us they'd most\nlikely have tried something before this. But it ain't in the law of the\nmount'ins to be careless. We've got to watch.\"\n\n\"I agree with you there, Mac,\" replied Aldous. \"We cannot afford to lose\nour caution for a minute. But I'm feeling a deuced sight better over the\nsituation just the same. If we can only get there ahead of them!\"\n\n\"If Quade is in the bunch we've got a chance of beating them,\" said\nMacDonald thoughtfully. \"He's heavy, Johnny--that sort of heaviness that\ndon't stand up well in the mount'ins; whisky-flesh, I call it. Culver Rann\ndon't weigh much more'n half as much, but he's like iron. Quade may be a\ndrag. An' Joanne, Lord bless her!--she's facing the music like an' 'ero,\nJohnny!\"\n\n\"And the journey is almost half over.\"\n\n\"This is the fourth day. I figger we can make it in ten at most, mebby\nnine,\" said old Donald. \"You see we're in that part of the Rockies where\nthere's real mount'ins, an' the ranges ain't broke up much. We've got\nfairly good travel to the end.\"\n\nOn this night Aldous slept from eight until twelve. The next, their fifth,\nhis watch was from midnight until morning. As the sixth and the seventh\ndays and nights passed uneventfully the belief that there were no enemies\nbehind them became a certainty. Yet neither Aldous nor MacDonald relaxed\ntheir vigilance.\n\nThe eighth day dawned, and now a new excitement took possession of Donald\nMacDonald. Joanne and Aldous saw his efforts to suppress it, but it did not\nescape their eyes. They were nearing the tragic scenes of long ago, and old\nDonald was about to reap the reward of a search that had gone faithfully\nand untiringly through the winters and summers of forty years. He spoke\nseldom that day. There were strange lights in his eyes. And once his voice\nwas husky and strained when he said to Aldous:\n\n\"I guess we'll make it to-morrow, Johnny--jus' about as the sun's going\ndown.\"\n\nThey camped early, and Aldous rolled himself in his blanket when Joanne\nextinguished the candle in her tent. He found that he could not sleep, and\nhe relieved MacDonald at eleven o'clock.\n\n\"Get all the rest you can, Mac,\" he urged. \"There may be doings\nto-morrow--at about sundown.\"\n\nThere was but little moonlight now, but the stars were clear. He lighted\nhis pipe, and with his rifle in the crook of his arm he walked slowly up\nand down over a hundred-yard stretch of the narrow plain in which they had\ncamped. That night they had built their fire beside a fallen log, which was\nnow a glowing mass without flame. Finally he sat down with his back to a\nrock fifty paces from Joanne's tepee. It was a splendid night. The air was\ncool and sweet. He leaned back until his head rested against the rock, and\nthere fell upon him the fatal temptation to close his eyes and snatch a few\nminutes of the slumber which had not come to him during the early hours of\nthe night. He was in a doze, oblivious to movement and the softer sounds of\nthe night, when a cry pierced the struggling consciousness of his brain\nlike the sting of a dart. In an instant he was on his feet.\n\nIn the red glow of the log stood Joanne in her long white night robe. She\nseemed to be swaying when he first saw her. Her hands were clutched at her\nbosom, and she was staring--staring out into the night beyond the burning\nlog, and in her face was a look of terror. He sprang toward her, and out of\nthe gloom beyond her rushed Donald MacDonald. With a cry she turned to\nAldous and flung herself shivering and half-sobbing into his arms.\nGray-faced, his eyes burning like the smouldering coals in the fire, Donald\nMacDonald stood a step behind them, his long rifle in his hands.\n\n\"What is it?\" cried Aldous. \"What has frightened you, Joanne?\"\n\nShe was shuddering against his breast.\n\n\"It--it must have been a dream,\" she said. \"It--it frightened me. But it\nwas so terrible, and I'm--I'm sorry, John. I didn't know what I was doing.\"\n\n\"What was it, dear?\" insisted Aldous.\n\nMacDonald had drawn very close.\n\nJoanne raised her head.\n\n\"Please let me go back to bed, John. It was only a dream, and I'll tell it\nto you in the morning, when there's sunshine--and day.\"\n\nSomething in MacDonald's tense, listening attitude caught Aldous' eyes.\n\n\"What was the dream?\" he urged.\n\nShe looked from him to old Donald, and shivered.\n\n\"The flap of my tepee was open,\" she said slowly. \"I thought I was awake. I\nthought I could see the glow of the fire. But it was a dream--a _dream_,\nonly it was horrible! For as I looked I saw a face out there in the light,\na white, searching face--and it was his face!\"\n\n\"Whose face?\"\n\n\"Mortimer FitzHugh's,\" she shuddered.\n\nTenderly Aldous led her back to the tent.\n\n\"Yes, it was surely an unpleasant dream, dear,\" he comforted her. \"Try and\nsleep again. You must get all the rest you can.\"\n\nHe closed the flap after her, and turned back toward MacDonald. The old\nhunter had disappeared. It was ten minutes before he came in from out of\nthe darkness. He went straight to Aldous.\n\n\"Johnny, you was asleep!\"\n\n\"I'm afraid I was, Mac--just for a minute.\"\n\nMacDonald's fingers gripped his arm.\n\n\"Jus' for a minute, Johnny--an' in that minute you lost the chance of your\nlife!\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"I mean\"--and old Donald's voice was filled with a low, choking tremble\nthat Aldous had never heard in it before--\"I mean that it weren't no dream,\nJohnny! Mortimer FitzHugh was in this camp to-night!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV\n\n\nDonald MacDonald's startling assertion that Mortimer FitzHugh had been in\nthe camp, and that Joanne's dream was not a dream, but reality, brought a\ngasp of astonishment and disbelief from Aldous. Before he had recovered\nsufficiently from his amazement to speak, MacDonald was answering the\nquestion in his mind.\n\n\"I woke quicker'n you, Johnny,\" he said. \"She was just coming out of the\ntepee, an' I heard something running off through the brush. I thought mebby\nit was a wolverine, or a bear, an' I didn't move until she cried out your\nname an' you jumped up. If she had seen a bear in the fire-glow she\nwouldn't have thought it was Mortimer FitzHugh, would she? It's possible,\nbut it ain't likely, though I do say it's mighty queer why he should be in\nthis camp alone. It's up to us to watch pretty close until daylight.\"\n\n\"He wouldn't be here alone,\" asserted Aldous. \"Let's get out of the light,\nMac. If you're right, the whole gang isn't far away!\"\n\n\"They ain't in rifle-shot,\" said MacDonald. \"I heard him running a hundred\nyards out there. That's the queer thing about it! Why didn't they jump on\nus when they had the chance?\"\n\n\"We'll hope that it was a dream,\" replied Aldous. \"If Joanne was dreaming\nof FitzHugh, and while still half asleep saw something in camp, she might\neasily imagine the rest. But we'll keep watch. Shall I move out there?\"\n\nMacDonald nodded, and the two men separated. For two hours they patrolled\nthe darkness, waiting and listening. With dawn Aldous returned to camp to\narouse Joanne and begin breakfast. He was anxious to see what effect the\nincident of the night had on her. Her appearance reassured him. When he\nreferred to the dream, and the manner in which she had come out into the\nnight, a lovely confusion sent the blushes into her face. He kissed her\nuntil they grew deeper, and she hid her face on his neck.\n\nAnd then she whispered something, with her face still against his shoulder,\nthat drove the hot blood into his own cheeks.\n\n\"You are my husband, John, and I don't suppose I should be ashamed to let\nyou see me in my bare feet. But, John--you have made me feel that way, and\nI am--your wife!\"\n\nHe held her head close against him so that she could not see his face.\n\n\"I wanted to show you--that I loved you--'that much,\" he said, scarcely\nknowing what words he was speaking. \"Joanne, my darling----\"\n\nA soft hand closed his lips.\n\n\"I know, John,\" she interrupted him softly. \"And I love you so for it, and\nI'm so proud of you--oh, so proud, John!\"\n\nHe was glad that MacDonald came crashing through the bush then. Joanne\nslipped from his arms and ran into the tepee.\n\nIn MacDonald's face was a grim and sullen look.\n\n\"You missed your chance, all right, Johnny,\" he growled. \"I found where a\nhorse was tied out there. The tracks lead to a big slide of rock that opens\na break in the west range. Whoever it was has beat it back into the other\nvalley. I can't understand, s'elp me God, I can't, Johnny! Why should\nFitzHugh come over into this valley alone? And he _rode_ over! I'd say the\ndevil couldn't do that!\"\n\nHe said nothing more, but went out to lead in the hobbled horses, leaving\nAldous in half-stunned wonderment to finish the preparation of breakfast.\nJoanne reappeared a little later, and helped him. It was six o'clock before\nbreakfast was over and they were ready to begin their day's journey. As\nthey were throwing the hitch over the last pack, MacDonald said in a low\nvoice to Aldous:\n\n\"Everything may happen to-day, Johnny. I figger we'll reach the end by\nsundown. An' what don't happen there may happen along the trail. Keep a\nrifle-shot behind with Joanne. If there's unexpected shooting, we want what\nyou might call a reserve force in the rear. I figger I can see danger, if\nthere is any, an' I can do it best alone.\"\n\nAldous knew that in these last hours Donald MacDonald's judgment must be\nfinal, and he made no objection to an arrangement which seemed to place the\nold hunter under a more hazardous risk than his own. And he realized fully\nthat these were the last hours. For the first time he had seen MacDonald\nfill his pockets with the finger-long cartridges for his rifle, and he had\nnoted how carefully he had looked at the breech of that rifle. Without\nquestioning, he had followed the mountaineer's example. There were fifty\nspare cartridges in his own pockets. His .303 was freshly cleaned and\noiled. He had tested the mechanism of his automatic. MacDonald had watched\nhim, and both understood what such preparations meant as they set out on\nthis last day's journey into the North. They had not kept from Joanne the\nfact that they would reach the end before night, and as they rode the\nprescribed distance behind the old hunter Aldous wondered how much she\nguessed, and what she knew. They had given her to understand that they were\nbeating out the rival party, but he believed that in spite of all their\nefforts there was in Joanne's mind a comprehension which she did not reveal\nin voice or look. To-day she was no different than yesterday, or the day\nbefore, except that her cheeks were not so deeply flushed, and there was an\nuneasy questing in her eyes. He believed that she sensed the nearness of\ntragedy, that she was conscious of what they were now trying to hide from\nher, and that she did not speak because she knew that he and MacDonald did\nnot want her to know. His heart throbbed with pride. Her courage inspired\nhim. And he noticed that she rode closer to him--always at his side through\nthat day.\n\nEarly in the afternoon MacDonald stopped on the crest of a swell in the\nvalley and waited for them. When they came up he was facing the north. He\ndid not look at them. For a few moments he did not speak. His hat was\npulled low, and his beard was twitching.\n\nThey looked ahead. At their feet the valley broadened until it was a mile\nin width. Half a mile away a band of caribou were running for the cover of\na parklike clump of timber. MacDonald did not seem to notice them. He was\nstill looking steadily, and he was gazing at a mountain. It was a\ntremendous mountain, a terrible-looking, ugly mountain, perhaps three miles\naway. Aldous had never seen another like it. Its two huge shoulders were of\nalmost ebon blackness, and glistened in the sunlight as if smeared with\noil. Between those two shoulders rose a cathedral-like spire of rock and\nsnow that seemed to tip the white fleece of the clouds.\n\nMacDonald did not turn when he spoke. His voice was deep and vibrant with\nan intense emotion. Yet he was not excited.\n\n\"I've been hunting for that mount'in for forty years, Johnny!\"\n\n\"Mac!\"\n\nAldous leaned over and laid a hand on the old mountaineer's shoulder. Still\nMacDonald did not look at him.\n\n\"Forty years,\" he repeated, as if speaking to himself. \"I see how I missed\nit now, just as DeBar said. I hunted from the west, an' on that side the\nmount'in ain't black. We must have crossed this valley an' come in from the\neast forty years ago, Johnny----\"\n\nHe turned now, and what Joanne and Aldous saw in his face was not grief; it\nwas not the sorrow of one drawing near to his beloved dead, but a joy that\nhad transfigured him. The fire and strength of the youth in which he had\nfirst looked upon this valley with Jane at his side burned again in the\nsunken eyes of Donald MacDonald. After forty years he had come into his\nown. Somewhere very near was the cavern with the soft white floor of sand,\nand for a moment Aldous fancied that he could hear the beating of\nMacDonald's heart, while from Joanne's tender bosom there rose a deep,\nsobbing breath of understanding.\n\nAnd MacDonald, facing the mountain again, pointed with a long, gaunt arm,\nand said:\n\n\"We're almost there, Johnny. God ha' mercy on them if they've beat us out!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI\n\n\nThey rode on into the Valley of Gold. Again MacDonald took the lead, and he\nrode straight into the face of the black mountain. Aldous no longer made an\neffort to keep Joanne in ignorance of what might be ahead of them. He put a\nsixth cartridge into the chamber of his rifle, and carried the weapon\nacross the pommel of his saddle. He explained to her now why they were\nriding behind--that if their enemies were laying in wait for them,\nMacDonald, alone, could make a swift retreat. Joanne asked no questions.\nHer lips were set tight. She was pale.\n\nAt the end of three quarters of an hour it seemed to them that MacDonald\nwas riding directly into the face of a wall of rock. Then he swung sharply\nto the left, and disappeared. When they came to the point where he had\nturned they found that he had entered a concealed break in the mountain--a\nchasm with walls that rose almost perpendicular for a thousand feet above\ntheir heads. A dark and solemn gloom pervaded this chasm, and Aldous drew\nnearer to MacDonald, his rifle held in readiness, and his bridle-rein\nfastened to his saddle-horn. The chasm was short. Sunlight burst upon them\nsuddenly, and a few minutes later MacDonald waited for them again.\n\nEven Aldous could not restrain an exclamation of surprise when he rode up\nwith Joanne. Under them was another valley, a wide-sweeping valley between\ntwo rugged ranges that ran to the southwest. Up out of it there came to\ntheir ears a steady, rumbling roar; the air was filled with that roar; the\nearth seemed to tremble with it under their feet--and yet it was not loud.\nIt came sullenly, as if from a great distance.\n\nAnd then they saw that MacDonald was not looking out over the sweep of the\nvalley, but down. Half a mile under them there was a dip--a valley within a\nvalley--and through it ran the silver sheen of a stream. MacDonald spoke no\nword now. He dismounted and levelled his long telescope at the little\nvalley. Aldous helped Joanne from her horse, and they waited. A great\nbreath came at last from the old hunter. Slowly he turned. He did not give\nthe telescope to Aldous, but to Joanne. She looked. For a full minute she\nseemed scarcely to breathe. Her hands trembled when she turned to give the\nglass to Aldous.\n\n\"I see--log cabins!\" she whispered.\n\nMacDonald placed a detaining hand on her arm.\n\n\"Look ag'in--Joanne,\" he said in a low voice that had in it a curious\nquiver.\n\nAgain she raised the telescope to her eyes.\n\n\"You see the little cabin--nearest the river?\" whispered Donald.\n\n\"Yes, I see it.\"\n\n\"That was our cabin--Jane's an' mine--forty years ago,\" he said, and now\nhis voice was husky.\n\nJoanne's breath broke sobbingly as she gave Aldous the glass. Something\nseemed to choke him as he looked down upon the scene of the grim tragedy\nin which Donald MacDonald and Jane had played their fatal part. He saw the\ncabins as they had stood for nearly half a century. There were four. Three\nof them were small, and the fourth was large. They might have been built\nyesterday, for all that he could see of ruin or decay. The doors and\nwindows of the larger cabin and two of the smaller ones were closed. The\nroofs were unbroken. The walls appeared solid. Twice he looked at the\nfourth cabin, with its wide-open door and window, and twice he looked at\nthe cabin nearest the stream, where had lived Donald MacDonald and Jane.\n\nDonald had moved, and Joanne was watching him tensely, when he took the\nglass from his eyes. Mutely the old mountaineer held out a hand, and Aldous\ngave him the telescope. Crouching behind a rock he slowly swept the valley.\nFor half an hour he looked through the glass, and in that time scarce a\nword was spoken. During the last five minutes of that half-hour both Joanne\nand Aldous knew that MacDonald was looking at the little cabin nearest the\nstream, and with hands clasped tightly they waited in silence.\n\nAt last old Donald rose, and his face and voice were filled with a\nwonderful calm.\n\n\"There ain't been no change,\" he said softly. \"I can see the log in front\no' the door that I used to cut kindling on. It was too tough for them to\nsplit an' burn after we left. An' I can see the tub I made out o' spruce\nfor Jane. It's leaning next the door, where I put it the day before we went\naway. Forty years ain't very long, Johnny! It ain't very long!\"\n\nJoanne had turned from them, and Aldous knew that she was crying.\n\n\"An' we've beat 'em to it, Johnny--we've beat 'em to it!\" exulted\nMacDonald. \"There ain't a sign of life in the valley, and we sure could\nmake it out from here if there was!\"\n\nHe climbed into his saddle, and started down the of the mountain.\nAldous went to Joanne. She was sobbing. Her eyes were blinded by tears.\n\n\"It's terrible, terrible,\" she whispered brokenly. \"And it--it's beautiful,\nJohn. I feel as though I'd like to give my life--to bring Jane back!\"\n\n\"You must not betray tears or grief to Donald,\" said Aldous, drawing her\nclose in his arms for a moment. \"Joanne--sweetheart--it is a wonderful\nthing that is happening with him! I dreaded this day--I have dreaded it for\na long time. I thought that it would be terrible to witness the grief of a\nman with a heart like Donald's. But he is not filled with grief, Joanne. It\nis joy, a great happiness that perhaps neither you nor I can\nunderstand--that has come to him now. Don't you understand? He has found\nher. He has found their old home. To-day is the culmination of forty years\nof hope, and faith, and prayer. And it does not bring him sorrow, but\ngladness. We must rejoice with him. We must be happy with him. I love you,\nJoanne. I love you above all else on earth or in heaven. Without you I\nwould not want to live. And yet, Joanne, I believe that I am no happier\nto-day than is Donald MacDonald!\"\n\nWith a sudden cry Joanne flung her arms about his neck.\n\n\"John, is it _that?_\" she cried, and joy shone through her tears. \"Yes,\nyes, I understand now! His heart is not breaking. It is life returning into\na heart that was empty. I understand--oh, I understand now! And we must be\nhappy with him. We must be happy when we find the cavern--and Jane!\"\n\n\"And when we go down there to the little cabin that was their home.\"\n\n\"Yes--yes!\"\n\nThey followed behind MacDonald. After a little a spur of the mountain-side\nshut out the little valley from them, and when they rounded this they found\nthemselves very near to the cabins. They rode down a beautiful into\nthe basin, and when he reached the log buildings old Donald stopped and\ndismounted. Again Aldous helped Joanne from her horse. Ahead of them\nMacDonald went to the cabin nearest the stream. At the door he paused and\nwaited for them.\n\n\"Forty years!\" he said, facing them. \"An' there ain't been so very much\nchange as I can see!\"\n\nYears had dropped from his shoulders in these last few minutes, and even\nAldous could not keep quite out of his face his amazement and wonder. Very\ngently Donald put his hand to the latch, as though fearing to awaken some\none within; and very gently he pressed down on it, and put a bit of his\nstrength against the door. It moved inward, and when it had opened\nsufficiently he leaned forward so that his head and a half of his shoulders\nwere inside; and he looked--a long time he looked, without a movement of\nhis body or a breath that they could see.\n\nAnd then he turned to them again, and his eyes were shining as they had\nnever seen them shine before.\n\n\"I'll open the window,\" he said. \"It's dark--dark inside.\"\n\nHe went to the window, which was closed with a sapling barricade that had\nswung on hinges; and when he swung it back the rusted hinges gave way, and\nthe thing crashed down at his feet. And now through the open window the sun\npoured in a warm radiance, and Donald entered the cabin, with Joanne and\nAldous close behind him.\n\nThere was not much in the cabin, but what it held was earth, and heaven,\nand all else to Donald MacDonald. A strange, glad cry surged from his chest\nas he looked about him, and now Joanne saw and understood what John Aldous\nhad told her--for Donald MacDonald, after forty years, had come back to his\nhome!\n\n\"Oh, my Gawd, Johnny, they didn't touch anything! They didn't touch\nanything!\" he breathed in ecstasy. \"I thought after we ran away they'd come\nin----\"\n\nHe broke off, and his hat dropped from his hand, and he stood and stared;\nand what he was looking at, the sun fell upon in a great golden splash, and\nJoanne's hand gripped John's, and held to it tightly. Against the wall,\nhanging as they had hung for forty years, were a woman's garments: a hood,\na shawl, a dress, and an apron that was half in tatters; and on the floor\nunder these things were _a pair of shoes_. And as Donald MacDonald went to\nthem, his arms reaching out, his lips moving, forgetful of all things but\nthat he had come home, and Jane was here, Joanne drew Aldous softly to the\ndoor, and they went out into the day.\n\nJoanne did not speak, and Aldous did not urge her. He saw her white throat\nthrobbing as if there were a little heart beating there, and her eyes were\nbig and dark and velvety, like the eyes of a fawn that had been frightened.\nThere was a thickness in his own throat, and he found that it was difficult\nfor him to see far out over the plain. They waited near the horses. Fifty\nyards from them ran the stream; a clear, beautiful stream which flowed in\nthe direction from which the mysterious ramble of thunder seemed to come.\nThis, Aldous knew, was the stream of gold. In the sand he saw wreckage\nwhich he knew were the ancient rockers; a shovel, thrust shaft-deep, still\nremained where it had last been planted.\n\nPerhaps for ten minutes Donald MacDonald remained in the cabin. Then he\ncame out. Very carefully he closed the door. His shoulders were thrown\nback. His head was held high. He looked like a monarch.\n\nAnd his voice was calm.\n\n\"Everything is there, Johnny--everything but the gold,\" he said. \"They took\nthat.\"\n\nNow he spoke to Joanne.\n\n\"You better not go with us into the other cabins,\" he said.\n\n\"Why?\" she asked softly.\n\n\"Because--there's death in them all.\"\n\n\"I am going,\" she said.\n\nFrom the window of the largest cabin MacDonald pulled the sapling shutter,\nand, like the other, it fell at his feet. Then they opened the door, and\nentered; and here the sunlight revealed the cabin's ghastly tragedy. The\nfirst thing that they saw, because it was most terrible, was a rough table,\nhalf over which lay the shrunken thing that had once been a man. A part of\nits clothes still remained, but the head had broken from its column, and\nthe white and fleshless skull lay facing them. Out of tattered and\ndust-crumbling sleeves reached the naked bones of hands and arms. And on\nthe floor lay another of these things, in a crumpled and huddled heap, only\nthe back of the skull showing, like the polished pate of a bald man. These\nthings they saw first, and then two others: on the table were a heap of\nage-blackened and dusty sacks, and out of the back of the crumbling thing\nthat guarded them stuck the long buckhorn hilt of a knife.\n\n\"They must ha' died fighting,\" said MacDonald. \"An' there, Johnny, is their\ngold!\"\n\nWhite as death Joanne stood in the door and watched them. MacDonald and\nAldous went to the sacks. They were of buckskin. The years had not aged\nthem. When Aldous took one in his hands he found that it was heavier than\nlead. With his knife MacDonald cut a slit in one of them, and the sun that\ncame through the window flashed in a little golden stream that ran from the\nbag.\n\n\"We'll take them out and put 'em in a pannier,\" said MacDonald. \"The others\nwon't be far behind us, Johnny.\"\n\nBetween them they carried out the seven sacks of gold. It was a load for\ntheir arms. They put it in one of the panniers, and then MacDonald nodded\ntoward the cabin next the one that had been his own.\n\n\"I wouldn't go in there, Joanne,\" he said.\n\n\"I'm going,\" she whispered again.\n\n\"It was _their_ cabin--the man an' his wife,\" persisted old Donald. \"An'\nthe men was beasts, Joanne! I don't know what happened in there--but I\nguess.\"\n\n\"I'm going,\" she said again.\n\nMacDonald pulled down the barricade from the window--a window that also\nfaced the south and west, and this time he had to thrust against the door\nwith his shoulder. They entered, and now a cry came from Joanne's lips--a\ncry that had in it horror, disbelief, a woman's wrath. Against the wall was\na pile of something, and on that pile was the searching first light of day\nthat had fallen upon it for nearly half a century. The pile was a man\ncrumpled down; across it, her skeleton arms thrown about it protectingly,\nwas a woman. This time Aldous did not go forward. MacDonald was alone, and\nAldous took Joanne from the cabin, and held her while she swayed in his\narms. Donald came out a little later, and there was a curious look of\nexultation and triumph in his face.\n\n\"She killed herself,\" he said. \"That was her husband. I know him. I gave\nhim the rock-nails he put in the soles of his boots--and the nails are\nstill there.\"\n\nHe went alone into the remaining two cabins, while Aldous stood with\nJoanne. He did not stay long. From the fourth cabin he brought an armful of\nthe little brown sacks. He returned, and brought a second armful.\n\n\"There's three more in that last cabin,\" he explained. \"Two men, an' a\nwoman. She must ha' been the wife of the man they killed. They were the\nlast to live, an' they starved to death. An' now, Johnny----\"\n\nHe paused, and he drew in a great breath.\n\nHe was looking to the west, where the sun was beginning to sink behind the\nmountains.\n\n\"An' now, Johnny, if you're ready, an' if Joanne is ready, we'll go,\" he\nsaid.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII\n\n\nAs they went up out of the basin into the broad meadows of the larger\nvalley, MacDonald rode between Aldous and Joanne, and the pack-horses, led\nby Pinto, trailed behind.\n\nAgain old Donald said, as he searched the valley:\n\n\"We've beat 'em, Johnny. Quade an' Rann are coming up on the other side of\nthe range, and I figger they're just about a day behind--mebby only hours,\nor an hour. You can't tell. There's more gold back there. We got about a\nhunderd pounds in them fifteen sacks, an' there was twice that much. It's\nhid somewhere. Calkins used to keep his'n under the floor. So did Watts.\nWe'll find it later. An' the river, an' the dry gulches on both sides of\nthe valley--they're full of it! It's all gold, Johnny--gold everywhere!\"\n\nHe pointed ahead to where the valley rose in a green between two\nmountains half a mile away.\n\n\"That's the break,\" he said. \"It don't seem very far now, do it, Joanne?\"\nHis silence seemed to have dropped from him like a mantle, and there was\njoy in what he was telling. \"But it was a distance that night--a tumble\ndistance,\" he continued, before she could answer. \"That was forty-one years\nago, coming November. An' it was cold, an' the snow was deep. It was bitter\ncold--so cold it caught my Jane's lungs, an' that was what made her go a\nlittle later. The up there don't look steep now, but it was steep\nthen--with two feet of snow to drag ourselves through. I don't think the\ncavern is more'n five or six miles away, Johnny, mebby less, an' it took us\ntwenty hours to reach it. It snowed so heavy that night, an' the wind\nblowed so, that our trail was filled up or they might ha' followed.\"\n\nMany times Aldous had been on the point of asking old Donald a question.\nFor the first time he asked it now, even as his eyes swept slowly and\nsearchingly over the valley for signs of Mortimer FitzHugh and Quade.\n\n\"I've often wondered why you ran away with Jane,\" he said. \"I know what\nthreatened her--a thing worse than death. But why did you run? Why didn't\nyou stay and fight?\"\n\nA low growl rumbled in MacDonald's beard.\n\n\"Johnny, Johnny, if I only ha' could!\" he groaned. \"There was five of them\nleft when I ran into the cabin an' barricaded myself there with Jane. I\nstuck my gun out of the window an' they was afraid to rush the cabin. They\nwas _afraid_, Johnny, all that afternoon--_an' I didn't have a cartridge\nleft to fire!_ That's why we went just as soon as we could crawl out in the\ndark. I knew they'd come that night. I might ha' killed one or two hand to\nhand, for I was big an' strong in them days, Johnny, but I knew I couldn't\nbeat 'em all. So we went.\"\n\n\"After all, death isn't so very terrible,\" said Joanne softly, and she was\nriding so close that for a moment she laid one of her warm hands on Donald\nMacDonald's.\n\n\"No, it's sometimes--wunnerful--an' beautiful,\" replied Donald, a little\nbrokenly, and with that he rode ahead, and Joanne and Aldous waited until\nthe pack-horses had passed them.\n\n\"He's going to see that all is clear at the summit,\" explained Aldous.\n\nThey seemed to be riding now right into the face of that mysterious rumble\nand roar of the mountains. It was an hour before they all stood together at\nthe top of the break, and here MacDonald swung sharply to the right, and\ncame soon to the rock-strewn bed of a dried-up stream that in ages past had\nbeen a wide and rushing torrent. Steadily, as they progressed down this,\nthe rumble and roar grew nearer. It seemed that it was almost under their\nfeet, when again MacDonald turned, and a quarter of an hour later they\nfound themselves at the edge of a small plain; and now all about them were\ncold and towering mountains that shut out the sun, and a hundred yards to\ntheir right was a great dark cleft in the floor of the plain, and up out of\nthis came the rumble and roar that was like the sullen anger of monster\nbeasts imprisoned deep down in the bowels of the earth.\n\nMacDonald got off his horse, and Aldous and Joanne rode up to him. In the\nold man's face was a look of joy and triumph.\n\n\"It weren't so far as I thought it was, Johnny!\" he cried. \"Oh, it must ha'\nbeen a turrible night--a turrible night when Jane an' I come this way! It\ntook us twenty hours, Johnny!\"\n\n\"We are near the cavern?\" breathed Joanne.\n\n\"It ain't more'n half a mile farther on, I guess. But we'll camp here.\nWe're pretty well hid. They can't find us. An' from that summit up there\nwe can keep watch in both valleys.\"\n\nKnowing the thoughts that were in MacDonald's mind, and how full his heart\nwas with a great desire, Aldous went to him when they had dismounted.\n\n\"You go on alone if there is time to-night, Mac,\" he said, knowing that the\nother would understand him. \"I will make camp.\"\n\n\"There ain't no one in the valley,\" mused the old man, a little doubtfully\nat first. \"It would be safe--quite safe, Johnny.\"\n\n\"Yes, it will be safe.\"\n\n\"And I will stand guard while John is working,\" said Joanne, who had come\nto them. \"No one can approach us without being seen.\"\n\nFor another moment MacDonald hesitated. Then he said:\n\n\"Do you see that break over there across the plain? It's the open to a\ngorge. Johnny, it do seem unreasonable--it do seem as though I must ha'\nbeen dreamin'--when I think that it took us twenty hours! But the snow was\nto my waist in this plain, an' it was slow work--turrible slow work! I\nthink the cavern--ain't on'y a little way up that gorge.\"\n\n\"You can make it before the sun is quite gone.\"\n\n\"An' I could hear you shout, or your gun. I could ride back in five\nminutes--an' I wouldn't be gone an hour.\"\n\n\"There is no danger,\" urged Aldous.\n\nA deep breath came from old Donald's breast.\n\n\"I guess--I'll go, Johnny, if you an' Joanne don't mind.\"\n\nHe looked about him, and then he pointed toward the face of a great rock.\n\n\"Put the tepee up near that,\" he said. \"Pile the saddles, an' the blankets,\nan' the panniers around it, so it'll look like a real camp, Johnny. But it\nwon't be a real camp. It'll be a dummy. See them thick spruce an' cedar\nover there? Build Joanne a shelter of boughs in there, an' take in some\ngrub, an' blankets, an' the gold. See the point, Johnny? If anything should\nhappen----\"\n\n\"They'd tackle the bogus camp!\" cried Aldous with elation. \"It's a splendid\nidea!\"\n\nHe set at once about unpacking the horses, and Joanne followed close at his\nside to help him. MacDonald mounted his horse and rode at a trot in the\ndirection of the break in the mountain.\n\nThe sun had disappeared, but its reflection was still on the peaks; and\nafter he had stripped and hobbled the horses Aldous took advantage of the\nlast of day to scrutinize the plain and the mountain s through the\ntelescope. After that he found enough dry poles with which to set up the\ntepee, and about this he scattered the saddles and panniers, as MacDonald\nhad suggested. Then he cleared a space in the thick spruce, and brought to\nit what was required for their hidden camp.\n\nIt was almost dark when he completed the spruce and cedar lean-to for\nJoanne. He knew that to-night they must build no fire, not even for tea;\nand when they had laid out the materials for their cold supper, which\nconsisted of beans, canned beef and tongue, peach marmalade, bread bannock,\nand pickles and cheese, he went with Joanne for water to a small creek they\nhad crossed a hundred yards away. In both his hands, ready for instant\naction, he carried his rifle. Joanne carried the pail. Her eyes were big\nand bright and searching in that thick-growing dusk of night. She walked\nvery close to Aldous, and she said:\n\n\"John, I know how careful you and Donald have been in this journey into the\nNorth. I know what you have feared. Culver Rann and Quade are after the\ngold, and they are near. But why does Donald talk as though we are _surely_\ngoing to be attacked by them, or are _surely_ going to attack them? I don't\nunderstand it, John. If you don't care for the gold so much, as you told me\nonce, and if we find Jane to-morrow, or to-night, why do we remain to have\ntrouble with Quade and Culver Rann? Tell me, John.\"\n\nHe could not see her face fully in the gloom, and he was glad that she\ncould not see his.\n\n\"If we can get away without fighting, we will, Joanne,\" he lied. And he\nknew that she would have known that he was lying if it had not been for the\ndarkness.\n\n\"You won't fight--over the gold?\" she asked, pressing his arm. \"Will you\npromise me that, John?\"\n\n\"Yes, I promise that. I swear it!\" he cried, and so forcefully that she\ngave a glad little laugh.\n\n\"Then if they don't find us to-morrow, we'll go back home?\" She trembled,\nand he knew that her heart was filled with a sudden lightness. \"And I don't\nbelieve they will find us. They won't come beyond that terrible place--and\nthe gold! Why should they, John? Why should they follow us--if we leave\nthem everything? Oh-h-h-h!\" She shuddered, and whispered: \"I wish we had\nnot brought the gold, John. I wish we had left it behind!\"\n\n\"What we have is worth thirty or forty thousand dollars,\" he said\nreassuringly, as he filled his pail with water and they began to return.\n\"We can do a great deal of good with that. Endowments, for instance,\" he\nlaughed.\n\nAs he spoke, they both stopped, and listened. Plainly they heard the\napproaching thud of hoofs. MacDonald had been gone nearer two hours than\none, and believing that it was him, Aldous gave the owl signal. The signal\nfloated back to them softly. Five minutes later MacDonald rode up and\ndismounted. Until he had taken the saddle off, and had hobbled his horse,\nhe did not speak. Neither Joanne nor Aldous asked the question that was in\ntheir hearts. But even in the darkness they felt something. It was as if\nnot only the torrent rushing through the chasm, but MacDonald's heart as\nwell, was charging the air with a strange and subdued excitement. And when\nMacDonald spoke, that which they had felt was in his voice.\n\n\"You ain't seen or heard anything, Johnny?\"\n\n\"Nothing. And you--Donald?\"\n\nIn the darkness, Joanne went to the old man, and her hand found one of his,\nand clasped it tightly; and she found that Donald MacDonald's big hand was\ntrembling in a strange and curious way, and she could feel him quivering.\n\n\"You found Jane?\" she whispered.\n\n\"Yes, I found her, little Joanne.\"\n\nShe did not let go of his hand until they entered the open space which\nAldous had made in the spruce. Then she remembered what Aldous had said to\nher earlier in the day, and cheerfully she lighted the two candles they\nhad set out, and forced Aldous down first upon the ground, and then\nMacDonald, and began to help them to beans and meat and bannock, while all\nthe time her heart was crying out to know about the cavern--and Jane. The\ncandleglow told her a great deal, for in it Donald MacDonald's face was\nvery calm, and filled with a great peace, despite the trembling she had\nfelt. Her woman's sympathy told her that his heart was too full on this\nnight for speech, and when he ate but little she did not urge him to eat\nmore; and when he rose and went silently and alone out into the darkness\nshe held Aldous back; and when, still a little later, she went into her\nnest for the night, she whispered softly to him:\n\n\"I know that he found Jane as he wanted to find her, and he is happy. I\nthink he has gone out there alone--to cry.\" And for a time after that, as\nhe sat in the gloom, John Aldous knew that Joanne was sobbing like a little\nchild in the spruce and cedar shelter he had built for her.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII\n\n\nIf MacDonald slept at all that night Aldous did not know it. The old\nmountaineer watched until a little after twelve in the deep shadow of a\nrock between the two camps.\n\n\"I can't sleep,\" he protested, when Aldous urged him to take his rest. \"I\nmight take a little stroll up the plain, Johnny--but I can't sleep.\"\n\nThe plain lay in a brilliant starlight at this hour; they could see the\ngleam of the snow-peaks--the light was almost like the glow of the moon.\n\n\"There'll be plenty of sleep after to-morrow,\" added MacDonald, and there\nwas a finality in his voice and words which set the other's blood stirring.\n\n\"You think they will show up to-morrow?\"\n\n\"Yes. This is the same valley the cabins are in, Johnny. That big mountain\nruns out an' splits it, an' it curves like a horseshoe. From that mount'in\nwe can see them, no matter which way they come. They'll go straight to the\ncabins. There's a deep little run under the . You didn't see it when\nwe came out, but it'll take us within a hunderd yards of 'em. An' at a\nhunderd yards----\"\n\nHe shrugged his shoulders suggestively in the starlight, and there was a\nsmile on his face.\n\n\"It seems almost like murder,\" shuddered Aldous.\n\n\"But it ain't,'\" replied MacDonald quickly. \"It's self-defence! If we\ndon't do it, Johnny--if we don't draw on them first, what happened there\nforty years ago is goin' to happen again--with Joanne!\"\n\n\"A hundred yards,\" breathed Aldous, his jaws setting hard. \"And there are\nfive!\"\n\n\"They'll go into the cabins,\" said MacDonald. \"At some time there will be\ntwo or three outside, an' we'll take them first. At the sound of the shots\nthe others will run out, and it will be easy. Yo' can't very well miss a\nman at a hunderd yards, Johnny?\"\n\n\"No, I won't miss.\"\n\nMacDonald rose.\n\n\"I'm goin' to take a little stroll, Johnny.\"\n\nFor two hours after that Aldous was alone. He knew why old Donald could not\nsleep, and where he had gone, and he pictured him sitting before the little\nold cabin in the starlit valley communing with the spirit of Jane. And\nduring those two hours he steeled himself for the last time to the thing\nthat was going to happen when the day came.\n\nIt was nearly three o'clock when MacDonald returned. It was four o'clock\nbefore he roused Joanne; and it was five o'clock when they had eaten their\nbreakfast, and MacDonald prepared to leave for the mountain with his\ntelescope. Aldous had observed Joanne talking to him for several minutes\nalone, and he had also observed that her eyes were very bright, and that\nthere was an unusual eagerness in her manner of listening to what the old\nman was saying. The significance of this did not occur to him when she\nurged him to accompany MacDonald.\n\n\"Two pairs of eyes are better than one, John,\" she said, \"and I cannot\npossibly be in danger here. I can see you all the time, and you can see\nme--if I don't run away, or hide.\" And she laughed a little breathlessly.\n\"There is no danger, is there, Donald?\"\n\nThe old hunter shook his head.\n\n\"There's no danger, but--you might be lonesome,\" he said.\n\nJoanne put her pretty mouth close to Aldous' ear.\n\n\"I want to be alone for a little while, dear,\" she whispered, and there was\nthat mystery in her voice which kept him from questioning her, and made him\ngo with MacDonald.\n\nIn three quarters of an hour they had reached the spur of the mountain from\nwhich MacDonald had said they could see up the valley, and also the break\nthrough which they had come the preceding afternoon. The morning mists\nstill hung low, but as these melted away under the sun mile after mile of a\nmarvellous panorama spread out swiftly under them, and as the distance of\ntheir vision grew, the deeper became the disappointment in MacDonald's\nface. For half an hour after the mists had gone he neither spoke nor\nlowered the telescope from his eyes. A mile away Aldous saw three caribou\ncrossing the valley. A little later, on a green , he discerned a\nmoving hulk that he knew was a bear. He did not speak until old Donald\nlowered the glass.\n\n\"I can see for eight miles up the valley, an' there ain't a soul in sight,\"\nsaid MacDonald in answer to his question. \"I figgered they'd be along about\nnow, Johnny.\"\n\nA dozen times Aldous had looked back at the camp. Twice he had seen Joanne.\nHe looked now through the telescope. She was nowhere in sight. A bit\nnervously he returned the telescope to MacDonald.\n\n\"And I can't see Joanne,\" he said.\n\nMacDonald looked. For five minutes he levelled the glass steadily at the\ncamp. Then he shifted it slowly westward, and a low exclamation broke from\nhis lips as he lowered the glass, and looked at Aldous.\n\n\"Johnny, she's just goin' into the gorge! She was just disappearin' when I\ncaught her!\"\n\n\"Going into--the gorge!\" gasped Aldous, jumping to his feet. \"Mac----\"\n\nMacDonald rose and stood at his side. There was something reassuring in the\nrumbling laugh that came from deep in his chest.\n\n\"She's beat us!\" he chuckled. \"Bless her, she's beat us! I didn't guess why\nshe was askin' me all them questions. An' I told her, Johnny--told her just\nwhere the cavern was up there in the gorge, an' how you wouldn't hardly\nmiss it if you tried. An' she asked me how long it would take to _walk_\nthere, an' I told her half an hour. An' she's going to the cavern, Johnny!\"\n\nHe was telescoping his long glass as he spoke, and while Aldous was still\nstaring toward the gorge in wonderment and a little fear, he added:\n\n\"We'd better follow. Quade an' Rann can't get here inside o' two or three\nhours, an' we'll be back before then.\" Again he rumbled with that curious\nchuckling laugh. \"She beat us, Johnny, she beat us fair! An' she's got\nspirrit, a wunnerful spirrit, to go up there alone!\"\n\nAldous wanted to run, but he held himself down to MacDonald's stride. His\nheart trembled apprehensively as they hurriedly descended the mountain and\ncut across the plain. He could not quite bring himself to MacDonald's point\nof assurance regarding Quade and Mortimer FitzHugh. The old mountaineer was\npositive that the other party was behind them. Aldous asked himself if it\nwere not possible that Quade and FitzHugh were _ahead_ of them, and already\nwaiting and watching for their opportunity. He had suggested that they\nmight have swung farther to the west, with the plan of descending upon the\nvalley from the north, and MacDonald had pointed out how unlikely this was.\nIn spite of this, Aldous was not in a comfortable frame of mind as they\nhurried after Joanne. She had half an hour's start of them when they\nreached the mouth of the gorge, and not until they had travelled another\nhalf-hour up the rough bed of the break between the two mountains, and\nMacDonald pointed ahead, and said: \"There's the cavern!\" did he breathe\neasier.\n\nThey could see the mouth of the cavern when they were yet a couple of\nhundred yards from it. It was a wide, low cleft in the north face of the\nchasm wall, and in front of it, spreading out like the flow of a stream,\nwas a great spatter of white sand, like a huge rug that had been spread out\nin a space cleared of its chaotic litter of rock and broken slate. At first\nglance Aldous guessed that the cavern had once been the exit of a\nsubterranean stream. The sand deadened the sound of their footsteps as they\napproached. At the mouth of the cave they paused. It was perhaps forty or\nfifty feet deep, and as high as a nine-foot room. Inside it was quite\nlight. Halfway to the back of it, upon her knees, and with her face turned\nfrom them, was Joanne.\n\nThey were very close to her before she heard them. With a startled cry she\nsprang to her feet, and Aldous and MacDonald saw what she had been doing.\nOver a long mound in the white sand still rose the sapling stake which\nDonald had planted there forty years before; and about this, and scattered\nover the grave, were dozens of wild asters and purple hyacinths which\nJoanne had brought from the plain. Aldous did not speak, but he took her\nhand, and looked down with her on the grave. And then something caught his\neyes among the flowers, and Joanne drew him a step nearer, her eyes shining\nlike velvet stars, while his heart beat faster when he saw what the object\nwas. It was a book, open in the middle, and it lay face downward on the\ngrave. It was old, and looked as though it might have fallen into dust at\nthe touch of his finger. Joanne's voice was low and filled with a\nwhispering awe.\n\n\"It was her Bible, John!\"\n\nHe turned a little, and noticed that Donald had gone to the mouth of the\ncavern, and was looking toward the mountain.\n\n\"It was her Bible,\" he heard Joanne repeating; and then MacDonald turned\ntoward them, and he saw in his face a look that seemed strange and out of\nplace in this home of his dead. He went to him, and Joanne followed.\n\nMacDonald had turned again--was listening--and holding his breath. Then he\nsaid, still with his face toward the mountain and the valley:\n\n\"I may be mistaken, Johnny, but I think I heard--a rifle-shot!\"\n\nFor a full minute they listened.\n\n\"It seemed off there,\" said MacDonald, pointing to the south. \"I guess\nwe'd better get back to camp, Johnny.\"\n\nHe started ahead of them, and Aldous followed as swiftly as he could with\nJoanne. She was panting with excitement, but she asked no questions.\nMacDonald began to spring more quickly from rock to rock; over the level\nspaces he began to run. He reached the edge of the plain four or five\nhundred yards in advance of them, and was scanning the valley through his\ntelescope when they came up.\n\n\"They're not on this side,\" he said. \"They're comin' up the other leg of\nthe valley, Johnny. We've got to get to the mount'in before we can see\nthem.\"\n\nHe closed the glass with a snap and swung it over his shoulder. Then he\npointed toward the camp.\n\n\"Take Joanne down there,\" he commanded. \"Watch the break we came through,\nan' wait for me. I'm goin' up on the mount'in an' take a look!\"\n\nThe last words came back over his shoulder as he started on a trot down the\n. Only once before had Aldous seen MacDonald employ greater haste, and\nthat was on the night of the attack on Joanne. He was convinced there was\nno doubt in Donald's mind about the rifle-shot, and that the shot could\nmean but one thing--the nearness of Mortimer FitzHugh and Quade. Why they\nshould reveal their presence in that way he did not ask himself as he\nhurried down into the plain with Joanne. By the time they reached the camp\nold Donald had covered two thirds of the distance to the mountain. Aldous\nlooked at his watch and a curious thrill shot through him. Only a little\nmore than an hour had passed since they had left the mountain to follow\nJoanne, and in that time it would have been impossible for their enemies to\nhave covered more than a third of the eight-mile stretch of valley which\nthey had found empty of human life under the searching scrutiny of the\ntelescope! He was right--and MacDonald was wrong! The sound of the shot, if\nthere had been a shot, must have come from some other direction!\n\nHe wanted to shout his warning to MacDonald, but already too great a\ndistance separated them. Besides, if he was right, MacDonald would run into\nno danger in that direction. Their menace was to the north--beyond the\nchasm out of which came the rumble and roar of the stream. When Donald had\ndisappeared up the he looked more closely at the rugged walls of rock\nthat shut them in on that side. He could see no break in them. His eyes\nfollowed the dark streak in the floor of the plain, which was the chasm. It\nwas two hundred yards below where they were standing; and a hundred yards\nbeyond the tepee he saw where it came out of a great rent in the mountain.\nHe looked at Joanne. She had been watching him, and was breathing quickly.\n\n\"While Donald is taking his look from the mountain, I'm going to\ninvestigate the chasm,\" he said.\n\nShe followed him, a few steps behind. The roar grew in their ears as they\nadvanced. After a little solid rock replaced the earth under their feet,\nand twenty paces from the precipice Aldous took Joanne by the hand. They\nwent to the edge and looked over. Fifty feet below them the stream was\ncaught in the narrow space between the two chasm walls, and above the rush\nand roar of it Aldous heard the startled cry that came from Joanne. She\nclutched his hand fiercely. Fascinated she gazed down. The water, speeding\nlike a millrace, was a lather of foam; and up through this foam there shot\nthe crests of great rocks, as though huge monsters of some kind were at\nplay, whipping the torrent into greater fury, and bellowing forth\nthunderous voices. Downstream Aldous could see that the tumult grew less;\nfrom the rent in the mountain came the deeper, more distant-rolling thunder\nthat they had heard on the other side of the range. And then, as he looked,\na sharper cry broke from Joanne, and she dragged him back from the ledge,\nand pointed toward the tepee.\n\nOut from among the rocks had appeared a human figure. It was a woman. Her\nhair was streaming wildly about her, and in the sun it was black as a\ncrow's wing. She rushed to the tepee, opened the flap, and looked in. Then\nshe turned, and a cry that was almost a scream rang from her lips. In\nanother moment she had seen Aldous and Joanne, and was running toward them.\nThey advanced to meet her. Suddenly Aldous stopped, and with a sharp\nwarning to Joanne he threw his rifle half to his shoulder, and faced the\nrocks from which the speeding figure had come. In that same instant they\nboth recognized her. It was Marie, the woman who had ridden the bear at\nTete Jaune, and with whom Mortimer FitzHugh had bought Joe DeBar!\n\nShe staggered up to them, panting, exhausted, her breath coming in gulping\nsobs. For a moment she could not speak. Her dress was torn; her waist was\nripped so that it exposed her throat and shoulder; and the front of the\nwaist and her face were stained with blood. Her black eyes shone like a\nmadwoman's. Fiercely she fought to get her breath, and all the time she\nclung to Joanne, and looked at Aldous. She pointed toward the rocks--the\nchaotic upheaval that lay between the tepee and the chasm--and words broke\ngaspingly from her lips.\n\n\"They're coming!--coming!\" she cried. \"They killed Joe--murdered him--and\nthey're coming--to kill you!\" She clutched a hand to her breast, and then\npointed with it to the mountain where MacDonald had gone. \"They saw him\ngo--and they sent two men to kill him; and the rest are coming through the\nrocks!\" She turned sobbingly to Joanne. \"They killed Joe,\" she moaned.\n\"They killed Joe, and they're coming--for _you!_\"\n\nThe emphasis on that final word struck like a blow in the ears of John\nAldous.\n\n\"Run for the spruce!\" he commanded. \"Joanne, run!\"\n\nMarie had crumpled down in a moaning heap at Joanne's feet, and sat swaying\nwith her face in her hands.\n\n\"They killed him--they murdered my Joe!\" she was sobbing. \"And it was my\nfault--my fault! I trapped him! I sold him! And, oh, my God, I loved him--I\nloved him!\"\n\n\"Run, Joanne!\" commanded Aldous a second time. \"Run for the spruce!\"\n\nInstead of obeying him, Joanne knelt down beside Marie.\n\nHe went to speak again, but there came an interruption--a thing that was\nlike the cold touch of lead in his own heart. From up on the mountain where\nthe old mountaineer had walked into the face of death there came the\nsharp, splitting report of a rifle; and in that same instant it was\nfollowed by another and still a third--quick, stinging, whiplike\nreports--and he knew that not one of them had come from the gun of Donald\nMacDonald!\n\nAnd then he saw that the rocks behind the tepee had become suddenly alive\nwith men!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX\n\n\nSheer amazement made Aldous hold his fire in that first moment. Marie had\nsaid that two men were after MacDonald. He had heard three shots nearly a\nmile away, and she was still sobbing that DeBar was dead. That accounted\nfor _three_. He had expected to see only Quade, and FitzHugh, and one other\nbehind the tepee. And there were six! He counted them as they came swiftly\nout from the shelter of the rocks to the level of the plain. He was about\nto fire when he thought of Joanne and Marie. They were still behind him,\ncrouching upon the ground. To fire from where he stood would draw a\nfusillade of bullets in their direction, and with another warning cry to\nJoanne, he sped twenty paces to one side so that they would not be within\nrange. Not until then did the attacking party see him.\n\nAt a hundred and fifty yards he had no time to pick out Quade or Mortimer\nFitzHugh. He fired first at a group of three, and one of the three crumpled\ndown as though his skull had been crushed from above. A rifle spat back at\nhim and the bullet sang like a ripping cloth close over his head. He\ndropped to his knees before he fired again, and a bullet clove the air\nwhere he had stood. The crack of rifles did not hurry him. He knew that he\nhad six cartridges, and only six, and he aimed deliberately. At his second\nshot the man he had fired at ran forward three or four steps, and then\npitched flat on his face. For a flash Aldous thought that it was Mortimer\nFitzHugh. Then, along his gun barrel, he saw FitzHugh--and pulled the\ntrigger. It was a miss.\n\nTwo men had dropped upon their knees and were aiming more carefully. He\nswung his sight to the foremost, and drove a bullet straight through his\nchest. The next moment something seemed to have fallen upon him with\ncrushing weight. A red sea rose before his eyes. In it he was submerged;\nthe roar of it filled his ears; it blinded him; and in the suffocating\nembrace of it he tried to cry out. He fought himself out of it, his eyes\ncleared, and he could see again. His rifle was no longer in his hands, and\nhe was standing. Twenty feet away men were rushing upon him. His brain\nrecovered itself with the swiftness of lightning. A bullet had stunned him,\nbut he was not badly hurt. He jerked out his automatic, but before he could\nraise it, or even fire from his hip, the first of his assailants was upon\nhim with a force that drove it from his hand. They went down together, and\nas they struggled on the bare rock Aldous caught for a fraction of a second\na scene that burned itself like fire in his brain. He saw Mortimer FitzHugh\nwith a revolver in his hand. He had stopped; he was staring like one\nlooking upon the ghost of the dead, and as he stared there rose above the\nrumbling roar of the chasm a wild and terrible shriek from Joanne.\n\nAldous saw no more then. He was not fighting for his life, but for her, and\nhe fought with the mad ferocity of a tiger. As he struck, and choked, and\nbeat the head of his assailant on the rock, he heard shriek after shriek\ncome from Joanne's lips; and then for a flash he saw them again, and\nJoanne was struggling in the arms of Quade!\n\nHe struggled to his knees, and the man he was fighting struggled to his\nknees; and then they came to their feet, locked in a death-grip on the edge\nof the chasm. From Quade's clutch he saw Joanne staring at Mortimer\nFitzHugh; then her eyes shot to him, and with another shriek she fought to\nfree herself.\n\nFor thirty seconds of that terrible drama Mortimer FitzHugh stood as if\nhewn out of rock. Then he sprang toward the fighters.\n\nIn the arms of John Aldous was the strength of ten men. He twisted the head\nof his antagonist under his arm; he braced his feet--in another moment he\nwould have flung him bodily into the roaring maelstrom below. Even as his\nmuscles gathered themselves for the final effort he knew that all was lost.\nMortimer FitzHugh's face leered over his shoulder, his demoniac intention\nwas in his eyes before he acted. With a cry of hatred and of triumph he\nshoved them both over the edge, and as Aldous plunged to the depths below,\nstill holding to his enemy, he heard a last piercing scream from Joanne.\n\nAs the rock slid away from under his feet his first thought was that the\nend had come, and that no living creature could live in the roaring\nmaelstrom of rock and, flood into which he was plunging. But quicker than\nhe dashed through space his mind worked. Instinctively, without time for\nreasoning, he gripped at the fact that his one chance lay in the close\nembrace of his enemy. He hung to him. It seemed to him that they turned\nover and over a hundred times in that distance of fifty feet. Then a mass\nof twisting foam broke under him, and up out of it shot the head of one of\nthe roaring monsters of rock that he and Joanne had looked upon. They\nstruck it fairly, and Aldous was uppermost. He felt the terrific impact of\nthe other's body. The foam boiled upward again, and they slipped off into\nthe flood.\n\nStill Aldous held to his enemy. He could feel that he was limp now; he no\nlonger felt the touch of the hands that had choked him, or the embrace of\nthe arms that had struggled with him. He believed that his antagonist was\ndead. The fifty-foot fall, with the rock splitting his back, had killed\nhim. For a moment Aldous still clung to him as they sank together under the\nsurface, torn and twisted by the whirling eddies and whirlpools. It seemed\nto him that they would never cease going down, that they were sinking a\nvast distance.\n\nDully he felt the beat of rocks. Then it flashed upon him that the dead man\nwas sinking like a weighted thing. He freed himself. Fiercely he struggled\nto bring himself to the surface. It seemed an eternity before he rose to\nthe top. He opened his mouth and drew a great gulp of air into his lungs.\nThe next instant a great rock reared like a living thing in his face; he\nplunged against it, was beaten over it, and again he was going\ndown--down--in that deadly clutch of maelstrom and undertow. Again he\nfought, and again he came to the surface. He saw a black, slippery wall\ngliding past him with the speed of an express train. And now it seemed as\nthough a thousand clubs were beating him. Ahead of him were rocks--nothing\nbut rocks.\n\nHe shot through them like a piece of driftwood. The roaring in his ears\ngrew less, and he felt the touch of something under his feet. Sunlight\nburst upon him. He caught at a rock, and hung to it. His eyes cleared a\nlittle. He was within ten feet of a shore covered with sand and gravel. The\nwater was smooth and running with a musical ripple. Waist-deep he waded\nthrough it to the shore, and fell down upon his knees, with his face buried\nin his arms. He had been ten minutes in the death-grip of the chasm. It was\nanother ten minutes before he staggered to his feet and looked about him.\n\nHis face was beaten until he was almost blind. His shirt had been torn from\nhis shoulders and his flesh was bleeding. He advanced a few steps. He\nraised one arm and then the other. He limped. One arm hurt him when he\nmoved it, but the bone was sound. He was terribly mauled, but he knew that\nno bones were broken, and a gasp of thankfulness fell from his lips. All\nthis time his mind had been suffering even more than his body. Not for an\ninstant, even as he fought for life between the chasm walls, and as he lay\nhalf unconscious on the rock, had he forgotten Joanne. His one thought was\nof her now. He had no weapon, but as he stumbled in the direction of the\ncamp in the little plain he picked up a club that lay in his path.\n\nThat MacDonald was dead, Aldous was certain. There would be four against\nhim--Quade and Mortimer FitzHugh and the two men who had gone to the\nmountain. His brain cleared swiftly as a part of his strength returned, and\nit occurred to him that if he lost no time he might come upon Joanne and\nher captors before the two men came from killing old Donald. He tried to\nrun. Not until then did he fully realize the condition he was in. Twice in\nthe first hundred yards his legs doubled under him and he fell down among\nthe rocks. He grew steadily stronger, though each time he tried to run or\nspring a distance of a few feet his legs doubled under him like that. It\ntook him twenty minutes to get back to the edge of the plain, and when he\ngot there it was empty. There was no sign of Quade or FitzHugh, or of\nJoanne and Marie; and there was no one coming from the direction of the\nmountain.\n\nHe tried to run again, and he found that over the level floor of the valley\nhe could make faster time than among the rocks. He went to where he had\ndropped his rifle. It was gone. He searched for his automatic. That, too,\nwas gone. There was one weapon left--a long skinning-knife in one of the\npanniers near the tepee. As he went for this, he passed two of the men whom\nhe had shot. Quade and FitzHugh had taken their weapons, and had turned\nthem over to see if they were alive or dead. They were dead. He secured the\nknife, and behind the tepee he passed the third body, its face as still and\nwhite as the others. He shuddered as he recognized it. It was Slim Barker.\nHis rifle was gone.\n\nMore swiftly now he made his way into the break out of which his assailants\nhad come a short time before. The thought came to him again that he had\nbeen right, and that Donald MacDonald, in spite of all his years in the\nmountains, had been fatally wrong. Their enemies had come down from the\nnorth, and this break led to their hiding-place. Through it Joanne must\nhave been taken by her captors. As he made his way over the rocks, gaining\na little more of his strength with each step, his mind tried to picture the\nsituation that had now arisen between Quade and Mortimer FitzHugh. How\nwould Quade, who was mad for possession of Joanne, accept FitzHugh's claim\nof ownership? Would he believe his partner? Would he even believe Joanne\nif, to save herself from him, she told him FitzHugh was her husband? Even\nif he believed them, _would he give her up?_ Would Quade allow Mortimer\nFitzHugh to stand between him and the object for which he was willing to\nsacrifice everything?\n\nAs Aldous asked himself these questions his blood ran hot and cold by\nturns. And the answer to them drew a deep breath of fear and of anguish\nfrom him as he tried again to run among the rocks. There could be but one\nanswer: Quade would fight. He would fight like a madman, and if this fight\nhad happened and FitzHugh had been killed Joanne had already gone utterly\nand helplessly into his power. He believed that FitzHugh had not revealed\nto Quade his relationship to Joanne while they were on the plain, and the\nthought still more terrible came to him that he might not reveal it at all,\nthat he might repudiate Joanne even as she begged upon her knees for him to\nsave her. What a revenge it would be to see her helpless and broken in the\narms of Quade! And then, both being beasts----\n\nHe could think no farther. The sweat broke out on his face as he hobbled\nfaster over a level space. The sound of the water between the chasm walls\nwas now a thunder in his ears. He could not have heard a rifle-shot or a\nscream a hundred yards away. The trail he was following had continually\ngrown narrower. It seemed to end a little ahead of him, and the fear that\nhe had come the wrong way after all filled him with dread. He came to the\nface of the mountain wall, and then, to his left, he saw a crack that was\nno wider than a man's body. In it there was sand, and the, sand was beaten\nby footprints! He wormed his way through, and a moment later stood at the\nedge of the chasm. Fifty feet above him a natural bridge of rock spanned\nthe huge cleft through which the stream was rushing. He crossed this,\nexposing himself openly to a shot if it was guarded. But it was not\nguarded. This fact convinced him that MacDonald had been killed, and that\nhis enemies believed he was dead. If MacDonald had escaped, and they had\nfeared a possible pursuit, some one would have watched the bridge.\n\nThe trail was easy to follow now. Sand and grassy earth had replaced rock\nand shale; he could make out the imprints of feet--many of them--and they\nled in the direction of a piece of timber that apparently edged a valley\nrunning to the east and west. The rumble of the torrent in the chasm grew\nfainter as he advanced. A couple of hundred yards farther on the trail\nswung to the left again; it took him around the end of a huge rock, and as\nhe appeared from behind this, his knife clutched in his hand, he dropped\nsuddenly flat on his face, and his heart rose like a lump in his throat.\nScarcely fifty yards above him was the camp of his enemies! There were two\ntepees and piles of saddles and panniers and blankets about them, but not a\nsoul that he could see. And then, suddenly, there rose a voice bellowing\nwith rage, and he recognized it as Quade's. It came from beyond the tepee,\nand he rose quickly from where he had thrown himself and ran forward, with\nthe tepee between him and those on the other side. Close to the canvas he\ndropped on his knees and crawled out behind a pile of saddles and panniers.\nFrom here he could see.\n\nSo near that he could almost have touched them were Joanne and Marie,\nseated on the ground, with their backs toward him. Their hands were tied\nbehind them. Their feet were bound with pannier ropes. A dozen paces beyond\nthem were Quade and Mortimer FitzHugh.\n\nThe two men were facing each other, a yard apart. Mortimer FitzHugh's face\nwas white, a deadly white, and he was smiling. His right hand rested\ncarelessly in his hunting-coat pocket. There was a sneering challenge on\nhis lips; in his eyes was a look that Aldous knew meant death if Quade\nmoved. And Quade was like a great red beast ready to spring. His eyes\nseemed bulging out on his cheeks; his great hands were knotted; his\nshoulders were hunched forward, and his mottled face was ablaze with\npassion. In that moment's dramatic tableau Aldous glanced about swiftly.\nThe men from the mountain had not returned. He was alone with Quade and\nMortimer FitzHugh.\n\nThen FitzHugh spoke, very quietly, a little laughingly; but his voice\ntrembled, and Aldous knew what the hand was doing in the hunting-coat\npocket.\n\n\"You're excited, Billy,\" he said. \"I'm not a liar, as you've very\nimpolitely told me. And I'm not playing you dirt, and I haven't fallen in\nlove with the lady myself, as you seem to think. But she belongs to me,\nbody and soul. If you don't believe me--why, ask the lady herself, Billy!\"\n\nAs he spoke, he turned his sneering eyes for the fraction of a second\ntoward Joanne. The movement was fatal. Quade was upon him. The hand in the\ncoat pocket flung itself upward, there followed a muffled report, but the\nbullet flew wide. In all his life Aldous had never heard a sound like the\nroar that came from Quade's throat then. He saw Mortimer FitzHugh's hand\nappear with a pistol in it, and then the pistol was gone. He did not see\nwhere it went to. He gripped his knife and waited, his heart beating with\nwhat seemed like smothered explosions as he watched for the opportunity\nwhich he knew would soon come. He expected to see FitzHugh go down under\nQuade's huge bulk. Instead of that, a small, iron fist shot upward and\nQuade's head went back as if broken from his neck.\n\nFitzHugh sprang a step backward, and in the movement his heel caught the\nedge of a pack-saddle. He stumbled, almost fell, and before he could\nrecover himself Quade was at him again. This time there was something in\nthe red brute's hand. It rose and fell once--and Mortimer FitzHugh reeled\nbackward with a moaning cry, swayed for a second or two on his feet, and\nfell to the ground. Quade turned. In his hand was a bloody knife. Madness\nand passion and the triumphant joy of a demon were in his face as he glared\nat his helpless prey. As Aldous crouched lower his shoulder touched one of\nthe saddles. It slipped from the pile, one of the panniers followed it, and\nQuade saw him. There was no longer reason for concealment, and as Quade\nstood paralyzed for a moment Aldous sprang forth into the space between him\nand Joanne. He heard the cry that broke strangely from her lips but he did\nnot turn his head. He advanced upon Quade, his head lowered, the long\nskinning-knife gleaming in his hand.\n\nJohn Aldous knew that words would avail nothing in these last few minutes\nbetween him and Quade. The latter had already hunched himself forward, the\nred knife in his hand poised at his waistline. He was terrible. His huge\nbulk, his red face and bull neck, his eyes popping from behind their fleshy\nlids, and the dripping blade in the shapeless hulk of his hand gave him the\nappearance as he stood there of some monstrous gargoyle instead of a thing\nof flesh and blood. And Aldous was terrible to look at, but in a way that\nwrung a moaning cry from Joanne. His face was livid from the beat of the\nrocks; it was crusted with blood; his eyes were partly closed, and what\nremained of his shirt was drenched with blood that still ran from the deep\ncuts in his arms and shoulders. But it was he who advanced, and Quade who\nstood and waited.\n\nAldous knew little or nothing of knife-fighting; and he realized, also,\nthat there was a strange weakness in his arms and body caused by his battle\nwith the maelstroms in the chasm. But he had wrestled a great deal with the\nIndians of the north, who fought as their half-wolf sledgedogs fought, and\nhe employed their methods now. Slowly and deliberately he began to circle\naround Quade, so that Quade became the pivot of that circle, and as he\ncircled he drew nearer and nearer to his enemy, but never in a frontal\nadvance. He edged inward, with his knife-arm on the outside. His deadly\ndeliberateness and the steady glare of his eyes discomfited Quade, who\nsuddenly took a step backward.\n\nIt was always when the Indian made this step that his opponent darted in;\nand Aldous, with this in mind, sprang to the attack. Their knives clashed\nin midair. As they met, hilt to hilt, Aldous threw his whole weight against\nQuade, darted sidewise, and with a terrific lunge brought the blade of his\nknife down between Quade's shoulders. A straight blade would have gone from\nback to chest through muscle and sinew, but the knife which Aldous held\nscarcely pierced the other's clothes.\n\nNot until then did he fully realize the tremendous odds against him. The\ncurved blade of his skinning-knife would not penetrate! His one hope was to\ncut with it. He flung out his arm before Quade had fully recovered, and\nblind luck carried the keen edge of the knife across his enemy's pouchy\ncheek. The blood came in a spurt, and with a terrible cry Quade leaped back\ntoward the pile of saddles and panniers. Before Aldous could follow his\nadvantage the other had dropped his knife and had snatched up a four-foot\nlength of a tepee pole. For a moment he hesitated while the blood ran in a\nhot flood down his thick neck. Then with a bellow of rage he rushed upon\nAldous.\n\nIt was no time for knife-work now. As the avalanche of brute strength\ndescended upon him Aldous gathered himself for the shock. He had already\nmeasured his own weakness. Those ten minutes among the rocks of the chasm\nhad broken and beaten him until his strength was gone. He was panting from\nhis first onset with Quade, but his brain was working. And he knew that\nQuade was no longer a reasoning thing. He had ceased to think. He was blind\nwith the passion of the brute, and his one thought was to crush his enemy\ndown under the weight of the club in his huge hands. Aldous waited. He\nheard Joanne's terrified scream when Quade was almost upon him--when less\nthan five feet separated them. The club was descending when he flung\nhimself forward, straight for the other's feet. The club crashed over him,\nand with what strength he had he gripped Quade at the knees. With a\ntremendous thud Quade came to earth. The club broke from the grip of his\nhands. For a moment he was stunned, and in that moment Aldous was at his\nthroat.\n\nHe would have sold the best of his life for the skinning-knife. But he had\nlost it in gripping Quade. And now he choked--with every ounce of strength\nin him he choked at the thick red neck of his enemy. Quade's hands reached\nfor his own throat. They found it. And both choked, lying there gasping and\ncovered with blood! while Joanne struggled vainly to free herself, and\nscream after scream rang from her lips. And John Aldous knew that at last\nthe end had come. For there was no longer strength in his arms, and there\nwas something that was like a strange cramp in his fingers, while the\nclutch at his own throat was turning the world black. His grip relaxed. His\nhands fell limp. The last that he realized was that Quade was over him, and\nthat he must be dying.\n\nThen it was, as he lay within a final second or two of death, no longer\nconscious of physical attack or of Joanne's terrible cries, that a strange\nand unforeseen thing occurred. Beyond the tepee a man had risen from the\nearth. He staggered toward them, and it was from Marie that the wildest and\nstrangest cry of all came now. For the man was Joe DeBar! In his hand he\nheld a knife. Swaying and stumbling he came to the fighters--from behind.\nQuade did not see him, and over Quade's huge back he poised himself. The\nknife rose; for the fraction of a second it trembled in midair. Then it\ndescended, and eight inches of steel went to the heart of Quade.\n\nAnd as DeBar turned and staggered toward Joanne and Marie, John Aldous was\nsinking deeper and deeper into a black and abysmal night.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX\n\n\nIn that chaotic night in which he was drifting, light as a feather floating\non the wind, John Aldous experienced neither pain nor very much of the\nsense of life. And yet, without seeing or feeling, he seemed to be living,\nAll was dead in him but that last consciousness, which is almost the\nspirit; he might have been dreaming, and minutes, hours, or even years\nmight have passed in that dream. For a long time he seemed to be sinking\nthrough the blackness; and then something stopped him, without jar or\nshock, and he was rising. He could hear nothing. There was a vast silence\nabout him, a silence as deep and as unbroken as the abysmal pit in which he\nseemed to be softly floating.\n\nAfter a time Aldous felt himself swaying and rocking, as though tossed\ngently on the billows of a sea. This was the first thought that took shape\nin his struggling brain--he was at sea; he was on a ship in the heart of a\nblack night, and he was alone. He tried to call out, but his tongue seemed\ngone. It seemed a very long time before day broke, and then it was a\nstrange day. Little needles of light pricked his eyes; silver strings shot\nlike flashes of weblike lightning through the darkness, and after that he\nsaw for an instant a strange glare. It was gone in one big, powderlike\nflash, and he was in night again. These days and nights seemed to follow\none another swiftly now, and the nights grew less dark, and the days\nbrighter. He was conscious of sounds and buffetings, and it was very hot.\n\nOut of this heat there came a cool, soft breeze that was continually\ncaressing his face, and eyes, and head. It was like the touch of a spirit\nhand. It became more and more real to him. It caressed him into a dark and\ncomfortable oblivion. Out of this oblivion a still brighter day roused him.\nHis brain seemed clear. He opened his eyes. A white cloud was hovering over\nthem; it fell softly; it was cool and gentle. Then it rose again, and it\nwas not a cloud, but a hand! The hand moved away, and he was looking into a\npair of wide-open, staring, prayerful eyes, and a little cry came to him,\nand a voice.\n\n\"John--John----\"\n\nHe was drifting again, but now he knew that he was alive. He heard\nmovement. He heard voices. They were growing nearer and more distinct. He\ntried to cry out Joanne's name, and it came in a whispering breath between\nhis lips. But Joanne heard; and he heard her calling to him; he felt her\nhands; she was imploring him to open his eyes, to speak to her. It seemed\nmany minutes before he could do this, but at last he succeeded. And this\ntime his vision was not so blurred. He could see plainly. Joanne was there,\nhovering over him, and just beyond her was the great bearded face of Donald\nMacDonald. And then, before words had formed on his lips, he did a\nwonderful thing. He smiled.\n\n\"O my God, I thank Thee!\" he heard Joanne cry out, and then she was on her\nknees, and her face was against his, and she was sobbing.\n\nHe knew that it was MacDonald who drew her away.\n\nThe great head bent over him.\n\n\"Take this, will 'ee, Johnny boy?\"\n\nAldous stared.\n\n\"Mac, you're--alive,\" he breathed.\n\n\"Alive as ever was, Johnny. Take this.\"\n\nHe swallowed. And then Joanne hovered over him again, and he put up his\nhands to her face, and her glorious eyes were swimming seas as she kissed\nhim and choked back the sobs in her throat. He buried his fingers in her\nhair. He held her head close to him, and for many minutes no one spoke,\nwhile MacDonald stood and looked down on them. In those minutes everything\nreturned to him. The fight was over. MacDonald had come in time to save him\nfrom Quade. But--and now his eyes stared upward through the sheen of\nJoanne's hair--he was in a cabin! He recognized it. It was Donald\nMacDonald's old home. When Joanne raised her head he looked about him\nwithout speaking. He was in the wide bunk built against the wall. Sunlight\nwas filtering through a white curtain at the window, and in the open door\nhe saw the anxious face of Marie.\n\nHe tried to lift himself, and was amazed to find that he could not. Very\ngently Joanne urged him back on his pillow. Her face was a glory of life\nand of joy. He obeyed her as he would have obeyed the hand of the Madonna.\nShe saw all his questioning.\n\n\"You must be quiet, John,\" she said, and never had he heard in her voice\nthe sweetness of love that was in it now. \"We will tell you\neverything--Donald and I. But you must be quiet. You were terribly beaten\namong the rocks. We brought you here at noon, and the sun is setting--and\nuntil now you have not opened your eyes. Everything is well. But you must\nbe quiet. You were terribly bruised by the rocks, dear.\"\n\nIt was sweet to lie under the caresses of her hand. He drew her face down\nto him.\n\n\"Joanne, my darling, you understand now--why I wanted to come alone into\nthe North?\"\n\nHer lips pressed warm and soft against his.\n\n\"I know,\" she whispered, and he could feel her arras trembling, and her\nbreath coming quickly. Gently she drew away from him. \"I am going to make\nyou some broth,\" she said then.\n\nHe watched her as she went out of the cabin, one white hand lifted to her\nthroat.\n\nOld Donald MacDonald seated himself on the edge of the bunk. He looked down\nat Aldous, chuckling in his beard; and Aldous, with his bruised and swollen\nface and half-open eyes, grinned like a happy fiend.\n\n\"It was a wunerful, wunerful fight, Johnny!\" said old Donald.\n\n\"It was, Mac. And you came in fine on the home stretch!\"\n\n\"What d'ye mean--home stretch?\" queried Donald leaning over.\n\n\"You saved me from Quade.\"\n\nDonald fairly groaned.\n\n\"I didn't, Johnny--I didn't! DeBar killed 'im. It was all over when I come.\nOn'y--Johnny--I had a most cur'ous word with Culver Rann afore he died!\"\n\nIn his eagerness Aldous was again trying to sit up when Joanne appeared in\nthe doorway. With a little cry she darted to him, forced him gently back,\nand brushed old Donald off the edge of the bunk.\n\n\"Go out and watch the broth, Donald,\" she commanded firmly. Then she said\nto Aldous, stroking back his hair, \"I forbade you to talk. John, dear,\naren't you going to mind me?\"\n\n\"Did Quade get me with the knife?\" he asked.\n\n\"No, no.\"\n\n\"Am I shot?\"\n\n\"No, dear.\"\n\n\"Any bones broken?\"\n\n\"Donald says not.\"\n\n\"Then please give me my pipe, Joanne--and let me get up. Why do you want me\nto lie here when I'm strong like an ox, as Donald says?\"\n\nJoanne laughed happily.\n\n\"You _are_ getting better every minute,\" she cried joyously. \"But you were\nterribly beaten by the rocks, John. If you will wait until you have the\nbroth I will let you sit up.\"\n\nA few minutes later, when he had swallowed his broth, Joanne kept her\npromise. Only then did he realize that there was not a bone or a muscle in\nhis body that did not have its own particular ache. He grimaced when Joanne\nand Donald bolstered him up with blankets at his back. But he was happy.\nTwilight was coming swiftly, and as Joanne gave the final pats and turns to\nthe blankets and pillows, MacDonald was lighting half a dozen candles\nplaced around the room.\n\n\"Any watch to-night, Donald?\" asked Aldous.\n\n\"No, Johnny, there ain't no watch to-night,\" replied the old mountaineer.\n\nHe came and seated himself on a bench with Joanne. For half an hour after\nthat Aldous listened to a recital of the strange things that had\nhappened--how poor marksmanship had saved MacDonald on the mountain-side,\nand how at last the duel had ended with the old hunter killing those who\nhad come to slay him. When they came to speak of DeBar, Joanne leaned\nnearer to Aldous.\n\n\"It is wonderful what love will sometimes do,\" she spoke softly. \"In the\nlast few hours Marie has bared her soul to me, John. What she has been she\nhas not tried to hide from me, nor even from the man she loves. She was one\nof Mortimer FitzHugh's tools. DeBar saw her and loved her, and she sold\nherself to him in exchange for the secret of the gold. When they came into\nthe North the wonderful thing happened. She loved DeBar--not in the way of\nher kind, but as a woman in whom had been born a new heart and a new soul\nand a new joy. She defied FitzHugh; she told DeBar how she had tricked him.\n\n\"This morning FitzHugh attempted his old familiarity with her, and DeBar\nstruck him down. The act gave them excuse for what they had planned to do.\nBefore her eyes Marie thought they had killed the man she loved. She flung\nherself on his breast, and she said she could not feel his heart beat, and\nhis blood flowed warm against her hands and face. Both she and DeBar had\ndetermined to warn us if they could. Only a few minutes before DeBar was\nstabbed he had let off his rifle--an accident, he said. But it was not an\naccident. It was the shot Donald heard in the cavern. It saved us, John!\nAnd Marie, waiting her opportunity, fled to us in the plain. DeBar was not\nkilled. He says my screams brought him back to life. He came out--and\nkilled Quade with a knife. Then he fell at our feet. A few minutes later\nDonald came. DeBar is in another cabin. He is not fatally hurt, and Marie\nis happy.\"\n\nShe was stroking his hand when she finished. The curious rumbling came\nsoftly in MacDonald's beard and his eyes were bright with a whimsical\nhumour.\n\n\"I pretty near bored a hole through poor Joe when I come up,\" he chuckled.\n\"But you bet I hugged him when I found what he'd done, Johnny! Joe says\ntheir camp was just over the range from us that night FitzHugh looked us\nup, an' Joanne thought she'd been dreamin'. He didn't have any help, but\nhis intention was to finish us alone--murder us asleep--when Joanne cried\nout. Joe says it was just a devil's freak that took 'im to the top of the\nmountain alone that night. He saw our fire an' came down to investigate.\"\n\nA low voice was calling outside the door. It was Marie. As Joanne went to\nher a quick gleam came into old Donald's eyes. He looked behind him\ncautiously to see that she had disappeared, then he bent over Aldous, and\nwhispered hoarsely:\n\n\"Johnny, I had a most cur'ous word with Rann--or FitzHugh--afore he died!\nHe wasn't dead when I went to him. But he knew he was dyin'; an' Johnny, he\nwas smilin' an' cool to the end. I wanted to ask 'im a question, Johnny. I\nwas dead cur'ous to know _why the grave were empty!_ But he asked for\nJoanne, an' I couldn't break in on his last breath. I brought her. The\nfirst thing he asked her was how people had took it when they found out\nhe'd poisoned his father! When Joanne told him no one had ever thought he'd\nkilled his father, FitzHugh sat leanin' against the saddles for a minit so\nwhite an' still I thought he 'ad died with his eyes open. Then it came out,\nJohnny. He was smilin' as he told it. He killed his father with poison to\nget his money. Later he came to America. He didn't have time to tell us how\nhe come to think they'd discovered his crime. He was dyin' as he talked. It\ncame out sort o' slobberingly, Johnny. He thought they'd found 'im out. He\nchanged his name, an' sent out the report that Mortimer FitzHugh had died\nin the mount'ins. But Johnny, he died afore I could ask him about the\ngrave!\"\n\nThere was a final note of disappointment in old Donald's voice that was\nalmost pathetic.\n\n\"It was such a cur'ous grave,\" he said. \"An' the clothes were laid out so\nprim an' nice.\"\n\nAldous laid his hand on MacDonald's.\n\n\"It's easy, Mac,\" he said, and he wanted to laugh at the disappointment\nthat was still in the other's face. \"Don't you see? He never expected any\none to dig _into_ the grave. And he put the clothes and the watch and the\nring in there to get rid of them. They might have revealed his identity.\nWhy, Donald----\"\n\nJoanne was coming to them again. She laid a cool hand on his forehead and\nheld up a warning finger to MacDonald.\n\n\"Hush!\" she said gently, \"Your head is very hot, dear, and there must be\nno more talking. You must lie down and sleep. Tell John good-night,\nDonald!\"\n\nLike a boy MacDonald did as she told him, and disappeared through the cabin\ndoor. Joanne levelled the pillows and lowered John's head.\n\n\"I can't sleep, Joanne,\" he protested.\n\n\"I will sit here close at your side and stroke your face and hair,\" she\nsaid gently.\n\n\"And you will talk to me?\"\n\n\"No, I must not talk. But, John----\"\n\n\"Yes, dear.\"\n\n\"If you will promise to be very, very quiet, and let me be very quiet----\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I will make you a pillow of my hair.\"\n\n\"I--will be quiet,\" he whispered.\n\nShe unbound her hair, and leaned over so that it fell in a flood on his\npillow. With a sigh of contentment he buried his face in the rich, sweet\nmasses of it. Gently, like the cooling breeze that had come to him in his\nhours of darkness, her hand caressed him. He closed his eyes; he drank in\nthe intoxicating perfume of her tresses; and after a little he slept.\n\nFor many hours Joanne sat at his bedside, sleepless, and rejoicing.\n\nWhen Aldous awoke it was dawn in the cabin. Joanne was gone. For a few\nminutes he continued to lie with his face toward the window. He knew that\nhe had slept a long time, and that the day was breaking. Slowly he raised\nhimself. The terrible ache in his body was gone; he was still lame, but no\nlonger helpless. He drew himself cautiously to the edge of the bunk and\nsat there for a time, testing himself before he got up. He was delighted at\nthe result of the experiments. He rose to his feet. His clothes were\nhanging against the wall, and he dressed himself. Then he opened the door\nand walked out into the morning, limping a little as he went. MacDonald was\nup. Joanne's tepee was close to the cabin. The two men greeted each other\nquietly, and they talked in low voices, but Joanne heard them, and a few\nmoments later she ran out with her hair streaming about her and went\nstraight into the arms of John Aldous.\n\nThis was the beginning of the three wonderful days that yet remained for\nJoanne and John Aldous in Donald MacDonald's little valley of gold and\nsunshine and blue skies. They were strange and beautiful days, filled with\na great peace and a great happiness, and in them wonderful changes were at\nwork. On the second day Joanne and Marie rode alone to the cavern where\nJane lay, and when they returned in the golden sun of the afternoon they\nwere leading their horses, and walking hand in hand. And when they came\ndown to where DeBar and Aldous and Donald MacDonald were testing the\nrichness of the black sand along the stream there was a light in Marie's\neyes and a radiance in Joanne's face which told again that world-old story\nof a Mary Magdalene and the dawn of another Day. And now, Aldous thought,\nMarie had become beautiful; and Joanne laughed softly and happily that\nnight, and confided many things into the ears of Aldous, while Marie and\nDeBar talked for a long time alone out under the stars, and came back at\nlast hand in hand, like two children. Before they went to bed Marie\nwhispered something to Joanne, and a little later Joanne whispered it to\nAldous.\n\n\"They want to know if they can be married with us, John,\" she said. \"That\nis, if you haven't grown tired of trying to marry me, dear,\" she added with\na happy laugh. \"Have you?\"\n\nHis answer satisfied her. And when she told a small part of it to Marie,\nthe other woman's dark eyes grew as soft as the night, and she whispered\nthe words to Joe.\n\nThe third and last day was the most beautiful of all. Joe's knife wound was\nnot bad. He had suffered most from a blow on the head. Both he and Aldous\nwere in condition to travel, and plans were made to begin the homeward\njourney on the fourth morning. MacDonald had unearthed another dozen sacks\nof the hidden gold, and he explained to Aldous what must be done to secure\nlegal possession of the little valley. His manner of doing this was\nunnatural and strained. His words came haltingly. There was unhappiness in\nhis eyes. It was in his voice. It was in the odd droop of his shoulders.\nAnd finally, when they were alone, he said to Aldous, with almost a sob in\nhis voice:\n\n\"Johnny--Johnny, if on'y the gold were not here!\"\n\nHe turned his eyes to the mountain, and Aldous took one of his big gnarled\nhands in both his own.\n\n\"Say it, Mac,\" he said gently. \"I guess I know what it is.\"\n\n\"It ain't fair to you, Johnny,\" said old Donald, still with his eyes on the\nmountains. \"It ain't fair to you. But when you take out the claims down\nthere it'll start a rush. You know what it means, Johnny. There'll be a\nthousand men up here; an' mebby you can't understand--but there's the\ncavern an' Jane an' the little cabin here; an' it seems like desecratin'\n_her_.\"\n\nHis voice choked, and as Aldous gripped the big hand harder in his own he\nlaughed.\n\n\"It would, Mac,\" he said. \"I've been watching you while we made the plans.\nThese cabins and the gold have been here for more than forty years without\ndiscovery, Donald--and they won't be discovered again so long as Joe DeBar\nand John Aldous and Donald MacDonald have a word to say about it. We'll\ntake out no claims, Mac. The valley isn't ours. It's Jane's valley and\nyours!\"\n\nJoanne, coming up just then, wondered what the two men had been saying that\nthey stood as they did, with hands clasped. Aldous told her. And then old\nDonald confessed to them what was in his mind, and what he had kept from\nthem. At last he had found his home, and he was not going to leave it\nagain. He was going to stay with Jane. He was going to bring her from the\ncavern and bury her near the cabin, and he pointed out the spot, covered\nwith wild hyacinths and asters, where she used to sit on the edge of the\nstream and watch him while he worked for gold. And they could return each\nyear and dig for gold, and he would dig for gold while they were away, and\nthey could have it all. All that he wanted was enough to eat, and Jane, and\nthe little valley. And Joanne turned from him as he talked, her face\nstreaming with tears, and in John's throat was a great lump, and he looked\naway from MacDonald to the mountains.\n\nSo it came to pass that on the fourth morning, when they went into the\nsouth, they stopped on the last knoll that shut out the little valley from\nthe larger valley, and looked back. And Donald MacDonald stood alone in\nfront of the cabin waving them good-bye.\n\nTHE END\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's The Hunted Woman, by James Oliver Curwood\n\n*** "], ["\n\nE-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Steven Brown, and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)\n\n\n\nNote: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n file which includes the original illustrations.\n See 37612-h.htm or 37612-h.zip:\n (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/37612/37612-h/37612-h.htm)\n or\n (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/37612/37612-h.zip)\n\n\n\n\n\nBILL'S SCHOOL AND MINE\n\nA Collection of Essays on Education\n\nby\n\nWILLIAM SUDDARDS FRANKLIN\n\n[Illustration of Author's Signature]\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nSouth Bethlehem, Pennsylvania\nFranklin, Macnutt and Charles\nPublishers of Educational Books\n1913\n\nAll rights reserved\n\nCopyright, 1913\nBy William S. Franklin\n\nPress of\nThe New Era Printing Company\nLancaster, Pa.\n\n\n\n\nDEDICATED\nTO A UNIVERSITY\nSUPPORTED AND CONTROLLED\nBY THE PEOPLE OF\nPENNSYLVANIA.\n\n\n\n\n The time will come when men will think of nothing but education.\n\n NIETZSCHE.\n\n\n\n * * * * *\n\n To face page iv\n\n\n Since the first of August, 1914, this prophecy of Nietzsche's has\nshaped itself in the author's mind in an altered tense and in an\naltered mood.--The time HAS come when men MUST think of nothing but\neducation; by education the author does not mean inconsequential\nbookishness, and neither did Nietzsche!\n\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n The greater part of the essay, _Bill's School and Mine,_ was written\nin 1903, but the title and some of the material were borrowed from my\nfriend and college mate William Allen White in 1912, when the essay\nwas printed in the South Bethlehem _Globe_ to stimulate interest in a\nlocal Playground Movement.\n\n The second essay, _The Study of Science,_ is taken from Franklin and\nMacNutt's _Elements of Mechanics,_ The Macmillan Company, New York,\n1908. I have no illusions concerning the mathematical sciences, for it\nis to such that the essay chiefly relates. Unquestionably the most\nimportant function of education is to develop personality and\ncharacter; but science is impersonal, and an essay which attempts to\nset forth the meaning of science study must make an unusual demand\nupon the reader. Some things in this world are to be understood by\nsympathy, and some things are to be understood by serious and painful\neffort.\n\n The third essay, _Part of an Education,_ was privately printed in 1903\nunder the title _A Tramp Trip in the Rockies,_ and it is introduced\nhere to illustrate a phase of real education which is in danger of\nbecoming obsolete. The school of hardship is not for those who love\nluxury, and to the poverty stricken it is not a school--it is a\nJuggernaut.\n\n The five minor essays are mere splashes, as it were; but in each I\nhave said everything that need be said, except perhaps in the matter\nof exhortation.\n\n For the illustrations I am under obligations to my cousin Mr. Daniel\nGarber of Philadelphia.\n\n\n WILLIAM SUDDARDS FRANKLIN\n\n SOUTH BETHLEHEM, PA.,\n October 22, 1913.\n\n\n\n\n * * * * *\n\n To face page vi\n\n\nSUPPLEMENT TO PREFACE.\n\n\n Your attention is called especially to the five short essays, or\nsplashes, on pages 25 {3}, 29 {4}, 59 {5}, 91 {8} and 95 {9}; each of\nthese short essays fills about a page, and if you read them you will\nunderstand why the _Independent_ has called this little book A Package\nof Dynamite.\n\n The first essay, entitled BILL'S SCHOOL AND MINE, is easy reading,\nand if one is not irredeemably literal in one's mode of thinking, it\nis very pleasant reading. The tall talk which is sprinkled throughout\nthis essay and which reaches a climax on pages 19 {1} and 20 {2} is\nnot intended to be actually fatal in its seemingly murderous quality!\nMany contented city people in reading this essay should be prompted\nafter the manner of cow-boy who in a spell of seemingly careless gun\nplay says to his sophisticated friend \"Smile, D---- You, Smile\".\n\n The essay on The Study of Science is somewhat of a \"sticker\", and if\nany particular reader does not like it he can let it alone, but there\nis an increasing number of young men in this world who must study\nscience whether they like it or not. Indeed the object of this\nparticular essay is to explain this remarkable and in some respects\ndistressing fact. The essay relates primarily to the physical\nsciences, narrowly speaking, because the author's teaching experience\nhas been wholly in physics and chemistry. One can get a fairly good\nidea of the author's point of view by reading the portions of the\nessay which stand in large print, but it is quite necessary to read\nthe small print with more or less painful care if one is to get any\nfundamental idea of the matter under consideration. The reader will\nplease consider thoughtfully the close juxta-position of this essay\nand the following short essay on The Discipline of Work.\n\n The essay, Part of an Education, is the story of a tramp trip through\nthe Rocky Mountains of Colorado and Wyoming, and it is an introduction\nto the little essay on The Uses of Hardship.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n\n\n TABLE OF CONTENTS.\n\n\n PAGES.\n\n BILL'S SCHOOL AND MINE 1-21\n Play as a Training in Application 22-26\n The Energizing of Play 27-30\n\n THE STUDY OF SCIENCES 31-56\n The Discipline of Work 57-60\n\n PART OF AN EDUCATION 61-87\n The Uses of Hardship 89-92\n The Public School 93-98\n\n\n\n\n BILL'S SCHOOL AND MINE\n\n\n It seems that the Japanese have domesticated nature.\n\n LAFCADIO HEARNE.\n\n\n I always think of my school as my boyhood. Until I was big enough to\nswim the Missouri River my home was in a little Kansas town, and we\nboys lived in the woods and in the water all Summer, and in the woods\nand on the ice all Winter. We trapped and hunted, we rowed and fished,\nand built dams, and cut stick horses, and kept stick-horse livery\nstables where the grapevines hung, and where the paw-paws mellowed\nin the Fall. We made mud slides into our swimming hole, and we were\nartists in mud-tattoo, painting face and body with thin black mud and\nscraping white stripes from head to foot. We climbed the trees and\ncut our names, we sucked the sap of the box elder and squashed poke\nberries for war paint. We picked wild grapes and gooseberries, and\nmade pop-guns to shoot green haws. In the Autumn we gathered walnuts,\nand in the Spring we greeted the johnny-jump-ups, and the sweet\nwilliams as they peered through the mold.\n\n Always, we boys were out of doors, as it seems to me; and I did the\nchores. It is something to learn the toughness of hickory under the\nsaw, how easily walnut splits, how mean elm is to handle; and a certain\ndexterity comes to a boy who teaches a calf to drink, or slops hogs\nwithout soiling his Sunday clothes in the evening. And the hay makes\nacrobats. In the loft a boy learns to turn flip-flops, and with a\nlariat rope he can make a trapeze. My rings were made by padding the\niron rings from the hubs of a lumber wagon and swinging them from the\nrafters.\n\n Bill, little Bethlehem Bill, has a better school than I had; the house\nand the things that go with it. Bill's teachers know more accurately\nwhat they are about than did my teachers in the old days out West half\na century ago. And, of course, Bill is getting things from his school\nthat I did not get. But he is growing up with a woefully distorted\nidea of life. What does Bill know about the woods and the flowers?\nWhere in Bill's makeup is that which comes from browsing on berries\nand nuts and the rank paw paw, and roaming the woods like the\nBander-log? And the crops, what does he know about them?\n\n The silver-sides used to live in the pool under the limestone ledges\nby the old stone quarry where the snakes would sun themselves at noon.\nThe wild rose, with its cinnamon-scented flower and curling leaves,\nused to bloom in May for me--for me and a little brown-eyed girl who\nfound her ink-bottle filled with them when the school bell called us\nin from play. And on Saturdays we boys roamed over the prairies picking\nwild flowers, playing wild plays and dreaming wild dreams--children's\ndreams. Do you suppose that little Bill dreams such dreams in a\nfifty-foot lot with only his mother's flowers in the window pots to\nteach him the great mystery of life?\n\n Bill has no barn. I doubt if he can skin a cat, and I am sure he\ncannot do the big drop from the trapeze. To turn a flip-flop would\nfill him with alarm, and yet Jim Betts, out in Kansas, used to turn\na double flip-flop over a stack of barrels! And Jim Betts is a man to\nlook at. He is built by the day. He has an educated body, and it is\ngoing into its fifties with health and strength that Bill will have\nto work for. And Jim Betts and I used to make our own kites and\n-shooters and sleds and rabbit traps.\n\n Bill's school seems real enough, but his play and his work seem rather\nempty. Of course Bill cannot have the fringe of a million square miles\nof wild buffalo range for his out-of-doors. No, Bill cannot have that.\nNever, again. And to imagine that Bill needs anything of the kind is\nto forget the magic of Bill's \"make-believe!\" A tree, a brook, a stretch\nof grass! What old-world things Bill's fancy can create there! What\nuntold history repeat itself in Bill's most fragmentary play! Bill,\nis by nature, a conjuror. Give him but little and he will make a world\nfor himself, and grow to be a man. Older people seem, however, to\nforget, and deprive Bill of the little that he needs; and it is worth\nwhile, therefore, to develop the contrast between Bill's school and\nthat school of mine in the long-ago land of my boyhood out-of-doors.\n\n The Land of Out-of-Doors! What irony there is in such glowing phrase\nto city boys like Bill! The supreme delight of my own boyhood days was\nto gather wild flowers in a wooded hollow, to reach which led across\na sunny stretch of wild meadow rising to the sky; and I would have\nyou know that I lived as a boy in a land where a weed never grew[A]. I\nwish that Bill might have access to the places where the wild flowers\ngrow, and above all I wish that Bill might have more opportunity to see\nhis father at work. A hundred years ago these things were within the\nreach of every boy and girl; but now, alas, Bill sees no other manual\nlabor than the digging of a ditch in a cluttered street, or stunted in\ngrowth, he has almost become a part of the machine he daily tends, and\nBoyville has become a paved and guttered city, high-walled, desolate,\nand dirty; with here and there a vacant lot hideous with refuse in early\nSpring and overwhelmed with an increasing pestilence of weeds as the\nSummer days go by! And the strangest thing about it all is, that Bill\naccepts unquestioningly, and even with manifestations of joy, just any\nsort of a world, if only it is flooded with sunshine.\n\n I remember how, in my boyhood, the rare advent of an old tin can in\nmy favorite swimming hole used to offend me, while such a thing as a\ncast-off shoe was simply intolerable, and I wonder that Bill's\nunquenchable delight in outdoor life does not become an absolute rage\nin his indifference to the dreadful pollution of the streams and the\nuniversal pestilence of weeds and refuse in our thickly populated\ndistricts.\n\n I cannot refrain from quoting an amusing poem of James Whitcomb\nRiley's, which expresses (more completely than anything I know) the\ndelight of boys in outdoor life, where so many things happen and so\nmany things lure; and you can easily catch in the swing of Riley's\nverse that wanton note which is ordinarily so fascinatingly boyish,\nbut which may too easily turn to a raging indifference to everything\nthat makes for purity in this troubled life of ours.\n\n\n THREE JOLLY HUNTERS.\n\n\n O there were three jolly youngsters;\n And a-hunting they did go,\n With a setter-dog and a pointer-dog\n And a yaller-dog also.\n Looky there!\n\n And they hunted and they hal-looed;\n And the first thing they did find\n Was a dingling-dangling hornets' nest\n A-swinging in the wind.\n Looky there!\n\n And the first one said, \"What is it?\"\n Said the next, \"Let's punch and see,\"\n And the third one said, a mile from there,\n \"I wish we'd let it be!\"\n Looky there! (Showing the back of his neck.)\n\n And they hunted and they hal-looed;\n And the next thing they did raise\n Was a bobbin bunnie cotton-tail\n That vanished from their gaze.\n Looky there!\n\n One said it was a hot baseball,\n Zippt thru the brambly thatch,\n But the others said 'twas a note by post\n Or a telergraph dispatch.\n Looky there!\n\n So they hunted and they hal-looed;\n And the next thing they did sight,\n Was a great big bull-dog chasing them,\n And a farmer hollering \"Skite!\"\n Looky there!\n\n And the first one said \"Hi-jinktum!\"\n And the next, \"Hi-jinktum-jee!\"\n And the last one said, \"Them very words\n Has just occurred to me!\"\n Looky there! (Showing the tattered seat of his pants.)\n\n\n This is the hunting song of the American Bander-log[B], and this kind\nof hunting is better than the kind that needs a gun. To one who falls\ninto the habit of it, the gun is indeed a useless tool. I am reminded\nof a day I spent with a gun at a remote place in the Rocky Mountains,\nwhere, during the 25 days I have camped there on four different trips,\nI have seen as many as 150 of the wildest of North American animals,\nthe Rocky Mountain sheep. I lay in ambush for three hours waiting for\nsheep, and the sheep came; but they were out of range again before I\nsaw them because I had become so interested in killing mosquitoes! I\ntimed myself at intervals, and 80 per minute for three solid hours\nmakes an honest estimate of 14,400. And I was hungry, too. I fancy the\nsheep were not frightened but wished the good work to go on\nundisturbed.\n\n Do you, perhaps, like candy? Did you ever consider that the only\nsweetmeat our forefathers had for thousands of years was wild honey?\nAnd those sour times--if I may call them such--before the days of\nsugar and candy, come much nearer to us than you realize, for I can\nremember my own grandfather's tales of bee-hunting in Tennessee. Just\nimagine how exciting it must have been in the days of long-ago to find\na tree loaded with--candy! A bee tree! If Bill were to go back with me\nto the wild woods of Tennessee, some thrill of that old excitement would\nwell up from the depths of his soul at finding such a tree. You may\nwonder what I am driving at, so I will tell you, that one of the most\nexciting experiences of my boyhood was a battle with a colony of\nbumble bees. I was led into it by an older companion and the ardor\nand excitement of that battle, as I even now remember it, are wholly\ninexplicable to me except I think of it as a representation through\ninherited instinct of a ten-thousand-years' search for wild honey.\n\n My schooling grew out of instinctive reactions toward natural things;\nhunting and fishing, digging and planting in the Spring, nutting in\nthe Fall, and the thousands of variations which these things involve,\nand I believe that the play of instinct is the only solid basis of\ngrowth of a boy or girl. I believe, furthermore, that the very\nessence of boy humor is bound up with the amazing incongruity of his\ninstincts. Was there ever a boy whose instincts (many of them mere\nfatuity like his digestive appendix) have not led him time and again\ninto just thin air, to say nothing of water and mud! For my part I\nhave never known anything more supremely funny than learning what a\nhopeless mess of wood pulp and worms a bumble-bee's nest really is,\nexcept, perhaps, seeing another boy learn the same stinging lesson.\n\n The use of formulas, too, is unquestionably instinctive, and we all\nknow how apt a boy is to indulge in formulas of the hocus-pocus sort,\nlike Tom Sawyer's recipe for removing warts by the combined charm of\nblack midnight and a black cat, dead. And a boy arrives only late\nin his boyhood, if ever, to some sense of the distinction between\nformulas of this kind and such as are vital and rational. I think that\nthere is much instruction and a great deal of humor connected with the\nplay of this instinctive tendency. I remember a great big boy, a hired\nman on my grandfather's farm, in fact, who was led into a fight with a\nnest of hornets with the expectation that he would bear a charmed skin\nif he shouted in loud repetition the words, \"Jew's-harp, jew's-harp.\"\n\n Talk about catching birds by putting salt on their tails! Once, as\nI rowed around a bend on a small stream, I saw a sand-hill crane\nstalking along the shore. Into the water I went with the suddenly\nconceived idea that I could catch that crane, and, swimming low, I\nreached the shore, about 20 feet from the bird, jumped quickly out\nof the water, made a sudden dash and the bird was captured! Once I\nsaw a catfish, gasping for air at the surface of water that had been\nmuddied by the opening of a sluice-way in a dam. Swimming up behind\nthe fish, I jambed a hand into each gill, and, helped by the fish's\ntail, I pushed it ashore; and it weighed 36 pounds! A friend of mine,\nby the name of Stebbins, once followed his dog in a chase after a jack\nrabbit. The rabbit made a wide circle and came back to its own trail\nsome distance ahead of the dog, then it made a big sidewise jump,\nand sat looking at the dog as it passed by; so intently indeed that\nStebbins walked up behind the rabbit and took it up with his hands.\n\n I think you will agree with me that my outdoor school was a wonderful\nthing. The Land of Out-of-Doors! To young people the best school and\nplay-house, and to older people an endless asylum of delight.\n\n\n \"The grass so little has to do,\n A sphere of simple green\n With only butterflies to brood\n And bees to entertain.\n\n \"And stir all day to pretty tunes\n The breezes fetch along,\n And hold the sunshine in its lap\n And bow--to everything.\n\n \"And thread the dew all night, like pearls,\n And make itself so fine,\n A duchess were too common\n For such a noticing.\n\n \"And even when it dies, to pass\n In odors so divine\n As lowly spices gone to sleep,\n Or amulets of pine.\n\n \"And then to dwell in sovereign barns\n And dream the days away,\n The grass so little has to do--\n I wish I were the hay.\"\n\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n The most important thing, I should say, for the success of Bill's fine\nschool is that ample opportunity be given to Bill for every variety of\nplay including swimming and skating, and wherever possible, boating.\nIt is ridiculous to attempt to teach Bill anything without the\nsubstantial results of play to build upon. Playgrounds are the\ncheapest and, in many respects, the best of schools, but they are\nalmost entirely lacking in many of our towns which have grown to\ncities in a generation in this great nation of villagers. The Boroughs\nof the Bethlehems, for example, have no playground connected with a\nPublic School, nor any other public place where boys can play ball.\n\n\n\n\n WHAT DO YOU THINK?\n\n\n (This and the following communication are from a small paper,\n printed and published by two Bethlehem boys.)\n\n We, the editors, have been dragged along back alleys, across\n open sewers, and through rank growths of weed and thistle to\n view the Monocacy meadows to consider the possibility of their\n use as a playground or park. We are not much impressed with\n the proposal, the place is apparently hopeless, but the park\n enthusiast could not be touched by argument. To our very\n practical objection that the cost would be excessive, he made\n the foolish reply that there is no cost but a saving in using\n what has hitherto been wasted. To our expressed disgust for\n the open sewers and filth he replied that that was beside the\n question, for, as he said, we must sooner or later take care\n of the filth anyway. But, we said, the creek is contaminated\n above the town. Very well, he replied, we have the right\n to prohibit such contamination. But worst of all, in double\n meaning, was his instant agreement to our statement that we\n had our cemeteries which, he said, were really better than any\n Bethlehem park could be.\n\n\n\n\n COMMUNICATION.\n\n\n _Dear Editors:_ I took a walk along the Monocacy Creek on\n Sunday afternoon and discovered clear water several miles\n above town and a fine skating pond; but I suppose that you and\n all of your subscribers will have to go to our enterprising\n neighbor, Allentown, to find any well-kept ice to skate on\n this Winter. Most people think that you boys can swim in\n Nature's own water, skate on Nature's own ice, and roam in\n Nature's own woods, but it is absolutely certain that your\n elders must take some care and pains if you town boys are to\n do any of these things. And yet, here in the East, children\n are said to be brought up (implying care and pains) and hogs\n are said to be raised (implying only feeding). I thank the\n Lord that I was \"raised\" in the West where there are no such\n false distinctions.\n\n Your subscriber, S.\n\n P.S.--As I came home covered with beggar-lice and cockle-burrs\n I saw a ring of fire on South Mountain, an annual occurrence\n which has been delayed a whole week this Autumn by a flourish\n of posters in several languages offering One Hundred Dollars\n Reward! S.\n\n\n In these days of steam and electricity we boast of having conquered\nnature. Well, we have got to domesticate nature before much else can\nbe accomplished in this country of ours. We have got to take care of\nour brooks and our rivers, of our open lands and our wooded hills. We\nhave got to do it, and Bill would be better off if we took half of the\ncost of his fine school to meet the expense of doing it. When I was a\nboy I belonged to the Bander-log, but Bill belongs to another tribe,\nthe Rats, and there is nothing I would like so much to do as to turn\nPied Piper and lure the entire brood of Bethlehem boys and girls to\nFriedensville[C] and into that awful chasm of crystal water to come\nback no more, no, not even when an awakened civic consciousness had\nmade a park of the beautiful Monocacy meadows and converted the creek\ninto a chain, a regular Diamond Necklace of swimming holes. I beg the\ngarbage men's (not a printer's error for man's) pardon for speaking\nof the beautiful Monocacy meadows. I refer to what has been and to\nwhat might easily continue to be. As for the Diamond Necklace, that,\nof course, would have to be above our gas works where the small stream\nof pure tar now joins the main stream.\n\n I know a small river in Kansas which is bordered by rich bottom lands\nfrom one-half to one mile in width between beautifully scalloped\nbluffs--where the upland prairie ends. In early days thick covering of\ngrass was everywhere, and the clear stream, teeming with life, wound\nits way along a deep channel among scattered clusters of large walnut\ntrees and dense groves of elm and cotton wood, rippling here and there\nover beds of rock. Now, however, every foot of ground, high and low,\nis mellowed by the plow, and the last time I saw the once beautiful\nvalley of Wolf River it was as if the whole earth had melted with the\nrains of June, such devastation of mud was there! Surely it requires\nmore than the plow to domesticate nature; indeed, since I have lived\nbetween the coal-bearing Alleghenies and the sea, I have come to believe\nthat it may require more than the plow and the crowded iron furnace, such\npestilence of refuse and filth is here! {1}\n\n I suppose that I am as familiar with the requirements of modern\nindustry as any man living, and as ready to tolerate everything that\nis economically wise, but every day as I walk to and fro I see our\nMonocacy Creek covered with a scum of tar, and in crossing the river\nbridge I see a half mile long heap of rotting refuse serving the\nLehigh as a bank on the southern side; not all furnace refuse either\nby any means, but nameless stinking stuff cast off by an indifferent\npopulation and carelessly left in its very midst in one long\nunprecedented panorama of putrescent ugliness! And when, on splendid\nAutumn days, the nearby s of old South Mountain lift the eyes\ninto pure oblivion of these distressing things, I see again and again\na line of fire sweeping through the scanty woods. This I have seen\nevery Autumn since first I came to Bethlehem.\n\n It is easy to speak in amusing hyperbole of garbage heaps and of\nbrooks befouled with tar, but to have seen one useless flourish\nof posters on South Mountain in fifteen years! That is beyond any\npossible touch of humor. It is indeed unfortunate that our river is\nnot fit for boys to swim in, and it is not, for I have tried it, and\nI am not fastidious either, having lived an amphibious boyhood on\nthe banks of the muddiest river in the world; but it is a positive\ndisgrace that our river is not fit to look at, that it is good for\nnothing whatever but to drink; much too good, one would think, for\npeople who protect the only stretch of woodland that is accessible to\ntheir boys and girls by a mere flourish of posters!{2}\n\n I was born in Kansas when its inhabitants were largely Indians,\nand when its greatest resource was wild buffalo skins; and whatever\nobjection you may have to this description of my present home-place\nbetween the coal-bearing Alleghenies and the sea, please do not\nimagine that I have a sophisticated sentimentality towards the\nBeauties of Nature! No, I am still enough of an Indian to think\nchiefly of my belly when I look at a stretch of country. In the West\nI like the suggestion of hog-and-hominy which spreads for miles and\nmiles beneath the sky, and here in the East I like the promise of\npillars of fire and smoke and I like the song of steam!\n\n Bill's School and Mine! It may seem that I have said a great deal\nabout my school, and very little about Bill's. But what is Bill's\nschool? Surely, Bill's fine school-house and splendid teachers, and\nBill's good mother are not all there is to Bill's school. No, Bill's\nschool is as big as all Bethlehem, and in its bigger aspects it is\na bad school, bad because Bill has no opportunity to play as a boy\nshould play, and bad because Bill has no opportunity to work as a boy\nshould work.\n\n\n \"I b'en a-kindo musin', as the feller says\", and I'm\n About o' the conclusion that they ain't no better time,\n When you come to cypher on it, than the times we used to know,\n When we swore our first 'dog-gone-it' sorto solem'-like and low.\n\n \"You git my idy, do you?--LITTLE tads, you understand--\n Jes' a wishin', thue and thue you, that you on'y was a MAN.\n Yet here I am this minute, even forty, to a day,\n And fergittin' all that's in it, wishin' jes the other way!\"\n\n\n I wonder if our Bill will \"wish the other way\" when he is a man?\nIndeed, I wonder if he will ever BE a man. If we could only count on\nthat, Bill's school would not be our problem.\n\n\n\n\n PLAY AS A TRAINING IN APPLICATION.\n\n\n\n\n Never yet was a boy who dreamed\n of ice-cream sundaes while\n playing ball.\n\n\n\n\n * * * * *\n\n To face page 24\n\n\n PLAY AS A TRAINING IN APPLICATION.\n\n Never yet was a boy who dreamed\n of ice-cream sundaes while\n playing ball.\n\n Every one knows that play means health and happiness to children,\nand nearly every one thinks of the playgrounds movement as based solely\non ideals of health and ideals of happiness in a rather narrow sense;\nbut the movement means much more than health and happiness as these\nterms are generally understood.\n\n The Indian boy's play, which included practice with the bow and arrow,\nfoot racing, ball playing and horse-back riding, was perfectly adapted\nto the needs of his adult life, but how about base ball and prisoner's\nbase for the boy who is to become a salesman or a mechanic, a physician\nor an engineer? Good fun and a good appetite certainly come from these\ngames, and one may also place to their credit a tempered reasonableness\nand a high regard for what is fair and square; _but as a training in\napplication nothing can take their place._\n\n Play as a training in application! That certainly is a paradox; and\nyet everyone knows that play is the first thing in life to give rise\nto that peculiar overwhelming eagerness which alone can bring every\natom of one's strength into action. Ability to focus one's whole mind\nupon an undertaking and to apply one's whole body in concentrated\neffort is what our boys and girls are most in need of, and vigorous\ncompetitive play serves better than anything else, if, indeed there\nis anything else to create it.\n\n Intense and eager application! That means not only an escape from\nlaziness and apathy, but eagerness is the only thing in the world that\ndefies fatigue. A healthy boy can put forth an amazing amount of\nphysical effort and be fresh at the end of a day of play. And a man\nwhose habit of application is so highly developed that it assumes a\nquality of eagerness and never fails in absolute singleness of purpose,\nis there any limit to what such a man can do?\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n\n\n Every one knows that play means health and happiness to children,\nand nearly every one thinks of the playgrounds movement as based solely\non ideals of health and ideals of happiness in a rather narrow sense;\nbut the movement means much more than health and happiness as these\nterms are generally understood.{3}\n\n The Indian boy's play, which included practice with the bow and arrow,\nfoot racing, ball playing and horse-back riding, was perfectly adapted\nto the needs of his adult life, but how about base ball and prisoner's\nbase for the boy who is to become a salesman or a mechanic, a physician\nor an engineer? Good fun and a good appetite certainly come from these\ngames, and one may also place to their credit a tempered reasonableness\nand a high regard for what is fair and square; _but as a training in\napplication nothing can take their place._\n\n Play as a training in application! That certainly is a paradox; and\nyet everyone knows that play is the first thing in life to give rise\nto that peculiar overwhelming eagerness which alone can bring every\natom of one's strength into action. Ability to focus one's whole mind\nupon an undertaking and to apply one's whole body in concentrated\neffort is what our boys and girls are most in need of, and vigorous\ncompetitive play serves better than anything else, if, indeed there\nis anything else to create it.\n\n Intense and eager application! That means not only an escape from\nlaziness and apathy, but eagerness is the only thing in the world that\ndefies fatigue. A healthy boy can put forth an amazing amount of\nphysical effort and be fresh at the end of a day of play. And a man\nwhose habit of application is so highly developed that it assumes a\nquality of eagerness and never fails in absolute singleness of purpose,\nis there any limit to what such a man can do?\n\n\n\n\n THE ENERGIZING OF PLAY.\n\n\n Strenuous play leads to strenuous work.\n\n\n\n\n * * * * *\n\n To face page 28\n\n\nTHE ENERGIZING OF PLAY.\n\n Strenuous play leads to strenuous work.\n Play Ball.\n\n\n Scarcely more than a generation ago every American boy came under the\nspell of hunting and fishing; and there is no more powerful incentive\nto laborious days, nor any anodyne so potent for bodily discomfort\nand hardship! A hunting and fishing boyhood! Such has been the chief\nsource of human energy in this lazy world of ours, the chief basis of\nlife-long habit of persistent and strenuous effort; and the problem\nof educational play is to a great extent the problem of finding an\neffective substitute for the lure of the wild for stimulating young\npeople to intense activity.\n\n The lure of the wild! Alas it is but a poet's fancy in this tame\nworld of ours. But our boys remain as a perennial race of Wild Indians\nhowever tame the world may come to be; and fortunately they are not\ndependent upon completely truthful externals. The genuine Wild Indian\nbecomes a sorry spectacle, even if he does not sicken and die, when he\nis deprived of his millions of square miles of wild buffalo country;\nbut our boy Bill cannot have such an out-of-doors, never again as long\nas the earth shall last. Indeed he has no need of such a thing, for\nif his fancy is stirred by ardent playmates he will chase an imaginary\nstag around a vacant lot all day if only there is a mixture of earth\nand sky and greenery to set off his make believe--and eat mush and\nmilk when the day is done!\n\n Indeed youngsters must hunt in packs, as Whitcomb Riley tells in his\nHunting Song of the American Bander-Log, and the gang idea contains\nthe ultimate solution of what would otherwise be an impossible\nproblem, namely, to find an effective substitute for the lure of the\nwild for the energizing of the intensely active kind of play, the kind\nof play that trains for application, the kind that approaches hunting\nand fishing or tribal warfare or the settling of a blood-feud in its\npersistent, single-minded and strenuous activity.\n\n Many grown-ups seem to think that mere permission is now a sufficient\nbasis for play, as it was in pioneer and rural days. Indeed this is\nlargely true for very small children who can sit in the sunshine and\nmake mud pies or dig holes in a bed of sand; but with older boys it\nis different. They may indeed fight or steal, or engage in the worst\nvarieties of gang activity, or sit by a fire in a back alley talking\nsex like grown-up sordidly imaginative Hottentots in Darkest Africa;\nbut strenuous play requires suggestive example and organization,\nas with our Boy Scouts; and it depends to a very great extent upon\ncompetitive athletics. A dozen large ball fields and two or three\ngood-sized swimming pools are, next to his food, the most important\nthing for our boy Bill; and they would do more to make him into an\nenergetic and industrious man than all the rest of his school work put\ntogether.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n\n\n Scarcely more than a generation ago every American boy came under the\nspell of hunting and fishing; and there is no more powerful incentive\nto laborious days, nor any anodyne so potent for bodily discomfort\nand hardship! A hunting and fishing boyhood! Such has been the chief\nsource of human energy in this lazy world of ours, the chief basis of\nlife-long habit of persistent and strenuous effort; and the problem\nof educational play is to a great extent the problem of finding an\neffective substitute for the lure of the wild for stimulating young\npeople to intense activity.{4}\n\n The lure of the wild! Alas it is but a poet's fancy in this tame\nworld of ours. But our boys remain as a perennial race of Wild Indians\nhowever tame the world may come to be; and fortunately they are not\ndependent upon completely truthful externals. The genuine Wild Indian\nbecomes a sorry spectacle, even if he does not sicken and die, when he\nis deprived of his millions of square miles of wild buffalo country;\nbut our boy Bill cannot have such an out-of-doors, never again as long\nas the earth shall last. Indeed he has no need of such a thing, for\nif his fancy is stirred by ardent playmates he will chase an imaginary\nstag around a vacant lot all day if only there is a mixture of earth\nand sky and greenery to set off his make believe--and eat mush and\nmilk when the day is done!\n\n Indeed youngsters must hunt in packs, as Whitcomb Riley tells in his\nHunting Song of the American Bander-Log, and the gang idea contains\nthe ultimate solution of what would otherwise be an impossible\nproblem, namely, to find an effective substitute for the lure of the\nwild for the energizing of the intensely active kind of play, the kind\nof play that trains for application, the kind that approaches hunting\nand fishing or tribal warfare or the settling of a blood-feud in its\npersistent, single-minded and strenuous activity.\n\n Many grown-ups seem to think that mere permission is now a sufficient\nbasis for play, as it was in pioneer and rural days. Indeed this is\nlargely true for very small children who can sit in the sunshine and\nmake mud pies or dig holes in a bed of sand; but with older boys it\nis different. They may indeed fight or steal, or engage in the worst\nvarieties of gang activity, or sit by a fire in a back alley talking\nsex like grown-up sordidly imaginative Hottentots in Darkest Africa;\nbut strenuous play requires suggestive example and organization,\nas with our Boy Scouts; and it depends to a very great extent upon\ncompetitive athletics. A dozen large ball fields and two or three\ngood-sized swimming pools are, next to his food, the most important\nthing for our boy Bill; and they would do more to make him into an\nenergetic and industrious man than all the rest of his school work put\ntogether.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STUDY OF SCIENCE.\n\n\n Grau theurer Freund ist alle Theorie\n Und gruen des Lebens goldener Baum.\n GOETHE\n\n\n Everyone realizes the constraint that is placed upon the lives of\nmen by the physical necessities of the world in which we live, and\nalthough in one way this constraint is more and more relieved with the\nprogress of the applied sciences, in another way it becomes more and\nmore exacting. It is indeed easier to cross the Atlantic Ocean now\nthan it was in Leif Ericsson's time, but consider the discipline of\nthe shop, and above all consider the rules of machine design! Could\neven the hardy Norsemen have known anything as uncompromisingly\nexacting as these? To do things becomes easier and easier, but to\nlearn how to do things becomes more and more difficult.\n\n Every person I have ever talked with, old or young, theorist or\npractician, student-in-general or specialist in whatever line, has\nexhibited more or less distinctly a certain attitude of impatience\ntowards the exactions of this or that phase of the precise modes of\nthought of the physical sciences.\n\n\n \"Da wird der Geist Euch wohl dressiert\n In spanische Stiefeln eingeschnuert.\"\n\n\n In a recent article[D] on the distinction between the liberal and\ntechnical in education, my friend and colleague, Professor Percy\nHughes, says that in speaking of an education as liberal we thereby\nassociate it with liberalism in politics, in philosophy and theology,\nand in men's personal relations with each other. In each case\nliberalism seems fundamentally, to denote freedom, and liberalism in\neducation is the freedom of development in each individual of that\ncharacter and personality which is his true nature. All this I accept\nin the spirit of an optimist, assuming men's true natures to be good,\nbut I do not, and I am sure that Professor Hughes does not, consider\nthat technical education, unless it be inexcusably harsh and narrow,\nis illiberal; nor that liberal education, unless it be inexcusably\nsoft and vague, is wholly non-technical. The liberal and the technical\nare not two kinds of education, each complete in itself. Indeed,\nProfessor Hughes speaks of liberal education, not as a category, but\nas a condition which makes for freedom of development of personality\nand character.\n\n It seems to me, however, that there are phases of education which have\nbut little to do with personality, and I call to your attention this\ndefinition of liberalism in education, in order that I may turn sharply\naway from it as a partial definition which, to a great extent, excludes\nthe physical sciences. Indeed, I wish to speak of a condition in education\nwhich is the antithesis of freedom. I wish to explain the teaching of\nelementary physical science as a mode of constraint, as an impressed\nconstructive discipline without which no freedom is possible in our\ndealings with physical things. I wish to characterize the study of\nelementary physical science as a reorganization of the workaday mind\nof a young man as complete as the pupation of an insect; and I wish\nto emphasize the necessity of exacting constraint as the essential\ncondition of this reorganization.\n\n There is a kind of salamander, the axolotl, which lives a tadpole-like\nyouth and never changes to the adult form unless a stress of dry\nweather annihilates his watery world; but he lives always and\nreproduces his kind as a tadpole, and a very funny-looking tadpole he\nis, with his lungs hanging like feathery tassels from the sides of\nhis head. When the aquatic home of the axolotl dries up, he quickly\ndevelops a pair of internal lungs, lops off his tassels and embarks on a\nnew mode of life on land. So it is with our young men who are to develop\nbeyond the tadpole stage, they must meet with quick and responsive inward\ngrowth that new and increasing \"stress of dryness,\" as many are wont to\ncall our modern age of science and organized industry.\n\n Stress of dryness! Indeed no flow of humor is to be found in the\ndetached impersonalities of the sciences, and if we are to understand\nthe characteristics of physical science we must turn our attention\nto things which lead inevitably to an exacting and rigid mathematical\nphilosophy. It certainly is presumptive to tell a reader that he must\nturn his attention to such a thing, but there is no other way; the\nbest we can do is to choose the simplest path. Let us therefore\nconsider the familiar phenomena of motion.\n\n The most prominent aspect of all phenomena is motion. In that realm\nof nature which is not of man's devising[E] motion is universal. In the\nother realm of nature, the realm of things devised, motion is no less\nprominent. Every purpose of our practical life is accomplished\nby movements of the body and by directed movements of tools and\nmechanisms, such as the swing of scythe and flail, and the studied\nmovements of planer and lathe from which are evolved the strong-armed\nsteam shovel and the deft-fingered loom.\n\n The laws of motion. Every one has a sense of the absurdity of the idea\nof reducing the more complicated phenomena of nature to an orderly\nsystem of mechanical law. To speak of motion is to call to mind\nfirst of all the phenomena that are associated with the excessively\ncomplicated, incessantly changing, turbulent and tumbling motion of\nwind and water. These phenomena have always had the most insistent\nappeal to us, they have confronted us everywhere and always, and life\nis an unending contest with their fortuitous diversity, which rises\nonly too often to irresistible sweeps of destruction in fire and\nflood, and in irresistible crash of collision and collapse where\nall things mingle in one dread fluid confusion! The laws of motion!\nConsider the awful complexity of a disastrous tornado or the dreadful\nconfusion of a railway wreck, and understand that what we call the\nlaws of motion, although they have a great deal to do with the ways in\nwhich we think, have very little to do with the phenomena of nature. The\nlaws of motion! There is indeed a touch of arrogance in such a phrase\nwith its unwarranted suggestion of completeness and universality, and\nyet the ideas which constitute the laws of motion have an almost unlimited\nextent of legitimate range, _and these ideas must be possessed with a\nperfect precision if one is to acquire any solid knowledge whatever of\nthe phenomena of motion._ The necessity of precise ideas. Herein lies\nthe impossibility of compromise and the necessity of coercion and\nconstraint; one must think so and so, there is no other way. And\nyet there is always a conflict in the mind of even the most willing\nstudent because of the constraint which precise ideas place upon our\nvivid and primitively adequate sense of physical things; and this\nconflict is perennial but it is by no means a one-sided conflict\nbetween mere crudity and refinement, for refinement ignores many\nthings. Indeed, precise ideas not only help to form[F] our sense of\nthe world in which we live but they inhibit sense as well, and their\nrigid and unchallenged rule would be indeed a stress of dryness.\n\n The laws of motion. We return again and yet again to the subject, for\none is not to be deterred therefrom by any concession of inadequacy,\nno, nor by any degree of respect for the vivid youthful sense of those\nthings which to suit our narrow purpose must be stripped completely\nbare. It is unfortunate, however, that the most familiar type\nof motion, the flowing of water or the blowing of the wind, is\nbewilderingly useless as a basis for the establishment of the simple\nand precise ideas which are called the \"laws of motion,\" and which\nare the most important of the fundamental principles of physics. These\nideas have in fact grown out of the study of the simple phenomena\nwhich are associated with the motion of bodies in bulk without\nperceptible change of form, the motion of rigid bodies, so called.\n\n Before narrowing down the scope of the discussion, however, let us\nillustrate a very general application of the simplest idea of motion,\nthe idea of velocity. Every one has, no doubt, an idea of what is\nmeant by the velocity of the wind; and a sailor, having what he calls\na ten-knot wind, knows that he can manage his boat with a certain spread\nof canvas and that he can accomplish a certain portion of his voyage in\na given time; but an experienced sailor, although he speaks glibly of\na ten-knot wind, belies his speech by taking wise precaution against\nevery conceivable emergency. He knows that a ten-knot wind is by no\nmeans a sure or a simple thing with its incessant blasts and whirls; and\na sensitive anemometer, having more regard for minutiae than any sailor,\nusually registers in every wind a number of almost complete but\nexcessively irregular stops and starts every minute and variations of\ndirection that sweep around half the horizon!\n\n\n Wer will was Lebendig's erkennen und beschreiben\n Sucht erst den Geist heraus zu treiben.\n GOETHE.\n\n\n We must evidently direct our attention to something simpler than\nthe wind. Let us, therefore, consider the drawing of a wagon or the\npropulsion of a boat. It is a familiar experience that effort is\nrequired to start a body moving and that continued effort is required\nto maintain the motion. Certain very simple facts as to the nature and\neffects of this effort were discovered by Sir Isaac Newton, and on the\nbasis of these facts Newton formulated the laws of motion.\n\n\n The effort required to start a body or to keep it moving is\n called force. Thus, if one starts a box sliding along a table\n one is said to exert a force on the box. The same effect might\n be accomplished by interposing a stick between the hand and\n the box, in which case one would exert a force on the stick\n and the stick in its turn would exert a force on the box. We\n thus arrive at the notion of force action between inanimate\n bodies, between the stick and the box in this case, and Newton\n pointed out that the force action between the two bodies _A_\n and _B_ always consists of two equal and opposite forces, that\n is to say, if body _A_ exerts a force on _B,_ then _B_ exerts\n an equal and opposite force on _A,_ or, to use Newton's words,\n action is equal to reaction and in a contrary direction.\n\n\n In leading up to this statement one might consider the force with\nwhich a person pushes on the box and the equal and opposite force with\nwhich the box pushes back on the person, but if one does not wish to\nintroduce the stick as an intermediary, it is better to speak of\nthe force with which the hand pushes on the box, and the equal and\nopposite force with which the box pushes back on the hand, because in\ndiscussing physical phenomena it is of the utmost importance to pay\nattention only to impersonal [42] things. Indeed our modern industrial\nlife, in bringing men face to face with an entirely unprecedented\narray of intricate mechanical and physical problems, demands of every\none a great and increasing amount of impersonal thinking, and the\nprecise and rigorous modes of thought of the physical sciences\nare being forced upon widening circles of men with a relentless\ninsistence--all of which it was intended to imply by referring to\nthe \"stress of dryness\" which overtakes the little axolotl in his\ncontented existence as a tadpole.\n\n\n When we examine into the conditions under which a body starts\n to move and the conditions under which a body once started is\n kept in motion, we come across a very remarkable fact, if we\n are careful to consider every force which acts upon the body,\n and this remarkable fact is that the forces which act upon _a\n body at rest_ are related to each other in precisely the same\n way as the forces which act upon _a body moving steadily along\n a straight path._ Therefore it is convenient to consider,\n _first_ the relation between the forces which act upon a body\n at rest, or upon a body in uniform motion, and _second_ the\n relation between the forces which act upon a body which is\n starting or stopping or changing the direction of its motion.\n\n Suppose a person _A_ were to hold a box in mid-air. To do so\n it would of course be necessary for him to push upwards on the\n box so as to balance the downward pull of the earth, the weight\n of the box as it is called. If another person _B_ were to take\n hold of the box and pull upon it in any direction, _A_ would\n have to exert an equal pull on the box in the opposite direction\n to keep it stationary. _The forces which act upon a stationary\n body are always balanced._\n\n Every one, perhaps, realizes that what is here said about the\n balanced relation of the forces which act upon a stationary\n box, is equally true of the forces which act on a box\n similarly held in a steadily moving railway car or boat.\n Therefore, _the forces which act upon a body which moves\n steadily along a straight path are balanced._\n\n This is evidently true when the moving body is surrounded on\n all sides by things which are moving along with it, as in a\n car or a boat; but how about a body which moves steadily along\n a straight path but which is surrounded by bodies which do not\n move along with it? Everyone knows that some active agent such\n as a horse or a steam engine must pull steadily upon such a\n body to keep it in motion. If left to itself such a moving\n body quickly comes to rest. Many have, no doubt, reached this\n further inference from experience, namely, that the tendency\n of moving bodies to come to rest is due to the dragging\n forces, or friction, with which surrounding bodies act upon a\n body in motion. Thus a moving boat is brought to rest by the\n drag of the water when the propelling force ceases to act; a\n train of cars is brought to rest because of the drag due to\n friction when the pull of the locomotive ceases; a box which\n is moving across a table comes to rest when left to itself,\n because of the drag due to friction between the box and the\n table.\n\n We must, therefore, always consider two distinct forces when\n we are concerned with a body which is kept in motion, namely,\n the _propelling force_ due to some active agent such as\n a horse or an engine, and the _dragging force_ due to\n surrounding bodies. Newton pointed out that when a body is\n moving steadily along a straight path, the propelling force\n is always equal and opposite to the dragging force. Therefore,\n _The forces which act upon a body which is stationary, or\n which is moving uniformly along a straight path, are balanced\n forces._\n\n Many hesitate to accept as a fact the complete and exact\n balance of propelling and dragging forces on a body which is\n moving steadily along a straight path in the open, but\n direct experiment shows it to be true, and the most elaborate\n calculations and inferences based upon this idea of the\n complete balance of propelling and dragging forces on a body\n in uniform motion are verified by experiment. One may ask, why\n a canal boat, for example, should continue to move if the pull\n of the mule does not exceed the drag of the water; but\n why should it stop if the drag does not exceed the pull?\n Understand that we are not considering the starting of the\n boat. The fact is that the conscious effort which one must\n exert to drive a mule, the cost of the mule, and the expense\n of his keep, are what most people think of, however hard one\n tries to direct their attention solely to the state of tension\n in the rope that hitches the mule to the boat after the\n boat is in full motion; and most people consider that if the\n function of the mule is simply to balance the drag of the\n water so as to keep the boat from stopping, then why should\n there not be some way to avoid the cost of so insignificant\n an operation? There is, indeed, an extremely important matter\n involved here, but it has no bearing on the question as to the\n balance of propulsion and drag on a body which moves steadily\n along a straight path.\n\n Let us now consider the relation between the forces which act\n upon a body which is changing its speed, upon a body which is\n being started or stopped, for example. Everyone has noticed\n how a mule strains at his rope when starting a canal boat,\n especially if the boat is heavily loaded, and how the boat\n continues to move for a long time after the mule ceases to\n pull. In the first case, the pull of the mule greatly exceeds\n the drag of the water, and the speed of the boat increases; in\n the second case, the drag of the water of course exceeds the\n pull of the mule, for the mule is not pulling at all, and\n the speed of the boat decreases. When the speed of a body is\n changing, the forces which act on the body are unbalanced. We\n may conclude therefore that _the effect of an unbalanced force\n acting on a body is to change the velocity of the body,_ and\n it is evident that the longer the unbalanced force continues\n to act the greater the change of velocity. Thus if the mule\n ceases to pull on a canal boat for one second the velocity of\n the boat will be but slightly reduced by the unbalanced drag\n of the water, whereas if the mule ceases to pull for two\n seconds the decrease of velocity will be much greater. _In\n fact the change of velocity due to a given unbalanced force\n is proportional to the time that the force continues to act._\n This is exemplified by a body falling under the action of the\n unbalanced pull of the earth; after one second it will have\n gained a certain amount of velocity (about 32 feet per second),\n after two seconds it will have made a total gain of twice as\n much velocity (about 64 feet per second), and so on.\n\n Since the velocity produced by an unbalanced force is\n proportional to the time that the force continues to act, it\n is evident that the effect of the force should be specified as\n so-much-velocity-produced-per-second, exactly as in the case\n of earning money, the amount one earns is proportional to\n the length of time that one continues to work, and we\n always specify one's earning capacity as\n so-much-money-earned-per-day.\n\n Everyone knows what it means to give an easy pull or a hard\n pull on a body. That is to say, we all have the ideas of\n greater and less as applied to forces. Everybody knows also\n that if a mule pulls hard on a canal boat, the boat will get\n under way more quickly than if the pull is easy, that is, the\n boat will gain more velocity per unit of time under the\n action of a hard pull than under the action of an easy\n pull. Therefore, any precise statement of the effect of an\n unbalanced force on a given body must correlate the precise\n value of the force and the exact amount of velocity produced\n per unit of time by the force. This seems a very difficult\n thing, but its apparent difficulty is very largely due to\n the fact that we have not as yet agreed as to what we are to\n understand by the statement that one force is precisely three,\n or four, or any number of times as great as another. Suppose,\n therefore, that _we agree to call one force twice as large as\n another when it will_ as _produce in a given body twice as\n much velocity in a given time_ (remembering of course that we\n are now talking about unbalanced forces, or that we are assuming\n for the sake of simplicity of statement, that no dragging forces\n exist). As a result of this definition we may state that _the\n amount of velocity produced per second in a given body by an\n unbalanced force is proportional to the force._\n\n\n Of course we know no more about the matter in hand than we did before\nwe adopted the definition, but we do have a good illustration of how\nimportant a part is played in the study of physical science, by what\nwe may call making-up one's mind, in the sense of putting one's\nmind in order. This kind of thing is very prominent in the study of\nelementary physics, and the rather indefinite reference (in the story\nof the little tasseled tadpole) to an inward growth as needful\nbefore one can hope for any measure of success in our modern world of\nscientific industry was an allusion to this thing, the \"making-up\" of\none's mind. Nothing is so essential in the acquirement of exact and\nsolid knowledge as the possession of precise ideas, not indeed that\na perfect precision is necessary as a means for retaining knowledge,\n_but that nothing else so effectually opens the mind for the\nperception even of the simplest evidences of a subject_[G].\n\n\n We have now settled the question as to the effect of different\n unbalanced forces on a given body on the basis of very general\n experience, and by an agreement as to the precise meaning to\n be attached to the statement that one force is so many times\n as great as another; but how about the effect of the same\n force upon different bodies, and how may we identify the force\n so as to be sure that it is the same? It is required, for\n example, to exert a given force on body _A_ and then exert the\n same force on another body _B._ This can be done by causing\n a third body _C_ (a coiled spring, for example) to exert the\n force; then the forces exerted on _A_ and _B_ are the same if\n the reaction in each case produces the same effect on body\n _C_ (the same degree of stretch, for example). Concerning the\n effects of the same unbalanced force on different bodies three\n things have to be settled by experiment as follows:\n\n (a) In the first place let us suppose that a certain force\n _F_ is twice as large as a certain other force _G,_ according\n to our agreement, because the force _F_ produces twice as much\n velocity every second as force _G_ when the one and then the\n other of these forces is caused to act upon a given body, a\n piece of lead for example. Then, does the force _F_ produce\n twice as much velocity every second as the force _G_ whatever\n the nature and size of the given body, whether it be wood, or\n ice, or sugar? Experiment shows that it does.\n\n (b) In the second place, suppose that we have such amounts\n of lead, or iron, or wood, etc., that a certain given force\n produces the same amount of velocity per second when it is\n made to act, as an unbalanced force, upon one or another of\n these various bodies. Then what is the relation between the\n amounts of these various substances? Experiment shows that\n they all have the same mass in grams, or pounds, as determined\n by a balance. That is, a given force produces the same amount\n of velocity per second in a given number of grams of any kind\n of substance. Thus the earth pulls with a certain definite\n force (in a given locality) upon _M_ grams of any substance\n and, aside from the dragging forces due to air friction, all\n kinds of bodies gain the same amount of velocity per second\n when they fall under action of the unbalanced pull of the\n earth.\n\n (c) In the third place, what is the relation between the\n velocity per second produced by a given force and the mass in\n grams (or pounds) of the body upon which it acts. Experiment\n shows that _the velocity per second produced by a given force\n is inversely proportional to the mass of the body upon which\n the force acts._ In speaking of the mass of the body in grams\n (or pounds) we here refer to the result which is obtained by\n weighing the body on a balance scale, and the experimental\n fact which is here referred to constitutes a very important\n discovery: namely, when one body has twice the mass of\n another, according to the balance method of measuring mass, it\n is accelerated half as fast by a given unbalanced force.\n\n The effect of an unbalanced force in producing velocity may\n therefore be summed up as follows: _The velocity per second\n produced by an unbalanced force is proportional to the force\n and inversely proportional to the mass of the body upon which\n the force acts, and the velocity produced by an unbalanced\n force is always in the direction of the force._\n\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n \"We advise all men,\" says Bacon, \"to think of the true ends of\nknowledge, and that they endeavor not after it for curiosity,\ncontention, or the sake of despising others, nor yet for reputation\nor power or any other such inferior consideration, but solely for\nthe occasions and uses of life.\" It is difficult to imagine any other\nbasis upon which the study of physics can be justified than for the\noccasions and uses of life; in a certain broad sense, indeed, there\nis no other justification. But the great majority of men must needs be\npractical in the narrow sense, and physics, as the great majority\nof men study it, relates chiefly to the conditions which have been\nelaborated through the devices of industry as exemplified in our mills\nand factories, in our machinery of transportation, in optical and\nmusical instruments, in the means for the supply of power, heat,\nlight, and water for general and domestic use, and so on.\n\n From this narrow practical point of view it may seem that there can\nbe nothing very exacting in the study of the physical sciences; but\nwhat is physics? That is the question. One definition at least is to\nbe repudiated; it is not \"The science of masses, molecules and the\nether.\" Bodies have mass and railways have length, and to speak\nof physics as the _science of masses_ is as silly as to define\nrailroading as the _practice of lengths,_ and nothing as reasonable as\nthis can be said in favor of the conception of physics as the science\nof molecules and the ether; it is the sickliest possible notion of\nphysics, whereas the healthiest notion, even if a student does not\nwholly grasp it, is that physics is the science of the ways of taking\nhold of things and pushing them!\n\n Bacon long ago listed in his quaint way the things which seemed to\nhim most needful for the advancement of learning. Among other things\nhe mentioned \"A New Engine or a Help to the mind corresponding to\nTools for the hand,\" and the most remarkable aspect of present-day\nphysical science is that aspect in which it constitutes a realization\nof this New Engine of Bacon{6}. We continually force upon the extremely\nmeager data obtained directly through our senses, an interpretation\nwhich, in its complexity and penetration, would seem to be entirely\nincommensurate with the data themselves, and we exercise over physical\nthings a kind of rational control which greatly transcends the native\ncunning of the hand. The possibility of this forced interpretation and\nof this rational control depends upon the use of two complexes:\n(a) A _logical structure,_ that is to say, a body of mathematical and\nconceptual theory which is brought to bear upon the immediate materials\nof sense, and (b) a _mechanical structure,_ that is to say, either (1)\na carefully planned _arrangement of apparatus,_ such as is always\nnecessary in making physical measurements, or (2) a carefully planned\n_order of operations,_ such as the successive operations of solution,\nreaction, precipitation, filtration, and weighing in chemistry.\n\n These two complexes do indeed constitute a New Engine which helps\nthe mind as tools help the hand; it is through the enrichment of\nthe materials of sense by the operation of this New Engine that the\nelaborate interpretations of the physical sciences are made possible,\nand the study of elementary physics is intended to lead to the\nrealization of this New Engine: (a) By the building up in the mind,\nof the logical structure of the physical sciences; (b) by training\nin the making of measurements and in the performance of ordered\noperations, and (c) by exercises in the application of these things\nto the actual phenomena of physics and chemistry at every step\nand all of the time with every possible variation.\n\n That, surely, is a sufficiently exacting program; and the only\nalternative is to place the student under the instruction of Jules\nVerne where he need not trouble himself about foundations but may\nfollow his teacher pleasantly on a care-free trip to the moon or with\neasy improvidence embark on a voyage of twenty-thousand leagues under\nthe sea.\n\n What it means to study physical science may be explained further by\nmentioning the chief difficulties encountered in the teaching of\nthat subject. One difficulty is that the native sense of most men is\nwoefully inadequate without stimulation and direction for supplying\nthe sense material upon which the logical structure of the science is\nintended to operate. A second difficulty is that the human mind is so\nin the habit of considering the practical affairs of life that it can\nhardly be turned to that minute consideration of apparently\ninsignificant details which is so necessary in the scientific analysis\neven of the most practical things. Everyone knows the capacity of the\nIndian for long continued and serious effort in his primitive mode of\nlife, and yet it is difficult to persuade an Indian \"farmer\" to plow.\nEveryone knows also that the typical college student is not stupid,\nand yet it is difficult to persuade the young men of practical and\nbusiness ideals in our colleges and technical schools to study the\nabstract elements of science. Indeed it is as difficult to get the\naverage young man to hold abstract things in mind as to get a young\nIndian to plow, and for almost exactly the same reason. The scientific\ndetails of any problem are in themselves devoid of human value, and\nthis quality of detachment is the most serious obstacle to young\npeople in their study of the sciences.\n\n A third difficulty which indeed runs through the entire\nfront-of-progress of the human understanding is that the primitive\nmind-stuff of a young man must be rehabilitated in entirely new\nrelations in fitting the young man for the conditions of modern life.\nEvery science teacher knows how much coercion is required for so\nlittle of this rehabilitation; but the bare possibility of the process\nis a remarkable fact, and that it is possible to the extent of bringing\na Newton or a Pasteur out of a hunting and fishing ancestry is indeed\nwonderful. Everyone is familiar with the life history of a butterfly,\nhow it lives first as a caterpillar and then undergoes a complete\ntransformation into a winged insect. It is, of course, evident that\nthe bodily organs of a caterpillar are not at all suited to the needs\nof a butterfly, the very food (of those species which take food) being\nentirely different. As a matter of fact almost every portion of the\nbodily structure of the caterpillar is dissolved as it were, into\na formless pulp at the beginning of the transformation, and the\norganization of a flying insect then grows out from a central nucleus\nvery much as a chicken grows in the food-stuff of an egg. So it is in\nthe development of a young man. In early childhood the individual, if\nhe has been favored by fortune, exercises and develops more or less\nextensively the primitive instincts and modes of the race in a free\noutdoor life, and the result is so much mind-stuff to be dissolved\nand transformed with more or less coercion and under more or less\nconstraint into an effective mind of the twentieth-century type.\n\n A fourth difficulty is that the possibility of the rehabilitation of\nmind-stuff has grown up as a human faculty almost solely on the\nbasis of language, and the essence of this rehabilitation lies in the\nformation of ideas; whereas _a very large part of physical science is\na correlation in mechanisms._\n\n The best way of meeting this quadruply difficult situation in the\nteaching of elementary physics is to relate the teaching as much as\npossible to the immediately practical and intimate things of life,\nand to go in for suggestiveness as the only way to avoid a total\ninhibition of the sense that is born with a young man. Such a method\nis certainly calculated to limber up our theories and put them all at\nwork, the pragmatic method, our friends the philosophers call it, a\nmethod which pretends to a conquering destiny.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DISCIPLINE OF WORK.\n\n\n The first object of all work--not the principal one, but the first\nand necessary one--is to get food, clothes, lodging, and fuel.\n\n But it is quite possible to have too much of all these things. I\nknow a great many gentlemen, who eat too large dinners; a great many\nladies, who have too many clothes. I know there is lodging to spare in\nLondon, for I have several houses there myself, which I can't let.\nAnd I know there is fuel to spare everywhere, since we get up steam\nto pound the roads with, while our men stand idle; or drink till they\ncan't stand, idle, or otherwise.\n\n RUSKIN. {5}\n\n\n Two generations ago school was supplemented by endless opportunity\nfor play, and children had to work about the house and farm more and\nmore as they grew to maturity. Play and work were in those days as\nplentiful as sunshine and air, and it is no wonder that educational\nideals were developed taking no account of them. But we cling to these\nold ideals at the present time when children have no opportunity to\nplay, when there is an almost complete absence of old fashioned chores\nabout the home, when boys never see their fathers at work, and when\nthe only opportunity for boys and girls to work outside the home is\nto face the certainty of reckless exploitation! What a piece of\nstupidity! Our entire educational system, primary and secondary,\ncollegiate and technical, is sick with inconsequential bookishness,\nand school work has become the most inefficient of all the organized\nefforts of men.\n\n Yes but we have our Manual Training Schools and our college courses\nin Shop Work and Shop Inspection. Away with such scholastic shams! The\nbeginnings of manual training must indeed be provided for in school;\npaper cutting, sewing and whittling. But from the absurdity of an\nAcademic Epitome of Industry may the good Lord deliver us! And he will\ndeliver us, never fear, for the law of economy is His law too.\n\n\n _The greatest educational problem of our time is how to make use of\n commercial and industrial establishments as schools to the extent\n that they are schools._\n\n\n The first object of all work is indeed to get food and clothes and\nlodging and fuel, but the essence of work is a human discipline as\nkindly and beneficent as the sunshine and the rain, and the greatest\nneed of our time is that the discipline of work come again to its own\nin our entire system of education.\n\n\n _This book is dedicated to the kind of education that is proving\n itself at the University of Cincinnati._\n\n\n\n\n * * * * *\n\n To face page 60\n\n\nand whittling. But from the absurdity of an Academic Epitome of\nIndustry may the good Lord deliver us! And he will deliver us, never\nfear, for the law of economy is His law too.\n\n\n _The greatest educational problem of our time is how to make use of\n commercial and industrial establishments as schools to the extent\n that they are schools._\n\n\n The first object of all work is indeed to get food and clothes and\nlodging and fuel, but the essence of work is a human discipline as\nkindly and beneficent as the sunshine and the rain, and the greatest\nneed of our time is that the discipline of work come again to its own\nin our entire system of education.\n\n\n _This book is dedicated to the kind of education that is proving\n itself at the University of Cincinnati._\n\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n\n\nPART OF AN EDUCATION.\n\n\n Prairie born;\n Once his feet touch the of Western mountain\n The level road they ever more shall spurn.\n If once he drink from snow-pure crystal fountain\n His thirst shall, ever more consuming, burn\n With deepened draughts from common stream.\n\n Once his eye catch glimpse of more substantial glory\n Than prairie horizon high piled with clouded foam\n His quickened yearning shall inspire old story\n Of unbounded, deathless realms beyond the sunset--Home!\n\n\n There were two of us, a prairie born tenderfoot in the person of a\nsixteen-year-old college sophomore and the writer. After months of\nanticipation and planning we hurried away at the close of the college\nterm, leaving the prairies of Iowa to spend a short vacation in the\nmountains; and we arrived in Denver on a perfect, cloudless morning in\nJune.\n\n Since early daylight we had kept an eager watch to westward across\nthe even plains to catch a first glimpse of the great Front Range of\nthe Rocky Mountains with its covering of summer snow, and after making\nsome purchases of camp supplies we climbed to Capitol Hill in Denver\nto see the foothills soften to purple and the snow fields melt to\nliquid gold as the crystal day turned to crimson glory with the\nsetting of the sun.\n\n\n[Illustration: Sunset Washes]\n\n\n \"This is the land that the sunset washes,\n Those are the Banks of the Yellow Sea\n Where it arose, and whither it rushes\n This is the western mystery.\"\n\n\n Late in the evening we took the train for Loveland from which place we\nwere to start on a walking trip to Laramie, up in Wyoming.\n\n In Loveland we purchased a pony and a pack-saddle. The pony had never\nbeen broken to the saddle, and inasmuch as the art of packing has\nalways to be learned anew when one has not practiced it for several\nyears, both of us were, in some respects, as green as the pony, and\nnaturally somewhat nervous when we started from Loveland. The pony\nserved us well however and at the worst only gave us a name for the\nBucking Horse Pass when we crossed the range of the Medicine Bow\nMountains from the waters of the Grand River to those of the North\nPlatte.\n\n From Loveland we reached Sprague's Ranch in Estes Park, thirty-five\nmiles away, in two days of easy travel over a good stage road,\nencountering a snow squall in the high foothills which left us cold\nand wet at sundown of the first day. In Estes Park we stayed three\ndays, fishing, running up to timber line as preliminary exercise, and\nwriting letters. The writer had spent two previous summers in Estes\nPark near Sprague's Ranch in company with friends from the University\nof Kansas.\n\n\n CAMP ACCLIMATIZATION\n June 21st.\n\n_My dear little Friend:_--\n\n D. and I reached this place day before yesterday. I saw Fred Sprague\nyesterday. He had already learned of our presence in the Park, having\nseen our characteristic hob-nail tracks, and, as his mother tells me,\nhe remarked upon seeing them that \"God's people had come,\" meaning the\nKansas boys with whom he became acquainted in '86 and '89.\n\n We have passed thousands of flowers since leaving Loveland, white\npoppies, cactus, blue bells, columbine and others more than I can\ntell. The blue bells are of the same kind that you and I found near\nBloomington several weeks ago. It would be very nice if you and I\ncould make some of our Saturday excursions in this country.\n\n I wish I could tell you more of our trip. Of course it is scarcely\nbegun as yet, but I know pretty well what it will be; hard, for one\nthing, and lonesome, but strangely fascinating. We are beginning\nalready to have that attitude towards nature which I imagine Indians\nhave, namely, the desire to get something to eat out of everything we\nsee. [M. had written her brother D. at Moraine post office of the pies\nand cakes they were making at home.] This is by no means greediness,\nfor a measured appetite is essentially incompatible with the conditions\nof Indian life. In fact the only wild animals which are not gourmands\non occasion are those which eat grass. Of course, we are at best only\nAgency Indians, but we shall soon be off our reservation.\n\n Few people realize the utter desolation of many parts of the Rocky\nMountains; and often on my mountain trips, hungry and foot-sore, my\nfancy has turned to what my friend 'Gric[H] has told me of the utterly\ndesolate Funeral Mountains that border Death Valley in southern\nCalifornia, and of the infinite sunshine there. What would _you_\nthink, my little friend, even now amid the comforts and joys of home,\nif you could hear a trustworthy account of an actual trip over those\ndreadful Mountains and into that awful Valley?\n\n I hope that the map with the accompanying description will help you to\na knowledge of the geography and geology of this country. I send kind\nregards to your father and mother.\n\n Your friend, F.\n\n\n Starting from Estes Park for the Grand River country we stopped over\nnight at _Camp Desolation_ in Windy Gulch, an enormous amphitheater\nrising above timber line on the north, east, and west, and opening to\nthe south into Big Thompson Canyon. The mouth of the Gulch is dammed\nby the lateral moraine of an ancient Thompson glacier and behind this\ndam is a level, marshy stretch with a few green spruce and thickets\nof aspen, black alder and mountain willow. Near timber line also is\na scattered fringe of green with dots of white. All the rest is a\ndesolate stretch of burned timber.\n\n Trailing to the head of Windy Gulch in the morning we gained the\nsummit of Thompson Ridge which we followed in a northwesterly\ndirection for about twelve miles; then we circled around the head of\nBig Thompson river and went down to Camp at the head of the Cache la\nPoudre river, precisely on the Continental Divide in Milner Pass about\ntwo hundred feet below timber line with Specimen Mountain immediately\nto the north of us.\n\n\n SPECIMEN MOUNTAIN CAMP,\n June 24th.\n\n_My Dear B:_--\n\n D. and I are going to run down to Grand Lake settlement to-morrow for\nbacon and flour so I write this today. I have been in camp all morning\ncooking and mending while D. has been looking for sheep up in the\ncrater of Specimen Mountain. He saw two and shot without effect.\nSpecimen Mountain is an extinct volcano and sheep come to the crater\nto lick. I have seen as many as a hundred and fifty sheep there at\ndifferent times during the four trips that I have made to this region,\nbut I have hunted them only one day (the first) of the twenty-five\nthat I have spent in this camp--without success, of course.\n\n Flowers in profusion are found at these altitudes already where the\nshrinking snow drifts have exposed the ground to the warm June sun,\nbut under the drifts it is yet the dead of winter. As the season\nadvances the snow recedes, and each newly uncovered strip of ground\npasses with exuberant haste through a cycle of spring.\n\n We came over from Estes Park yesterday and the day before. At one\npoint I carried the horse's pack about a quarter of a mile on account\nof steepness of trail and depth of snow, leaving the pony under D.'s\nguidance to wallow through as best she could. We shall, no doubt, have\nsome hard work getting out of the Grand River valley to the north over\nthe Medicine Bow but we intend to keep at it. We are, of course, likely\nto get cold and wet, tired and hungry. In fact, I am neither very dry\nnor very warm now as I write, for it is half snowing and half raining;\nnor hungry (?) for I have just eaten three slices of bacon, half a corn\ncake eight inches in diameter and an inch thick, with bacon gravy made\nwith flour and water, and nearly a quart of strong coffee of syrupy\nsweetness. I do wish D. had killed that sheep this morning! We hope to\nget some trout to-morrow out of Grand River, but to see the sheets of\nwater which are being shed off the range from rain and melting snow\nmakes one feel uncertain of the trout fishing. I will close for this\ntime and put this into my knapsack. To-morrow D. and I will get our\n\"walkins\" on bright and early, and pack it to Grand Lake. This is a\ntough country beyond imagination.\n\n Yours sincerely, F.\n\n\n When trailing above timber line on our way to Specimen Mountain and\nsubsequently we were on snow much of the time; below timber line at\nhigh altitudes we contended about equally with snow and fallen timber;\nand at middle altitudes where the timber is heavy and where fires have\nbeen frequent and disastrous the fallen timber alone is quite enough\nto make travel troublesome. Mud and water, fallen and falling,\nwe encountered everywhere, but without much concern. The greatest\nvexation to the amateur traveler in the Rockies is to slip off a log\nin trying to cross a stream, and thus get wet all over, when if one\nhad been reasonable, one might have been wet only to the middle.\nAn awkward comrade of '89 did this so many times that it became a\nstanding joke; but 'Gric,{7} as we called him, that is to say\n_Agricola,_ after his father \"Farmer\" Funston of Kansas, developed grit\nenough to take him through Death Valley in southern California, to take\nhim, all alone, 1,600 miles down the Yukon River in an open boat and\nacross 200 miles of unexplored country during the winter night to the\nshores of the Arctic Ocean, to take him into the Cuban army, where he\nreceived three serious wounds, and finally to take him through the\nPhilippines with our Volunteer Army where he captured Aguinaldo.\n\n From _Specimen Mountain Camp_ in Milner Pass we made our way to Grand\nRiver over an extremely difficult trail, nearly breaking our pony's\nleg in the fallen timber, and, finding it impossible to reach Grand\nLake by the river trail without wetting our pack, we went into\n(_Mosquito_) camp and did our week's washing. The next day we left our\npony, and made a flying round trip of thirty miles to the settlement.\nThe next morning, hoping to escape the mosquitoes, we moved camp\nseveral miles up stream and in the afternoon we climbed to the summit\nof one of the high spurs of a nameless[J] peak in the range of the\nMedicine Bow. We got back to camp late in the evening in a sharp rain,\nwhich continued all night.\n\n The next morning promised fair weather, and after some hesitation, we\npacked up for the trip over to North Park. Starting at eight o'clock\nwe reached the deserted mining camp, Lulu, at eleven, having forded\nGrand River seven times, the water of it ice cold and swift as an arrow.\nWe then began to climb the range, the summit of which we reached at\nthree o'clock at the pass of the Bucking Horse far above timber line. At\nfour o'clock we began the descent into the valley of the Michigan fork\nof the North Platte. The rain, until now fitful, became steady and we,\ndetermined to reach a good camping place, kept our pony at a half-trot\nuntil eight o'clock, when we found a deserted cabin. We were too\nimpatiently hungry to make biscuit, which we ordinarily baked in the\nfrying pan before cooking our bacon, so we made our supper of graham mush,\nbacon, bacon gravy and coffee. Next morning we found to our dismay that\nour baking powder had been left at the Bucking Horse--and no wonder, for\nour pack had been strewn for a quarter of a mile along the trail--so\nwe were reduced to mush again for breakfast.\n\n\n GOULD'S RANCH,\n July 7th.\n\n _My Dear B:_\n\n We have just returned from a week's hunt in the Medicine Bow Mountains\neast of here. We saw elk, killed a deer, and spent the Fourth of July on\na prominent but nameless peak from which we got a splendid view.\n\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n After breakfast at Camp _Mush,_ Mr. E.B. Gould, a neighboring cattle\nrancher who has no cattle, was attracted by the smoke of our campfire,\nand coming up to see us, he invited us to his shanty to eat venison.\nWe went. We have now been with him a week and we are starting on our\nsecond carcass.\n\n Gould lives by hunting and trapping, and by odd work in the Park\nduring the haying season. He came to this country years ago with a\nhunting party and has been hunting ever since. Several years ago\nhe took up a claim in the extreme southeastern corner of North Park\nconveniently near to hunting grounds in the Medicine Bow. He gave\nup his claim, for good, a year ago, and made an overland trip to New\nMexico. That did not satisfy him either, so now he is back in his old\nshanty again. He thinks we are the toughest \"tender-foots\" he ever\nsaw. He approves of us, there is no doubt about that, and he has\npulled up his stakes to travel with us just for the pleasure of our\ncompany! He takes great interest in D.'s knowledge of bugs, and D. and\nhe are both real hunters each according to his experience. Before we\nfell in with Gould I could persuade D. to wanton exertion in the way\nof mountain climbing but now I am in the minority, but the hunters\npropose, with a flourish, the scaling of every peak that comes in sight.\n\n I had a spell of mountain fever just before the Fourth and Gould dosed\nme with sage brush tea, the vilest concoction I ever had to take.\n\n Gould is not accustomed to walk except when actually hunting, so he\nhas a riding horse, and a trusty old pack animal whose minimum name\nis \"G---- d---- you Jack,\" and whose maximum name (and load) is\nindeterminate. Gould is going with us to spend a week in the Range\nof the Rabbit's Ear, far to the west across North Park. He has an old\nwagon which, if it holds together, will save D. and me some tedious\nsteps across the desert, for indeed this \"park\" is a desert. We shall\npass through Walden, the metropolis and supply station of the Park.\n\n Yours, F.\n\n\nFROM D.'S MOTHER\n\n _My precious boy:_\n\n I trust you will excuse me for using this paper but I am up stairs,\nand no one [is] here to bring me any other. They tell me I need not\nwonder that we do not hear from you and I shall try not to be\ndisappointed if we do not hear for a while. Nevertheless my dear boy,\nthe uncertainty I feel in regard to your safety will make a letter\nvery welcome indeed. Perhaps I would have more courage if I were\nstrong. For five days I have been very uncomfortable. I am sitting up\nsome today for the first [time] and hope soon to be well as usual.\n\n We were exceedingly glad to hear from you from Grand Lake. I cannot,\nhowever, say that the account of your experience by stone slide[K] and\nriver have lessened my anxiety. I am writing now, Thursday, in bed. I\nhave been quite poorly again. We shall not look now for a letter from\nyou but hope to see you face to face before many days. May God bless\nand keep you! Give our love to Mr. F. All join me in tenderest love to\nyou.\n\n Your devoted mother.\n\n\n At Walden we laid in a fresh supply of flour and bacon, and canned\ngoods, especially canned fruit, to last us while we stayed with the\nwagon. We then pushed on to the west, striking camp on the West Fork\nof the North Platte, where we stayed two nights. Here we tried hard a\nthird time for trout without success, but we turned off the water\nfrom an irrigating ditch and captured a large number of \"squaw fish\"\n(suckers).\n\n From _Camp Chew_ we made our way well up into the foothills of the\nRange of the Rabbit's Ear, and then packed our animals, minimum Jack\nand our pony, and pushed up the range over the worst trail we had yet\nencountered, through an absolute wilderness of fallen timber. Rain\nwith fog set in as we approached timber line, and we were forced to go\ninto camp early to wait for morning. Morning came with fog and rain,\nand we spent the entire day hunting trail, only to go into camp again\ntowards evening. The next day, however, came clear and we made our way\nover the range, through Frying Pan Meadow, and reached camp down on\nElk river towards evening without difficulty. We found good fishing\nhere at last and great numbers of deer but no elk. After three rainy\ndays in _Elk River Camp,_ one of which was spent jerking venison of\nD.'s killing, we packed up and made the return trip over the range in\none day of hard travel, going into camp by the shore of a shallow\npond well out on the barren level of North Park. The next morning we\nparted company with Gould, and in two days we made sixty stage road\nmiles across North Park and over the northern portion of the Medicine\nBow Mountains to Woods post office at the edge of the Laramie plains,\ntwenty-five miles from Laramie.\n\n\n[Illustration: Looking North Across Specimen Mountain Stone Slide.]\n\n\n We had intended walking through to Laramie, but ninety miles and two\nmountain ranges in three days, not to mention the writer's terribly\nblistered feet, had temporarily taken some of the ambition out of us,\nand after some fine diplomacy D. and the writer each found that the\nother was willing to descend to stage coach riding. We accordingly\nsold our fine little pony for five dollars, packed our outfit in a\ncompact bundle which we wrapped in our small tent (which had been used\nas a smoke-house for curing venison at _Elk River Camp_), and took the\nstage for Laramie.\n\n At Laramie we took the train for home, and with eyes eagerly awake we\nwatched for hundreds of miles an increasing luxuriance of vegetation\nwhich reached its climax in the marvelously rich, endless, undulating\nfields of eastern Nebraska and Iowa:\n\n\n This is the land that the sunset washes\n These are the Waves of the Yellow Sea;\n Where it arose and whiter it rushes,\n This is the western mystery.\n\n\n[Illustration: In the Range of the Rabbit's Ear.]\n\n\n We had been away from home for thirty-three days, and in the mountains\nfor thirty-one nights--Indians reckon by nights; and we had tramped\nmore than three hundred and fifty miles from Loveland to the edge\nof the Laramie plains. A large portion of the time was spent at high\naltitudes where the weather is not lamb-like in June, and no small\nportion of the three hundred and fifty miles was mud and water, snow\nand fallen timber, through a country as rough, perhaps, as is to be\nfound anywhere, and as interesting. The only way to study Geography\nis with the feet! No footless imagination can realize the sublimity\nof western Mountain and Plain. Nothing but a degree of hardship can\nmeasure their widespread chaos and lonely desolation, and only the\nfreshened eagerness of many mornings can perceive their matchless\nglory.\n\n\n[Illustration: Near Frying Pan Meadow.]\n\n\n We reached home weather-beaten almost beyond recognition, but in\nrobust health, especially D., who had actually gained in weight\nduring the trip. From the railroad station we carried our outfit, and\nvenison, two miles to the college grounds, reaching D.'s home about\nmidnight.\n\n Here our madly exuberant spirits were suddenly checked by finding\nthat the illness of D.'s mother had become extremely serious. However\nshe was determined to see us both--to give a last approval.\n\n\n \"We never know how high we are\n Till we are called to rise;\n And then, if we are true to plan,\n Our statures touch the skies.\n\n \"The heroism we recite\n Would be a daily thing,\n Did not ourselves the cubits warp\n For fear to be a king.\"\n\n\n After four days D.'s mother died. It fell to B. and F. to make\na sculptor's plaster mask, and photographs; and to F. to watch\novernight--and hasten to the woods in the morning.\n\n\n \"The bustle in a house\n The morning after death\n Is solemnest of industries\n Enacted upon earth.\n\n \"The sweeping up the heart\n And putting love away\n We shall not want to use again\n Until Eternity.\"\n\n\n A beautiful Campanile now stands on the college campus erected in\nmemory of D.'s mother by the state of Iowa; and from this memory-tower\na chime of bells\n\n\n Greets\n Those who pass in joy\n And those who pass in sorrow;\n As we have passed,\n Our time.\n\n\n \"Superiority to fate\n Is difficult to learn.\n 'Tis not conferred by any,\n But possible to earn\n A pittance at a time,\n Until, to her surprise,\n The soul with strict economy\n Subsists till Paradise.\"\n\n\n\n\n THE USES OF HARDSHIP.\n\n\n Did you chance, my friends, any of you, to see, the other day, the\n83rd number of the _Graphic,_ with the picture of the Queen's concert\nin it? All the fine ladies sitting so trimly, and looking so sweet,\nand doing the whole duty of woman--wearing their fine clothes\ngracefully; and the pretty singer, white-throated, warbling \"Home\nsweet home\" to them, so morally, and melodiously! Here was yet to be\nour ideal of virtuous life, thought the _Graphic!_ Surely we are\nsafe back with our virtues in satin slippers and lace veils--and our\nKingdom of Heaven is come _with_ observation!\n\n RUSKIN.\n\n\n Ruskin has said that the children of the rich often get the worst\neducation to be had for money, whereas the children of the poor often\nget the best education for nothing. And the poor man's school is\nhardship. {8}\n\n It is generally admitted that wealthy American parents are too\nindulgent towards their children. However this may be, many an\nAmerican father is determined that his sons shall not go through what\nhe himself went through as a boy, forgetting that the hardships of his\nyouth were largely the hardships of pioneer life which have vanished\nforever. No boy with good stuff in him and with a fair education\nunmixed with extravagant habits of living can possibly have more\nhardship nowadays than is good for him. Every young man must sooner\nor later stand by himself; and hardship, which in its essence is to be\nthrown on one's own resources, is the best school.\n\n But the most alluring school of hardship, a sort of Summer School of\nthe University of Hard Knocks, is a walking trip into the mountains to\nthe regions of summer snow, carrying one's whole outfit on one's back\nas did the Kansas boys of '89, or indulging in the ownership of a\npack-pony and a miner's tent as did D. and the writer in '95. The\nhardships of such a trip are of the old old type, the facing of all\nkinds of weather and the hunting for food, and they waken a thousand-fold\ndeeper response than the most serious hunt for a job in a modern city.\n\n\n\n\n THE PUBLIC SCHOOL\n\n\n DENMARK HILL, April 1st, 1871.\n\n _My Friends:_\n\n It cannot but be pleasing to us to reflect, this day, that if we are\noften foolish enough to talk English without understanding it, we are\noften wise enough to talk Latin without knowing it. For this month\nretains its pretty Roman name, which means the month of Opening; of\nthe light in the days, and the life in the leaves, and of the voices\nof birds, and of the hearts of men.\n\n And being the month of Manifestation, it is pre-eminently the month\nof Fools;--for under the beatific influence of moral sunshine, or\nEducation, the Fools always come out first.\n\n But what is less pleasing to reflect upon, this spring morning, is,\nthat there are some kinds of education which may be described, not as\nmoral sunshine, but as moral moonshine; and that, under these, Fools\ncome out both First--and Last.\n\n We have, it seems, now set our opening hearts much on this one point,\nthat we will have education for all men and women now, and for all\ngirls and boys that are to be. Nothing, indeed, can be more desirable,\nif only we determine also what kind of education we are to have. It is\ntaken for granted that any education must be good;--that the more of\nit we get, the better; that bad education only means little education;\nand that the worst we have to fear is getting none. Alas that is not\nat all so. Getting no education is by no means the worst thing that\ncan happen to us. The real thing to be feared is getting a bad one.\n\n RUSKIN.\n\n\n The recent exchange of visits between Pennsylvanians and Wisconsinites\nhas resulted in the organization of an association for the carrying\nout of the Wisconsin Idea in Pennsylvania; but the New York _Evening\nPost,_ in commenting upon the Pennsylvania version of the Wisconsin\nIdea, calls attention to the fact that in Wisconsin the idea is\ncarried into effect by public agencies, whereas the Pennsylvania\nversion is to be executed privately! The _Evening Post_ did not,\nindeed, say execute; I, myself, have introduced the word, because it\nso exactly conveys the meaning of the _Post's_ criticism.{9}\n\n Why is it that so many good people take up things like the Boy Scout\nmovement, privately, never giving a moment's thought to our rusting\nschool machinery? Why are we so privately minded as to enthuse over\nMrs. so-and-so's out-of-the-city movement for children, never thinking\nof the _potentialities_ of establishments like Girard College? The\ntrouble is that we Americans have never learned to do things together;\nwe still have the loyal but lazy habit of looking expectantly for a\nKing, and, of course, we get a Philadelphia Ring, the lowest Circle in\nthe Inferno of the Worst; and all the while our might be doers of good\naffect a kind of private Kingship, and sink into a mire of idiotic[L]\nimpotence.\n\n The seven wonders of the world all fade into insignificance in\ncomparison with one great fact in modern government, a fact so\nfundamental that we seldom think of it, namely, the great fact of\ntaxation. Funds sufficient to meet every public need of the community\nflow automatically into the public treasury. This is indeed a very\nremarkable thing, but it seems almost ludicrous when we consider that\nwasteful expenditure of public funds is the universal rule, and that\ngood people everywhere are struggling to do public things privately!\nWas there ever before two such horns to a dilemma? Fog horns, grown\ninwardly on every Pennsylvanian's head! When a city of 10,000 people\nhas an annual school budget of $60,000, it is evident that everything\ncan be done that needs to be done for the schooling of children.\n\n I believe that the school day should be increased to 8 hours, the\nschool week to 6 days, and the school year to 12 months; with elastic\nprovision for home work and out-of-town visiting. I believe that\nschool activities should include a wide variety of simple hand work,\nand a great deal of outdoor play, with ample provision for the things\nthat are done by Boy Scouts and Camp Fire Girls; and when children are\nold enough and strong enough to begin their vocational training, their\nschool activities should be combined with work in office and factory.\nLet no one imagine that such a program is impracticable; for in the\ncity, school is the sum of all influences outside the home, and the\nschool day is now more than eight hours, the school week is more\nthan six days, and school lasts the whole year through; these are the\nfacts, say what you will; and everything is in a dreadful state of\nconfusion--excepting only book work. _It is time for us to think\nof the public school as including everything which makes for the\nefficient organization and orderly control of the juvenile world._\nThe Junior Municipality, which has been recently proposed, added to\nexisting school work with provision for simple manual training and\noutdoor play would constitute a fairly complete realization of this\nwide conception of the public school, and any narrower conception is\nhopeless in a modern city.\n\n As to educational values there is a widespread misunderstanding.\nImagine a teacher taking his youngsters on a hike two or three times a\nweek all winter long! Every parent, _hoping for his children to escape\nthe necessity of work,_ would howl in stupid criticism \"Is that what\nI send my children to school for?\" Or the School Superintendent might\nhave the point of view of the excessively teachy teacher, who, in a\nrecent discussion of the Boy Scout idea, admitted that cross-country\nhikes would be a good thing, provided, something were associated with\nthem to justify them, and this something was understood to be bookish!\nAs to vocational training, on the other hand, we must reckon with the\nmanufacturer who will not train workmen for his competitors but who\nexpects his competitors to train workmen for him. And we must also\nreckon with the ministerial member of the school-board who meets a\nproposal for vocational training with the question \"How then will you\neducate for life?\"\n\n \"Ich ging im Walde\n So fuer mich hin,\n Und nichts zu suchen\n Das war mein Sinn.\"\n\n The youngster who goes on a hike for nothing will get everything, and\nto be fit for service is to be fit for life.\n\n\n * * * * *\n\n To face page 98\n\n\n\n\n As to educational values there is a widespread misunderstanding.\nImagine a teacher taking his youngsters on a hike two or three times a\nweek all winter long! Every parent, _hoping for his children to escape\nthe necessity of work,_ would howl in stupid criticism \"Is that what\nI send my children to school for?\" Or the School Superintendent might\nhave the point of view of the excessively teachy teacher, who, in a\nrecent discussion of the Boy Scout idea, admitted that cross-country\nhikes would be a good thing, provided, something were associated with\nthem to justify them, and this something was understood to be bookish!\nAs to vocational training, on the other hand, we must reckon with the\nmanufacturer who will not train workmen for his competitors but who\nexpects his competitors to train workmen for him. And we must also\nreckon with the ministerial member of the school-board who meets a\nproposal for vocational training with the question \"How then will you\neducate for life?\"\n\n \"Ich ging im Walde\n So fuer mich hin,\n Und nichts zu suchen\n Das war mein Sinn.\"\n\n The youngster who goes on a hike for nothing will get everything, and\nto be fit for service is to be fit for life.\n\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n\nA: The western prairies, except in the very center of the Mississippi\nValley, are beautifully rolling, and they meet every stream with deeply\ncarved bluffs. In the early days every stream was fringed with woods;\nand prairie and woodland, alike, knew nothing beyond the evenly balanced\ncontest of indigenous life. There came, however, a succession of strange\nepidemics, as one after another of our noxious weeds gained foothold in\nthat fertile land. I remember well several years when dog-fennel grew\nin every nook and corner of my home town in Kansas; then, after a few\nyears, a variety of thistle grew to the exclusion of every other\nuncultivated thing; and then followed a curious epidemic of tumble-weed,\na low spreading annual which broke off at the ground in the Fall and\nwas rolled across the open country in countless millions by the Autumn\nwinds. I remember well my first lone \"beggar louse,\" and how pretty I\nthought it was! And my first dandelion, and of that I have never changed\nmy opinion!\n\n\nB: ROAD-SONG OF THE BANDER-LOG.\n\n (From Kipling's Jungle-Book.)\n\n Here we go in a flung festoon,\n Half way up to the jealous moon!\n Don't you envy our pranceful bands?\n Don't you wish your feet were hands?\n Wouldn't you like if your tails were--so--\n Curved in the shape of a cupid's bow?\n Now you're angry, but--never mind--\n Brother, thy tail hangs down behind!\n\n Here we sit in a branchy row,\n Thinking of beautiful things we know;\n Dreaming of deeds we mean to do,\n All complete in a minute or two--\n Something noble and grand and good,\n Done by merely wishing we could.\n Now we're going to--never mind--\n Brother, thy tail hangs down behind!\n\n All the talk we ever have heard\n Uttered by bat, or beast, or bird--\n Hide or scale or skin or feather--\n Jabber it quickly and altogether!\n Excellent! Wonderful! Once again!\n Now we are talking just like men.\n Let's pretend we are--never mind--\n Brother, thy tail hangs down behind!\n This is the way of the Monkey-kind.\n\n Then join our leaping lines that scumfish through the pines,\n That rocket by where light and high the wild grape swings.\n By the rubbish in our wake, by the noble noise we make,\n Be sure, be sure, we're going to do some splendid things.\n\n\nC: The site of an abandoned zinc mine, where a few of the Bethlehem\nboys go to swim.\n\n\nD: Popular Science Monthly, October, 1910.\n\n\nE: Science as young people study it has two chief aspects, or in other\nwords, it may be roughly divided into two parts, namely, the study of\n_the things which come upon us,_ as it were, and the study of _the\nthings which we deliberately devise._ The things that come upon us\ninclude weather phenomena and every aspect and phase of the natural\nworld, the things we cannot escape; and the things we devise relate\nchiefly to the serious work of the world, the things we laboriously\nbuild and the things we deliberately and patiently seek.\n\n\nF: See discussion on Bacon's New Engine on page 52 {6}\n\n\nG: Opens the mind, that is, for those things which are conformable to\nor consistent with the ideas. The history of science presents many\ncases where accepted ideas have closed the mind to contrary evidences\nfor many generations. Let young men beware!\n\n\nH: See Page 71 {7}\n\n\nJ: A volcanic mass of rugged spurs radiating from a great central\ncore; points and ridges rising, beautifully red, from immense fields\nof snow. D. and the writer call it Mt. McDonald, but having made no\nsurvey, the purely sentimental report which we could send to the map\nmakers in Washington would not suffice as a record there.\n\n\nK: The crater of Specimen Mountain is worn away on one side by water,\nand the crater now forms the head of a ragged gulch. Near the head of\nthis gulch is a of loose stone, as steep as loose stone can lie,\nwhich has a vertical height of 1500 or 2000 feet.\n\n\nL: Among the Greeks an idiot was a man who thought only of\nhis private affairs, a privately minded man.\n\n\n\n\n\n +---------------------------------------------------------------------+\n | |\n | Transcriber's note: |\n | |\n | Some illustrations' captions have been moved out of the paragraph. |\n | |\n | Some text has been rejoined to correct paragraphs. |\n | |\n | Spelling has been made consistent throughout but reflects the |\n | author's preference. |\n | |\n | Duplicate pages have been left in the text. |\n | |\n | Footnotes were moved to the end of the book. |\n | |\n | Supplement to Preface was included in the Preface. |\n | |\n | Footnote [H] reference to Gric should refer to page 72 not page 71. |\n | |\n +---------------------------------------------------------------------+\n\n\n\n***"], ["\n\n\n\nProduced by Charles Keller. HTML version by Al Haines.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n'Hell fer Sartain'\n\nand\n\nOther Stories\n\n\nby\n\nJOHN FOX, JR.\n\n\n\n\n TO\n MY BROTHER\n JAMES\n\n\nAUTHOR'S NOTE\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n ON HELL-FER-SARTAIN CREEK\n THROUGH THE GAP\n A TRICK O' TRADE\n GRAYSON'S BABY\n COURTIN' ON CUTSHIN\n THE MESSAGE IN THE SAND\n THE SENATOR'S LAST TRADE\n PREACHIN' ON KINGDOM-COME\n THE PASSING OF ABRAHAM SHIVERS\n A PURPLE RHODODENDRON\n\n\n\n\nON HELL-FER-SARTAIN CREEK\n\n\nThar was a dancin'-party Christmas night on \"Hell fer Sartain.\" Jes\ntu'n up the fust crick beyond the bend thar, an' climb onto a stump,\nan' holler about ONCE, an' you'll see how the name come. Stranger,\nhit's HELL fer sartain! Well, Rich Harp was thar from the head-waters,\nan' Harve Hall toted Nance Osborn clean across the Cumberlan'. Fust\none ud swing Nance, an' then t'other. Then they'd take a pull out'n\nthe same bottle o' moonshine, an'--fust one an' then t'other--they'd\nswing her agin. An' Abe Shivers a-settin' thar by the fire a-bitin'\nhis thumbs!\n\nWell, things was sorter whoopin', when somebody ups an' tells Harve\nthat Rich had said somep'n' agin Nance an' him, an' somebody ups an'\ntells Rich that Harve had said somep'n' agin Nance an' HIM. In a\nminute, stranger, hit was like two wild-cats in thar. Folks got 'em\nparted, though, but thar was no more a-swingin' of Nance that night.\nHarve toted her back over the Cumberlan', an' Rich's kinsfolks tuk him\nup \"Hell fer Sartain\"; but Rich got loose, an' lit out lickety-split\nfer Nance Osborn's. He knowed Harve lived too fer over Black Mountain\nto go home that night, an' he rid right across the river an' up to\nNance's house, an' hollered fer Harve. Harve poked his head out'n the\nloft--he knowed whut was wanted--an' Harve says, \"Uh, come in hyeh an'\ngo to bed. Hit's too late!\" An' Rich seed him a-gapin' like a chicken,\nan' in he walked, stumblin' might' nigh agin the bed whar Nance was\na-layin', listenin' an' not sayin' a word.\n\nStranger, them two fellers slept together plum frien'ly, an' they et\ntogether plum frien'ly next mornin', an' they sa'ntered down to the\ngrocery plum frien'ly. An' Rich says, \"Harve,\" says he, \"let's have a\ndrink.\" \"All right, Rich,\" says Harve. An' Rich says, \"Harve,\" says\nhe, \"you go out'n that door an' I'll go out'n this door.\" \"All right,\nRich,\" says Harve, an' out they walked, steady, an' thar was two shoots\nshot, an' Rich an' Harve both drapped, an' in ten minutes they was\nstretched out on Nance's bed an' Nance was a-lopin' away fer the yarb\ndoctor.\n\nThe gal nussed 'em both plum faithful. Rich didn't hev much to say,\nan' Harve didn't hev much to say. Nance was sorter quiet, an' Nance's\nmammy, ole Nance, jes grinned. Folks come in to ax atter 'em right\npeart. Abe Shivers come cl'ar 'cross the river--powerful frien'ly--an'\never' time Nance ud walk out to the fence with him. One time she\ndidn't come back, an' ole Nance fotched the boys thar dinner, an' ole\nNance fotched thar supper, an' then Rich he axed whut was the matter\nwith young Nance. An' ole Nance jes snorted. Atter a while Rich says:\n\"Harve,\" says he, \"who tol' you that I said that word agin you an'\nNance?\" \"Abe Shivers,\" says Harve. \"An' who tol' you,\" says Harve,\n\"that I said that word agin Nance an' YOU?\" \"Abe Shivers,\" says Rich.\nAn' both says, \"Well, damn me!\" An' Rich tu'ned right over an' begun\npullin' straws out'n the bed. He got two out, an' he bit one off, an'\nhe says: \"Harve,\" says he, \"I reckon we better draw fer him. The\nshortes' gits him.\" An' they drawed. Well, nobody ever knowed which\ngot the shortes' straw, stranger, but--\n\nThar'll be a dancin'-party comin' Christmas night on \"Hell fer\nSartain.\" Rich Harp 'll be thar from the head-waters. Harve Hall's\na-goin' to tote the Widder Shivers clean across the Cumberlan'. Fust\none 'll swing Nance, an' then t'other. Then they'll take a pull out'n\nthe same bottle o' moonshine, an'--fust one an' then t'other--they'll\nswing her agin, jes the same. ABE won't be thar. He's a-settin' by a\nbigger fire, I reckon (ef he ain't in it), a-bitin' his thumbs!\n\n\n\n\nTHROUGH THE GAP\n\n\nWhen thistles go adrift, the sun sets down the valley between the\nhills; when snow comes, it goes down behind the Cumberland and streams\nthrough a great fissure that people call the Gap. Then the last light\ndrenches the parson's cottage under Imboden Hill, and leaves an\nafter-glow of glory on a majestic heap that lies against the east.\nSometimes it spans the Gap with a rainbow.\n\nStrange people and strange tales come through this Gap from the\nKentucky hills. Through it came these two, late one day--a man and a\nwoman--afoot. I met them at the foot-bridge over Roaring Fork.\n\n\"Is thar a preacher anywhar aroun' hyeh?\" he asked. I pointed to the\ncottage under Imboden Hill. The girl flushed slightly and turned her\nhead away with a rather unhappy smile. Without a word, the mountaineer\nled the way towards town. A moment more and a half-breed Malungian\npassed me on the bridge and followed them.\n\nAt dusk the next day I saw the mountaineer chopping wood at a shanty\nunder a clump of rhododendron on the river-bank. The girl was cooking\nsupper inside. The day following he was at work on the railroad, and\non Sunday, after church, I saw the parson. The two had not been to\nhim. Only that afternoon the mountaineer was on the bridge with\nanother woman, hideously rouged and with scarlet ribbons fluttering\nfrom her bonnet. Passing on by the shanty, I saw the Malungian talking\nto the girl. She apparently paid no heed to him until, just as he was\nmoving away, he said something mockingly, and with a nod of his head\nback towards the bridge. She did not look up even then, but her face\ngot hard and white, and, looking back from the road, I saw her slipping\nthrough the bushes into the dry bed of the creek, to make sure that\nwhat the half-breed told her was true.\n\nThe two men were working side by side on the railroad when I saw them\nagain, but on the first pay-day the doctor was called to attend the\nMalungian, whose head was split open with a shovel. I was one of two\nwho went out to arrest his assailant, and I had no need to ask who he\nwas. The mountaineer was a devil, the foreman said, and I had to club\nhim with a pistol-butt before he would give in. He said he would get\neven with me; but they all say that, and I paid no attention to the\nthreat. For a week he was kept in the calaboose, and when I passed the\nshanty just after he was sent to the county-seat for trial, I found it\nempty. The Malungian, too, was gone. Within a fortnight the\nmountaineer was in the door of the shanty again. Having no accuser, he\nhad been discharged. He went back to his work, and if he opened his\nlips I never knew. Every day I saw him at work, and he never failed to\ngive me a surly look. Every dusk I saw him in his door-way, waiting,\nand I could guess for what. It was easy to believe that the stern\npurpose in his face would make its way through space and draw her to\nhim again. And she did come back one day. I had just limped down the\nmountain with a sprained ankle. A crowd of women was gathered at the\nedge of the woods, looking with all their eyes to the shanty on the\nriver-bank. The girl stood in the door-way. The mountaineer was\ncoming back from work with his face down.\n\n\"He hain't seed her yit,\" said one. \"He's goin' to kill her shore. I\ntol' her he would. She said she reckoned he would, but she didn't\nkeer.\"\n\nFor a moment I was paralyzed by the tragedy at hand. She was in the\ndoor looking at him when he raised his head. For one moment he stood\nstill, staring, and then he started towards her with a quickened step.\nI started too, then, every step a torture, and as I limped ahead she\nmade a gesture of terror and backed into the room before him. The door\nclosed, and I listened for a pistol-shot and a scream. It must have\nbeen done with a knife, I thought, and quietly, for when I was within\nten paces of the cabin he opened the door again. His face was very\nwhite; he held one hand behind him, and he was nervously fumbling at\nhis chill with the other. As he stepped towards me I caught the handle\nof a pistol in my side pocket and waited. He looked at me sharply.\n\n\"Did you say the preacher lived up thar?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, breathlessly.\n\nIn the door-way just then stood the girl with a bonnet in her hand, and\nat a nod from him they started up the hill towards the cottage. They\ncame down again after a while, he stalking ahead, and she, after the\nmountain fashion, behind. And after this fashion I saw them at sunset\nnext day pass over the bridge and into the mouth of the Gap whence they\ncame. Through this Gap come strange people and strange tales from the\nKentucky hills. Over it, sometimes, is the span of a rainbow.\n\n\n\n\nA TRICK O' TRADE\n\n\nStranger, I'm a separATE man, an' I don't inQUIZite into no man's\nbusiness; but you ax me straight, an' I tell ye straight: You watch\nole Tom!\n\nNow, I'll take ole Tom Perkins' word agin anybody's 'ceptin' when hit\ncomes to a hoss trade ur a piece o' land. Fer in the tricks o' sech,\nole Tom 'lows--well, hit's diff'ent; an' I reckon, stranger, as how hit\nsorter is. He was a-stayin' at Tom's house, the furriner was,\na-dickerin' fer a piece o' lan'--the same piece, mebbe, that you're\natter now--an' Tom keeps him thar fer a week to beat him out'n a\ndollar, an' then won't let him pay nary a cent fer his boa'd. Now,\nstranger, that's Tom.\n\nWell, Abe Shivers was a-workin' fer Tom--you've heerd tell o' Abe--an'\nthe furriner wasn't more'n half gone afore Tom seed that Abe was up to\nsome of his devilMINT. Abe kin hatch up more devilMINT in a minit than\nSatan hisself kin in a week; so Tom jes got Abe out'n the stable under\na hoe-handle, an' tol' him to tell the whole thing straight ur he'd\nhave to go to glory right thar. An' Abe tol'!\n\n'Pears like Abe had foun' a streak o' iron ore on the lan', an' had\nracked his jinny right down to Hazlan an' tol' the furriner, who was\nthar a-buyin' wild lands right an' left. Co'se, Abe was goin' to make\nthe furriner whack up fer gittin' the lan' so cheap. Well, brother,\nthe furriner come up to Tom's an' got Tom into one o' them new-fangled\ntrades whut the furriners calls a option--t'other feller kin git out'n\nhit, but you can't. The furriner 'lowed he'd send his podner up thar\nnext day to put the thing in writin' an' close up the trade. Hit\nlooked like ole Tom was ketched fer shore, an' ef Tom didn't ra'r, I'd\ntell a man. He jes let that hoe-handle drap on Abe fer 'bout haffen\nhour, jes to give him time to study, an' next day thar was ole Tom\na-settin' on his orchard fence a-lookin' mighty unknowin', when the\nfurriner's podner come a-prancin' up an' axed ef old Tom Perkins lived\nthar.\n\nOle Tom jes whispers.\n\nNow, I clean fergot to tell ye, stranger, that Abe Shivers nuver could\ntalk out loud. He tol' so many lies that the Lawd--jes to make things\neven--sorter fixed Abe, I reckon, so he couldn't lie on more'n one side\no' the river at a time. Ole Tom jes knowed t'other furriner had tol'\nthis un 'bout Abe, an,' shore 'nough, the feller says, sorter soft,\nsays he:\n\n\"Aw, you air the feller whut foun' the ore?\"\n\nOle Tom--makin' like he was Abe, mind ye--jes whispers: \"Thar hain't\nnone thar.\"\n\nStranger, the feller mos' fell off'n his hoss. \"Whut?\" says he. Ole\nTom kep' a-whisperin': \"Thar hain't no coal--no nothing; ole Tom\nPerkins made me tell t'other furriner them lies.\"\n\nWell, sir, the feller WAS mad. \"Jes whut I tol' that fool podner of\nmine,\" he says, an' he pull out a dollar an' gives hit to Tom. Tom jes\nsticks out his han' with his thum' turned in jes so, an' the furriner\nsays, \"Well, ef you can't talk, you kin make purty damn good signs\";\nbut he forks over four mo' dollars (he 'lowed ole Tom had saved him a\npile o' money), an' turns his hoss an' pulls up agin. He was a-gittin'\nthe land so durned cheap that I reckon he jes hated to let hit go, an'\nhe says, says he: \"Well, hain't the groun' rich? Won't hit raise no\ntabaccy nur corn nur nothin'?\"\n\nOle Tom jes whispers:\n\n\"To tell you the p'int-blank truth, stranger, that land's so durned\npore that I hain't nuver been able to raise my voice.\"\n\nNow, brother, I'm a separATE man, an' I don't inQUIZite into no man's\nbusiness--but you ax me straight an' I tell ye straight. Ole Tom\nPerkins kin trade with furriners, fer he have l'arned their ways. You\nwatch ole Tom!\n\n\n\n\nGRAYSON'S BABY\n\n\nThe first snow sifted in through the Gap that night, and in a \"shack\"\nof one room and a low loft a man was dead, a woman was sick to death,\nand four children were barely alive; and nobody even knew. For they\nwere hill people, who sicken, suffer, and sometimes die, like animals,\nand make no noise.\n\nGrayson, the Virginian, coming down from the woods that morning, saw\nthe big-hearted little doctor outside the door of the shack, walking up\nand down, with his hands in his pockets. He was whistling softly when\nGrayson got near, and, without stopping, pointed with his thumb within.\nThe oldest boy sat stolidly on the one chair in the room, his little\nbrother was on the floor hard by, and both were hugging a greasy stove.\nThe little girl was with her mother in the bed, both almost out of\nsight under a heap of quilts. The baby was in a cradle, with its face\nuncovered, whether dead or asleep Grayson could not tell. A pine\ncoffin was behind the door. It would not have been possible to add to\nthe disorder of the room, and the atmosphere made Grayson gasp. He\ncame out looking white. The first man to arrive thereafter took away\nthe eldest boy, a woman picked the baby girl from the bed, and a\nchildless young couple took up the pallid little fellow on the floor.\nThese were step-children. The baby boy that was left was the woman's\nown. Nobody came for that, and Grayson went in again and looked at it\na long while. So little, so old a human face he had never seen. The\nbrow was wrinkled as with centuries of pain, and the little drawn mouth\nlooked as though the spirit within had fought its inheritance without a\nmurmur, and would fight on that way to the end. It was the pluck of\nthe face that drew Grayson. \"I'll take it,\" he said. The doctor was\nnot without his sense of humor even then, but he nodded. \"Cradle and\nall,\" he said, gravely. And Grayson put both on one shoulder and\nwalked away. He had lost the power of giving further surprise in that\ntown, and had he met every man he knew, not one of them would have felt\nat liberty to ask him what he was doing. An hour later the doctor\nfound the child in Grayson's room, and Grayson still looking at it.\n\n\"Is it going to live, doctor?\"\n\nThe doctor shook his head. \"Doubtful. Look at the color. It's\nstarved. There's nothing to do but to watch it and feed it. You can\ndo that.\"\n\nSo Grayson watched it, with a fascination of which he was hardly\nconscious. Never for one instant did its look change--the quiet,\nunyielding endurance that no faith and no philosophy could ever bring\nto him. It was ideal courage, that look, to accept the inevitable but\nto fight it just that way. Half the little mountain town was talking\nnext day--that such a tragedy was possible by the public road-side,\nwith relief within sound of the baby's cry. The oldest boy was least\nstarved. Might made right in an extremity like his, and the boy had\ntaken care of himself. The young couple who had the second lad in\ncharge said they had been wakened at daylight the next morning by some\nnoise in the room. Looking up, they saw the little fellow at the\nfireplace breaking an egg. He had built a fire, had got eggs from the\nkitchen, and was cooking his breakfast. The little girl was\nmischievous and cheery in spite of her bad plight, and nobody knew of\nthe baby except Grayson and the doctor. Grayson would let nobody else\nin. As soon as it was well enough to be peevish and to cry, he took it\nback to its mother, who was still abed. A long, dark mountaineer was\nthere, of whom the woman seemed half afraid. He followed Grayson\noutside.\n\n\"Say, podner,\" he said, with an unpleasant smile, \"ye don't go up to\nCracker's Neck fer nothin', do ye?\"\n\nThe woman had lived at Cracker's Neck before she appeared at the Gap,\nand it did not come to Grayson what the man meant until he was half-way\nto his room. Then he flushed hot and wheeled back to the cabin, but\nthe mountaineer was gone.\n\n\"Tell that fellow he had better keep out of my way,\" he said to the\nwoman, who understood, and wanted to say something, but not knowing\nhow, nodded simply. In a few days the other children went back to the\ncabin, and day and night Grayson went to see the child, until it was\nout of danger, and afterwards. It was not long before the women in\ntown complained that the mother was ungrateful. When they sent things\nto eat to her the servant brought back word that she had called out,\n\"'Set them over thar,' without so much as a thanky.\" One message was\nthat \"she didn' want no second-hand victuals from nobody's table.\"\nSomebody suggested sending the family to the poor-house. The mother\nsaid \"she'd go out on her crutches and hoe corn fust, and that the\npeople who talked 'bout sendin' her to the po'-house had better save\ntheir breath to make prayers with.\" One day she was hired to do some\nwashing. The mistress of the house happened not to rise until ten\no'clock. Next morning the mountain woman did not appear until that\nhour. \"She wasn't goin' to work a lick while that woman was a-layin'\nin bed,\" she said, frankly. And when the lady went down town, she too\ndisappeared. Nor would she, she explained to Grayson, \"while that\nwoman was a-struttin' the streets.\"\n\nAfter that, one by one, they let her alone, and the woman made not a\nword of complaint. Within a week she was working in the fields, when\nshe should have been back in bed. The result was that the child\nsickened again. The old look came back to its face, and Grayson was\nthere night and day. He was having trouble out in Kentucky about this\ntime, and he went to the Blue Grass pretty often. Always, however, he\nleft money with me to see that the child was properly buried if it\nshould die while he was gone; and once he telegraphed to ask how it\nwas. He said he was sometimes afraid to open my letters for fear that\nhe should read that the baby was dead. The child knew Grayson's voice,\nhis step. It would go to him from its own mother. When it was sickest\nand lying torpid it would move the instant he stepped into the room,\nand, when he spoke, would hold out its thin arms, without opening its\neyes, and for hours Grayson would walk the floor with the troubled\nlittle baby over his shoulder. I thought several times it would die\nwhen, on one trip, Grayson was away for two weeks. One midnight,\nindeed, I found the mother moaning, and three female harpies about the\ncradle. The baby was dying this time, and I ran back for a flask of\nwhiskey. Ten minutes late with the whiskey that night would have been\ntoo late. The baby got to know me and my voice during that fortnight,\nbut it was still in danger when Grayson got back, and we went to see it\ntogether. It was very weak, and we both leaned over the cradle, from\neither side, and I saw the pity and affection--yes, hungry, half-shamed\naffection--in Grayson's face. The child opened its eyes, looked from\none to the other, and held out its arms to ME. Grayson should have\nknown that the child forgot--that it would forget its own mother. He\nturned sharply, and his face was a little pale. He gave something to\nthe woman, and not till then did I notice that her soft black eyes\nnever left him while he was in the cabin. The child got well; but\nGrayson never went to the shack again, and he said nothing when I came\nin one night and told him that some mountaineer--a long, dark\nfellow-had taken the woman, the children, and the household gods of the\nshack back into the mountains.\n\n\"They don't grieve long,\" I said, \"these people.\"\n\nBut long afterwards I saw the woman again along the dusty road that\nleads into the Gap. She had heard over in the mountains that Grayson\nwas dead, and had walked for two days to learn if it was true. I\npointed back towards Bee Rock, and told her that he had fallen from a\ncliff back there. She did not move, nor did her look change.\nMoreover, she said nothing, and, being in a hurry, I had to ride on.\n\nAt the foot-bridge over Roaring Fork I looked back. The woman was\nstill there, under the hot mid-day sun and in the dust of the road,\nmotionless.\n\n\n\n\nCOURTIN' ON CUTSHIN\n\n\nHit was this way, stranger. When hit comes to handlin' a right peert\ngal, Jeb Somers air about the porest man on Fryin' Pan, I reckon; an'\nPolly Ann Sturgill have got the vineg'rest tongue on Cutshin or any\nother crick.\n\nSo the boys over on Fryin' Pan made it up to git 'em together. Abe\nShivers--you've heerd tell o' Abe--tol' Jeb that Polly Ann had seed him\nin Hazlan (which she hadn't, of co'se), an' had said p'int-blank that\nhe was the likeliest feller she'd seed in them mountains. An' he tol'\nPolly Ann that Jeb was ravin' crazy 'bout her. The pure misery of it\njes made him plumb delirious, Abe said; an' 'f Polly Ann wanted to find\nher match fer languige an' talkin' out peert--well, she jes ought to\nstrike Jeb Somers. Fact is, stranger, Jeb Somers air might' nigh a\nidgit; but Jeb 'lowed he'd rack right over on Cutshin an' set up with\nPolly Ann Sturgill; an' Abe tells Polly Ann the king bee air comin'.\nAn' Polly Ann's cousin, Nance Osborn, comes over from Hell fer Sartain\n(whut runs into Kingdom-Come) to stay all night an' see the fun.\n\nNow, I hain't been a-raftin' logs down to the settlemints o' Kaintuck\nfer nigh on to twenty year fer nothin', An' I know gallivantin' is\ndiff'ent with us mountain fellers an' you furriners, in the premises,\nanyways, as them lawyers up to court says; though I reckon hit's purty\nmuch the same atter the premises is over. Whar you says \"courtin',\"\nnow, we says \"talkin' to.\" Sallie Spurlock over on Fryin' Pan is\na-talkin' to Jim Howard now. Sallie's sister hain't nuver talked to no\nman. An' whar you says \"makin' a call on a young lady,\" we says\n\"settin' up with a gal\"! An', stranger, we does it. We hain't got\nmore'n one room hardly ever in these mountains, an' we're jes obleeged\nto set up to do any courtin' at all.\n\nWell, you go over to Sallie's to stay all night some time, an' purty\nsoon atter supper Jim Howard comes in. The ole man an' the ole woman\ngoes to bed, an' the chil'un an' you go to bed, an' ef you keeps one\neye open you'll see Jim's cheer an' Sallie's cheer a-movin' purty soon,\ntill they gets plumb together. Then, stranger, hit begins. Now I want\nye to understand that settin' up means business. We don't 'low no\nfoolishness in these mountains; an' 'f two fellers happens to meet at\nthe same house, they jes makes the gal say which one she likes best,\nan' t'other one gits! Well, you'll see Jim put his arm 'round Sallie's\nneck an' whisper a long while--jes so. Mebbe you've noticed whut\nfellers us mountain folks air fer whisperin'. You've seed fellers\na-whisperin' all over Hazlan on court day, hain't ye? Ole Tom Perkins\n'll put his arm aroun' yo' neck an' whisper in yo' year ef he's ten\nmile out'n the woods. I reckon thar's jes so much devilmint a-goin' on\nin these mountains, folks is naturely afeerd to talk out loud.\n\nWell, Jim let's go an' Sallie puts her arm aroun' Jim's neck an'\nwhispers a long while--jes so; an' 'f you happen to wake up anywhar to\ntwo o'clock in the mornin' you'll see jes that a-goin' on. Brother,\nthat's settin' up.\n\nWell, Jeb Somers, as I was a-sayin' in the premises, 'lowed he'd rack\nright over on Cutshin an' set up with Polly Ann comin' Christmas night.\nAn' Abe tells Polly Ann Jeb says he aims to have her fer a Christmas\ngift afore mornin'. Polly Ann jes sniffed sorter, but you know women\nfolks air always mighty ambitious jes to SEE a feller anyways, 'f he's\na-pinin' fer 'em. So Jeb come, an' Jeb was fixed up now fittin' to\nkill. Jeb had his hair oiled down nice an' slick, and his mustache was\njes black as powder could make hit. Naturely hit was red; but a feller\ncan't do nothin' in these mountains with a red mustache; an' Jeb had a\nbig black ribbon tied in the butt o' the bigges' pistol Abe Shivers\ncould borrer fer him--hit was a badge o' death an' deestruction to his\nenemies, Abe said, an' I tell ye Jeb did look like a man. He never\nopened his mouth atter he says \"howdy\"--Jeb never does say nothin';\nJeb's one o' them fellers whut hides thar lack o' brains by a-lookin'\nsolemn an' a-keepin' still, but thar don't nobody say much tell the ole\nfolks air gone to bed, an' Polly Ann jes 'lowed Jeb was a-waitin'.\nFact is, stranger, Abe Shivers had got Jeb a leetle disguised by\nliquer, an' he did look fat an' sassy, ef he couldn't talk, a-settin'\nover in the corner a-plunkin' the banjer an' a-knockin' off \"Sour-wood\nMountain\" an' \"Jinny git aroun'\" an' \"Soapsuds over the Fence.\"\n\n \"Chickens a-crowin' on Sour-wood Mountain,\n Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee!\n Git yo' dawgs an' we'll go huntin',\n Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee!\"\n\nAn' when Jeb comes to\n\n \"I've got a gal at the head o' the holler,\n Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee!\"\n\nhe jes turns one eye 'round on Polly Ann, an' then swings his chin\naroun' as though he didn't give a cuss fer nothin'.\n\n \"She won't come, an' I won't foller,\n Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee!\"\n\n\nWell, sir, Nance seed that Polly Ann was a-eyin' Jeb sort o' flustered\nlike, an' she come might' nigh splittin' right thar an' a-sp'ilin' the\nfun, fer she knowed what a skeery fool Jeb was. An' when the ole folks\ngoes to bed, Nance lays thar under a quilt a-watchin' an' a-listenin'.\nWell, Jeb knowed the premises, ef he couldn't talk, an' purty soon\nNance heerd Jeb's cheer creak a leetle, an' she says, Jeb's a-comin',\nand Jeb was; an' Polly Ann 'lowed Jeb was jes a leetle TOO resolute an'\nquick-like, an' she got her hand ready to give him one lick anyways fer\nbein' so brigaty. I don't know as she'd 'a' hit him more'n ONCE. Jeb\nhad a farm, an' Polly Ann--well, Polly Ann was a-gittin' along. But\nPolly Ann sot thar jes as though she didn't know Jeb was a-comin', an'\nJeb stopped once an' says,\n\n\"You hain't got nothin' agin me, has ye?\"\n\nAn' Polly Ann says, sorter quick,\n\n\"Naw; ef I had, I'd push it.\"\n\nWell, Jeb mos' fell off his cheer, when, ef he hadn't been sech a\nskeery idgit, he'd 'a' knowed that Polly Ann was plain open an' shet\na-biddin' fer him. But he sot thar like a knot on a log fer haffen\nhour, an' then he rickollected, I reckon, that Abe had tol' him Polly\nAnn was peppery an' he mustn't mind, fer Jeb begun a-movin' ag'in till\nhe was slam-bang agin Polly Ann's cheer. An' thar he sot like a\npunkin, not sayin' a word nur doin' nothin'. An' while Polly Ann was\na-wonderin' ef he was gone plumb crazy, blame me ef that durned fool\ndidn't turn roun' to that peppery gal an' say,\n\n\"Booh, Polly Ann!\"\n\nWell, Nance had to stuff the bedquilt in her mouth right thar to keep\nfrom hollerin' out loud, fer Polly Ann's hand was a-hangin' down by the\ncheer, jes a-waitin' fer a job, and Nance seed the fingers a-twitchin'.\nAn' Jeb waits another haffen hour an' Jeb says,\n\n\"Ortern't I be killed?\"\n\n\"Whut fer?\" says Polly Ann, sorter sharp.\n\nAn' Jeb says, \"Fer bein' so devilish.\"\n\nWell, brother, Nance snorted right out thar, an' Polly Ann Sturgill's\nhand riz up jes once; an' I've heerd Jeb Somers say the next time he\njumps out o' the Fryin' Pan he's a-goin' to take hell-fire 'stid o'\nCutshin fer a place to light.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MESSAGE IN THE SAND\n\n\nStranger, you furriners don't nuver seem to consider that a woman has\nalways got the devil to fight in two people at once! Hit's two agin\none, I tell ye, an' hit hain't fa'r.\n\nThat's what I said more'n two year ago, when Rosie Branham was a-layin'\nup thar at Dave Hall's, white an' mos' dead. An', GOD, boys, I says,\nthat leetle thing in thar by her shorely can't be to blame.\n\nThar hain't been a word agin Rosie sence; an', stranger, I reckon thar\nnuver will be. Fer, while the gal hain't got hide o' kith or kin, thar\nair two fellers up hyeh sorter lookin' atter Rosie; an' one of 'em is\nthe shootin'es' man on this crick, I reckon, 'cept one; an', stranger,\nthat's t'other.\n\nRosie kep' her mouth shet fer a long while; an' I reckon as how the\nfeller 'lowed she wasn't goin' to tell. Co'se the woman folks got hit\nout'n her--they al'ays gits whut they want, as you know--an' thar the\nsorry cuss was--a-livin' up thar in the Bend, jes aroun' that bluff o'\nlorrel yander, a-lookin' pious, an' a-singin', an' a-sayin' Amen louder\n'n anybody when thar was meetin'.\n\nWell, my boy Jim an' a lot o' fellers jes went up fer him right away.\nI don't know as the boys would 'a' killed him EXACTLY ef they had\nkotched him, though they mought; but they got Abe Shivers, as tol' the\nfeller they was a-comin'--you've heard tell o' Abe-an' they mos' beat\nAbraham Shivers to death. Stranger, the sorry cuss was Dave. Rosie\nhadn't no daddy an' no mammy; an' she was jes a-workin' at Dave's fer\nher victuals an' clo'es. 'Pears like the pore gal was jes tricked into\nevil. Looked like she was sorter 'witched--an' anyways, stranger, she\nwas a fightin' Satan in HERSELF, as well as in Dave. Hit was two agin\none, I tell ye, an' hit wasn't fa'r.\n\nCo'se they turned Rosie right out in the road I hain't got a word to\nsay agin Dave's wife fer that; an' atter a while the boys lets Dave\ncome back, to take keer o' his ole mammy, of co'se, but I tell ye\nDave's a-playin' a purty lonesome tune. He keeps purty shy YIT. He\ndon't nuver sa'nter down this way. 'Pears like he don't seem to think\nhit's healthy fer him down hyeh, an' I reckon Dave's right.\n\nRosie? Oh, well, I sorter tuk Rosie in myself. Yes, she's been livin'\nthar in the shack with me an' my boy Jim, an' the-- Why, thar he is\nnow, stranger. That's him a-wallerin' out thar in the road. Do you\nreckon thar'd be a single thing agin that leetle cuss ef he had to\nstan' up on Jedgment Day jes as he is now?\n\nLook hyeh, stranger, whut you reckon the Lawd kep' a-writin' thar on\nthe groun' that day when them fellers was a-pesterin' him 'bout that\npore woman? Don't you jes know he was a writin' 'bout sech as HIM--an'\nRosie? I tell ye, brother, he writ thar jes what I'm al'ays a-sayin'.\n\nHit hain't the woman's fault. I said it more'n two year ago, when\nRosie was up thar at ole Dave's, an' I said it yestiddy, when my boy\nJim come to me an' 'lowed as how he aimed to take Rosie down to town\nto-day an' git married.\n\n\"You ricollect, dad,\" says Jim, \"her mammy?\"\n\n\"Yes, Jim,\" I says; \"all the better reason not to be too hard on Rosie.\"\n\nI'm a-lookin' fer 'em both back right now, stranger; an' ef you will,\nI'll be mighty glad to have ye stay right hyeh to the infair this very\nnight. Thar nuver was a word agin Rosie afore, thar hain't been sence,\nan' you kin ride up an' down this river till the crack o' doom an'\nyou'll nuver hear a word agin her ag'in. Fer, as I tol' you, my boy,\nJim is the shootin'es' feller on this crick, I reckon, 'cept ONE, an',\nstranger, that's ME!\n\n\n\n\nTHE SENATOR'S LAST TRADE\n\n\nA drove of lean cattle were swinging easily over Black Mountain, and\nbehind them came a big man with wild black hair and a bushy beard. Now\nand then he would gnaw at his mustache with his long, yellow teeth, or\nwould sit down to let his lean horse rest, and would flip meaninglessly\nat the bushes with a switch. Sometimes his bushy head would droop over\non his breast, and he would snap it up sharply and start painfully on.\nRobber, cattle-thief, outlaw he might have been in another century; for\nhe filled the figure of any robber hero in life or romance, and yet he\nwas only the Senator from Bell, as he was known in the little Kentucky\ncapital; or, as he was known in his mountain home, just the Senator,\nwho had toiled and schemed and grown rich and grown poor; who had\nsuffered long and was kind.\n\nOnly that Christmas he had gutted every store in town. \"Give me\neverything you have, brother,\" he said, across each counter; and next\nday every man, woman, and child in the mountain town had a present from\nthe Senator's hands. He looked like a brigand that day, as he looked\nnow, but he called every man his brother, and his eye, while black and\nlustreless as night, was as brooding and just as kind.\n\nWhen the boom went down, with it and with everybody else went the\nSenator. Slowly he got dusty, ragged, long of hair. He looked\ntortured and ever-restless. You never saw him still; always he swept\nby you, flapping his legs on his lean horse or his arms in his rickety\nbuggy here, there, everywhere--turning, twisting, fighting his way back\nto freedom--and not a murmur. Still was every man his brother, and if\nsome forgot his once open hand, he forgot it no more completely than\ndid the Senator. He went very far to pay his debts. He felt honor\nbound, indeed, to ask his sister to give back the farm that he had\ngiven her, which, very properly people said, she declined to do.\nNothing could kill hope in the Senator's breast; he would hand back the\nfarm in another year, he said; but the sister was firm, and without a\nword still, the Senator went other ways and schemed through the nights,\nand worked and rode and walked and traded through the days, until now,\nwhen the light was beginning to glimmer, his end was come.\n\nThis was the Senator's last trade, and in sight, down in a Kentucky\nvalley, was home. Strangely enough, the Senator did not care at all,\nand he had just enough sanity left to wonder why, and to be worried.\nIt was the \"walking typhoid\" that had caught up with him, and he was\nlistless, and he made strange gestures and did foolish things as he\nstumbled down the mountain. He was going over a little knoll now, and\nhe could see the creek that ran around his house, but he was not\ntouched. He would just as soon have lain down right where he was, or\nhave turned around and gone back, except that it was hot and he wanted\nto get to the water. He remembered that it was nigh Christmas; he saw\nthe snow about him and the cakes of ice in the creek. He knew that he\nought not to be hot, and yet he was--so hot that he refused to reason\nwith himself even a minute, and hurried on. It was odd that it should\nbe so, but just about that time, over in Virginia, a cattle dealer,\nnearing home, stopped to tell a neighbor how he had tricked some\nblack-whiskered fool up in the mountains. It may have been just when\nhe was laughing aloud over there, that the Senator, over here, tore his\nwoollen shirt from his great hairy chest and rushed into the icy\nstream, clapping his arms to his burning sides and shouting in his\nfrenzy.\n\n\"If he had lived a little longer,\" said a constituent, \"he would have\nlost the next election. He hadn't the money, you know.\"\n\n\"If he had lived a little longer,\" said the mountain preacher high up\non Yellow Creek, \"I'd have got that trade I had on hand with him\nthrough. Not that I wanted him to die, but if he had to--why--\"\n\n\"If he had lived a little longer,\" said the Senator's lawyer, \"he would\nhave cleaned off the score against him.\"\n\n\"If he had lived a little longer,\" said the Senator's sister, not\nmeaning to be unkind, \"he would have got all I have.\"\n\nThat was what life held for the Senator. Death was more kind.\n\n\n\n\nPREACHIN' ON KINGDOM-COME\n\n\nI've told ye, stranger, that Hell fer Sartain empties, as it oughter,\nof co'se, into Kingdom-Come. You can ketch the devil 'most any day in\nthe week on Hell fer Sartain, an' sometimes you can git Glory\neverlastin' on Kingdom-Come. Hit's the only meetin'-house thar in\ntwenty miles aroun'.\n\nWell, the reg'lar rider, ole Jim Skaggs, was dead, an' the bretherin\nwas a-lookin' aroun' fer somebody to step into ole Jim's shoes. Thar'd\nbeen one young feller up thar from the settlemints, a-cavortin' aroun',\nan' they was studyin' 'bout gittin' him.\n\n\"Bretherin' an' sisteren,\" I says, atter the leetle chap was gone,\n\"he's got the fortitood to speak an' he shorely is well favored. He's\ngot a mighty good hawk eye fer spyin' out evil--an' the gals; he can\noutholler ole Jim; an' IF,\" I says, \"any IDEES ever comes to him, he'll\nbe a hell-rouser shore--but they ain't comin'!\" An', so sayin', I takes\nmy foot in my hand an' steps fer home.\n\nStranger, them fellers over thar hain't seed much o' this world. Lots\nof 'em nuver seed the cyars; some of 'em nuver seed a wagon. An' atter\njowerin' an' noratin' fer 'bout two hours, what you reckon they said\nthey aimed to do? They believed they'd take that ar man Beecher, ef\nthey could git him to come. They'd heerd o' Henry endurin' the war,\nan' they knowed he was agin the rebs, an' they wanted Henry if they\ncould jes git him to come.\n\nWell, I snorted, an' the feud broke out on Hell fer Sartain betwixt the\nDays an' the Dillons. Mace Day shot Daws Dillon's brother, as I\nrickollect--somep'n's al'ays a-startin' up that plaguey war an'\na-makin' things frolicsome over thar--an' ef it hadn't a-been fer a\ntall young feller with black hair an' a scar across his forehead, who\nwas a-goin' through the mountains a-settlin' these wars, blame me ef I\nbelieve thar ever would 'a' been any mo' preachin' on Kingdom-Come.\nThis feller comes over from Hazlan an' says he aims to hold a meetin'\non Kingdom-Come. \"Brother,\" I says, \"that's what no preacher have ever\ndid whilst this war is a-goin' on.\" An' he says, sort o' quiet, \"Well,\nthen, I reckon I'll have to do what no preacher have ever did.\" An' I\nups an' says: \"Brother, an ole jedge come up here once from the\nsettlemints to hold couht. 'Jedge,' I says, 'that's what no jedge have\never did without soldiers since this war's been a-goin' on.' An',\nbrother, the jedge's words was yours, p'int-blank. 'All right,' he\nsays, 'then I'll have to do what no other jedge have ever did.' An',\nbrother,\" says I to the preacher, \"the jedge done it shore. He jes\nlaid under the couht-house fer two days whilst the boys fit over him.\nAn' when I sees the jedge a-makin' tracks fer the settlemints, I says,\n'Jedge,' I says, 'you spoke a parable shore.'\"\n\nWell, sir, the long preacher looked jes as though he was a-sayin' to\nhisself, \"Yes, I hear ye, but I don't heed ye,\" an' when he says, \"Jes\nthe same, I'm a-goin' to hold a meetin' on Kingdom-Come,\" why, I jes\ntakes my foot in my hand an' ag'in I steps fer home.\n\nThat night, stranger, I seed another feller from Hazlan, who was\na-tellin' how this here preacher had stopped the war over thar, an' had\ngot the Marcums an' Braytons to shakin' hands; an' next day ole Tom\nPerkins stops in an' says that WHARAS there mought 'a' been preachin'\nsomewhar an' sometime, thar nuver had been PREACHIN' afore on\nKingdom-Come. So I goes over to the meetin' house, an' they was all\nthar--Daws Dillon an' Mace Day, the leaders in the war, an' Abe Shivers\n(you've heerd tell o' Abe) who was a-carryin' tales from one side to\nt'other an' a-stirrin' up hell ginerally, as Abe most al'ays is; an'\nthar was Daws on one side o' the meetin'-house an' Mace on t'other, an'\nboth jes a-watchin' fer t'other to make a move, an' thar'd 'a' been\nbilly-hell to pay right thar! Stranger, that long preacher talked jes\nas easy as I'm a-talkin' now, an' hit was p'int-blank as the feller\nfrom Hazlan said. You jes ought 'a' heerd him tellin' about the Lawd\na-bein' as pore as any feller thar, an' a-makin' barns an' fences an'\nox-yokes an' sech like; an' not a-bein' able to write his own\nname--havin' to make his mark mebbe--when he started out to save the\nworld. An' how they tuk him an' nailed him onto a cross when he'd come\ndown fer nothin' but to save 'em; an' stuck a spear big as a corn-knife\ninto his side, an' give him vinegar; an' his own mammy a-standin' down\nthar on the ground a-cryin' an' a-watchin' him an' he a-fergivin' all\nof 'em then an' thar!\n\nThar nuver had been nothin' like that afore on Kingdom-Come, an' all\nalong I heerd fellers a-layin' thar guns down; an when the preacher\ncalled out fer sinners, blame me ef the fust feller that riz wasn't\nMace Day. An' Mace says, \"Stranger, 'f what you say is true, I reckon\nthe Lawd 'll fergive me too, but I don't believe Daws Dillon ever\nwill,\" an' Mace stood thar lookin' around fer Daws. An' all of a\nsudden the preacher got up straight an' called out, \"Is thar a human in\nthis house mean an' sorry enough to stand betwixt a man an' his Maker\"?\nAn' right thar, stranger, Daws riz. \"Naw, by God, thar hain' t!\" Daws\nsays, an' he walks up to Mace a-holdin' out his hand, an' they all\nbusts out cryin' an' shakin' hands--Days an' Dillons--jes as the\npreacher had made 'em do over in Hazlan. An' atter the thing was over,\nI steps up to the preacher an' I says:\n\n\"Brother,\" I says, \"YOU spoke a parable, shore.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE PASSING OF ABRAHAM SHIVERS\n\n\n\"I tell ye, boys, hit hain t often a feller has the chance o' doin' so\nmuch good jes by DYIN'. Fer 'f Abe Shivers air gone, shorely gone, the\nrest of us--every durn one of us--air a-goin' to be saved. Fer Abe\nShivers--you hain't heerd tell o' ABE? Well, you must be a stranger in\nthese mountains o' Kaintuck, shore.\n\n\"I don't know, stranger, as Abe ever was borned; nobody in these\nmountains knows it 'f he was. The fust time I ever heerd tell o' Abe\nhe was a-hollerin' fer his rights one mawnin' at daylight, endurin' the\nwar, jes outside o' ole Tom Perkins' door on Fryin' Pan. Abe was left\nthar by some home-gyard, I reckon. Well, nobody air ever turned out'n\ndoors in these mountains, as you know, an' Abe got his rights that\nmawin', an' he's been a-gittin' 'em ever sence. Tom already had a\nhouseful, but 'f any feller got the bigges' hunk o' corn-bread, that\nfeller was Abe; an' ef any feller got a-whalin', hit wasn't Abe.\n\n\"Abe tuk to lyin' right naturely--looked like--afore he could talk.\nFact is, Abe nuver could do nothin' but jes whisper. Still, Abe could\nmanage to send a lie furder with that rattlin' whisper than ole Tom\ncould with that big horn o' hisn what tells the boys the revenoos air\ncomin' up Fryin' Pan.'\n\n\"Didn't take Abe long to git to braggin' an' drinkin' an' naggin' an'\nhectorin'--everything, 'mos', 'cept fightin'. Nobody ever drawed Abe\nShivers into a fight. I don't know as he was afeerd; looked like Abe\nwas a-havin' sech a tarnation good time with his devilmint he jes\ndidn't want to run no risk o' havin' hit stopped. An' sech devilmint!\nHit ud take a 's age, I reckon, to tell ye.\n\n\"The boys was a-goin' up the river one night to git ole Dave Hall fer\ntrickin' Rosie Branham into evil. Some feller goes ahead an' tells ole\nDave they's a-comin.' Hit was Abe. Some feller finds a streak o' ore\non ole Tom Perkins' land, an' racks his jinny down to town, an' tells a\nfurriner thar, an' Tom comes might' nigh sellin' the land fer nothin'.\nNow Tom raised Abe, but, jes the same, the feller was Abe.\n\n\"One night somebody guides the revenoos in on Hell fer Sartain, an'\nthey cuts up four stills. Hit was Abe. The same night, mind ye, a\nfeller slips in among the revenoos while they's asleep, and cuts off\ntheir hosses' manes an' tails--muled every durned critter uv 'em.\nStranger, hit was Abe. An' as fer women-folks--well, Abe was the ill\nfavoredest feller I ever see, an' he couldn't talk; still, Abe was\nsassy, an' you know how sass counts with the gals; an' Abe's whisperin'\ncome in jes as handy as any feller's settin' up; so 'f ever you seed a\nman with a Winchester a-lookin' fer the feller who had cut him out,\nstranger, he was a-lookin' fer Abe.\n\n\"Somebody tells Harve Hall, up thar at a dance on Hell-fer-Sartain one\nChristmas night, that Rich Harp had said somep'n' agin him an' Nance\nOsborn. An' somebody tells Rich that Harve had said sompe'n' agin\nNance an' HIM. Hit was one an' the same feller, stranger, an' the\nfeller was Abe. Well, while Rich an' Harve was a-gittin' well,\nsomebody runs off with Nance. Hit was Abe. Then Rich an' Harve jes\ndraws straws fer a feller. Stranger, they drawed fer Abe. Hit's purty\nhard to believe that Abe air gone, 'cept that Rich Harp an' Harve Hall\ndon't never draw no straws fer nothin'; but 'f by the grace o'\nGoddle-mighty Abe air gone, why, as I was a-sayin', the rest of\nus--every durned one of us air a-goin' to be saved, shore. Fer Abe's\ngone fust, an' ef thar's only one Jedgment Day, the Lawd 'll nuver git\nto us.\"\n\n\n\n\nA PURPLE RHODODENDRON\n\n\nThe purple rhododendron is rare. Up in the Gap here, Bee Rock, hung\nout over Roaring Rock, blossoms with it--as a gray cloud purples with\nthe sunrise. This rock was tossed lightly on edge when the earth was\nyoung, and stands vertical. To get the flowers you climb the mountain\nto one side, and, balancing on the rock's thin edge, slip down by roots\nand past rattlesnake dens till you hang out over the water and reach\nfor them. To avoid snakes it is best to go when it is cool, at\ndaybreak.\n\nI know but one other place in this southwest corner of Virginia where\nthere is another bush of purple rhododendron, and one bush only is\nthere. This hangs at the throat of a peak not far away, whose ageless\ngray head is bent over a ravine that sinks like a spear thrust into the\nside of the mountain. Swept only by high wind and eagle wings as this\nis, I yet knew one man foolhardy enough to climb to it for a flower.\nHe brought one blossom down: and to this day I do not know that it was\nnot the act of a coward; yes, though Grayson did it, actually smiling\nall the way from peak to ravine, and though he was my best friend--best\nloved then and since. I believe he was the strangest man I have ever\nknown, and I say this with thought; for his eccentricities were\nsincere. In all he did I cannot remember having even suspected\nanything theatrical but once.\n\nWe were all Virginians or Kentuckians at the Gap, and Grayson was a\nVirginian. You might have guessed that he was a Southerner from his\nvoice and from the way he spoke of women--but no more. Otherwise, he\nmight have been a Moor, except for his color, which was about the only\nracial characteristic he had. He had been educated abroad and, after\nthe English habit, had travelled everywhere. And yet I can imagine no\nmore lonely way between the eternities than the path Grayson trod alone.\n\nHe came to the Gap in the early days, and just why he came I never\nknew. He had studied the iron question a long time, he told me, and\nwhat I thought reckless speculation was, it seems, deliberate judgment\nto him. His money \"in the dirt,\" as the phrase was, Grayson got him a\nhorse and rode the hills and waited. He was intimate with nobody.\nOccasionally he would play poker with us and sometimes he drank a good\ndeal, but liquor never loosed his tongue. At poker his face told as\nlittle as the back of his cards, and he won more than admiration--even\nfrom the Kentuckians, who are artists at the game; but the money went\nfrom a free hand, and, after a diversion like this, he was apt to be\nmoody and to keep more to himself than ever. Every fortnight or two he\nwould disappear, always over Sunday. In three or four days he would\nturn up again, black with brooding, and then he was the last man to\nleave the card-table or he kept away from it altogether. Where he went\nnobody knew; and he was not the man anybody would question.\n\nOne night two of us Kentuckians were sitting in the club, and from a\nhome paper I read aloud the rumored engagement of a girl we both\nknew--who was famous for beauty in the Bluegrass, as was her mother\nbefore her and the mother before her--to an unnamed Virginian. Grayson\nsat near, smoking a pipe; and when I read the girl's name I saw him\ntake the meerschaum from his lips, and I felt his eyes on me. It was a\nmystery how, but I knew at once that Grayson was the man. He sought me\nout after that and seemed to want to make friends. I was willing, or,\nrather he made me more than willing; for he was irresistible to me, as\nI imagine he would have been to anybody. We got to walking together\nand riding together at night, and we were soon rather intimate; but for\na long time he never so much as spoke the girl's name. Indeed, he kept\naway from the Bluegrass for nearly two months; but when he did go he\nstayed a fortnight.\n\nThis time he came for me as soon as he got back to the Gap. It was\njust before midnight, and we went as usual back of Imboden Hill,\nthrough moon-dappled beeches, and Grayson turned off into the woods\nwhere there was no path, both of us silent. We rode through tremulous,\nshining leaves--Grayson's horse choosing a way for himself--and,\nthreshing through a patch of high, strong weeds, we circled past an\namphitheatre of deadened trees whose crooked arms were tossed out into\nthe moonlight, and halted on the spur. The moon was poised over\nMorris's farm; South Fork was shining under us like a loop of gold, the\nmountains lay about in tranquil heaps, and the moon-mist rose luminous\nbetween them. There Grayson turned to me with an eager light in his\neyes that I had never seen before.\n\n\"This has a new beauty to-night!\" he said; and then \"I told her about\nyou, and she said that she used to know you--well.\" I was glad my face\nwas in shadow--I could hardly keep back a brutal laugh--and Grayson,\nunseeing, went on to speak of her as I had never heard any man speak of\nany woman. In the end, he said that she had just promised to be his\nwife. I answered nothing. Other men, I knew, had said that with the\nsame right, perhaps, and had gone from her to go back no more. And I\nwas one of them. Grayson had met her at White Sulphur five years\nbefore, and had loved her ever since. She had known it from the first,\nhe said, and I guessed then what was going to happen to him. I\nmarvelled, listening to the man, for it was the star of constancy in\nher white soul that was most lustrous to him--and while I wondered the\nmarvel became a commonplace. Did not every lover think his loved one\nexempt from the frailty that names other women? There is no ideal of\nfaith or of purity that does not live in countless women to-day. I\nbelieve that; but could I not recall one friend who walked with\nDivinity through pine woods for one immortal spring, and who, being\nsick to death, was quite finished--learning her at last? Did I not\nknow lovers who believed sacred to themselves, in the name of love,\nlips that had been given to many another without it? And now did I not\nknow--but I knew too much, and to Grayson I said nothing.\n\nThat spring the \"boom\" came. Grayson's property quadrupled in value\nand quadrupled again. I was his lawyer, and I plead with him to sell;\nbut Grayson laughed. He was not speculating; he had invested on\njudgment; he would sell only at a certain figure. The figure was\nactually reached, and Grayson let half go. The boom fell, and Grayson\ntook the tumble with a jest. It would come again in the autumn, he\nsaid, and he went off to meet the girl at White Sulphur.\n\nI worked right hard that summer, but I missed him, and I surely was\nglad when he came back. Something was wrong; I saw it at once. He did\nnot mention her name, and for a while he avoided even me. I sought him\nthen, and gradually I got him into our old habit of walking up into the\nGap and of sitting out after supper on a big rock in the valley,\nlistening to the run of the river and watching the afterglow over the\nCumberland, the moon rise over Wallen's Ridge and the stars come out.\nWaiting for him to speak, I learned for the first time then another\nsecret of his wretched melancholy. It was the hopelessness of that\ntime, perhaps, that disclosed it. Grayson had lost the faith of his\nchildhood. Most men do that at some time or other, but Grayson had no\nbusiness, no profession, no art in which to find relief. Indeed, there\nwas but one substitute possible, and that came like a gift straight\nfrom the God whom he denied. Love came, and Grayson's ideals of love,\nas of everything else, were morbid and quixotic. He believed that he\nowed it to the woman he should marry never to have loved another. He\nhad loved but one woman, he said, and he should love but one. I\nbelieved him then literally when he said that his love for the Kentucky\ngirl was his religion now--the only anchor left him in his sea of\ntroubles, the only star that gave him guiding light. Without this\nlove, what then?\n\nI had a strong impulse to ask him, but Grayson shivered, as though he\ndivined my thought, and, in some relentless way, our talk drifted to\nthe question of suicide. I was not surprised that he rather defended\nit. Neither of us said anything new, only I did not like the way he\ntalked. He was too deliberate, too serious, as though he were really\nfacing a possible fact. He had no religious scruples, he said, no\nfamily ties; he had nothing to do with bringing himself into life;\nwhy--if it was not worth living, not bearable--why should he not end\nit? He gave the usual authority, and I gave the usual answer.\nReligion aside, if we did not know that we were here for some purpose,\nwe did not know that we were not; and here we were anyway, and our duty\nwas plain. Desertion was the act of a coward, and that Grayson could\nnot deny.\n\nThat autumn the crash of '91 came across the water from England, and\nGrayson gave up. He went to Richmond, and came back with money enough\nto pay off his notes, and I think it took nearly all he had. Still, he\nplayed poker steadily now--for poker had been resumed when it was no\nlonger possible to gamble in lots--he drank a good deal, and he began\njust at this time to take a singular interest in our volunteer police\nguard. He had always been on hand when there was trouble, and I\nsha'n't soon forget him the day Senator Mahone spoke, when we were\npunching a crowd of mountaineers back with cocked Winchesters. He had\nlost his hat in a struggle with one giant; he looked half crazy with\nanger, and yet he was white and perfectly cool, and I noticed that he\nnever had to tell a man but once to stand back. Now he was the first\nman to answer a police whistle. When we were guarding Talt Hall, he\nalways volunteered when there was any unusual risk to run. When we\nraided the Pound to capture a gang of desperadoes, he insisted on going\nahead as spy; and when we got restless lying out in the woods waiting\nfor daybreak, and the captain suggested a charge on the cabin, Grayson\nwas by his side when it was made. Grayson sprang through the door\nfirst, and he was the man who thrust his reckless head up into the loft\nand lighted a match to see if the murderers were there. Most of us did\nfoolish things in those days under stress of excitement, but Grayson, I\nsaw, was weak enough to be reckless. His trouble with the girl,\nwhatever it was, was serious enough to make him apparently care little\nwhether he were alive or dead. And still I saw that not yet even had\nhe lost hope. He was having a sore fight with his pride, and he got\nbody-worn and heart-sick over it. Of course he was worsted, and in the\nend, from sheer weakness, he went back to her once more.\n\nI shall never see another face like his when Grayson came back that\nlast time. I never noticed before that there were silver hairs about\nhis temples. He stayed in his room, and had his meals sent to him. He\ncame out only to ride, and then at night. Waking the third morning at\ndaybreak, I saw him through the window galloping past, and I knew he\nhad spent the night on Black Mountain. I went to his room as soon as I\ngot up, and Grayson was lying across his bed with his face down, his\nclothes on, and in his right hand was a revolver. I reeled into a\nchair before I had strength enough to bend over him, and when I did I\nfound him asleep. I left him as he was, and I never let him know that\nI had been to his room; but I got him out on the rock again that night,\nand I turned our talk again to suicide. I said it was small, mean,\ncowardly, criminal, contemptible! I was savagely in earnest, and\nGrayson shivered and said not a word. I thought he was in better mind\nafter that. We got to taking night rides again, and I stayed as\nclosely to him as I could, for times got worse and trouble was upon\neverybody. Notes fell thicker than snowflakes, and, through the\nfoolish policy of the company, foreclosures had to be made. Grayson\nwent to the wall like the rest of us. I asked him what he had done\nwith the money he had made. He had given away a great deal to poorer\nkindred; he had paid his dead father's debts; he had played away a good\ndeal, and he had lost the rest. His faith was still imperturbable. He\nhad a dozen rectangles of \"dirt,\" and from these, he said, it would all\ncome back some day. Still, he felt the sudden poverty keenly, but he\nfaced it as he did any other physical fact in life--dauntless. He used\nto be fond of saying that no one thing could make him miserable. But\nhe would talk with mocking earnestness about some much-dreaded\ncombination; and a favorite phrase of his--which got to have peculiar\nsignificance--was \"the cohorts of hell,\" who closed in on him when he\nwas sick and weak, and who fell back when he got well. He had one\nstrange habit, too, from which I got comfort. He would deliberately\nwalk into and defy any temptation that beset him. That was the way he\nstrengthened himself, he said. I knew what his temptation was now, and\nI thought of this habit when I found him asleep with his revolver, and\nI got hope from it now, when the dreaded combination (whatever that\nwas) seemed actually to have come.\n\nI could see now that he got worse daily. He stopped his mockeries, his\noccasional fits of reckless gayety. He stopped poker--resolutely--he\ncouldn't afford to lose now; and, what puzzled me, he stopped drinking.\nThe man simply looked tired, always hopelessly tired; and I could\nbelieve him sincere in all his foolish talk about his blessed Nirvana:\nwhich was the peace he craved, which was end enough for him.\n\nWinter broke. May drew near; and one afternoon, when Grayson and I\ntook our walk up through the Gap, he carried along a huge spy-glass of\nmine, which had belonged to a famous old desperado, who watched his\nenemies with it from the mountain-tops. We both helped capture him,\nand I defended him. He was sentenced to hang--the glass was my fee.\nWe sat down opposite Bee Rock, and for the first time Grayson told me\nof that last scene with her. He spoke without bitterness, and he told\nme what she said, word for word, without a breath of blame for her. I\ndo not believe that he judged her at all; she did not know--he always\nsaid; she did not KNOW; and then, when I opened my lips, Grayson\nreached silently for my wrist, and I can feel again the warning crush\nof his fingers, and I say nothing against her now.\n\nI asked Grayson what his answer was.\n\n\"I asked her,\" he said, solemnly, \"if she had ever seen a purple\nrhododendron.\"\n\nI almost laughed, picturing the scene--the girl bewildered by his\nabsurd question--Grayson calm, superbly courteous. It was a mental\npeculiarity of his--this irrelevancy--and it was like him to end a\nmatter of life and death in just that way.\n\n\"I told her I should send her one. I am waiting for them to come out,\"\nhe added; and he lay back with his head against a stone and sighted the\ntelescope on a dizzy point, about which buzzards were circling.\n\n\"There is just one bush of rhododendron up there,\" he went on. \"I saw\nit looking down from the Point last spring. I imagine it must blossom\nearlier than that across there on Bee Rock, being always in the sun.\nNo, it's not budding yet,\" he added, with his eye to the glass.\n\n\"You see that ledge just to the left? I dropped a big rock from the\nPoint square on a rattler who was sunning himself there last spring. I\ncan see a foothold all the way up the cliff. It can be done,\" he\nconcluded, in a tone that made me turn sharply upon him.\n\n\"Do you really mean to climb up there?\" I asked, harshly.\n\n\"If it blossoms first up there--I'll get it where it blooms first.\" In\na moment I was angry and half sick with suspicion, for I knew his\nobstinacy; and then began what I am half ashamed to tell.\n\nEvery day thereafter Grayson took that glass with him, and I went along\nto humor him. I watched Bee Rock, and he that one bush at the throat\nof the peak--neither of us talking over the matter again. It was\nuncanny, that rivalry--sun and wind in one spot, sun and wind in\nanother--Nature herself casting the fate of a half-crazed fool with a\nflower. It was utterly absurd, but I got nervous over\nit--apprehensive, dismal.\n\nA week later it rained for two days, and the water was high. The next\nday the sun shone, and that afternoon Grayson smiled, looking through\nthe glass, and handed it to me. I knew what I should see. One purple\ncluster, full blown, was shaking in the wind. Grayson was leaning back\nin a dream when I let the glass down. A cool breath from the woods\nbehind us brought the odor of roots and of black earth; up in the\nleaves and sunlight somewhere a wood-thrush was singing, and I saw in\nGrayson's face what I had not seen for a long time, and that was\npeace--the peace of stubborn purpose. He did not come for me the next\nday, nor the next; but the next he did, earlier than usual.\n\n\"I am going to get that rhododendron,\" he said. \"I have been half-way\nup--it can be reached.\" So had I been half-way up. With nerve and\nagility the flower could be got, and both these Grayson had. If he had\nwanted to climb up there and drop, he could have done it alone, and he\nwould have known that I should have found him. Grayson was testing\nhimself again, and, angry with him for the absurdity of the thing and\nwith myself for humoring it, but still not sure of him, I picked up my\nhat and went. I swore to myself silently that it was the last time I\nshould pay any heed to his whims. I believed this would be the last.\nThe affair with the girl was over. The flower sent, I knew Grayson\nwould never mention her name again.\n\nNature was radiant that afternoon. The mountains had the leafy\nluxuriance of June, and a rich, sunlit haze drowsed on them between the\nshadows starting out over the valley and the clouds so white that the\nblue of the sky looked dark. Two eagles shot across the mouth of the\nGap as we neared it, and high beyond buzzards were sailing over\nGrayson's rhododendron.\n\nI went up the ravine with him and I climbed up behind him--Grayson\ngoing very deliberately and whistling softly. He called down to me\nwhen he reached the shelf that looked half-way.\n\n\"You mustn't come any farther than this,\" he said. \"Get out on that\nrock and I'll drop them down to you.\"\n\nThen he jumped from the ledge and caught the body of a small tree close\nto the roots, and my heart sank at such recklessness and all my fears\nrose again. I scrambled hastily to the ledge, but I could get no\nfarther. I might possibly make the jump he had made--but how should I\never get back? How would he? I called angrily after him now, and he\nwouldn't answer me. I called him a fool, a coward; I stamped the ledge\nlike a child--but Grayson kept on, foot after hand, with stealthy\ncaution, and the purple cluster nodding down at him made my head whirl.\nI had to lie down to keep from tumbling from the ledge; and there on my\nside, gripping a pine bush, I lay looking up at him. He was close to\nthe flowers now, and just before he took the last upward step he turned\nand looked down that awful height with as calm a face as though he\ncould have dropped and floated unhurt to the ravine beneath.\n\nThen with his left hand he caught the ledge to the left, strained up,\nand, holding thus, reached out with his right. The hand closed about\nthe cluster, and the twig was broken. Grayson gave a great shout then.\nHe turned his head as though to drop them, and, that far away, I heard\nthe sibilant whir of rattles. I saw a snake's crest within a yard of\nhis face, and, my God! I saw Grayson loose his left hand to guard it!\nThe snake struck at his arm, and Grayson reeled and caught back once at\nthe ledge with his left hand. He caught once, I say, to do him full\njustice; then, without a word, he dropped--and I swear there was a\nsmile on his face when he shot down past me into the trees.\n\n\nI found him down there in the ravine with nearly every bone in his body\ncrushed. His left arm was under him, and outstretched in his right\nhand was the shattered cluster, with every blossom gone but one. One\nwhite half of his face was unmarked, and on it was still the shadow of\na smile. I think it meant more than that Grayson believed that he was\nnear peace at last. It meant that Fate had done the deed for him and\nthat he was glad. Whether he would have done it himself, I do not\nknow; and that is why I say that though Grayson brought the flower\ndown--smiling from peak to ravine--I do not know that he was not, after\nall, a coward.\n\nThat night I wrote to the woman in Kentucky. I told her that Grayson\nhad fallen from a cliff while climbing for flowers; and that he was\ndead. Along with these words, I sent a purple rhododendron.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of 'Hell fer Sartain' and Other Stories, by \nJohn Fox, Jr.\n\n*** "], ["\n\n\n\nProduced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org\n\n\n\n\nRODIN\n\nTHE MAN AND HIS ART\n\nWITH LEAVES FROM HIS NOTE-BOOK\n\nCOMPILED BY JUDITH CLADEL\n\nAND TRANSLATED BY S.K. STAR\n\nWITH INTRODUCTION BY JAMES HUNEKER\n\nAND ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS\n\n\n\nNEW YORK\n\nTHE CENTURY CO.\n\n1917\n\n\n[Illustration: RODIN PHOTOGRAPHED ON THE STEPS OF THE HOTEL BIRON.]\n\n\n\n\nAUGUSTE RODIN\n\nBY JAMES HUNEKER\n\n\nI\n\nOf Auguste Rodin one thing may be said without fear of contradiction:\namong his contemporaries to-day he is preeminently the master. Born\nat Paris, 1840,--the natal year of his friends, Claude Monet and\nZola--in humble circumstances, without a liberal education, the young\nRodin had to fight from the beginning; fight for bread as well as\nan art schooling. He was not even sure of his vocation. An accident\ndetermined it. He became a workman in the atelier of the sculptor,\nCarrier-Belleuse, though not until he had failed at the Beaux-Arts (a\nstroke of luck for his genius), and after he had enjoyed some tentative\ninstruction under the animal sculptor, Barye (he was not a steady\npupil of Barye, nor did he care to remain with him) he went to Belgium\nand \"ghosted\" for other sculptors; it was his privilege or misfortune\nto have been the anonymous assistant of a half dozen sculptors. He\nmastered the technique of his art by the sweat of his brow before he\nbegan to make music upon his own instrument. How his first work, \"The\nMan with the Broken Nose,\" was refused by the Salon jury is history.\nHe designed for the Sevres porcelain works. He executed portrait busts,\narchitectural ornaments, caryatids; all styles that were huddled in the\nstudios and yards of sculptors he essayed. No man knew his trade better,\nalthough it is said that with the chisel of the _practicien_ Rodin was\nnever proficient; he could not, or would not, work at the marble _en\nbloc_. His sculptures to-day are in the museums of the world, and he is\nadmitted to possess \"talent\" by academic men. Rivals he has none. His\nproduction is too personal. Like Richard Wagner he has proved a upas\ntree for lesser artists--he has deflected, or else absorbed them. His\nfriend Eugene Carriere warned young sculptors not to study Rodin too\ncuriously. Carriere was wise, yet his art of portraiture was influenced\nby Rodin; swimming in shadow his enigmatic heads have more the quality\nof Rodin's than the mortuary art of academic sculpture.\n\nA profound student of light and movement, Rodin by deliberate\namplification of the surfaces of his statues, avoiding dryness and\nharshness of outline, secures a zone of radiancy, a luminosity which\ncreates the illusion of reality. He handles values in clay as a\npainter does his tones. He gets the design of the outline by movement\nwhich continually modifies the anatomy; the secret of the Greeks,\nhe believes. He studies his profiles successively in full light,\nobtaining volume--or planes--at once and together; successive views\nof one movement. The light plays with more freedom upon his amplified\nsurfaces, intensified in the modeling by enlarging the lines. The edges\nof certain parts are amplified, deformed, falsified, and we enjoy\nlight-swept effects, luminous emanations. This deformation, he declares,\nwas always practised by the great sculptors to snare the undulating\nappearance of life. Sculpture, he asserts, is the \"art of the hole and\nlump, not of clear, well-smoothed, unmodeled figures.\" Finish kills\nvitality. Yet Rodin can chisel a smooth nymph, if he so wills, but her\nflesh will ripple and run in the sunlight. His art is one of accents.\nHe works by profile in depth, not by surfaces. He swears by what he\ncalls \"cubic truth\"; his pattern is a mathematical figure; the pivot of\nart is balance, i.e., the opposition of volumes produced by movement.\nUnity haunts him. He is a believer in the correspondence of things, of\ncontinuity in nature. He is mystic, as well as a geometrician. Yet such\na realist is he that he quarrels with any artist who does not recognize\n\"the latent heroic in every natural movement.\"\n\nTherefore he does not force the pose of his model, preferring attitudes\nor gestures voluntarily adopted. His sketch books, as vivid, as copious,\nas the drawings of Hokusai--he is studious of Japanese art--are swift\nmemoranda of the human machine as it dispenses its normal muscular\nmotions. Rodin, draughtsman, is as surprisingly original as the sculptor\nRodin. He will study a human foot for months, not to copy it, but to\nmaster the secret of its rhythms. His drawings are the swift notations\nof a sculptor whose eye is never satisfied, whose desire to pin to paper\nthe most evanescent vibrations of the human machine is almost a mania.\nThe model may tumble down anywhere, in any contortion or relaxation\nhe or she wishes. Practically instantaneous is the method of Rodin\nto register the fleeting attitudes, the first shivering surface. He\nrapidly draws with his eye on the model. It is often a mere scrawl, a\nsilhouette, a few enveloping lines. But there is vitality in it all, and\nfor his purpose, a notation of a motion. But a sculptor has made these\nextraordinary drawings, not a painter. It may be well to observe the\ndistinction. And he is the most rhythmic sculptor among the moderns.\nRhythm means for him the codification of beauty. Because, with a vision\nquite virginal, he has observed, he insists that he has affiliations\nwith the Greeks. But if his vision is Greek his models are French, while\nhis forms are more Gothic than the pseudo-Greek of the academy.\n\nAs Mr. W.C. Brownell wrote: \"Rodin reveals rather than constructs beauty\n... no sculptor has carried expression further; and expression means\nindividual character completely exhibited rather than conventionally\nsuggested.\" Mr. Brownell was the first critic to point out that Rodin's\nart was more nearly related to Donatello's than to Michael Angelo's.\nHe is in the legitimate line of Gallic sculpture, the line of Goujon,\nPuget, Rude, Barye. Dalou, the celebrated sculptor, did not hesitate\nto assert that the Dante portal is \"one of the most, if not the most,\noriginal and astonishing pieces of sculpture of the nineteenth century.\"\n\nThis Dante gate, begun thirty years ago, not finished yet--and probably\nnever to be--is an astoundingly plastic fugue, with death, the devil,\nhell, and human passions, for a complicated four-voiced theme. I\nfirst saw the composition at the Rue de l'Universite atelier. It is\nas terrifying a conception as the Last Judgment. Nor does it miss the\nsonorous and sorrowful grandeur of the Medici Tombs. Yet how different.\nHow feverish, how tragic. Like all great men working in the grip of a\nunifying idea, Rodin modified the technique of sculpture so that it\nwould serve him as sound does a musical composer. A lover of music his\ninner ear may dictate the vibrating rhythms of his forms; his marbles\nare ever musical, ever in modulation, not \"frozen music,\" as Goethe\nsaid of Gothic architecture, but silent, swooning music. This Gate is\na Frieze of Paris, as deeply significant of modern inspiration and\nsorrow as the Parthenon Frieze is the symbol of the great clear beauty\nof Hellas. Dante inspired this monstrous yet ennobled masterpiece, and\nBaudelaire's poetry filled many of its chinks and crannies with ignoble\nwrithing shapes; shapes of dusky fire that, as they tremulously stand\nabove the gulf of fear, wave ineffectual and desperate hands as if\nimploring destiny.\n\nBut Rodin is not all hell-fire and tragedy. Of singular delicacy and\nexquisite proportion are his marbles of youth, of springtide, of the joy\nand desire of life. At Paris, 1900, in his special exhibition Salle,\nEurope and America awoke to the beauty of these haunting visions. Not\nsince Keats and Wagner and Swinburne has love been voiced so sweetly, so\nromantically, so fiercely. Though he disclaims understanding the Celtic\nspirit one might say that there is Celtic magic, Celtic mystery in his\nlyrical work. He pierces to the core the frenzy of love, and translates\nit into lovely symbols. For him nature is the sole mistress--his\nsculptures are but variations on her themes. He knows the emerald route,\nand all the semitones of sensuousness. Fantasy, passion, paroxysmal\nmadness are there, yet what elemental power is in his \"Adam,\" as the\ngigantic first man painfully heaves himself up from the earth to the\nposture that differentiates him forever from the beast. Here, indeed,\ntwo natures are at strife. And \"Mother Eve\" suggests the sorrows and\nshames that are to be the lot of her seed; her very loins crushed by the\nfuture generations hidden within them. One may freely walk about the\n\"Burghers of Calais\" as Rodin did when he modeled them; a reason for\nthe vital quality of the group. Around all his statues we may walk; he\nis not a sculptor of a single attitude but a hewer of humans. Consider\nthe \"Balzac.\" It is not Balzac the writer, but Balzac the prophet, the\nseer, the enormous natural force that was Balzac. Rodin is himself a\nseer. That is why these two spirits converse across the years, as do the\nAlpine peaks in a certain striking parable of Turgenev's. Doubtless in\nbronze Rodin's \"Balzac\" will arouse less wrath from the unimaginative;\nin plaster it produces the effect of a snowy surging monolith.\n\nAs a portraitist Rodin is the unique master of characters. His women are\ngracious delicate masks; his men cover octaves in virility and variety.\nThat he is extremely short-sighted has not been dealt with in proportion\nto the significance of the fact. It accounts for his love of exaggerated\nsurfaces, his formless extravagance, his indefiniteness in structural\ndesign; perhaps, too, for his inability, or let us say, his lack of\nsympathy, for the monumental. He is a sculptor of intimate emotions.\nAnd while we think of him as a Cyclops destructively wielding a huge\nhammer, he is more ardent in his search for the supersubtle nuance. But\nthere is always the feeling of breadth, even when he models an eyelid.\nWe are confronted by the paradox of an artist as torrential as Rubens\nor Wagner, carving in a wholly charming style a segment of a child's\nback, before which we are forced to exclaim: Donatello come to life! His\nmyopic vision, then, may have been his artistic salvation; he seems to\nrely as much on his delicate tactile sense as on his eyes. His fingers\nare as sensitive as a violinist's. At times he seems to model both tone\nand color.\n\nA poet, a precise, sober workman of art, with a peasant strain in\nhim, he is like Millet, and, like Millet, near to the soil. A natural\nman, yet crossed by nature with a perverse strain; the possessor\nof a sensibility exalted and dolorous; morbid, sick-nerved, and as\nintrospective as Heine; a visionary and a lover of life, close to the\nperiphery of things; an interpreter of Baudelaire; Dante's _alter ego_\nin his grasp of the wheel of eternity, in his passionate fling at\nnature; withal a sculptor, profound and tortured, transposing rhythm\ninto the terms of his art, Rodin is a statuary who, while having\naffinities with classic and romantic schools, is the most startling\napparition of his century. And to the century which he has summed up so\nplastically and emotionally he has propounded questions that only unborn\nyears may answer. He has a hundred faults to which he opposes one\nimperious excellence--a genius, sombre, magical and overwhelming.\n\n\n\nII\n\nRodin deserves well of our young century, the old did so incontinently\nbatter him. The anguish of his own \"Hell's Portal\" he endured before he\nmolded its clay between his thick clairvoyant fingers. Misunderstood,\ntherefore misrepresented, he with his pride and obstinacy aroused--the\none buttressing the other--was not to be budged from his formulas or\nthe practice of his sculpture. Then the art world swung unamiably,\nunwillingly, toward him, perhaps more from curiosity than conviction.\nHe became famous. And he is more misunderstood than ever. He has been\ncalled _ruse_, even a fraud, while the wholesale denunciation of his\nwork as erotic is unluckily still green in our memory. The sculptor,\nwho in 1877 was accused of \"faking\" his lifelike \"Age of Bronze\"--now\nin the Luxembourg--by taking a mold from the living model, also\nexperienced the discomfiture of being assured some years later that,\nnot understanding the art of modeling, his statue of Balzac was only\nan evasion of difficulties. And this to a man who in the interim had\nwrought so many masterpieces. A year or two ago, after his magnificent\noffer to the city of Paris of his works, there was much malevolent\ncriticism from certain quarters. Rodin takes all this philosophically.\nHe points out that the artist is the only one to-day who creates in\njoy. Mankind as a majority hates its work. Workmen no longer consider\ntheir various avocations with proper pride--this was a favorite thesis\nof Ruskin, William Morris, and Renoir. Furthermore, argues Rodin, the\nartist is indispensable. He reveals the beauty and meaning of life to\nhis fellows. He struggles against the false, the conventional, and the\nused-up; but the French sculptor slyly adds: \"No one may benefit mankind\nwith impunity.\" He considers himself as having a religious nature; all\nartists are temperamentally religious, he contends, though his religion\nis not precisely of the kind that would appeal to the orthodox.\n\nTo give Rodin his due he stands prosperity not quite as well as poverty.\nIn every great artist there is a large area of self-esteem; it is\nthe reservoir from which he must, during years of drought or defeat,\ndraw upon to keep fresh the soul. Without the consoling fluid of\negotism genius would soon perish in the dust of despair. But fill this\nsource to the brim, accelerate the speed of its current, and artistic\ndeterioration may ensue. Rodin has been fatuously called a second\nMichael Angelo--as if there could ever be a replica of any human. He\nhas been hailed as a modern Praxiteles; which is nonsense. And he is\noften damned as a myopic decadent whose insensibility to the pure line\nand lack of architectonic have been elevated by his admirers into sorry\nvirtues. Nevertheless, is Rodin justly appraised? Do his friends not\nover-glorify him? Nothing so stales a demigod's image as the perfumes\nburned before it by worshipers; the denser the smoke the sooner crumbles\nthe feet of their idol.\n\nHowever, in the case of Rodin the Fates have so contrived their\nmalicious game that at no point in his career has he been without the\ncompany of envy and slander. Often when he had attained a summit he\nwould be thrust down into a deeper valley. He has mounted to triumphs\nand fallen to humiliations; but his spirit has never been quelled;\nand if each acclivity he scales is steeper, the air atop has grown\npurer, more stimulating, and below the landscape spreads wider before\nhim. With Dante he can say: \"La montagna ch'e drizza voi ch'e il\nmondo fece torti.\" Rodin's mountain has always straightened in him\nwhat the world made crooked. The name of his mountain is Art. A born\nnonconformist, Rodin makes the fourth of that group of nineteenth\ncentury artists--Richard Wagner, Henrik Ibsen, Edouard Manet--who taught\na deaf, dumb, and blind world to hear, see, think, and feel.\n\nIs it not dangerous to say of a genius that his work alone should\ncount, that his personality is negligible? Though Rodin has followed\nFlaubert's advice to artists to lead an ascetic life that their art\nmight be the more violent, nevertheless his career, colorless as\nit may seem to those who love better stage players and the comedy\nof society--this laborious life of a poor sculptor should not be\npassed over. He always becomes enraged at the prevailing notion that\nfire descends from heaven upon genius. Rodin believes in but one\ninspiration--nature. Nature can do no wrong. He swears that he does not\ninvent, he copies nature. He despises improvisation, has contemptuous\nwords for \"fatal facility,\" and, being a slow-thinking, slow-moving\nman, he only admits to his councils those who have conquered art, not\nby assault, but by stealth and after years of hard work. He sympathizes\nwith Flaubert's patient, toiling days. He praises Holland because after\nParis it seems slow. \"Slowness is beauty,\" he declares. In a word, he\nhas evolved a theory and practice of his art that is the outcome--like\nall theories, all techniques--of his own temperament. And that\ntemperament is giant-like, massive, ironic, grave, strangely perverse;\nit is the temperament of a magician of art doubled by a mathematician's.\n\nBooks are written about him. With picturesque precision De Maupassant\ndescribed him in \"Notre Coeur.\" Rodin is tempting as a psychologic\nstudy. He appeals to the literary critic, though his art is not\n\"literary.\" His modeling arouses tempests, either of dispraise or\nidolatry. To see him steadily after a visit to his studios at Paris\nor Meudon is difficult. If the master be present then one feels the\nimpact of a personality that is misty as the clouds about the base of\na mountain, and as impressive as the bulk of the mountain. Yet a sane,\npleasant, unassuming man interested in his clay--that is, unless you\nhappen to discover him interested in humanity. If you watch him well you\nmay in turn find yourself watched; those peering eyes possess a vision\nthat plunges into the depths of your soul. And this master of marble\nsees the soul as nude as he sees the body. It is the union in him of\nsculptor and psychologist that places Rodin apart from other artists.\nThese two arts (psychology is the art of divination) he practises\nin a medium that hitherto did not betray potentialities for such\nperformances. Walter Pater is right in maintaining that each art has its\nseparate subject matter; still, in the debatable province of Rodin's\nsculpture we find strange emotional power, hints of the pictorial, and\na rare suggestion of music. This, obviously, is not playing the game\naccording to the rules of Lessing and his Laocooen.\n\nLet us drop the old aesthetic rule of thumb and confess that during the\nlast century a new race of artists sprang up and in their novel element\nthey, like flying-fishes, revealed to a wondering world their composite\nstructure. Thus we find Berlioz painting with his instrumentation; Franz\nLiszt, Tschaikowsky, and Richard Strauss filling their symphonic poems\nwith drama and poetry; while Richard Wagner invented an art which he\nbelieved embraced all the others. And there was Ibsen who employed the\ndramatic form as a vehicle for his anarchistic ideas; and Nietzsche, who\nwas such a poet that he was able to sing a mad philosophy into life; not\nto forget Rossetti, who painted poems and made poetry of his pictures.\nSculpture was the only art that resisted this universal disintegration,\nthis imbroglio of the seven arts. No sculptor before Rodin had dared to\nshiver the syntax of stone. For sculpture is a static, not a dynamic\nart--is it not? Let us observe the rules though we call up the chill\nspirit of the cemetery. What Mallarme attempted with French poetry\nRodin accomplished in clay. His marbles do not represent, but present,\nemotion; they are the evocation of emotion itself; as in music, form and\nsubstance coalesce. If he does not, as does Mallarme, arouse \"the silent\nthunder afloat in the leaves,\" he can summon from the vasty deep the\nspirits of love, hate, pain, sin, despair, beauty, ecstasy; above all,\necstasy. Now, the primal gift of ecstasy is bestowed upon few artists.\nKeats had it, and Shelley; Byron, despite his passion, missed it. We\nfind it in Swinburne, he had it from the first. Few French poets know\nit. Like the \"cold devils\" of Felicien Rops, coiled in frozen ecstasy,\nthe fiery blasts of hell about them, Charles Baudelaire boasted the\ndangerous gift. Poe and Heine felt ecstasy, and Liszt. Wagner was the\nmaster-adept of ecstasy: Tristan and Isolde! And in the music of Chopin\necstasy is pinioned within a bar, the soul rapt to heaven in a phrase.\nRichard Strauss has given us a variation on the theme of ecstasy;\nvoluptuousness troubled by pain, the soul tormented pathologically.\n\nRodin is of this tormented choir. He is revealer of its psychology.\nIt may be decadence, as any art is in its decadence which stakes the\npart against the whole. The same was said of Beethoven by the followers\nof Haydn, and the successors of Richard Strauss--Debussy, Stravinsky,\nand Schoenberg--are abused quite as violently as the Wagnerites abused\nRichard Strauss, turning against him the same critical artillery that\nwas formerly employed against Wagner. Nowadays, Rodin is looked on as\nsuperannuated, as a reactionary by the younger men, the Cubists and\nFuturists, who spoil marble with their iconoclastic chisels and canvas\nwith their paint-tubes.\n\nThat this ecstasy should be aroused by pictures of love and death, as\nin the case of Poe and Baudelaire, Wagner and Strauss and Rodin, is not\nto be judged an artistic crime. In the Far East they hypnotize neophytes\nwith a bit of broken mirror, for in the kingdom of art there are many\nmansions. Possibly it was a relic of his early admiration for Baudelaire\nthat set Wagner to extorting ecstasy from his orchestra by images of\nlove and death. And no doubt the temperament which seeks such synthesis,\na temperament commoner in medieval times than ours, was inherent in\nWagner, as it is in Rodin. Both men play with the same counters: love\nand death. In Pisa we may see (attributed by Vasari) Orcagna's fresco of\nthe Triumph of Death. The sting of the flesh and the way of all flesh\nare inextricably blended in Rodin's Gate of Hell. His principal reading\nfor half a century has been Dante and Baudelaire; the Divine Comedy and\n\"Les Fleurs du Mal\" are the keynotes in the grandiose white symphony of\nthe French sculptor. Love and life, and bitterness and death rule the\nthemes of his marbles. Like Beethoven and Wagner, he breaks academic\nrules, for he is Auguste Rodin, and where he magnificently achieves,\nlesser men fail or fumble. His large, tumultuous music is alone for his\nchisel to ring out and to sing.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n THE CAREER OF RODIN\n\n RODIN AND THE BEAUX-ARTS\n\n Sojourn in Belgium--\"The Man Who Awakens to\n Nature\"--Realism and Plaster Casts.\n\n FLEMISH PAINTING--JOURNEYS IN ITALY AND FRANCE.\n\n RODIN'S NOTE-BOOK\n\n I ANCIENT WORKSHOPS AND MODERN SCHOOLS\n\n II SCATTERED THOUGHTS ON FLOWERS\n\n III PORTRAITS OF WOMEN\n\n IV AN ARTIST'S DAY\n\n V THE LINE AND THE STRUCTURE OF THE GOTHIC\n\n VI ART AND NATURE\n\n VII THE GOTHIC GENIUS\n\n\n THE WORK OF RODIN\n\n I THE STUDY OF THE CATHEDRALS--INFLUENCE OF\n THE GOTHIC ON THE ART OF RODIN--\"SAINT\n JOHN THE BAPTIST\" (1880)--\"THE GATE OF\n HELL\"\n\n II \"THE BURGHERS OF CALAIS\" (1889)--RODIN AND\n VICTOR HUGO--THE STATUE OF BALZAC (1898)\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n Rodin photographed on the steps of the Hotel Biron Frontispiece\n Portrait of a Young Girl\n La Pucelle\n Minerva\n Psyche\n The Adieu\n Rodin in His Studio at the Hotel Biron\n Representation of France\n The Man with the Broken Nose\n Caryatid\n Man Awakening to Nature\n The Kiss\n Bust of the Countess of W----\n The Poet and the Muse\n The Thinker\n Adolescence\n Portrait of Rodin\n Head of Minerva\n The Bath\n The Broken Lily\n Portrait of Madame Morla Vicunha\n \"La Pensee\"\n Hotel Biron, View from the Garden\n Rodin Photographed in the Court of the Hotel Biron\n Portrait of Mrs. X\n Rodin in His Garden\n The Poet and the Muses\n The Tower of Labor\n Headless Figure\n Rodin's House and Studio at Meudon\n The Tempest\n The Village Fiancee\n Metamorphosis According to Ovid\n Eve\n Rodin at Work in the Marble\n Peristyle of the Studio at Meudon\n Statue of Bastien-Lepage\n Danaiade\n Portrait Bust of Victor Hugo\n Monument to Victor Hugo\n Statue of Balzac\n The Head of Balzac\n The Studio at Meudon\n Romeo and Juliet\n Spring\n Bust of Bernard Shaw\n A Fete Given in Honor of Rodin by Some of His Friends.\n\n\n\nTHE MAN AND HIS ART\n\n\n\n\nTHE CAREER OF RODIN\n\n\nSeveral years have already gone by since the career of Rodin attained\nits full growth. From now on, therefore, it can be envisaged as a whole,\nand we can trace the formation and the unfolding of his complex talent\nand disentangle the influences that have directed and sustained it.\n\nIn the course of the chapters that follow, Rodin, with the authority,\nthe calm strength, and the lucidity that characterize his thought, often\nspeaks himself of these influences, but rather in a casual, gossipy,\nreminiscent vein, reflecting his personal observations. He does not\nattempt to disengage the broad lines by which he has reached the summit\nof art, or to map out, so to speak, that scheme of his intellectual\ndevelopment which so naturally appertains to the man who has reached the\napogee of talent and which he contemplates with the satisfaction of a\nstrategist face to face with the plan of the battles he has won.\n\nIt is to living writers that he seems to address himself. Rodin to-day\ncan be studied like an old master, Donatello, Michelangelo, or Pierre\nPuget. One perceives quite in its entirety the distinct, the rigorously\nsustained plan that he has followed with unswerving will in order to\nrealize himself; and the witnesses, the historians of this heroic life\nof the sculptor, have the advantage of being able to trace it with\nexactitude, as they could not do in the case of a vanished artist. They\nare able to interrogate the hero in person; they are able to consult\nwith Rodin himself, who is admirably intuitive and quite aware of what\nhe owes to certain favorable conditions of his life and above all to\nhis illustrious forerunners, those who have fought before him on the\nbattle-field of high art.\n\nThe study of nature, of the antique, Greek and Roman, of the art of\nmedieval France and that of the Renaissance--these are the springs at\nwhich he has constantly refreshed one of the most irrefutable sculptural\ntalents that has ever been known. These are the expressions of the\nbeautiful among which his profound and searching thought has traveled\nunceasingly, seeking to attain to a still larger vision, a more exact\nunderstanding of that most magnificent of all the arts, sculpture.\n\nThe superior man is always the product of an exceptional gift and\nof an energy peculiar to himself, which effectuates itself despite\ncircumstances. He is the highest incarnation of the spirit, of the\nstruggle for existence. In the case of an artist the struggle is all\nthe more severe, for he has nothing but himself to impose upon the\nworld and he has, as weapons of offense and defense, nothing but his\nintelligence, the tiny substance of his brain. It is therefore only by\nmeans of the history of his intellectual life that one can understand\nhim. External happenings only very slightly influence the obstinate\nmarch of true genius toward the accomplishment of its destiny. At most\nthey delay it but a few hours. It forces its way through the most\ndifficult obstacles; it even makes use of these obstacles in order to\nredouble its strength and confirm its superiority. Nothing impedes the\nformidable will of those who are under the spell of beauty, those who\nsee truth and know it and desire to express what they see. They can no\nmore escape the fruition of their faculties than the giant can escape\nthe attainment of his full stature.\n\nRodin has been one of these. Certainly he has been assisted by\ncircumstances, but above everything how has he not compelled\ncircumstances to assist him?\n\nWhat demands preeminent recognition in his case is the gift, a splendid,\na dazzling gift for the plastic arts, the realization of which has been\nimposed upon him, as it were, by the command of destiny. Whence did it\ncome? From whom did he inherit it? From what ancestor, sensitive to the\nenchantment of beauty, suffering, and in travail from the necessity of\nproclaiming it, but imperfectly endowed and powerless to forge for\nhimself a talent in order to express the tremors of his soul? It is a\nmystery. No one can tell, Rodin himself least of all. Science has not\nyet taught us anything about those obscure combinations, those endless\npreferences of the vital force, thanks to which a person possesses the\nfaculties of genius. In this, as in other things, we are unable to\ndivine the cause and can only marvel at the effect, the prodigy.\n\nDiscredited to-day are the theories of Lombroso and his school, once\nso warmly welcomed by mediocre minds athirst for equality, in which\ngreat men were considered as degenerates of a superior variety, and the\nmost sensitive spirits qualified as candidates for the madhouse! All\none can say is that nature abhors equality, that the indwelling will\ndelights in raising up lofty mountain masses above the uniformity of\nthe plains and the valor of the chosen few above the multitude. The\nfunction of the man of genius is, precisely, to possess in a supreme\ndegree the sense of inequality and to transcribe its infinite nuances\nin their ever-changing, ever-moving, ever-renewed variety. He alone\nperceives the diversities whose play is the law of the universe itself,\nand he grasps them equally in a fragment of inanimate matter and in\nthe vastest aspects of the world. Far from being half mad, this unique\nbeing, this prodigious mirror of a million facets, achieves his aim only\nbecause he possesses far more intelligence than the most brilliant of\nhis contemporaries, because he is in touch with a more profound order\nof things and a more comprehensive method, because he combines the\nqualities of continuity in sensation and of discernment which constitute\nthat supreme sensibility of all the senses acting together--taste. But\nit does not please ordinary mortals to believe things of this kind,\nand one can easily understand how the crowd, repudiating any such\nhumiliating notion, are all too willing to follow the lead of exotic\npseudo-scientists and look upon great men as lunatics, considering\nthemselves far more rational.\n\nAs to what Rodin himself thinks of this privilege that Providence has\nconferred on him, there is no telling; he has never talked very much\nabout it. The fact is, he has such faith in the value of hard work and\nwill-power, he knows so well how extraordinarily much of these even the\nmost exceptional natures have to exert in order to accomplish anything,\nthat this privilege of divine right, otherwise just as authentic as\nthat which sovereigns in former times profited by, amounts to nothing\nin the end but the account which he draws up in order to calculate the\nsum of his efforts. \"When I was quite young, as far back as I remember,\nI drew,\" he says; \"but the gift is nothing without the will to make it\nworth while. The artist must have the patience of water that eats away\nthe rock drop by drop.\" Alas! will and work, Master, are also gifts;\nbut the supreme spirit maliciously amuses itself by leading us into\nerror, inspiring us with the illusion that it lies with us to acquire\nthem.\n\nRodin's case, then, is an example of absolute predestination, assisted\nby a will of iron. One must add also the happy influence of the varied\nenvironment in which his life has been placed and the excellent artistic\neducation he received in the schools where he studied, an education\nthat was fruitful, thanks to the preservation of the true traditions of\nFrench art, kept alive in the schools since the eighteenth century.\n\n\nCHILDHOOD. YOUTH. FIRST STUDIES\n\nAuguste Rodin is the son of a Norman father and a Lorrainese mother.\nEach of these two French provinces, Normandy and Lorraine, produces a\nrace eminently realistic, but realistic in quite different ways.\n\nThe Lorrainer, opinionated and courageous, hardy in character, and\nvigorous like his country itself, sees things clearly and precisely in\nthe light of a spirit that has been fashioned by the age-old struggle\nbetween Teuton and Gaul on our eastern frontier. The things that\nsurround him, the aspects of his native soil, like the sullen obstinacy\nof the enemy that seeks in vain to drag him away, present themselves\nto his eye as a reality stripped of illusions. When one has to fight\nthere is no time to dream, and one must be able to estimate with\nprecision what one is fighting for. When the man of Lorraine utters his\nfeeling about the things he loves and defends, it is with a loyalty\nrather dry in expression and impression, but also with a force of\nconsciousness that is imposing.\n\n[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG GIRL. A WORK OF RODIN'S YOUTH.]\n\nAs for the Norman, like his country he overflows with an abundance of\nlife from which he derives a passionate need for the pleasures of sense.\nFar from stifling in him the love of the beautiful, this appetite for\ntriumphant realities engenders, on the contrary, an exaltation of the\nsenses that leads to the most exquisite taste in the production of art.\nCompounded of sensuality and mysticism, the twin characteristics of\nthese rich spirits, very like those of Belgium, to whom, by virtue of\nancient migrations, they are closely allied, the artists of Normandy\nnecessarily respond to the manifold requirements of their temperament.\nWe know with what a profusion of monuments, robust and imposing in\nstructure and miraculously clothed in the most delicate lacework of\nstone, the Gothic architects of Normandy have covered not only the soil\nof their province, but also, beyond the sea, that of the Two Sicilies,\nstrewn even to this day with beautiful cloisters and sumptuous churches\nof the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, which the Norman Conquest\ncarried there.\n\nThe child of Normandy and Lorraine was born in Paris, November 14,\n1840. His father was a simple employee. He dwelt in one of the oldest\nand most curious quarters of the great city, the Quartier Saint-Victor\nin the fifth _arrondissement_. Rodin saw the light in the rue de\nl'Arbalete. It is a little, hilly street, quite provincial in its\naspect and its quietness, that winds among the rows of old houses, some\nlow, as if crouched down, others narrow and high, as if they wished to\nlook over their shoulders at what passes below, very like a crowd of\nliving people. Its name, the rue de l'Arbalete, is full of suggestion\nof the Middle Ages, like that of the rue des Patriarches, in which\nit comes to an end, and that of the rue des Lyonnais and the rue de\nl'Epee-de-Bois, which are its neighbors. It crosses the famous rue\nMouffetard near the little church of St. Medard on the last s of\nthe Montagne-Sainte-Genevieve, which has been, since the thirteenth\ncentury, the seat of the university and the schools; below is the plain\nof the Gobelins, where once the river Bievre ran exposed.\n\nEven to the present day this corner of the city has not suffered\ntoo much from the destructive changes of modernity. At the time of\nthe childhood of Rodin it was still virtually untouched. Crowded,\npicturesque, and in certain parts dirty and squalid, like an Oriental\ncity, with its little interlacing streets, its countless shops, its\nswarms of people given over to a thousand familiar trades carried on in\npublic,--open-air kitchens, fruit-stands, grocery shops, clothing shops,\nand shops of ironmongers, coal-venders, and, wine-sellers,--it is an\nalmost perfect fragment, a human fragment, of the old Gothic Paris.\n\nTruly Rodin was fortunate: he was born in a chapter of Victor Hugo's\n\"Notre Dame de Paris.\" Destiny preserved the first glances of his\nartist's eyes from the disenchanting banality of our modern streets. It\nplaced before them, as if to give them a hatred of uniformity, as if\nto disgust him forever with the misdeeds of the straight line, adopted\nthe world over by the rank and file of contemporary architects,--those\ncongenitally blind and mutilated souls,--a population of houses having\na physiognomy and a soul of their own, which, with their sloping roofs,\ntheir irregular gables, etch their amusing profiles against the sky\nand seem to gossip with the birds and the clouds, putting to shame the\nfew regular buildings that have intruded and lost themselves amid this\ncongregation so touched with spirituality.\n\nAll this Rodin saw; with a child's innocent eye, he absorbed all this\nfantasy of past ages; he studied the little shops with their low\nceilings dating from the period of the gilds; he noted through the\ntiny panes of their windows the Rembrandtesque effects of shadow and\ngolden light, in which the humblest objects live a life that is full of\nintimate mystery and familiar charm. About them he saw a people full of\nlife, alert, awake, always in action, always in dispute, unconsciously\nfalling into a thousand beautiful, simple attitudes, the eternal\nattitudes associated with drinking, eating, sleeping, working, and\nloving.\n\nWhat admirable, powerful precepts this teaching, without effort, without\nprofessors, without pedantry, thus forever imposed upon the memory of\nthe future sculptor! Yes, Rodin there enjoyed a priceless good fortune.\n\nAs child and young man, his walks and his duties took him incessantly\npast Notre Dame, the queen of cathedrals, appearing, from the heights\nof Ste. Genevieve, magnificently seated on the bank of the Seine that\ndevotedly kisses its feet; in front of it, Ste. Etienne-du-Mont,\nsurrounded by convents, with its nave, that treasure of grace bequeathed\nto us by the Renaissance. There also is the ancient little Roman church\nof St. Julien-le-Pauvre; and St. Severin, that sweet relic of Gothic\nart, about which lies unrolled the old _quartier des truands_, with the\nrues Galande de la Huchette and de la Parcheminerie, which the pick-axes\nof the housebreakers are now giving over to the universal ugliness.\n\nThe Pantheon and the buildings that surround it taught the young Rodin\nthat the public monuments of the style of Louis XV, although colder\nand stiffer, still offer a certain grandeur by virtue of their beauty\nof proportion and character. Close beside the somewhat formal solemnity\nof these buildings, the Gardens of the Luxembourg that invite the\npasser-by with all their tender, smiling charm, the exquisite parterre,\nthe elegant little pilastered palace, the Medici fountain, whose\ncharming statues pour out their water that murmurs beneath the branches\nof the trees spread out above like a tent of lacework, taught him the\nenchantment of the architectural harmonies of the Renaissance, harmonies\nof chiseled stone, noble shadows, and carpeting flowers.\n\nLike all artists, Rodin adores the Luxembourg. More than this, he would\nnot for anything in the world see those statues of the queens of France\nbanished, those enormous stone dolls of a quality, as regards sculpture,\nlittle calculated to satisfy lovers of rich modeling. No matter, he\nloves the gray mass they make under the fragrant summits of the limes\nand the hawthorns; they are part of the scenery of his youth; he remains\nfaithful to them as to old playthings. Was it not these that he sketched\nin those first attempts of his?\n\nHis aptitude quickly revealed itself. This man, whom ignorant critics\nwere to reproach one day with not knowing how to draw, handled the\npencil from his earliest childhood.\n\nHis mother bought her provisions from a grocer in the neighborhood. The\ngrocer wrapped up his rice, vermicelli, and dried prunes in bags made\nfrom cut-up illustrated papers and engravings that had been thrown away.\nRodin got hold of these bags, and they were his first models. He copied\nthese wretched images passionately.\n\nToward the age of twelve, he was sent to Beauvais, to the house of\nan uncle who undertook to bring him up. Beauvais and its unfinished\ncathedral was another silent lesson, never to be forgotten--that\ncathedral which is nothing but a choir, but how marvelous a choir!\n\nOf course at the time he did not appreciate its splendor. With the\nindifference of his age, he studied its architecture and its sculpture,\nwhich, for that matter, all his contemporaries, even the cultivated,\ndespised from the depth of their ignorance. That was the time when\nart critics and professors of esthetics denied Gothic art without\ncomprehending it, the Roman school being in the ascendant in the\nadmiration of the public. Nevertheless, the jewel in stone did not fail\nto speak in the language of beauty and truth to this predestined young\nman. His sensibility registered its impressions, noted down those points\nof comparison which he was to find later in the depths of his memory and\nwhich were to enable him to judge and appreciate. Under the vault of the\nmajestic nave he listened to the mass, he took part in the grand, sacred\ndrama, whose phrases touched his imagination profoundly, sometimes\nexalting it to the point of mysticism and impregnating it with the\nnobility of the symbols and of the Catholic ritual tempered by eighteen\ncenturies of usage.\n\nRodin was placed in a boarding-school. He found the scholar's life\ndreary and dull; his comrades seemed to him noisy young barbarians,\nabsorbed in brutal and too often vicious pastimes. Certain studies were\nrepugnant to him, mathematics and _solfeggio_. Near-sighted, without\nbeing aware of it, he could not make out the figures and the notes the\nmasters wrote on the blackboard; he understood nothing and was almost\nbored to death.\n\nThis myopia was destined to have the most vital influence on his art.\nBecause of his difficulty in perceiving total effects, his instinct has\nonly rarely led him to the composition of monuments on a very large\nscale, in which the architectural construction is of nearly as great\nimportance as the sculpture proper. The most considerable that we owe\nto him is that of \"The Burghers of Calais\"; and there is also \"The Gate\nof Hell,\" which, almost inexplicably, remained incomplete even in the\nvery hour when it was given over as finished. The great sculptor, at\nthe time when he turned it over to the founders, perhaps unconsciously\nexperienced a lapse of vision, an insurmountable fatigue of the eyes,\nover-strained by the prolonged effort to grasp the ensemble of the\nedifice and the harmony of the countless details of this superb\ncomposition.\n\nBut if he has been turned aside, by his physical constitution, from\nmonumental art, it has only served to concentrate him with all the\nmore ardor upon the minute work of modeling, for which, by a sort of\ncompensation, he is endowed with an eye whose penetration has had no\nequal since the time of the Renaissance.\n\nAt the age of fourteen he returned to Paris. His parents judged that the\nmoment had come for him to choose a career. Observing his astonishing\ngifts, they decided to let him take up drawing, but, having small means,\nthey were unable to provide him with special masters. They entered him\nat the School of Decorative Arts, another piece of good fortune.\n\nThis school, called by abbreviation the Petite Ecole, in distinction\nfrom the great school, that of the Beaux-Arts, is situated in the old\nrue de l'Ecole de Medecine, close to the Faculte de Medecine and the\nSorbonne. It was founded in 1765, under the name of the Free School\nof Design, by the painter Jean-Jacques Bachelier, a clever artist and\nstudent of styles in art no longer practised or little known, who had\nbeen well thought of by Madame de Pompadour, the favorite of Louis XV,\nthe charming and virtually official minister of fine arts during the\nreign of that monarch. It was she who placed Bachelier in charge of the\n_ateliers de decoration_ at the Sevres manufactory. In creating the\nPetite Ecole, the painter seemed to be following out, after the death of\nhis gracious protectress, the impulse she had communicated to French art\nduring her lifetime.\n\n[Illustration: LA PUCELLE.]\n\nThus we see Rodin at the school of the Marquise de Pompadour, placed\nonce more in a _milieu_ full of originality and life. He found himself\nthere surrounded by a little world of beginners in every line, budding\nartists; almost everybody of his generation has passed through this\ncourse. They came there to learn to draw, paint, and model.\n\nIn the evening the halls were filled with amateurs who, after their\nday's work was over, sought to acquire a certain artistic skill as\ntapestry-workers, ornament-makers, workers in iron, marble, etc. They\nwere energetic, turbulent, poor. Rodin, like them, was energetic and\npoor, but silent, laborious, and pertinacious. He applied himself to the\ncopying of models of all sorts, most frequently red chalks by Boucher\nand plaster casts of animals, plants, and flowers.\n\nThe school had possessed these things since the eighteenth century and,\nlike almost everything that was created in that bountiful epoch, they\nwere very well done, composed after nature, their elegance full of warm\ntruth; they were models in bold _ronde-bosse_. That is to say, they\npresented that quality of relief to which drawing, like sculpture, owes\nits rich oppositions of light and shadow. To those who copied them they\ncommunicated the science of relief, the fundamental basis of art, and\nthe living suppleness of the best periods, which has almost entirely\ndisappeared to-day.\n\nOne day Rodin entered the modeling class. He worked there after the\nantique. He had his first experience of working in clay; it was a\nrevelation, an enchantment. He fell in love with this _metier_, which\nseemed to him the most seductive of all; he became obsessed with the\ndesire to mold this soft material himself, to search in it for the form\nof things.\n\nHis first attempts overjoyed him; he was not fifteen years old and he\nhad found his path!\n\nWe see him executing a fragment; he models the head, the hands, the\narms, the legs, the feet; then he sets about the whole figure; there\nis no deception; there are no insurmountable difficulties for him; he\nunderstands at once the structure of the human body; in the phrase of\nthe atelier, \"ses bonshommes tiennent\"; the arms and the legs adjust\nthemselves naturally to the body: he is a born sculptor.\n\nEvery day he arrives at the class at eight o'clock in the morning; he\nworks without faltering till noon, in company with five or six pupils.\nAt that hour they stop work; they are happy; they leave their seats and\ntake a turn about the model. In the evening things are different; from\nseven to nine, the class is over-full; one can study the model then\nonly from a distance; a superficial, wretched method that is practised\non a large scale at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts and against which Rodin has\nprotested all his life.\n\nThus we find him entered on his artistic career not as a dilettante,\nas an amateur, as happens too often, but as a veritable workman. Like\nGeneral Kleber, he could long say, \"My poverty has served me well; I\nam attached to it.\" It placed him, from his childhood, in the presence\nof realities. It steeped him in life itself. It safeguarded him from\nthe artificial education that debilitates the young middle-class\nFrenchman and destroys in him the spirit of initiative and personality.\nIt deprived him luckily of the pleasures that rich young men too\neasily offer themselves, the abuse of which renders them unsteady,\ncapricious, and indifferent. Rigorously held to his path by necessity,\nhe consecrated all his time and all his energies to study. He became\ndiligent, serious, and prudent.\n\nHe had the opportunity of seeing his modeling corrected by Carpeaux. The\ngreat sculptor, in fact, taught at the Petite Ecole. Upon his return\nfrom Rome, he had asked for a modest post as an assistant master that\nwould help to assure his equally modest existence; they had granted his\nrequest, but without seeking to give him anything more! His young pupils\nscarcely understood his high worth, the substantial and delicate grace\nof his talent, his voluptuous elegance, inherited from the eighteenth\ncentury and united with a certain nervous seductiveness that was\naltogether modern, a certain palpitating quality of the soul and of the\nflesh that had not been known before, manifesting itself through the\nductility of his modeling. But instinctively they admired him; they\nmarveled, among other things, at the precision and the rapidity of the\ncorrections the master executed under their eyes. Later, when experience\nhad come to him, Rodin greatly honored Jean-Baptiste Carpeaux; he was\none of those for whom the appearance of the famous group \"The Dance,\"\nin the parvis of the Opera, was a veritable event. At that moment he\ndiscovered again in himself the influence of this beautiful spirit which\nhad been slumbering in him since he left the Petite Ecole; then he\nbecame almost the disciple of Carpeaux. I know a figure of a bacchante\nof Rodin's, a marble that is almost unknown, the flesh of which is so\nsupple and so light that one would say it was molded of wheat and honey\nand the work of the sculptor of \"The Dance.\" There floats also in its\ncountenance that spirituality, that expression as of a sort of angelic\nmalice which Carpeaux seems to have borrowed occasionally from the\nfigures of Leonardo da Vinci.\n\n[Illustration: MINERVA.]\n\nWhen the clocks of the Sorbonne quarter struck noon, Rodin left the\nPetite Ecole; he walked to the Louvre, eating, as he went, a roll\nand a cake of chocolate which was all he had for lunch. He sketched\nthe antiques. From there he went on to the Galerie des Estampes at\nthe Bibliotheque Nationale, where they loaned out, without any too\nmuch good will, misplaced as that is with students, the albums of\nplates after Michelangelo and Raphael and the great illustrated work,\n\"L'Histoire de Costume Romain.\" Because of this miserliness of theirs,\nhe did not always obtain the volumes he wished for, which were reserved\nfor habitues who were better known. This did not prevent him from\nbecoming initiated into the science of draperies. He executed hundreds\nof sketches from memory, at last developing in himself the faculty of\nremembering forms. From the rue de Richelieu, always on foot, he would\nrepair to the Gobelin manufactory. There each day, from five to eight\no'clock, he followed the course in design. Placed before nature itself,\nbefore the nude, he absorbed more excellent principles. The teaching of\nthe eighteenth century was practised there also, and his work became\npermanently impregnated by it.\n\nIn the morning, at daybreak, before going to the Petite Ecole, he found\nthe time to walk to an old painter's he knew, where he kept a number of\ncanvases going. In the evening he made careful copies of the sketches\nhe had jotted down at noon in the galleries of the Louvre and the\nBibliotheque. He drew far into the night; he drew even during supper,\nat the frugal board of his family, surrounded by his father, his mother,\nand his young sister, bending over his paper utterly regardless of his\nhealth, a course of things that soon brought on gastric disorders from\nwhich he suffered cruelly. In short, he toiled incessantly, ardent and\npatient, obstinate, and full of self-confidence.\n\nAssuredly he never in the world imagined that he was to become in time\none of the most illustrious representatives of the French art of the\nnineteenth century, that he was to be the equal in renown of celebrities\nlike Lamartine, Alfred de Musset, or Michelet whom he saw occasionally\nin the Luxembourg Gardens, without even daring to bow to them; but he\npossessed a fixed and a precise idea of what was required to be a good\nsculptor and the resolution to realize it. Little did he care how long\nit would take, how tardy success might prove, how slow fortune might be\nin coming; little did he care for obstacles, even for misery. He was\ngoing the right way, unhesitating, untroubled, not compromising with\nhimself or with anybody. He possessed the irresistible will of a force.\n\nI have had occasion to examine one of the note-books of Rodin's youth.\nIt is quite filled with sketches after engravings from the antique,\nanimals or human figures. The drawing is strangely compact, wilful,\nfor the boy of sixteen or seventeen that he was then. Already, in its\naccumulation of strokes and hatchings which, during an entire period\nof his artistic development, render the drawing of Rodin restless and\npersonal like a piece of writing, it exhibits an obstinate search for\nrelief, it speaks to us like hieroglyphics, revealing the power of his\ngrasp. His progress was rapid. At seventeen, he finished his first\nstudies. The moment came for him to pass from the school of decorative\narts to that of the Beaux-Arts and to prepare himself, like his\ncompanions, for the examinations and for the competition for the _prix\nde Rome_, the famous _prix de Rome_ that seemed to Rodin, inexperienced\nstudent as he was, the crown of the most rigorous artistic studies.\n\n\n\n\nRODIN AND THE BEAUX-ARTS\n\n\nRodin presented himself at an examination for entrance into the Ecole\ndes Beaux-Arts. He was rejected. He presented himself a second time, but\nwith the same result. What was the reason for it? Neither he nor his\nfellow-students could discover. They used to form a circle about him\nwhen he worked. They admired the keenness and precision of his glance,\nthe already astonishing skill of his hand. They told him that he would\nbe accepted. He failed a third time. Finally a fellow-student who was\nshrewder than the others gave the solution of the enigma. It requires a\nsomewhat long explanation.\n\nThe great school is under the direction of the members of the Academy\nof Fine Arts. These professors correct the work of the students, set\nthe examinations, and award the prizes. They are recruited from members\nof the society, are, in short, the representatives of official, or\nconservative, art. Official art is a product of the Revolution of 1789.\nUp to that time there were not two kinds of art in France. At the most,\nuntil the time of Louis XIV only one secession disported itself under\nthe influence of Lebrun, painter to the king. Art was a unit, and its\ndivine florescence spread from France over all Europe. The church,\nthe kings, and their court of great lords and cultivated ladies were\nthe protectors and, indeed, the inspirers, of that flowering of beauty\nthat had grown from the time of the first Capets, indeed from the time\nof the Merovingians, down to the end of the eighteenth century. The\nFirst Empire marked in effect the beginning of the artistic decadence\nof Europe and, one may say, of the world. Artists at that time divided\nthemselves into two camps, the conservatives, with, at their head,\nDavid and his school, who pictured an art of convention and approved\nformulas, and the independents, who continued, although in a somewhat\nrevolutionary and extravagant spirit, the true traditions of French art.\nAmong those fine rebellious men of talent of the first order were Rude,\nBarye, and Carpeaux in sculpture, and Baron Gros, Eugene Delacroix,\nCourbet, and Manet in painting.\n\n[Illustration: PSYCHE.]\n\nBy a singular contradiction, Louis David was as baneful a theorist as\nhe was a great painter and, above all, an excellent draftsman. That\nexplains itself. The quality of his drawing he owed to the eighteenth\ncentury, in which he had appeared and a pupil of which he was; but he\nderived his esthetic doctrine from the Revolution, which made use of\nthe same sectarian zeal to obtain the triumph of certain false ideas\nthat it used to advance the right principles that were its glory.\nThrough one, David produced works of great worth and some admirable\nportraits; through the other, he wrought great havoc among artists.\nThe world was, moreover, well disposed to submit to these principles.\nWhen art restricts itself to repeating attitudes, gestures, approved\nreceipts, without having studied or observed them in nature in her\nconstant changes, it means decadence. If David was able to have his\ntheories accepted, it was because the time was ripe to receive them, to\nbe contented with them; and to say that the time was ripe is only to say\nthat it was a degenerate time, satisfied to be relieved of the task of\nreflecting, of discovering for itself the laws of beauty, or, in short,\nof working from the foundation.\n\nOfficial painter of the Revolution and the Empire, Louis David\nproclaimed his doctrine with the authority of a pontiff. He made a set\nof narrow rules which advocated a superficial imitation of the antique,\na copying of the works of Greece and Rome, not in spirit, but in letter;\nnot in that accurate knowledge of construction and of the model, which\nmade up their supreme worth, but in their conventional attitudes and\nexpressions.\n\nEven from beyond the grave David continued to rule the academy of\nthe Beaux-Arts in the name of the artificial idealism which he had\nproclaimed, and whoever rejected his sorry instruction saw himself\nwithout mercy shown to the door of the national schools arid academies.\nThey had shown the door to Rude, the author of the masterpiece of the\nArc de Triomphe, \"The Departure of the Volunteers of 1792.\" They had\nshown it to the unhappy Carpeaux, treated all his life as a heretic and\npersecuted by the official class, defenders of the so-called heroic\nachievements and stereotyped forms. They went to every extreme in\ntheir contest with free and determined genius. As a last resort they\nemployed every weapon of treachery against the undisciplined great,\nthose fallen angels of the false paradise of the Institute--weapons that\nlater they did not scruple to use against Rodin. They accused Carpeaux\nof indecency, and in order to strengthen the miserable falsehood, a\nperverse idiot flung a can of ink on the adorable group of \"The Dance,\"\nthat song of the nymphs, clamorous with youth, laughter, and music.\n\nThis digression in the story of Rodin's life explains his whole life. By\nhis manly independence, his persistent refusal to follow the dictates\nof the school, he naturally found himself placed at the head of those\nwho antagonized the official class. Against an opponent of his strength\nand obstinacy the struggle naturally took on new energy. It recalled\nto mind the violence of the famous intellectual quarrels of other days\n--the quarrel of the Ancients and the Moderns in the seventeenth and\neighteenth centuries, and that of the Classicists and the Romanticists\nin 1830.\n\nWhen Rodin presented himself at the great school, how, in his\ninexperience, could he foresee the war of wild beasts that rages in\nthe thickets of art? It needed indeed a better-informed comrade to\ndisclose the situation to him. Then his eyes were opened. He understood\nthen that he would only be wasting his time in striving to force the\nbronze doors that are closed against the influences of great nature and\nher triumphant light, the implacable denouncer of the false in art.\nPerceiving it at last, he renounced the thought of entering the school.\nLater he gloried, in the fact that he had done so. Possibly he saw\nthe danger that he would have run of parching his spirit and chilling\nhis eye. \"Ah,\" his friend, the sculptor Dalou, exclaimed long after,\n\"Rodin had the luck not to have been at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts!\" Dalou\nhimself had not had that luck, and despite beautiful gifts and love for\nthe eighteenth century, he had not recovered from the false teaching.\n\nRodin, then, without knowing it, had fought his first battle, the slight\nskirmish to the incessant fight that was to open. After that time the\nname Institute, by which he understood the group of protagonists of a\nbad form of art, took in his speech a formidable meaning. When he says,\n\"The Institute,\" he seems to call up some mythological monster, the\nhydra of a hundred heads, from the malignant wounds of which the brave\nusually die slowly. For him the Institute has come to mean a company of\nable men who substitute dexterity for conscience, who, for long toil in\nobscurity and poverty, substitute a premature eagerness for all that it\nmay bring--profitable relations, orders from the state, fortune, and\nhonors. In his opinion all that ought to come slowly in order not to\ndistract the artist from the study that alone can give him strength.\nTo him the rewards are secondary; true happiness lies in untrammeled\nand passionate toil, in the exercise of growing intelligence that is\ndetermined not to be stopped on the road to discovery.\n\n[Illustration: THE ADIEU.]\n\nAlthough the struggle is less clamorous to-day, it has not ended,\nand it never will be ended, despite the wide fame of the master, now\nknown throughout the world as the greatest living artist. This Rodin\nunderstands. What the contestants now seek to conquer is the public,\nsome for the purpose of obtaining from it consideration and profit, and\nothers an appreciation of true art. One class strives to flatter its\ntaste, which is bad; the other seeks to inculcate a knowledge of true\nart in its own work. At the outset the contest is frightfully unequal,\nfor the ignorance of the public is abysmal. Incapable of discerning true\nbeauty, it relies only on the labels placed by the Institute on its own\nworks and on those of its partizans. They say to a man, \"This is the\nsort of thing that should be admired,\" and straightway he admires it,\nif one can apply this expression of the highest pleasure of the spirit\nto the vapid and dull contemplation that the public accords to the works\nmarked for its approval. No, at best the public does not know how to\nadmire; it does not understand the language of beauty.\n\nAt eighteen or nineteen, Rodin, being wholly without fortune, could not\ncontinue his studies without quickly finding some means of support. It\nwas therefore necessary for him to earn his own living, and at once\nhe bravely entered upon his work as an ornament-maker, and became a\njourneyman at a few francs a week. We need not regret it. This son of\nthe people, by remaining in the ranks of the working-class, consolidated\nin himself the virtues of the class--their courage and industry, which\nare the strong qualities of the humble, and, in the aggregate, those\nof the whole nation. And the curiosity of a superior man for all the\nrewards of the exercise of his intelligence led him to cultivate himself\nunceasingly. His limited studies as a school-boy had not been extensive\nenough to surfeit him; he now brought to the study of letters a mind\nkeenly alert, and with a joy as alive as love itself he devoted himself\nto a study of great minds. He read the poets and the historians; he\nbecame acquainted with the Greece of Homer and AEschylus, the Italy\nof Dante, the England of Shakspere, and the France of Jean-Jacques\nRousseau; but up to that time he had concerned himself with only one\nthing--his trade. He worked as a real artisan, with no wider vision,\nwith no thought of formidable power. He saw only his model and his\nclay; he thought only of these, he loved only these. Thus he had become\na journeyman ornament-worker in clay. That did not prevent him from\nperfecting himself in sculpture. On the contrary, it aided him.\n\nThe art of ornamentation was then considered, as it is still to-day, an\ninferior art. People said, still say, of the sculpture of architecture,\nas of the frescos and mosaic work of a building, that it is only\ndecoration. They declare it in a tone of indulgence that finds an excuse\nfor any mediocrity.\n\nAll this is a profound mistake. Sculptured ornament springs naturally\nfrom architecture; it is the flowering of its fundamental elements. It\nis an inherent part of the whole, as the mass of flowers and foliage\nthat crowns a tree is in a way the culminating point of the whole\nvegetable organism. Ornament demands the same qualities that the\nfundamental architectural structure demands, and fully as much talent\nand perhaps even more; because, as Rodin says, one sees in it more\nclearly, without distracting features, the form of genius. If it is not\nwell done in itself, its function, which is rigorously subordinated\nto the whole, and consists in molding the contours of the structure\nby underlining and marking them off, is reversed. It is then only\nan excrescence, an arbitrary addition. Only mediocre artisans, when\nemployed on a building or a jewel, use ornament capriciously, without\nproportioning and subordinating it to the mass; they weary and disgust\nthe beholder.\n\nRodin and his companions did not content themselves with copying, and\nmore or less distorting, their Greek, Roman, and Renaissance models,\nwhich were repeated to satiety in all the workshops of the world,\nand done over and over again so many times, out of place and out\nof proportion, that they had lost all significance. Their employer\npossessed a beautiful, but neglected, garden, where a profusion of\nplants ran riot. Here were models in abundance. Here, in reproducing\nthese, the young craftsmen refreshed their vocation; they copied their\nornaments from nature; they studied foliage and flowers from life.\nTo do new work, they had only to borrow from the vegetable world its\ninexhaustible combinations of beauty.\n\nHere Rodin, by his cleverness and rapidity, became without a peer among\nthem all, and drew to himself the admiration of his fellow-workers. It\nwas here that he met Constant Simon, his elder by many years, who was\nthe first man to teach him to model in profile. It was one of the great\nepochs in his life. One may say that from that time the two great\nlaws that have given his sculpture its power--the study of nature and\nthe right method of modeling--passed into his blood, as it were. The\nsecret that Simon imparted to him was like a philter that inflamed his\nsoul with enthusiasm. He became intoxicated with the idea of seeing\nclearly and of holding his hand strictly accountable to what his eyes\ndisclosed. And he possessed, too, both youth and an indefatigable vigor.\nHe sketched everything he could, wherever he could. One saw him making\nsketches on the street, in the horse-market, jostled by the beasts,\nrepulsed by men, yet indifferent to all difficulties in his enchantment\nin his discovered prize, at the Jardin des Plantes, where he passed\nhours before the cages and in the parks, studying the poses of the deer\nand the grace of the moving antelopes.\n\n[Illustration: RODIN IN HIS STUDIO AT THE HOTEL BIRON.]\n\nAt that period Barye taught at the Museum. Rodin had become acquainted\nwith the son of the celebrated sculptor. The two had discovered a corner\nof the basement, a sort of cave, damp and gloomy, where they installed\nsome seats made of old boxes and delighted themselves in modeling\nfrom clay. From the Museum they borrowed a few anatomical specimens,\nfragments of the parts of animals, and these they carried to their\ncavern and pored over in their efforts to copy them. Sometimes Barye\nhimself would come to cast his eye over their work and give them a word\nof advice, and then would go away, buried in a silent reverie. He was\na man of simple habits, with the appearance of a college tutor, in his\nwell-worn coat, but giving an impressive suggestion of great force and\nworth. His son and Rodin little understood him; they feared him somewhat\nand only half profited by his suggestions. Later the author of \"The\nBurghers of Calais,\" kindled by the genius of the gloomy, severe man\nwhom he had misunderstood, felt a deep remorse at not having rendered to\nBarye, while living, the homage of admiration which the master merited,\nand which perhaps would have been sweet to his solitary heart.\n\nRodin has had only rarely the chance to model animals. He has never\nreceived an order for an equestrian statue, and he has regretted it. We\nhave from him only one small rough model of a statue of General Lynch\non horseback, which was never executed, and the beautiful relief of the\nchariot of Apollo which forms the pedestal of the monument of Claude\nLorrain at Nancy. But though he has not modeled animals, he has many\ntimes sketched them, and he has studied profoundly their anatomy and\nposes.\n\nIt is not so much in the powerful sketches that all his life he has\ncontinued to make with the same daily care with which a pianist\npractises his scales that Rodin shows the chief characteristic of his\nnature, as it is in accumulating these that he has been enabled to\nunderstand relationship between different forms, and to establish the\nunity between the forms of man and the animals, between the mountains\nand the vegetable world. It is by understanding this unity that he\ncan occasionally interpret with a scientific exactness this common\nrelationship. In modeling a centaur or the chimera or a spirit with\npowerful wings, the mythological creature that appears from his hands\ndoes not appear less a transcript from reality than each bust or each\nstatue that has been vigorously wrought from the living model. There is\nno weakening in the points where the bust of the man or of the woman\nattaches itself to the body of the animal, no doubt that the beautiful,\nstrong wings of the angels are as perfectly united to their bodies and\nare as necessary as their arms or legs.\n\nWhen about twenty-two or twenty-three Rodin entered the atelier of\nCarrier-Belleuse. At that time the vogue of this charming artist was\ngreat. He well represented the spirit and workmanship of the eighteenth\ncentury in the knickknack art of the Second Empire. He was a Clodion\nof the boulevard. Besides the spirited busts, some of which, like\nthose of Ernest Renan, Jules Simon, and the actress Marie Laurent,\nwere celebrated, he sent out from his atelier, in the rue de la Tour\nd'Auvergne at Montmartre, hundreds of designs to be used in industrial\nart: mantelpieces, centerpieces for tables, vases, ornamental clocks,\nand decorative figures and groups. Rodin, then, applied himself to\nexecuting for Carrier-Belleuse a variety of statuettes and figures.\nThere was in the task a great danger, for he saw the risk of limiting\nhimself to a facile use of his art that was both remunerative and\nattractive; but his sturdy Northern temperament was able to protect him\nagainst every danger, whether of success or poverty.\n\nCarrier had an astonishing skill, and not only worked without a model,\nbut compelled his employees to work without one. His rough sketches were\nadmirable, but he weakened in working them out. Rodin never trifled with\nhis art. Before going to the atelier he always took care to study his\nsubject in the nude and to fix it in his memory as firmly as possible.\nAs soon as he reached his bench he transferred to the clay the result\nof his remembered observations. On returning to his home in the evening\nhe consulted his model anew in order to correct his work of the day. It\nwas for him an excellent exercise of memory. The true workman is quick\nto turn to advantage all the inconveniences of a situation. I have heard\nRodin relate that often in the course of a quarrel with a friend or a\nrelative he would completely forget the subject of the contention and\nthe anger of his opponent in his absorption, from the point of view of\na sculptor, in the play of the muscles and their influence on the\nexpression of the face of the angry speaker.\n\n[Illustration: REPRESENTATION OF FRANCE--IN THE MONUMENT TO CHAMPLAIN.]\n\nRodin remained about five years with Carrier-Belleuse. What works his\nactive hands accomplished there in a day! One still finds them in the\nshops of the sellers of bronzes, in the shops of the dealers of the\nMarais and the Faubourg St. Antoine. Certainly hundreds of examples were\nbrought there, to the great profit of tradesmen, but to the injury of\nthe artist; for he drew from them only such wages as the least competent\nworkers are to-day content with.\n\nOne may see in the gallery of Mrs. ---- of New York certain little\nterra-cotta busts which date from that period. They represent pretty\nParisian women in hats, whose wild locks veil glances full of spirit and\nroguishness. Creatures of youth and frivolity, they are sisters of the\nelegant ladies that Alfred Stevens drew with his delightful brush, and\nwhich were the charm of Paris under Napoleon III. Who could believe that\nthey had sprung from the hands of Rodin, the austere creator of \"The\nBurghers of Calais\" and of the \"Victor Hugo\"?\n\nBut before becoming the audaciously personal genius that he now is,\nhe was subjected to the most varied influences--influences that have\nbeen felt by the modern sculptors with whom he has worked and those\nthat guided the old masters. He has none the less shielded himself\nfrom the world. He declares indeed, with the authority that permits the\nfreedom, that originality signifies nothing; that that which counts is\nthe quality of the intrinsic sculpture; that if the temperament of the\nartist is truly steadfast, he always finds himself after the necessary\nstudy; and finally that it is of little importance whether a statue\nbears the name of Praxiteles or that of one of his pupils. The essential\nthing is that it is well done, that it appears in a great epoch.\nAnonymous, it proclaims none the less to the eyes of the man of taste\nthe signature of genius.\n\nIn order to live Rodin applied himself to the most varied occupations;\nthus he gained the liberty to labor at his own work for a few hours.\nHe chipped at stone and marble for the benefit of sculpture to-day\nunknown, but then in vogue; he made sketches for trinkets for certain\nfashionable jewelers, and fashioned objects of decorative art ordered of\nhim by manufacturers. Despite a considerable loss of time, he obtained\nthus a true apprenticeship in art wholly like that which in earlier days\nwas obtained by Ghiberti, Donatello, and most of the great artists of,\nthe Renaissance, who were proud to be good artisans before they were\naccounted great sculptors.\n\nThus finally he was enabled to realize his first dream--to have an\natelier of his own. His atelier! It was a stable, at a rental of\ntwenty-four dollars a year, in the rue Lebrun, in the quarter of the\nGobelins, near which he was born. It was a cold hovel, a cave indeed,\nwith a well sunk in an angle of one wall that at every season exhaled\nits chilling breath. It did not matter. The place was sufficiently\nlarge and well lighted. The artist, young and strong, and as happy as\npossible in his stable, felt his talent increasing. There he accumulated\na quantity of studies and works until the place was so crowded that he\ncould scarcely turn himself about; but being too poor to have them cast,\nhe lost the greater part of them. Every day he spent hours moistening\nthe cloths that enveloped them, yet not without suffering frightful\ndisasters. Sometimes the clay, through being too soft, would settle and\nfall asunder; sometimes it would become dry, crack, and crumble. One\nday, in moving, the great figure of a bacchante that had been tenderly\nmolded for months was seized by the rough hands of the furniture-movers,\nand broke, crashing to the ground. What lost efforts! What destroyed\nbeauty! Even to-day when the artist speaks of it his heart bleeds anew.\n\nAt that time he carried about the ateliers of Paris a design to which he\ngave the name of \"The Man with the Broken Nose.\" Struck by the curious\nface of an old shepherd, flat-nosed, with every appearance of a slave\nthat had been crushed under heel, Rodin made a bust of the man and\nstrove to portray the energy and imposing simplicity that had astonished\nhim in the antique busts and the statue of \"The Knife-Grinder\" that he\nhad seen in the galleries of the Louvre. The solidity of the design,\nthe patience shown in the composition, and the strength of the details\ncooeperated in producing an admirable whole. The wrinkles of the\nforehead, the creased eyelids, the deep furrows of the face converged\ntoward the base of the broken nose in an expression of old age and\nhardship, presenting an admirable head of a Thessalian shepherd. Alas!\none frosty day the clay contracted, and the skull of \"The Man with\nthe Broken Nose\" fell to the ground, leaving only the face. Rodin did\nnot make over the composition. Too honest to restore the skull by\napproximation, he contented himself with modeling the face, to-day\nbecome famous.\n\nHe cast it in plaster, and sent it to the Salon of 1864. There it\nwas rejected. Thus the opposition that had closed the door of the\nBeaux-Arts against him was renewed at his first attempt to take rank\namong contemporary artists. The reason was the same; it will always\nand invariably be the same: this sculptor of the naked truth, this\nfervent lover of nature, offends, shocks, and wounds the majority of\nthe followers of formulas, the imitators of the past, the makers of\nsmooth and pretty wares, things without conscience or significance. The\nartist remains alone with his deception. The day has not yet come\nwhen enlightened amateurs can understand in which school true talent\nis to be found, when they are able to renounce the moldings on nature,\nthe theatrical postures, the irritating silliness of figures a thousand\ntimes repeated.\n\n[Illustration: THE MAN WITH THE BROKEN NOSE.]\n\nThey will some day learn to perceive truth, observation, strength, and\ngrace. When that day comes they will throw out of the window all the\ntrumpery art of which they will have become tired, in order to collect\nthat of Rude, Barye, Carpeaux, Rodin, Jules Desbois, Camille Claudel,\nthose glories of the nineteenth century.\n\nThe year of the Salon of 1864 may serve to close the first period of\nRodin's career. It is difficult, indeed impossible, to place between\nfixed dates the events of a life that has been an example of uniform\ncontinuity; but nevertheless it is permitted to one to say that the year\n1864 marks the end of the first youth of the master. His preliminary\nstudies, those which one may call the studies of his mere profession,\nwere ended. He was then at the beginning of larger studies; he was\nabout to visit Belgium, Italy, and France; he was about to come face\nto face with the most varied geniuses and examine their work. He was\nabout to question them rigorously, to demand of them their technical\nmethods. He was also about to exalt himself in the presence of these\nimmortal thoughts, to become intoxicated with the desire to equal them\nin science and greatness. From that time on he approached them as a\ndisciple, as a man who had already thought much and comprehended much,\nand who was worthy to study them and follow in their footsteps: in a\nword, as an artist of their own lineage.\n\n\n\n\nSOJOURN IN BELGIUM--\"THE MAN WHO AWAKENS TO NATURE\"--REALISM AND\nPLASTER CASTS\n\n\nRodin worked under Carrier-Belleuse from 1865 to 1870. He remained\nin Paris during the Franco-German War. What influence did this event\nhave upon him? He has said little about it. Although he has a strong\nattachment for his native land, he has none of the extravagant\npatriotism of a Rude, whose great soul was caught up in the flames of\nthe national epopee. Rodin has too contemplative a temperament; he is\ntoo devoted to reflective work to allow himself to be long disturbed by\nexternal facts, even the gravest.\n\nAt the signing of the peace, he went to Belgium, drawn by the promise of\nwork in decorative art. He remained there five years, staying first in\nBrussels, then in Antwerp.\n\nThis period of his life left with him a delightful memory. He was poor\nand unknown, but full of the vigor of youth, and free in how splendid a\nfreedom! He had all his time to himself, without any of those thousand\nobligations that eat up the days of a celebrated man and break down his\nardor.\n\nLife in Belgium was at that time simple, easy-going, family-like. Many\nsmall pleasures made it attractive; the cleanliness of the streets and\nthe houses was a constant delight to the eye; the bread, the beer, the\ncoffee were excellent and cost almost nothing. On Sundays bands of\nchildren, fair-haired, robust, healthy, dressed in aprons very white\nand very well starched, ran about laughing and singing; the women went\nto church; the men assembled in the sanded gardens of the public houses\nto play at ball, sipping glasses of _faro_ and _lambic_. The whole\nscene was full of the charm of intimacy and happiness which for the\nartist served as a sort of frame, so to say, for the old pictures. The\nworks of the Flemish painters are so impressive in all their power,\nin the splendor of their fresh coloring and their gem-like finish,\nthat Brussels, Ghent, Bruges, Antwerp, Mechlin seem to have been built\nand decorated by the Brueghels, the Jan Steens, the Tenierses, whose\ndazzling canvases strike one almost as if they had been the plans for\nthe construction of these queenly cities instead of being simply mirrors\nof them. As for nature, its grandeur and its nobility are disconcerting\nin such a little country.\n\nRodin rented a modest room in the chaussee de Brendael, in one of\nthe quarters of the capital quite close to the Bois de la Cambre.\nHe worked there during the whole of the day; his young wife did the\nhousework, went out marketing, sewed beside him, posed for him,\nhelped him to moisten his clay, made herself, as she said proudly, his\n_garcon d'atelier_. He modeled caryatids for the Palais de la Bourse at\nBrussels; for the Palais des Academies he made a frieze representing\nchildren and the attributes of the arts and sciences; he was charged\nalso with the execution of decorative pieces for different municipal\nbuildings of the city of Antwerp. Nowadays the Belgians display with\npride these works, in which, without flattering them, one can recognize\nthe touch of a future master.\n\nIntent as he was upon his modeling work, Rodin did not abandon drawing;\nhe added to it landscape-painting in oils. The Brabant country-side\nis one of the most beautiful in Europe. The Forest of Soigne, which\nsurrounds Brussels, is full of the lofty trees of the Northern\ncountries, splendid beeches, healthy as the bodies of athletes, reaching\nup into the sky like columns of light bronze, planted in regular rows,\ngiving the impression of an immense and solemn temple. Narrow avenues,\nalleys, pierce the long naves; one's soul seems to glide lingeringly\nalong these shadowy paths drawn on to the end by the far-away glimmer\nlike stained glass. The light that falls from above through the\ntree-tops slips down the long green trunks, gray or silvery, bringing\nwith it a touch of the sky. There is no exuberant vegetation, none\nof that undergrowth trembling with delicate little leaves, such as\nthat which makes the spiritual grace of the Ile-de-France, arranged\nfor the frolic of nymphs and fawns. This is the Gothic forest, the\ntree-cathedral, a fitting place for the miracles of Christianity and\nthe devout walk of solitaries. Rodin fell in love with this forest. His\ngrave soul, his youth, which knew nothing of frivolity, found itself\nhere. His nature, so full of self-contained enthusiasm and the profound\nand slowly moved spirit of admiration, not yet capable of expressing\nitself, found its true element under the protection of these age-old\nbeeches. But one corner enchanted him, a verdurous hollow filled with\nrunning water that breaks the austerity of the wood, the valley of\nGroenendael. There the majestic colonnade of trunks opens out, with the\ncondescension of giants, before the caprices of an undulating glade. It\nis covered with a down of grass, like an immense green cloud, always\npure, always fresh, which spring and autumn embroider with delicate\nshoots of a multitude of flowers, like the tapestries of the Flemish\nmasters. Little ponds shyly spread out their mirrors, full of the sky,\nfull of reflections. An old low-built house, entirely white, speaks\nof security, of calm shelter, of good nourishment, in the midst of\nthis verdurous solitude, where one hears only the song of the birds\nand where squirrels cross in their flight like sudden flames. The\nvalley of Groenendael is far enough away from Brussels to be almost\nalways deserted and silent. It was the site the famous Brabancon\nmystic, Ruysbroeck the Admirable, chose in the fourteenth century for\na monastery. At that time the Forest of Soigne sheltered no less than\neleven monastic houses in its fragrant, shadowy depths. At the north of\nthe valley the ground rises and the path leads one to the modest chapel\nof Notre Dame de Bonne-Odeur.\n\nAt this period Rodin certainly knew nothing of the great contemplatives\nof the fourteenth century or of this same Ruysbroeck whom later a\nglorious compatriot, Maurice Maeterlinck, kinsman by election of the\nhermit, was to translate and interpret; but in the peaceful glade, the\nvallon vert, as under the vaults of the great forest, the soul of the\nsculptor rejoined those of the old monks who perhaps still wander there\nat times; it shared with them the religion of this beauty which their\ndumb love of nature had come thither to seek.\n\nAt dawn he would start out, loaded down with his box of colors.\nHis companion followed him, proud to carry part of the artist's\nparaphernalia. He was on his way to make sketches, to take notes of the\nlandscape, to jot down his impressions; but often the day passed without\nhis touching his brushes. It was not indifference or indolence on the\npart of this great worker, but simply that he had not the strength to\ninterrupt his delightful contemplations. Time lost? In the case of\nanother, perhaps. Not for him. His excursion had no immediate result;\nthat was all: but how he would observe, how he would compare, how he\nwould reflect! He was initiating himself in the sense of proportion,\ngrandeur of style, and the nobility of simplicity. He was studying the\nlaws of the light and shade distributed by the columns the true work of\nthe architect. It was no longer school lessons that he was prosecuting\nhere; it was the mighty exercise of personal talent, the ripening of\nhis taste that was taking place, thanks to the technical knowledge he\nalready possessed. The sense of the eternal laws comes only to those who\ncan contrail them through long experience.\n\nLater, when the time came for Rodin to visit the cathedrals, he was to\nunderstand better than any other this art which has sprung from the\nforests of France, engendered by their mysterious grandeur, once full of\nterrors and marvels. The benefit which he derived immediately from his\nacquaintance with Belgium was the experience of those intellectual joys\nand that happiness which await any one who is serious, loyal, reverent\nin the presence of the divine work that offers itself as an object of\nstudy to the assiduous.\n\nAnother besides himself had already received this teaching of nature in\nexactly this place. Rude, whom the Bourbons had exiled on their return\nto France because of his worship of Napoleon, passed several years in\nBrussels and executed there a number of works, among others the famous\nbas-reliefs of the Chateau de Tervueren, since destroyed by fire; \"La\nChasse de Meleagre,\" of which the authorities of the Belgian department\nof fine arts were fortunately able to take casts. On his way between\nBrussels and Tervueren, Rude went every day several leagues on foot,\ncrossing the Forest of Soignes, where he, too, endeavored to forget the\nlessons of the Ecole des Beaux-Arts, on the benches of which he had,\naccording to his own confession, lost many years.\n\n[Illustration: CARYATID--TAKEN AT MEUDON IN RODIN'S GARDEN.]\n\nIn addition to these works of decorative art, Rodin executed a number\nof busts and sketches. He even found time to make a large figure\nmodeled after his wife, a figure draped like a Gothic statue, which\nhe worked over lovingly. It had the same disastrous fate as that\nwhich befell the other one at Paris, and for the same reason; poverty\nprevented the artist from having a cast taken of his work in time: like\nthe \"Bacchante,\" it was completely destroyed. Despite this loss, the\nsculptor was not discouraged; work for him was a happiness which was\nbegun anew each day; he at once began on another subject. This time he\ntook for his model a young man whose acquaintance he had made and who\nwillingly consented to pose for him.\n\nThis young man was not a model by trade, spoiled by the conventional\nattitudes which the Parisian sculptors impose on professionals. He\nwas a soldier, living in barracks near Rodin's house. As soon as the\nsculptor saw, disengaging itself from the clothes, the graceful figure\nof this boy of twenty-five who was not aware of his beauty and did\nquite simply whatever his companion asked him, he promised himself\nnot to abandon this work before he had carried it as far as his skill\npermitted him to go. His model disposed himself in simple attitudes,\nwhich were not vitiated by any pretentious forethoughts. One day he came\ntoward him, his arms upraised, his head thrown back, with an air of\nyouthfully voluptuous lassitude that filled the artist with enthusiasm.\nOne would have said that he was a young hero staggering under the\nshock of a wound. And Rodin set himself to execute the statue of the\nwounded hero. But nature lends itself to infinite interpretations.\nThe sense of an attitude that is well rendered creates of itself more\ncomprehensive ideas. When we contemplate one who is wounded or ill,\nobscure impressions agitate our spirit, impelling it toward ideas\nhigher than those of wounds and illness. It skirts the frontiers of\ndeath, the enigma of annihilation or of the world to come, and all\nthose unformulated sentiments, which in their confused flight haunt\nthe profound regions of the soul. Before his beautiful model Rodin\nexperienced these emotions and transcribed them upon his sculpture. In\nits unblemished nudity, it bears the sign of no one epoch; it is the\neternal man touched in his innermost sensibility by something of which\nhe knows not the cause. Is it his soul, is it his flesh that trembles?\nOne does not know. No knowledge comes without suffering. Rodin, aware\nimmediately of this effect of transposition, in the delicious surprise\nof the artist who sometimes sees himself surpassed by his own work,\nchristened the statue, \"The Man of the Age of Bronze,\" that is to say,\none who is passing from the unconsciousness of primitive man into the\nage of understanding and of love. A few years later he gave it this\nstill happier final name, \"The Man who Awakens to Nature.\"\n\nHe worked over it eighteen months. There is no part of this harmonious\nfigure that has not been passionately thought out. He had to render,\nbeneath the supple covering of the skin, those firm, fine muscles which\npossess the elasticity of youth and its sobriety. In giving the sense\nof the presence of these things, one creates the illusion of their\nactivity. This is the secret of great sculpture and of all the arts, to\nevoke that which we do not see by the quality of that which we do see.\n\"Carefully examine the Venus de Medici,\" Rude used to advise his pupils,\n\"and under the polish of the skin you will see the whole muscular system\nappear.\"\n\nRodin did not spare either his own strength or that of his model. An\nimplacable goddess led him on, his conscience. He did not content\nhimself with rendering only the masses that his direct vision gave him.\nIn this way he would have possessed only two dimensions, the length and\nwidth of the human body. He needed the exact relief of masses, which\nis the basis of _ronde-bosse_, of \"cubic sculpture.\" He studied his\nprofiles not only from below, but from above. He mounted a painting\nladder and looked down over his model; he measured the surface of the\nskull, which, seen from above, has an ovoid form; he took and compared\nwith his clay model the dimensions of the shoulders, the chest, the\nhips, the feet as they appeared with the floor as a background. He\nobserved the points where the arm muscles were inserted, and those of\nthe thighs and the legs. How, after such a rigorously minute process\nof noting his masses, could his work be flat? That became impossible.\nBut the geometric labor, the taking of measurements, was not all. The\nnext question was to reassemble the different profiles by careful\ntranscription. There is an entire school of conscientious sculptors who\nbelieve that they can obtain reality by the simple method of making\nidentical points correspond. They multiply the measurements taken from\nthe model with the aid of a plumb-line and a compass; it is only a\nmechanical process which does not even give good practical effects. To\nunify the manifold surface of the human body, to endow the whole with\nthe suppleness of life, with its harmonious continuity and poise,\nthe personal judgment of the artist must unceasingly intervene. His\nown special taste is supremely what adjusts the elements which are\nwaiting to be unified by him in order to take on animation and to live\none beside another. It is during this last effort that the expression,\nsummoned up by the truth of the ensemble, comes almost of itself to\nthe fingers of the sculptor. If the preceding principles have not been\nscrupulously observed, it seems to refuse to come; it is the reward\nonly of conscience joined with intelligence; it is the fruit of this\nindissoluble union that works in the spirit of the true artist. The true\nexpression is that to which we give the indefinable name of poetry.\n\n[Illustration: MAN AWAKENING TO NATURE.]\n\nSince the creation of \"The Man who Awakens to Nature,\" in which during\ntwo years he had eagerly sought it, this became the characteristic\nof Rodin's talent. He had conquered it for all time; and so while\nhis insatiable will applies itself with no less energy to other\nresearches, that of movement, of character, of lighting, and sometimes\nover-emphasizes them, the work that comes from his hand may appear\nstrange, excessive; it will never be mediocre, never indifferent.\n\nAnd now let us glance at the image of this young man, this proud,\nunblemished human plant. All we have just been saying is forgotten in\nthe force of our impression. The most powerful impression, first of\nall, is indolence. It is absorbed in itself; it exhausts like a great\ndraught of life the veins of those who respond to it. Hence the silence,\nthe long, dumb contemplation, the sense of incertitude one experiences\nin the presence of its beauty. It is not to our spirit that it first\naddresses itself. Its voluptuousness, whencesoever come, enchants our\nsenses; then the intellect demands an explanation, studies it, traces\nback the sensation to its sources through one of those rapid and\nmanifold changes which are the law of such natural phenomena as light,\nsound, electricity.\n\n\"The man who awakens to nature,\" said Rodin, in the presence of his\nstatue. Indeed the body bends over, as if under the exquisite caress of\nthe breezes of spring. The hand rests itself upon the head, flung back\nas if to hold in the somewhat mournful splendor of some too beautiful\nvision. The whole torso is gently stirred by the emotion springing\nup from the depths of the flesh to die out upon the surface of the\nimperceptibly agitated muscles. He leans lightly backward, bending like\na bow and at the same time like a traveler walking toward the dawn;\nhe is drawn on by the desire to renew this inner emotion that swells\nhis human heart almost to the bursting-point. By this double movement\nreconstituting life, the action does not interrupt itself. It evokes\nthe past and the future; the obscure shadows out of which this soul is\nendeavoring to emerge and the bright regions toward which it advances.\n\nAuguste Rodin was at this time thirty-five years old. In the career\nof the artist, this admirable figure has a special significance, that\nof something symbolic. It marks one of the happiest phases of the\nsculptor's life, the period of revelation through which he had just been\nliving during his sojourn by the forest of Groenendael. He, too, had\nawakened to Nature in the heart of the sacred wood; he, too, had come to\nknow the somewhat dazzling torment of a being fully awake to the beauty\nof the world. This beauty he had at last penetrated; he felt it with all\nthe strength of a ripened heart, he adored it; he made it his religion.\n\nSuch is the inner history of this statue. There is another, a history of\nthe anecdotal sort, which is well known to-day, but which it is proper\nto recall in a complete biography of the master.\n\nThe adventure of \"The Age of Bronze\" was the first resounding battle\nthat Rodin fought in his struggle for the cause of art. It was a\nvictory, but only after great combats.\n\nThe plaster model appeared in the Salon of 1877. Before this proud and\nspirited figure a number of visitors paused, ravished by a sensation\nthat was absolutely new. In itself there was nothing clamorous, no\nattempt to attract attention by extravagance of gesture or exaggerated\nexpression--quite the contrary; the fragrance of a shy beauty, an\nidyllic freshness, mingled with the passionate poetry of a virile,\nartistic conscience, an exquisite sense of measure, a delightful\nelegance characteristically French, of the north of France, grave and\nrestrained, and with a something hitherto unseen, a vigor till then\nunknown diffused through this adolescent flesh, irradiating it with\ntenderness, with a noble charm, a caressing sadness.\n\nImmediately the rumor began to circulate, welcomed here, spurned there,\nby the world of professionals, amateurs, and journalists: the anatomy\nof the new work was too exact, its modeling too precise for it to be an\ninterpretation of the model; it was a cast from nature, and the sculptor\nwho gave out as the result of his own labor this mechanical copy of a\nhuman body was nothing but an impostor.\n\nWhat does it matter? thought the public in its up-and-down common sense.\nThere are plenty of fine casts from nature; so much the better for the\nname of Rodin if he has been particularly successful in this line.\n\nBut Rodin was indignant. This nude, so obstinately worked over, a cast!\nThat he should have committed such a deception, he the scrupulous molder\nof clay! Oh, he knew well enough that most of the great modern sculptors\ndo not burden themselves with so many scruples and lend themselves too\noften to the hasty method of taking casts; he condemned it with all the\nforce of his own probity. He knew well that in this very Salon of 1877\nmore than fifty pieces of sculpture about which nothing was said owed\ntheir existence to this malpractice of which he was accused and of which\nhe would never be guilty, because he considered it the very negation\nof art. For of course taking casts is nothing but the reproduction\nof nature in its immobility. By means of it one is able to take the\nimpression of forms, but one cannot grasp movement or expression. It\nis possible to take the mold of an arm, a leg, an inert body; one can\ntake a good cast of the stiffened mask of the dead; one cannot calculate\nthrough the medium of the plaster the attitude and the modifications of\nform of a man walking or falling or the eloquence of a face lighted up\nby the reflection of the inner mind. This transcription of the whole\nis the exclusive privilege of the artist. He alone seizes and fixes\nthe general impression; for it is made up not only of the immediate\nmovement, but of that which precedes and that which follows. His eye\nalone registers the rapid succession, and his skill reproduces it. While\nthe cast, like the photograph, only constitutes a unity detached from\nthe whole, sculpture from nature reestablishes the whole itself and\nrepresents the uninterrupted vibration which is life.\n\nThat explains how there happen to be, on the one hand, so many\nhard figures, weak and cold images, turned out hastily by lazy and\nconscienceless sculptors, and, on the other, those works that possess a\ncharm that is mysterious to those who know nothing of its source, who\nare unaware of this method of observation and labor which a supreme\neffort veils in the easy grace and the apparent facility that enchants\nus in the things of nature.\n\nThe accusation brought against Rodin became more definite. There was a\nveritable upheaval of opinion in the world of the Salons. He protested,\nwith the firmness of an artist resolved to suffer no blot upon his\nhonor. He insisted upon receiving justice. Unknown, without means of\nsupport, without fortune, he might well have waited a long time for it.\nHe turned toward Belgium, seeking defenders in the country where he had\nmade \"The Age of Bronze\"; but the academic virus did not spare him; the\nofficial sculptors remained deaf to the appeal of their confrere. For\nthat matter, where did he come from, this ambitious stone-cutter who\nclaimed the title of sculptor without waiting on the good pleasure of\nthe pontiffs?\n\nRodin's model alone, the young soldier of Brussels, became indignant at\nthe affront to his sculptor. He wanted to hasten to Paris and exhibit\nhimself naked before the eye of the jury of honor which had just been\nconstituted and cry out to them that he had posed nearly two years for\nthe artist who had been so unjustly attacked. But nothing is simple. He\nhad posed, thanks to the special good will of the captain commanding the\ncompany to which he belonged, and in defiance of military regulations.\nTo reveal this fact would be to compromise the officer, and so he had to\nremain silent.\n\nRodin had photographs and casts taken from his model and sent them\nto the experts. All this was costly and uncertain. It was only after\nmonths of waiting that they were examined. On the jury were several art\ncritics, including Charles Iriarte, a learned writer and distinguished\nmind, and Paul de Saint-Victor, author of the \"Deux-Masques,\"\nthe sumptuous writer of so much brilliant prose. Alas! the most\ninsignificant sculptor, provided he had only been sincere, could have\nsettled Rodin's case a hundred times better. A man of his own trade,\npossessing the elements of justice, would have immediately decided the\nquestion according to the facts, while the critics and writers relied\nwholly upon personal impressions, and, to the great bitterness of the\nsculptor, when they delivered an opinion they did not altogether reject\nthe accusation that he had taken casts, allowing doubt to rest upon the\nhonesty of Rodin. He himself did not know what to do next. Chance was\nmore favorable to him than men.\n\nAt that time he was executing for a great decorator some ornamental\nmotives destined for one of the buildings of the Universal Exposition\nof 1878. The sculptor, Alfred Boucher, a pupil of Paul Dubois, came\none day on a business errand to see the decorator. In the studios he\nnoticed Rodin at work on the model of a group of children intended for\na cartouche. Boucher, who knew about the accusation that hung over\nhim, observed him with the liveliest interest. He witnessed the rapid,\nskilful, amazingly dexterous execution producing under his very eye\na tender efflorescence of childish flesh on the firm and perfectly\nconstructed little bodies. _And Rodin was working without models!_\nAlfred Boucher was a product of the Ecole; he had taken the _grand prix\nde Rome_; he was ten years younger than Rodin; but he was an honest man;\nhe hastened to relate to his master, Paul Dubois, what he had seen. The\ncreator of the \"Florentine Singer\" and \"Charity\" in his turn wished to\nsee things for himself. With Claude Chapu he went to the decorator's\nand both of them decided then and there that the hand that molded so\nskilfully from memory the figures of the cherubs was certainly capable,\nin its extraordinary knowledge of human anatomy, of having executed that\nof \"The Age of Bronze.\" Thereupon they convinced their confreres and\ndecided to write the under-secretary of state a solemn letter in which\nall of them, answering for the good faith of Rodin, declared that he\nhad made a beautiful statue and that he would become a great sculptor.\nThe letter was signed by Carrier-Belleuse, Paul Dubois, Chapu, Thomas\nDelaplanche, Chaplin Falguiere.\n\n[Illustration: BUST OF THE COUNTESS OF W----.]\n\nThis tempered considerably the rancor of the artist.\n\nIt is a strange fact that for years he underrated this statue. In 1899\nhe gave his first great exhibition of all his work. It was to the Maison\nd'Art of Brussels that the honor of this project was due, and it was\ncarried out in a style and with a good taste which no later exhibition\nof the master has surpassed, or even attained.\n\nAs he had charged me with the supervision of the sending off of his\nworks, to the number of fifty, I begged him to include among them \"The\nAge of Bronze.\" I hoped that the public, and especially the artists of\nBelgium, might be able to study the evolution of his technique through\nhis typical works, executed at different periods of his career. Nothing\ncould induce him to consent to it. He declared that in twenty years\nhis modeling had undergone a complete transformation, that it had\nbecome more spacious and more supple, and that the exhibition of this\nstatue could serve no purpose and be of good to nobody. I urged him to\ngo and look at it again. The bronze, sent to the Salon of 1880, with\nthe plaster figure of \"St. John the Baptist in Prayer,\" awarded, oh\nsplendor of official miserliness! a medal of the third class, had been\nbought by the state a few years later and set up in a corner of the\nLuxembourg Gardens, an out-of-the-way corner, but one that the light\nshadows of the young trees made charming. The master refused. Two or\nthree years afterward, one morning while we were talking, I led him\nunsuspecting toward this little grove. Thinking of something else he\nlifted his Head, casting an indifferent glance at the solitary bronze.\nSurprised, he examined it, while a happy emotion lighted up his face;\nthen he walked slowly around it. Finally he admitted quietly that he\nhad been mistaken, that the statue seemed to him really beautiful, well\nconstructed, and carefully sculptured. In order to comprehend it he had\nhad to forget it, to see it again suddenly, and to judge it as if it had\nbeen the work of another hand.\n\nAfter this readoption, his affection for it was restored; he had several\ncopies cast in bronze and cut in stone, and it has become perhaps one\nof his most popular and most sought-after works. Museums of Europe and\nAmerica, lovers of art in both hemispheres, consider it an honor to\npossess replicas.\n\nIt was the first of Rodin's great statues, or, rather, the first that\nhas been preserved. Several other works of capital importance serve\nas landmarks in the progress of his talent. Around them are grouped\nfragments, busts, innumerable delightful little compositions, all\ntreated with the same care and equally reflecting the result of his\nstudies; but, as ever, it is the major works that mark most visibly the\npoints of departure and arrival of the different periods of his artistic\ndevelopment. These works are: \"The Age of Bronze\" (1877); \"Saint John\nthe Baptist\" (1880); \"The Gate of Hell\" (1880-19--, not finished); \"The\nCreation of Man\" (1881); \"The Burghers of Calais\" (1889); \"Victor Hugo\"\n(1896); \"Balzac\" (1898); \"The Seasons\" (pediments of stone, 1905);\n\"Ariadne\" (in course of execution).\n\nThese works will be described and characterized, in the course of this\nbook, at the dates of their appearance.\n\n\n\n\nFLEMISH PAINTING--JOURNEYS IN ITALY AND FRANCE\n\n\nDuring his stay in Belgium, Rodin studied the Flemish painters. Free\nfrom the prejudices of the schools, unaware of the theories of the\ncritics, sensitive to the beautiful in every form, following only\nhis personal taste supported by the study of the masters, he ranged\nover the vast domain of art through regions the most dissimilar and\nsuperficially the most opposed. Of course he had his preferences; he\nreturned unceasingly to the antique and the Gothic; but his preferences\ndid not blind him. His admiration passed rapidly from the splendors of\nGreek and Roman architecture to the voluptuous graces of the seventeenth\ncentury. His love for Donatello and Michelangelo did not prevent him\nfrom appreciating Bernini.\n\nAttracted first by the marvelous Flemish Gothic artists, Memling,\nMassys, the Van Eycks, he was later delighted with the homely scenes of\nJan Steen, of Brueghel, of Teniers; he enjoyed them as an artist and as\na simple man who knew the value of domestic joys. Then he was haunted by\nthe sensual pomp of Jordaens and above all Rubens.\n\n[Illustration: THE POET AND THE MUSE.]\n\nThe triumphant brush of Rubens sculptured as much as it painted. The\nscience of foreshortening and that of ceiling painting, his way of\nmodeling forms in the light and by means of light--all this brought his\nart into the realm of sculpture; and when Rodin came to seek effects of\nlight and shadow that were new to sculpture, he remembered the lessons\nof the Antwerp master. From that time on Rubens was for him a splendid\nsubject for study and would have fortified him, had that been necessary,\nin the love of drawing; for beautiful drawing leads, to everything, to\n_color_, in sculpture as well as in painting.\n\nFlemish art was not enough to satisfy this thirst for understanding that\ndevoured the soul of the artist now in the full swing of the fermenting\nforce of his faculties. He wished to see Italy or at least to catch a\nglimpse of it. His resources were so slender indeed that his journey\ncould not have been long. It did not matter. He would form an idea of\nthe immensity of its treasure and confirm in himself the desire to\nreturn. He wished also to see France, as alluring to him as Greece, and\nwhose cathedrals are perhaps not less beautiful than the Parthenon.\n\nHe started for Italy in 1875, and he accomplished his first tour of\nFrance in 1877. He set forth. He was young and strong; he made the pass\nof Mont Cenis on foot. He was unknown and without connections. What\ndid it matter? In the midst of these scenes so radiant with memories of\nhistory and art, did he not feel an intoxication such as the soldiers of\nBonaparte alone must have experienced, catching sight of the plains of\nLombardy, where they were to forget the hardships of the campaign?\n\nFor Rodin, Italy meant the antique; it meant Donatello and Michelangelo.\nThe antique he had already to a considerable extent studied in the\nLouvre. Donatello and Michelangelo conquered him at the first glance--a\ntumultuous conquest. The severity of Donatello's style impassioned him;\nthe rigid honesty of his realism, the desire of this younger brother of\nDante to see things grandly, the equal desire to see things simply, this\nGothic genius deeply moved \"in the mid-way of this our mortal life\" by\npagan beauty and touched by the breath of the Renaissance, impressed\nthe French artist and became a dominating memory. From that time on in\nthe most beautiful of his busts, those of Jean-Paul Laurens, Puvis de\nChavannes, Lord Wyndham, Lord Horace Walden, Mr. Ryan, he was to appear\nas a disciple of the Florentine master, not by a literal imitation of\nhis methods, which he thoroughly grasped, but by similar qualities\nof observation and synthesis. Still, this was not until after he had\nmade other studies, while Michelangelo took hold upon him immediately\nand completely and became an actual obsession that might have proved\ndangerous to a sculptor less severe with himself, less determined to\ndiscover his own path.\n\nThe dazzling richness of modeling, the majesty of the great figures\nof the prodigious Florentine, and their fullness of movement--for\ntheir immobility is charged with movement--the somber melancholy of\nhis thought, his flaming and shadowy soul, his literary romanticism,\na romanticism like that of Shakspere, overwhelmed Rodin with that\nformidable sense of an almost sorrowful admiration that all experience\nwho visit the Medici tombs in the new sacristy.\n\nHe studied also the later marbles of Michelangelo, which stood at that\ntime in the gardens of the Pitti Palace and have since been removed to\nthe Municipal Museum of Florence.\n\nEvery one knows these powerful blocks, these vast human forms, only half\ndisengaged from the marble, from which they seem to be endeavoring to\nescape in order to give birth to themselves by a rending effort that\nis characteristic with all the force of a symbol of the tragic genius\nof Buonarroti. \"Unfinished works\"; it is thus the catalogues designate\nthem. Unfinished works, indeed, but why? Was it age that stilled, before\nthe end, the hand of the giant of sculpture? Or was it not rather that\nhe judged them too strangely beautiful in their incompleteness, that\nthey seemed to him more powerful thus, still captive to the material\nthat bound them groaning, as it were, in their tremulous flesh?\n\nThe public pays little attention to these sublime masses because it is\ntold that they are not _finished_. Not finished? Or infinite? That is\nthe question. Far from weighing them down, the marble that envelops\nthem throws about them the charm of the indeterminate and by means\nof this unites them with the atmosphere. The parts that are wholly\ndisengaged enable one to divine those that remain hidden; they are\nveiled without being obliterated, like mountain-tops among the clouds;\nand this half-mystery, instead of diminishing, increases the harmony\nof the bodies trembling with life under their mantle of stone. In the\npresence of an effect so marvelous, so calculated, one cannot cease from\nasking if it was really death or if it was not rather the sovereign\ntaste of the workman that arrested the chisel. While he was fashioning\nhis statues out of the marble itself, with that fury that has passed\ninto legend, did he not find himself, face to face with these unexpected\neffects which the material offered him of itself, in the midst of one of\nthose happy situations by which the talent of the masters alone enables\nthem to profit?\n\nHowever that may be, Rodin was struck as if by a revelation. What the\nprogress of his work had tardily disclosed to Michelangelo was soon to\nbecome for his disciple a principle of decorative art. Instead of\ndisengaging his figures entirely, he was to leave them half submerged\nin the transparent marble. This method, which has become famous\nto-day, seemed an unheard-of thing to those who were unfamiliar with\nthe Florentine blocks; but Rodin has never failed to acknowledge the\npaternity of the sculptor of \"The Thinker.\" Following in his steps, many\nartists have employed this method at random, without possessing the\nessential qualities that enable one to control these effects, and under\ntheir powerless chisels the enchanting device no longer possesses any\nmeaning.\n\n[Illustration: THE THINKER.]\n\nRodin himself waited until he possessed a thorough knowledge of marble\nand the manner of treating it; it was a stroke of fate by which he\nrediscovered the phenomena of envelopment that had so transported him in\nthe Municipal Museum. He had by that time the wisdom to guard himself\nfrom doing anything inconsistent with his material. He followed out\nthe suggestions it gave him, and developed an infinite variety in the\nmethods of handling it.\n\nOn his return from Italy he continued to be haunted by the unsurpassable\nvigor of Michelangelo's workmanship. He sought to discover what was\nthe outstanding gift that conferred upon him this power and this\nmysterious empire over the spirit. Until then, with the majority of\nartists of the modern school, he had believed that the chief quality\nof sculpture lay in seizing the _character_ of the model; but he came\nto see how many works concerned only with expressing character fail of\nreal significance. Since 1830 how many romanticists have sacrificed to\ncharacter without leaving any works that are lasting!\n\nAfter his journey Rodin decided that the strength of Michelangelo lay\nundoubtedly in his _movement_. Returning to his studio, he executed a\nquantity of sketches and even large figures like \"The Creation of Man,\"\nthe title of which, although he had not been to Rome, is a souvenir of\nthe frescos of the Sistine Chapel; he made busts like that of Bellona,\nafter having directed his models to assume Michelangelesque poses.\nFor all this, he did not attain to the grandeur, the soul-disturbing\nauthority of the Florentine master.\n\nWithout becoming discouraged, he went on observing ceaselessly. Far\nfrom imposing upon his model positions thought out in advance, he left\nhim free to wander about the studio at the pleasure of his own caprice,\nready to arrest him at a word when a beautiful movement passed before\nhis eyes. Then, six months after his return from Italy, he found that\nthe model assumed of his own accord the very poses of which Michelangelo\nalone had seemed to him to possess the secret; he realized that the\nsublime sculptor had taken them direct from nature, from the rhythm of\nthe human body in action, and that he had done nothing but seize and\nimmortalize them.\n\n\"Michelangelo,\" he says, \"revealed me to myself, revealed to me the\ntruth of forms. I went to Florence to find what I possessed in Paris and\nelsewhere, but it is he who taught me this.\"\n\nThis does not prevent certain critics from asserting out of the depth of\ntheir incompetence that he has never felt the influence of this master\nand that he has never even given his work serious consideration. Those\nwho know Rodin well know that, on the contrary, he never fails to give\nserious consideration to anything which is worth considering at all\nand that his power of observation is the basis of his genius. Always\nseeking a final method, he came back to the idea with which his earliest\neducation had already inspired him and which his self-communings had\nonly confirmed: that the value of sculpture lies entirely in the\n_modeling_. This is the secret of Michelangelo; it is also that of the\nancients and of all the great artists of the past and of modern times.\nFor the rest, through his spacious movements, his balancing of equal\nmasses, the sculptor of the tombs taught him that the supreme quality\nconsists in seeking in the modeling the _living, determining line of the\nscheme_, the supple axis of the human body.\n\nHe himself held this principle of the ancients, of whom he was a\ndisciple, as far as modeling is concerned, while in his composition and\nhis handling of light he is a Gothic.\n\nSoon after his return from Italy, Rodin executed the great study\nentitled \"The Creation of Man.\" In it he exaggerated the rhythm\nso characteristic of the Florentine, the balancing of masses, the\nmelancholy contraction of the body under the weight of an inexpressible\ninner suffering. When one examines the figure, this exaggeration\ncertainly suggests something overworked, something forced, which\nMichelangelo knew how to avoid and which here creates a somewhat painful\nimpression. But later, when Rodin conceived the idea of placing his\nstatue at the summit of \"The Gate of Hell,\" this strained appearance\ndisappeared. Seen thus, a lofty shape lighted up from below, it takes on\ntrue beauty; it is in its right place; it dominates the work and, as it\nwere, blesses it. It has the affecting gesture of Christian charity.\n\n[Illustration: ADOLESCENCE.]\n\n\n\n\nRODIN'S NOTE-BOOK\n\nINTRODUCTIONS BY JUDITH CLADEL\n\n\nI\n\nANCIENT WORKSHOPS AND MODERN SCHOOLS\n\n\n At a period in which, among the many manifestations of\n intellectual activity in the nations, art is placed in the\n background, the advent of a great artist invariably calls forth\n the same phenomena: a few men of taste become enthusiasts, the\n majority become indignant, and the public, not being possessed of\n sufficient esthetic education, and intolerant because of their lack\n of understanding, ridicule the intruder who has overthrown the\n accepted standards of the century. Friends and foes alike consider\n him a revolutionist; as a matter of fact, he is in open revolt\n against ignorance and general incompetence.\n\n Little by little the great truth embodied in such a man is\n revealed. Comprehension, like a contagion, seems to take hold\n of the minds of people, and impels them to study his art at\n first hand. A study not only of his own significance, but of\n the principles which he represents, quickly reveals that the\n work of this innovator, this revolutionist, is, in fact, deeply\n allied to tradition, and, far from being a mysterious, isolated\n manifestation, is, on the contrary, closely linked to general\n artistic ideals.\n\n Our aim is to penetrate the doctrines of this master, his\n method, his manner of working--all that which at other times would\n have been called his secrets.\n\n Auguste Rodin's career has passed through the inevitable\n phases. He, who has been so generally discussed and attacked, is\n to-day the most regarded of all artists. He likes to talk of his\n art; for he knows that his observations have a priceless value,\n that of experience--the experience of sixty years of uninterrupted\n work--and of a conscience perhaps even more exacting to-day than at\n the time of his impetuous youth. He says, \"My principles are the\n laws of experience.\" The combination of these principles embodies\n his greatest precept; namely, that of thinking and executing a\n thing simultaneously. We must listen to Rodin as we would listen\n to Michelangelo or Rembrandt if they were living. For his method\n may be the starting-point of an artistic renaissance in Europe,\n perhaps throughout the whole world. Definite signs of a decided\n resurrection in taste are already manifesting themselves, and it\n is a splendid satisfaction for the illustrious sculptor to receive\n such acknowledgment in his glorious old age. For, like every\n great genius, he has a profound love for the race from which he\n springs, and feels a strong instinctive confidence in it. Indeed,\n how should this be otherwise? In the course of centuries, has not\n this wonderful Celtic race on various occasions reconstructed its\n understanding and interpretation of beauty?\n\n Auguste Rodin expresses himself by preference on subjects\n from which he can draw an actual lesson. He is no theorist; he\n has an eminently positive mind, one might even say a practical\n mind. His teachings, unlike the abstract teachings of books, can\n be characterized by two words, observation and deduction. His\n are not more or less arbitrary meditations in which personal\n imagination plays the principal part; they are rather the account\n of a sagacious, truthful traveler, of a soldier who relates the\n story of his campaigns, or of a scholar who records the result of\n an analysis. Reality is his only basis, and with justice to himself\n he can say, \"I am not a rhetorician, but a man of action.\"\n\n We hear him chat, it may be in his atelier about some piece of\n antique sculpture which has just come into his possession or about\n a work he has in hand, or during his rambles through his garden,\n which is situated in the most delightful country in the suburbs of\n the capital, or on a walk through the museums, or through the old\n quarter of Paris. For in his opinion \"the streets of Paris, with\n their shops of old furniture, etchings, and works of art, are a\n veritable museum, far less tiring than official museums, and from\n which one imbibes just as much as one can.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nI use the words of the people, of the man in the street; for thoughts\nshould be clear and easily comprehended. I desire to be understood by\nthe great majority, and I leave scholarly words and unusual phrasing\nto specialists in estheticism. Moreover, what I say is very simple. It\nis within the grasp of ordinary intelligence. Up to now it has been of\nhardly any value. It is something quite new, and will remain so as long\nas the ideas which I stand for are not actively carried out.\n\nIf these ideas were understood and applied, the destruction of ancient\nworks of art would cease immediately. By bad restoration we are ruining\nour most beautiful works of art, our marvelous architecture, our\nGothic cathedrals, Renaissance city halls, all those old houses that\ntransformed France into a garden of beauty of which it was impossible to\ngrow weary, for everything was a delight to the eye and intelligence.\nOur workmen would have to be as capable as those of former times to\nrestore those works of art without changing them, they would have to\npossess the same wonderfully trained eye and hand. But to-day we have\nlost that conception and execution. We live in a period of ignorance,\nand when we put our hand to a masterpiece, we spoil it. Restoring, in\nour way, is almost like jewelers replacing pearls with false diamonds,\nwhich the ignorant accept with complacency.\n\nThe Americans who buy our paintings, our antique furniture, our old\nengravings, our materials, pay very dearly for them. At least we think\nso. As a matter of fact they buy them very cheaply, for they obtain\noriginals which can never be duplicated. We mock at the American\ncollectors; in reality we ought to laugh at ourselves. For we permit our\nmost precious treasures to be taken out of the country, and it is they\nwho have the intelligence to acquire them.\n\nMy ideas, once understood and applied, would immediately revive art, all\narts, not only sculpture, painting, and architecture, but also those\narts which are called minor, such as decoration, tapestry, furniture,\nthe designing of jewelry and medals, etc. The artisan would revert to\nfundamental truth, to the principles of the ancients--principles which\nare the eternal basis of all art, regardless of differences of race and\ntemperament.\n\n\n\nCONSTRUCTION AND MODELING\n\nIn the first place, art is only a close study of nature. Without that\nwe can have no salvation and no artists. Those who pretend that they\ncan improve on the living model, that glorious creation of which we\nknow so little, of which we in our ignorance barely grasp the admirable\nproportions, are insignificant persons, and they will never produce\nanything but mediocre work.\n\nWe must strive to understand nature not only with our heart, but above\nall with our intellect. He who is impressionable, but not intelligent,\nis incapable of expressing his emotion. The world is full of men who\nworship the beauty of women; but how many can make beautiful portraits\nor beautiful busts of the woman they adore? Intelligence alone, after\nlengthy research, has discovered the general principles without which\nthere can be no real art.\n\nIn sculpture the first of these principles is that of construction.\nConstruction is the first problem that faces an artist studying his\nmodel, whether that model be a human being, animal, tree, or flower. The\nquestion arises regarding the model as a whole, and regarding it in its\nseparate parts. All form that is to be reproduced ought to be reproduced\nin its true dimensions, in its complete volume. And what is this volume?\n\nIt is the space that an object occupies in the atmosphere. The essential\nbasis of art is to determine that exact space; this is the alpha and\nomega, this is the general law. To model these volumes in depth is to\nmodel in the round, while modeling on the surface is bas-relief. In a\nreproduction of nature such as a work of art attempts, sculpture in the\nround approaches reality more closely than does bas-relief.\n\nTo-day we are constantly working in bas-relief, and that is why our\nproducts are so cold and meager. Sculpture in the round alone produces\nthe qualities of life. For instance, to make a bust does not consist in\nexecuting the different surfaces and their details one after another,\nsuccessively making the forehead, the cheeks, the chin, and then the\neyes, nose, and mouth. On the contrary, from the first sitting the whole\nmass must be conceived and constructed in its varying circumferences;\nthat is to say, in each of its profiles.\n\nA head may appear ovoid, or like a sphere in its variations. If we\nslowly encircle this sphere, we shall see it in its successive profiles.\nAs it presents itself, each profile differs from the one preceding. It\nis this succession of profiles that must be reproduced, and that is the\nmeans of establishing the true volume of a head.\n\nEach profile is actually the outer evidence of the interior mass; each\nis the perceptible surface of a deep section, like the slices of a\nmelon, so that if one is faithful to the accuracy of these profiles, the\nreality of the model, instead of being a superficial reproduction, seems\nto emanate from within. The solidity of the whole, the accuracy of plan,\nand the veritable life of a work of art, proceed therefrom.\n\nThe same method applies to details which must all be modeled in\nconformity with the whole. Deference to plan necessitates accuracy of\nmodeling. The one is derived from the other. The first engenders the\nsecond.\n\nThese are the main principles of construction and modeling--principles\nto which we owe the force and charm of works of art. They are the key\nnot only to the handicraft of sculpture, but to all the handicrafts of\nart. For that which is true of a bust applies equally to the human form,\nto a tree, to a flower, or to an ornament.\n\nThis is neither mysterious nor hard to understand. It is thoroughly\ncommonplace, very prosaic. Others may say that art is emotion,\ninspiration. Those are only phrases, tales with which to amuse\nthe ignorant. Sculpture is quite simply the art of depression and\nprotuberance. There is no getting away from that. Without a doubt the\nsensibility of an artist and his particular temperament play a part in\nthe creation of a work of art, but the essential thing is to command\nthat science which can be acquired only by work and daily experience.\nThe essential thing is to respect the law, and the characteristic of\nthat fruitful law is to be the same for all things.\n\nMoreover, such was the method employed by the ancients, the method which\nwe ourselves employed till the end of the eighteenth century, and by\nwhich the spirit of the Gothic genius and that of the Renaissance and of\nthe periods of culture and elegance of the seventeenth and eighteenth\ncenturies were transmitted to us. Only in our day have we completely\nlost that technic.\n\nThese rules do not constitute a system peculiar to myself. They are\ngeneral principles which govern the world of art, just as other\nimmutable laws govern the celestial world. They are mathematical\nprinciples which I found again because my work inevitably led me to\nfollow in the footsteps of the great masters, my ancestors.\n\n\n\nTHE TRADITIONAL LAWS OF ANCIENT ART\n\nIn days of old, precise laws were handed down from generation to\ngeneration, from master to student, in all the workshops of the workers\nin art--sculptors, painters, decorators, cabinet-makers, jewelers. But\nat that time workshops existed where one actually taught, where the\nmaster worked in view of the pupil. In our day by what have we replaced\nthat marvelously productive school, the workshop? By academies in which\none learns nothing, because one sets out from such a contrary point of\nview.\n\nThese principles of art were first pointed out to me not by a celebrated\nsculptor, or by an authorized teacher, but by a comrade in the workshop,\na humble artisan, a little plasterer from the neighborhood of Blois\ncalled Constant Simon. We worked together at a decorator's. I was\nquite at the beginning of my career, earning six francs a day. Our\nmodels were leaves and flowers, which we picked in the garden. I was\ncarving a capital when Constant Simon said to me: \"You don't go about\nthat correctly. You make all your leaves flatwise. Turn them, on the\ncontrary, with the point facing you. Execute them in depth and not in\nrelief. Always work in that manner, so that a surface will never seem\nother than the termination of a mass. Only thus can you achieve success\nin sculpture.\"\n\nI understood at once. Since then I have discovered many other things,\nbut that rule has remained my absolute basis. Constant Simon was only\nan obscure workman, but he possessed the principles and a little of the\ngenius of the great ornamentists who worked at the chateaux of the\nLoire. On the St. Michel fountain in Paris there are very beautifully\ncarved decorations, rich and at the same time graceful, which were made\nby the hand of this little modeler, who knew far more than all the\nprofessors of esthetics.\n\nSuch was the purpose the workshops of old served. The apprentice\npassed successively through all the stages and became acquainted with\nall the secrets of his handicraft. He began by sweeping the studio,\nand that first taught him care and patience, which are the essential\nvirtues of a workman. He posed, he served as model for his comrades.\nThe master in turn worked before him among his students. He heard his\ncompanions discuss their art, he benefited by the discoveries that they\ncommunicated to one another. He found himself faced every day by those\nunforeseen difficulties which go to make an artist till the moment\nwhen the artist is sufficiently capable to master his difficulties.\nAlternately, they were both teacher and companion, and they conveyed to\none another the science of the ancients.\n\nWhat have we to-day in place of those splendid institutions which\ndeveloped character and intelligence simultaneously? Schools at which\nthe students think only of obtaining a prize, not attained by close\nstudy, but by flattering the professors. The professors themselves,\nwithout any deep attachment for their academies, come hurriedly,\noverburdened by official duties and all sorts of work; weighed down by\nperfunctory obligations, they correct the students' papers hastily, and\nhurriedly return to their regular occupation.\n\nAs to the students, twenty or thirty work from a single model, which\nis some distance from them and around which they can hardly turn.\nThey ignore all those inevitable laws which are learned in the course\nof work, and which escape the attention of an artist working alone.\nThey attend courses, or read books on esthetics written in technical\nlanguage with obscure, abstract terms, lacking all connection with\nconcrete reality--books in which the same mistakes are repeated because\nfrequently they are copied from one another. What sort of students can\ndevelop under such disastrous conditions? If one among them is seriously\ndesirous of learning, he breaks loose from his destructive surroundings,\nis obliged to lose several years first in ridding himself of a poor\nmethod, and then in searching for a method which formerly one had\nmastered on leaving the atelier.\n\nThat is the method that I preach to-day as emphatically as I can,\ncalling attention to the numerous benefits and advantages of taking up a\nvariety of handicrafts. Aside from sculpture and drawing, I have worked\nat all sorts of things--ornamentation, ceramics, jewelry. I have learned\nmy lesson from matter itself and have adapted myself accordingly. Only\nin being faithful to this principle can one understand and know how to\nwork. I am an artisan.\n\nWill my experience be of benefit to others? I hope so. At all events, we\nhave a bit to relearn. It will take years of patience and application\nto rise from the abyss of ignorance into which we have fallen. However,\nI believe in a renaissance. A number of our artists have already\nseen the light--the light of intellectual truth. Acts of barbarism\nagainst masterpieces cannot be committed any more without arousing the\nindignation of cultivated people. That in itself is an inestimable gain,\nfor those works of art are the relics of our traditions, and if we have\nthe strength to become an artistic people again, to reincarnate an\nera of beauty, then those are the works of art that will serve as our\nmodels, expressions of a national conscience that will be the milestones\non our path.\n\n * * * * *\n\n Judged by his work, Auguste Rodin is the most modern of\n artists; judged by his life and character, he is unquestionably\n a man of bygone days. As a sculptor, he is such as were Phidias,\n Praxiteles, and the master architects of the Middle Ages; that is\n to say, he is of all times. One single idea guides his thoughts,\n one single aim arouses his energies--art, art through the study of\n nature.\n\n It is by the concentration of his unusual mind on a single\n purpose that he attains his remarkable understanding of man,\n physical and moral, his contemporary, and of the spirit of our\n age. In the lifelike features of his statues he inscribes the\n history of the day. They seem to live, and the potency of their\n life enters into us and dominates us. For the moment we are only a\n silent spring, merely reflecting their authority.\n\n Through this secret of genius, his statues and groups have\n an individual charm. They have taken their place in the history\n of sculpture. There is the charm of the antique, the charm of the\n Gothic, and the charm of Michelangelo. There is also the charm of\n Rodin.\n\n [Illustration: HEAD OF MINERVA.]\n\n\n\n\n II\n\n SCATTERED THOUGHTS ON FLOWERS\n\n\n In Rodin's statues we find his conception of eternal man--man\n as he really is. They are molded on modern thought, with all its\n variations. One might suppose that these beautiful beings of marble\n and bronze had been named by the characteristic poets of the\n century, Victor Hugo, Musset, Baudelaire.\n\n Beginning with the Renaissance and particularly during the\n seventeenth century, the royal courts were the great salons in\n which the taste of the day was developed. Necessity made courtiers\n of the artists, for to obtain orders, they had to win the good-will\n of the sovereigns, the great lords, and the financiers.\n\n Art then lost its collective character, the artist his\n independence and strength. There was no longer the united effort of\n artists, inspired by love of beauty, to create great masterpieces\n such as cathedrals, city halls, and castles. The artist wasted his\n abilities in fragmentary bits, his time in worldly duties. To-day\n it is even worse. Keeping house, traveling, receiving, exhibiting\n in a hundred different places, living in great style, carrying on\n his life-work--all these crowd out the first, and formerly the\n essential, object of the artist, his work. It is these that lower\n art to the last degree of decadence.\n\n Rodin has kept aloof from this manner of living, has avoided\n these innumerable occasions for wasting time, or, rather, has never\n allowed them to take possession of him. Modest, unpretentious,\n traveling little or within a limited radius, the unremitting study\n of the divine model and of the masterpiece, man, forms his whole\n ambition, while it is also the source of endless delight to him.\n \"Admiration,\" he says, \"is a joy daily kindled afresh,\" and again,\n \"I talk out of the fullness of life; it belongs to me in a sense\n larger than that of ownership.\"\n\n In his villa at Meudon, in the midst of his collections of\n antiques, he pursues this study incessantly. He who is admitted to\n the modest garden of the great master first beholds with delight a\n Greek marble in an arbor. At the turn of a path there is the torso\n of a goddess resting on an antique column; in a niche in the wall,\n a Roman bust. Beneath the high arch of the peristyle of the studio,\n the architecture of which blends into the surrounding background\n as in the paintings of Claude Lorrain, there is a magnificent\n torso. Finally dominating the garden and the valley it overlooks,\n standing on a knoll and projected against the clear sky, there is\n an isolated facade from a castle of the seventeenth century, its\n delicate balustrades and casements outlined against the blue sky as\n in the decorative paintings of Paul Veronese.\n\n These ruins are the remains of the Chateau d'Issy, the work of\n Mansart. Rodin saved them at the moment when their destruction at\n the hands of ignorant workmen was imminent, and at great expense\n reconstructed them near his residence. These fragments, this noble\n portico, seem as though placed by chance, but the keen observer\n quickly perceives the correctness of taste that has determined\n their disposition. Each fragment forms part of an ensemble with\n the trees, the grass, the light, and the shadows, and to change\n any of these in the slightest degree would sacrifice some of its\n beauty. Sculpture at its finest is architecture, and architecture\n is perhaps the greatest art, because it collaborates directly with\n nature. Architecture lives through the life of things, and every\n hour of the day lends it a new expression.\n\n Innumerable reflections were aroused in the mind of the master\n Rodin when he essayed to place his treasures: the effect of the\n changing light on the object, the balancing of values, the relation\n of proper proportions, the appearance of the object in full light.\n All these he examined and studied, and he searched into the depths\n of the language of forms, to him as clear and as mysterious as\n beautiful music. This remarkable gift for determining the value of\n the object in its setting--a gift the secret of which is beyond the\n knowledge of the ignorant--has brought forth that peculiar poetic\n charm which permeates this little garden in a suburb of Paris,\n a refuge of persecuted beauty. Here the master confers with the\n artists of Greece and France of other days. These are his Elysian\n Fields.\n\n In Paris, where he is daily and where he works every\n afternoon, he lives in an exquisite, but ruinous, mansion of the\n eighteenth century, situated in a rustic, neglected park. There he\n finds his delight in the study of flowers and applies himself to\n it with his intense, never-dormant desire for understanding. His\n antique pottery is filled with anemones, carnations, and tulips.\n During his frugal meals they are before him, and his reverent\n love of them arouses his desire to understand them as completely\n as he does human beings. He analyzes and searches out their\n details without becoming insensible to the beauty of the whole.\n He jots down his discoveries, his words picture them; like La\n Rochefoucauld, he searches into their character; but watching over\n their life admiringly and tenderly until they wither, he does not\n dissect them, does not destroy them.\n\n Is not the flower the queen of ornaments, the inspiration of\n all races and ages, the very soul of artistic decoration? Have not\n the hands of genius contrived to employ the most durable as well\n as the most fragile material to express this delicate beauty in\n Greek and Gothic capitals, in the stone lacework of cathedrals, the\n fabrics of gold and silk, brocades, tapestries, wrought iron-work,\n old bindings? Is the splendor of stained-glass windows aught else\n than the splendor of a mass of beautiful flowers?\n\n[Illustration: THE BATH.]\n\n \"Were this thoroughly understood,\" says Rodin, \"industrial art\n would be entirely revolutionized--industrial art, that barbarous\n term, an art which concerns itself with commerce and profit.\n\n \"The young artists of to-day understand nothing; they copy to\n satiety the classic ornaments and designs, and reproduce them in\n so cold a manner that they lose all meaning. The ancients obtained\n their designs from nature. They found their models in the garden,\n even in the vegetable garden. They drew their inspiration from its\n source. The cabbage-leaf, the oak-leaf, the clover, the thistle,\n and the brier are the motives of the Gothic capital. It is not\n photographic truth, but living truth, that we must seek in art.\"\n\n Rodin writes his observations. He notes them down at the\n moment as they occur to him in all their freshness, and in this\n form they will be given here. At first glance, the reader may be\n surprised at their apparently fragmentary form. They may seem\n devoid of general continuity, but when one comprehends the great\n master's method, one sees that a bond much firmer than that of the\n mere word binds them together. They seem disjointed because here,\n as in his sculpture, the artist accepts only the essential, and\n rejects all superfluous detail. In reality they have the continuity\n of life, which is felt, but not seen, and which renders arbitrary\n transition unnecessary. This is the prerogative of genius, while\n all else is within the grasp of any one. His authority strikes us\n dumb; it puts to rout mere commonplace cleverness.\n\n * * * * *\n\nI have had primroses put in this little flower-pot. They are a bit\ncrowded, and their poor little stems are prisoners; they are no longer\nin their garden.\n\nI look at them on my table like a vivisector. I admire their beautiful\nleaves, round-headed, vigorous, like peasants. They point toward me, and\nbetween them is the flower. The one on this side is resigned, and as\nbeautiful as a caryatid. In profile it seems to hold up the leaf against\nwhich it leans and which gives it shade.\n\nThese little flowers are not beautiful, nor are they radiant. They\nlive peaceably, gently contented in their misery; and yet they offer\nsomething to one who is ill, as I am to-day, and cause him to write to\nward off weariness.\n\nI always have flowers in the morning, and make no distinction between\nthem and my models.\n\nMany flowers together are like women with heads bowed down.\n\nThere is no longer the sap of life in flowers in a vase.\n\nThe lace work of the flower of the elder-tree--Venice.\n\nThe anemone is only an eye, cruelly melancholy. It is the eye of a woman\nwho has been badly used.\n\nThese anemones are flowers that have stayed up too late at night;\nflowers that are resplendent, with their colors as though spread over\nthem superficially and wiped away. Even in the spring, in the hour of\nanticipation, they are already in the fullness of enjoyment.\n\nLike the flower of seduction, the anemones slowly change their form\noutlined in various ways, always restrained, however, and inclosed\nwithin their sphere. Their petals have not a common destiny: some curl\nup, others are like a becoming collaret, still others seem to be running\naway. The delicate droop of the petals, standing out in relief, is like\nthe eyelid of a child.\n\nAlthough old, that one does not shed its petals. Poor little flower with\nbent head, you are not ridiculous; you are pensive now that you are\ndying. You suffer from the cruelty of the stem which holds you back.\n\nFlowers give their lives to us; they should be placed in Persian vases.\nNear them, gold and silver seem of no value.\n\nAh, dear friends, we must love you if we would have you speak to us!\nWe must watch you or you fall from the vase, despairing, your leaves\nwithered.\n\nThe flowers and the vase harmonize by contrast.\n\nIn this bouquet there are some with flexible stems which seem to leap up\ngracefully. The flower, surrounded by its frail, straight leaves, is as\nif suspended from the ledge of a wrought-iron balcony.\n\nAh, the adorable heart of Adonis is incased within these flowers!\n\nThe hyacinth is like a balustrade placed upside down. A bed of\nhyacinths resembles a mass of balusters. Thus that great invention\nof the Renaissance, the balustrade, allows us to gain through it\na glimpse of nature. This ray of art, the flower, this delicate\ninspiration, unknowingly requires the intelligence of man to develop its\npossibilities.\n\nSuperb is this little rose-like flower among its spreading leaves. It is\nlike an assumption.\n\nThe double narcissus is a bird's-nest viewed from above. Strange\nflowers, like so many throats! What a frail marvel they are!\n\nThese three little narcissi group themselves like a cluster of electric\nlights.\n\nThe dignity of nature impresses us on every hand. It is greatly apparent\nin flowers; and yet so small are they that some look on them merely as\nthe decoration at a banquet.\n\nI will cast a narcissus in bronze; it shall serve as my seal.\n\nA maiden on a lake, that is the narcissus.\n\nLittle red marguerite, not yet open, sister to the strawberry, huddled\nin the shade which caresses you.\n\nThe full-blown marguerite seems to play at _pigeon-vole_.\n\nIt has rained for four hours; this is the hour when flowers quench their\nthirst.\n\nA marguerite in profile, a serpent's head with open jaws, stretching out\nits tongues! Petals, white, like a little collar.\n\nSeen in full face, its yellow-tinted heart is a little sun; its long\npetals are like fingers playing the piano.\n\nThese white flowers are gulls with wings outstretched. They fly one\nafter the other; this one, in adoration, has its petals thrown backward,\nlike wings.\n\nWhoever understands life loves flowers and their innocent caresses.\n\nThese marguerites seem to retreat like a spider that finds itself\ndiscovered in the road. Their buds stretch out their serpent-heads at\nthe end of long stems, divided by intercepting leaves and entangling\nknots. Does not love travel in a similar path rather than straight as an\narrow?\n\nThere is so much regularity in these dark-green leaves, extending at\nfixed intervals to right and left, and in the eternal dryness of the\nbouquet, that it calls to mind a Persian miniature.\n\nNo man has a heart pure enough to interpret the freshness of flowers. We\ncannot give expression to this freshness; it is beyond us.\n\nWhen it sheds its petals, the flower seems to disrobe and go to sleep\non the earth. This is its last act of grace, showing its submission to\nGod.\n\nWhat spirit possesses these flowers that die in silence! We should\nlisten to them and give thanks.\n\nThis red and black ranunculus proclaims the carnival; it is the carnival\nitself. The carnival is the very emblem of flowers. Like them it, also,\nwears masks and costumes. It wears their colors, bright yellow, red--an\nimitation of the flowers of the sun.\n\nDelightful carnival! Delightful interpretation of flowers! For a long\ntime in my youth I undervalued them. I am happy now to see them under\nanother aspect, as the splendor of Rome and the lavish intelligence of a\nbygone time.\n\nSome one gave me tulips. They fascinate me variously. How great an\nartist is chance, knowing the last secret by which to win us!\n\nThese yellow tulips, dipped in blood! What a treat to see true\ncolors--reds, blues, greens, the art of stained glass!\n\nOne is quite taken aback before these flowers, in which nature has\nexpressed more than one can comprehend. It imparts that great mystery\nwhich is beyond us and signifies the presence of God.\n\nHow magnificent the flower becomes as its youth passes!\n\nEven the flowers have their setting sun.\n\nMy bouquet is always the same, yet I never cease to look at it.\n\nA whirlwind, a very cyclone, this tulip has perished in the storm. Like\nthe wife of Lot, it is possessed of fear.\n\nThis one is open, all aflame like a burning bush. That one, all\ndisheveled, comes toward me. Full of ardor, it springs up, its petals\nstrong and expanding, like a mouth curling forward.\n\nThe violence of passion in flowers is pronounced. Ah, the softness of\nlove is found only in women!\n\nGreat artists, curb your curiosity, neglect the pleasures which offer\nthemselves to you, so that you may better understand the secrets of God.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nPORTRAITS OF WOMEN\n\n\n Rodin's busts of women are perhaps the most charming part of\n his work. But to say this is almost a sacrilege, an affront to the\n grace of the small groups that, in this giant's work, swarm about\n the superior figures. But we need not search too far into this or\n yield to the pedantic mania for classifying to death. Let us rather\n look at them without transforming the joy of admiration into the\n labor of cataloguing, and give ourselves up wholly to the pleasure\n of seeing and understanding.\n\n Yes, these portraits of women are the graceful aspect of this\n work of power. They are the achievements of a force which knows\n its own strength, and here relaxes in caresses. If some among them\n disturb the spirit, most of them shed upon us a calm enjoyment,\n the delightful security that one breathes among all-powerful\n beings that wish to be gracious. They allay the sense of unrest\n aroused in us by those dramas in marble and bronze which a powerful\n intellect has conceived--that mind from which sprang \"The Burghers\n of Calais,\" the two monuments to Victor Hugo, \"The Tower of Labor,\"\n that imagination, glowing like a forge, which produced \"The Gate of\n Hell,\" the Sarmiento monument, the statue of Balzac.\n\n Here Rodin's art extends to the utmost confines of grace. He\n has contrived to discover the most delicate secrets of nature.\n He models the petals of the lips just as nature curls the frail\n substance of the rose-leaf. By imperceptible gradations he\n attaches the delicate membranes of the eyelids to the angle of\n the temples just as nature in springtime attaches the leaves to the\n rough bark of trees.\n\n[Illustration: THE BROKEN LILY.]\n\n Great thinkers never cease to be moved by the charm of\n weakness. The \"eternal feminine\" is just that, the power of grace\n over the manly soul. The strongest feel this attraction most, are\n most possessed with the desire of expressing it. I am thinking of\n Homer, Leonardo da Vinci, Shakspere, Balzac, Wagner, and Rodin in\n saying this. They have created a feminine world, the figures of\n which, lovingly copied from living models, become models in turn.\n They haunt thousands of souls, fashion them in their image. In her\n complicated ways, Nature avails herself of the artist to modify the\n human type.\n\n We have some terra-cotta figures of Rodin, modeled when he was\n between twenty-five and thirty, while working at the manufactory\n at Sevres, in the studio of Carrier-Belleuse, that accomplished\n sculptor. They are charming little busts, with the perfume of\n the eighteenth century breathing from them, treated a little in\n the manner of Carpeaux, with the velvety shadow of their black\n eyes on their sparkling faces. One of them, now in a private\n gallery in New York, has a hat on its head, coquettish, tender,\n innocently provocative; it is full of Parisian allurement because\n it is characteristically French. One can find its kindred among\n certain Renaissance figures, and even among the mischievous faces\n of Gothic angels. With all this there is that ephemeral prettiness\n which is called \"fashion,\" that caprice of styles which does for\n the adornment of cities what the flowers of the field do for the\n country.\n\n If Rodin had pursued his path in this direction, he would have\n been a portrait-sculptor of great taste, and would doubtless have\n attained celebrity sooner, but a celebrity which is not glory. At\n that time he was chiefly concerned with copying the features of his\n models with all the sensitiveness of his admiration; he did not yet\n attempt those large effects of light and shade which were to become\n the object of his whole career, and are so still. He has made the\n religion of progress his own by reflective study. Progress is for\n him the chief condition of happiness. Present-day philosophies\n commonly put it in doubt; but if happiness exists, it is surely\n in the soul of the artist. But it is recognized with difficulty\n because it is called by an equivocal name, the ideal.\n\n Let us look at the \"Portrait of the Artist's Wife.\" Here, in\n this noble effigy, this severe image with its lowered eyelids, the\n artist passes beyond the promise of his first period. The face,\n rather wide at the cheek-bones, lengthens toward the chin, where\n the sorrowful mouth reigns. It expresses melancholy, gravity,\n dignity, Christian charity. It is rather masculine, and seems less\n youthful than the original was at the time. It is as if the artist\n had sought to bring out the character by conscientious modeling,\n without any softening; all the features are underlined, as on\n a face that has attained a ripe age. He had not yet discovered\n the art of softening his surfaces, of blending them in a general\n tonality, and of obtaining that softness, that flesh quality, with\n all the shades of youth, which touches the heart in his more recent\n busts.\n\n Even then he did know, however, how to gather under the\n boldly molded superciliary arch of the brows the diffused shadows\n which, in the future, were to lend mystery and distance to most\n of his portraits. This mask is all that remains of a standing\n figure dressed in the manner of Gothic figures. Rodin was then\n living in Brussels, still young, poor, and unknown, but happy.\n He tasted the perfect happiness of long days of absorbing labor,\n of that enthusiasm for work which nothing disturbs. To-day he\n sometimes yearns for those years free from the never-ceasing bustle\n of a celebrated man's existence, a giant assailed by a thousand\n pin-pricks. Yet his poverty was excessive, for the beautiful\n statue, modeled during successive months with much love, fell to\n pieces. For want of money, the sculptor had not been able to have\n it cast.\n\n Among his women's busts, one of the most famous and one which\n remains among the most beautiful is that of Madame Morla Vicunha.\n It dates back about twenty-five years, but it is resplendent in\n eternal youth. Since then Rodin has added to his knowledge and\n experience. He has made personal discoveries in the plastic art.\n He has become the master of color in sculpture. Nevertheless, this\n portrait, as it stands, remains an adorable masterpiece. Who that\n has looked at its softly gleaming marble in the Luxembourg has not\n been overcome by a long dream of tenderness, of uneasy curiosity?\n Who has not hoped to make this woman speak, to press her heart in\n order to draw from her a confession of her desires, the secret of\n her happiness and her melancholy?\n\n It is more than a bust, it is woman herself. Because the\n beautiful shoulder slips tremulously from the heavy mouth, which\n lies against the smooth, polished flesh; because this shoulder\n rises again toward the head, slightly bent and inclined, as if to\n draw toward it some loved one; because the neck swells like that of\n a dove, and the head is stretched forward to offer a kiss, we seem\n to catch a glimpse of the whole body and its delicate curves. It is\n a beautiful bust. I should like to see it alone in a room hung with\n dim tapestries, drawing forth its charm like a long sigh, which\n nothing should disturb. This masterpiece demands the distinction of\n solitude.\n\n How beautifully modeled the head is in its firm delicacy!\n The framework of the narrow skull appears under the texture of\n hair fastened over it like a rich handkerchief. We can almost see\n the impatient hand, trembling with feeling, that has twisted the\n firm knot under the nape of the neck. Everywhere, level with the\n temples, at the bridge of the nose,--the aquiline nose marking the\n Spaniard of race,--this bony framework stands out. The face catches\n a feverish character from it, tortured by the longing for intimate\n expression, and reveals a being with whom happiness borders closely\n upon sorrow. The nostrils tremble as if to the perfume of the\n flowers pressed voluptuously against the warm bosom. The mouth\n is at once mobile and firm, and all the curves of the features\n converge toward it--toward the kiss which causes it to swell softly.\n\n The light steals gently into every line and fold of the face.\n It borders the eyelids, glides under the brows, outlines the bridge\n of the nose and the nostrils, emphasizes the opposed arches of\n the lips. It spreads like a spring, separating into a thousand\n streams. It is a network, like the tracery of the woman's nerves\n made visible. It is as if the sculptor and the light had begun a\n dialogue--a dialogue kept up with endless graces and coquetries.\n He contradicts it, refutes it; it escapes, returns. He gathers it\n up, as if to force it into the sinuous folds of the figure. Again\n it flees, and then, summoned back, it returns cautiously, and at\n last bathes the statue in generous caresses.\n\n This bust will live. In its enigmatic grace it will become\n more and more the expression of the woman who loves, just as \"La\n Gioconda\" (\"Mona Lisa\") is the expression of the woman who is\n loved. The one is all instinct, the other all spirit. The one\n offers herself; the other promises herself. The one is tenderness\n directed toward the past; the other smiles toward the future.\n\n[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF MADAME MORIA VICUNHA.]\n\n In the same gallery of the Luxembourg, there is that other\n famous head called \"La Pensee.\" What a contrast! It is strangely\n bound within a block of marble, placed like a living head on a\n block. And yet it tells only of the slightly resigned calm of\n meditation, or of melancholy, without bitterness, of long autumn\n days, with their diffused brilliancy. The outlines are firm,\n regular, placid, of remarkable moderation in their distinction. The\n head leans forward, because thought is a weighty matter. The brow\n and the eyes are the dominant features. On them the sculptor has\n focused all the light not only in the high lights, but in the still\n surface as well.\n\n The caprice of the artist has covered this head with a light\n peasant-cap. This hides the details of the hair, and concentrates\n the glance on the face. \"Caprice\" expresses the idea badly, for\n it is taste and the will of the artist that have directed all.\n These dreamy features express the practical mysticism of women,\n the effort of intelligent devotion. It makes one think of St.\n Genevieve, of Jeanne d'Arc, of the overwhelming courage of a weak\n being carried beyond and out of herself by a great purpose.\n\n \"La Pensee\" has the striking character that almost all the\n busts of Rodin assume in the future, and which they owe on the\n one hand to their intense lifelikeness, and on the other to the\n atmosphere with which the sculptor surrounds them. There are no\n hard-and-fast limits which separate them from the circumambient\n air; on the contrary, they are bathed in it. The \"blacks,\" which\n give a hard, dry look when used to excess, are handled marvelously.\n The women's busts, especially, almost start up before us with this\n slightly fantastic look of life increased tenfold, with the charm\n of phantoms of marble, monumental, and yet as light as beautiful\n mists.\n\n These effects of light and shadow perhaps harmonize best with\n the softness and delicacy of the feminine flesh. They convey to us\n naturally the mystery of an inner life more secret, more intimate\n than that of man.\n\n Even with works that are similar, the public does not\n recognize their common origin. It sees the result of an\n extraordinary amount of observation and intelligence, yet it does\n not reflect more than a child. For the public the sculptor, whoever\n he may be, is a creature of instinct, with a trained eye and hand,\n but without mind and culture. He is a sculptor, that is all. A\n common proverb strengthens the belief in this lasting folly. It\n may be told, then, that the master with whom we are here dealing\n studies his models not only as a sculptor, but as a writer studies;\n that often his hand drops the chisel for the pencil, in order to\n set down his observation more exactly, to search even further into\n nature.\n\n Perhaps the public will at last grasp the fact that the true\n artist, under penalty of ceasing to be one, must, above all, expend\n an amount of attention of which other men are incapable, and that\n it is by this power of attention that the strength of intelligence\n is measured. For example, Rodin is facing his model, a young\n woman stretched out in an attitude of repose. He writes, and in\n his style we find all the power of the great draftsman. He marks\n the outlines, he specifies the details, slowly, patiently, with\n pertinacity. He never confuses the impression, always so ready to\n elude one--the impression, the divine reward of the artist.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe dazzling splendor revealed to the artist by the model that divests\nherself of her clothes has the effect of the sun piercing the clouds.\nVenus, Eve, these are feeble terms to express the beauty of women.\n\nThe head leans to one side, the torso to the other, both inclining\nindolently, gracefully. This body has been glorified. The contours\nflow, descend, repose, like immortality personified. The breasts follow\nthe same curve. The flowing lines are all in the same direction.\nUnchangeable, heaving above the half-opened screen of the dress, the\nbreath scarcely lifts them. It does not stir or agitate them.\n\nThe beautiful human monument is balanced in repose. It is unassailable.\nIt is the gradation of contours.\n\nI do not draw them, but I see them in place, and my spirit is content,\naccustoms itself to the impression. In memory I still make drawings of\nthis model, and these moving lines are repetitions, done over again a\nhundred times; for I repeat the drawing constantly, like a caress.\n\nThis torso resigns itself, like an Ariadne whose contours melt away in\nthe evening, in the dark. But the lightning of day has flashed there.\nIt is there always. It is now the pale gleam of flesh. My mind, carried\nalong, takes this form as its model.\n\nThe hand, the arm, support the head, the sidelong glance from which\nis so full of sweetness. One might call it a \"Mona Lisa\" reposing.\nThis head feels the need of resting on the supporting hand, a delicate\nsupport like the handle of a vase. Like an urn about to pour out its\nwater, its thought, it inclines.\n\nLying back on the cushion, the head is in high relief. The features are\nplaced according to their due regard, which is the very soul of balance.\nIt has made the eyes symmetrical; the eyebrows straight; the nose, where\nbeauty and symmetry meet, expressive of a wholesome conformity.\n\nWhen a woman is very beautiful, she has the head of a lion. From the\nlion is copied that splendid regularity of the eyes, which the oval of\nthe face accentuates. The tawny mane is also lion-like in its regularity\nand majesty, without any other expression.\n\nArches are formed without effort of all the parts of the eye. The hinges\nof the eyes open and close. The open mouth keeps back neither the\nthoughts nor the words that have been spoken. There is no need for her\nto speak. Her age, her thoughts, all is a confession here--the features,\nthe arch of the frank, noble mouth, as well as the form of the nose and\nthe sensitive nostrils.\n\nAnd this infantile glance under a woman's eyelid! Our soul demands\nthat, by an agreement with the heavens, the feminine glance should be\ncelestial.\n\n[Illustration: LA PENSEE.]\n\nHow I bathe in the calm beauty of these eyes, with their regular\ndrawing! How they themselves declare their tranquil joy! Sometimes eyes\nlike these seem to be inhabited by spirits. They close, and I see the\nhorizontal lashes, the lower lid, which just rests against the upper. I\nsee as a whole the soft oval of these long eyes, the double circle of\nthe lids themselves, and the circle beneath, so modest now, but which\none calls the circle of love.\n\nThe eyeball in moving shows the clear pupil, and all about it press the\ncircles of the delicate lids. The soul finds a refuge in these secret\nhiding-places, and throws out its circles of attraction like a lasso.\nThis sensuous soul is the soul of beautiful portraits.\n\nThe cheeks curve against the socket of the eye; the double arch of the\nbrows prolongs itself behind them. The surface of the cheeks extends to\nthe extremity of the nose, forms a double depression by the sinking of\nthe cheek, which grows hollow toward the convex lip, and surrounds the\nmouth and the two lips. These facial lines and surfaces all stop at the\nchin, toward which all the curves converge.\n\nThe facial expressions proceed from, spread, and move in another circle.\nThey all disappear in the cheeks, just as do the movements of the mouth.\nOne curve passes down from the ear to the mouth; a small curve draws\nback the mouth and also the nose a little. A circle passes under the\nnose, the chin, to the cheekbones; a deep curve, which starts back to\nthe cheekbone, cuts in a small hollow to the eyebrow. The features are\ndistinct; but when they move, they merge into one another. The smile\npasses over the face by a circle defining the mouth. The edge of the\nmouth is defined by a mezzotint at the point of union.\n\nThe loose hair surrounds the cheek, and the head seems like a golden\nfleece on a distaff. It hangs like loosened garlands. How beautifully\nthese garlands of hair are arranged, with the profile in a three-quarter\nview, standing out against the fine, tawny hair! The impressive harmony\nbetween the flesh and the hair! They seem altogether in accord; they\nlend each other languor and charm; they are united and separated at the\nsame time. These drooping clusters of chestnut-blond hair are a frame.\nOne might call them long flowers hanging from the edge of a vase.\n\nThe neck no longer holds erect the head, which moves in ecstasy. It\ndrowns itself in the wavy flow of hair, which becomes undone at the\nmoment. This inundation of hair, so to speak, what a generalized\nexpression of opulence it is! Before its beauty I feel imbued with\nlove. I am seized with enthusiasm, aflame with it. This gold, this dull\ncopper, is like a field of grain, a field of corn, where the sheaves are\nof gold bound together. These sheaves, slightly disordered in their\nlengthening curves, turning in all directions, imitate the tone of\nsubdued flesh tints.\n\nIn this veil, transparent and like a dead leaf, the ear is\nhidden in shadow, where the hair flies back at random in strands, twists\nabout, and returns.\n\nO head, beautiful ornament, drooping against the edge of the couch like\na lovely motive in architecture at the edge of a console, you express\nthe prolonged weakness of a lovely languor! The shoulder extends its\nbeautiful curve before the face, resting on its side; the line rises,\npasses near the nose, descends, and shows the red line of the mouth,\njust as the bees continually enter and go out of the opening of the\nhive. The face turns, but the eye returns to me, passes by me, and again\ngazes upon me.\n\nIn it there is the softness of the dog's eye, a spirit which becomes\nmotionless when the tyranny of passion has disappeared. When passion is\nin control, she sucks like a vampire that delicate flesh, which is the\nmodel of calm, the exquisite remainder of calm.\n\nThis crown of beauty is not made for one woman alone, but for all women.\nThey do not know it, and yet all in turn attain this beauty, as a fruit\nripens. This calm is more potent in them than in the most beautiful\nstatues. They are unaware of it, and the men who are near them are\nunaware of it also. They have not been taught to admire. They have not\nbeen educated in the science of admiration.\n\nWhen, in the galleries of the Louvre, magnificent rooms where are\ngathered the collections of antiques, day enters through the windows\nand lightly touches these beautiful sculptures which are the adornment\nof great palaces, do they understand any better? Do they realize the\ncollaboration between the sculptor and the light?\n\n[Illustration: HOTEL BIRON. VIEW FROM THE GARDEN.]\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nAN ARTIST'S DAY\n\n\n The residence of Rodin, the Hotel Biron, is situated at the\n extreme end of the rue de Varenne, in the Faubourg St. Germain.\n The long straight street is lined on both sides with old mansions\n that lend a distinctive nobility to this district of Paris. The\n street is solemn, the quiet austere. Only rarely a carriage rumbles\n by. Like the tide of a river, the air sweeps down this street from\n the Boulevard des Invalides, which at its other end opens upon the\n Esplanade des Invalides, like a great lake.\n\n Now and then one catches glimpses of the spacious courts, the\n steps, the peristyles, and the ornate, but at the same time simple,\n pediments. Most of these mansions were, and many of them still are,\n inhabited by families associated with the history of France.\n\n The northern facade of the Hotel Biron and the courtyard\n through which one enters are hidden behind a high convent wall, for\n in the nineteenth century the old residence of the Duc de Biron\n was transformed into a religious school of the Sacred Heart. There\n the daughters of the aristocracy were educated. In consequence of\n the law of 1904 relating to the religious orders, the mansion was\n vacated, and taken possession of by the state, which rented it in\n apartments. Rodin, ever in search of old buildings, in which alone\n he can think and work in comfort, soon became the main tenant.\n\n To ring the bell one must reach high. With difficulty one\n turns the handle of the door, which swings slowly. It is a portal\n made for coaches to pass through. Under its monumental arch one\n seems as insignificant as an insect. To the right of the court is\n the old chapel of the religious community. Its somber character\n stands out against the neighboring secular buildings. The cold\n style of Charles X, in which it is built, forms a strange contrast\n to the charming structure of Jacques Gabriel, the celebrated artist\n who in the eighteenth century endowed Paris with many works of art,\n among others this pavilion of the rue de Varenne, the Hotel Biron.\n Nevertheless, had it not been for Rodin, this building would have\n been torn down.\n\n It is a vast mansion, extremely simple, and built on the\n lines of an elongated square. Its great charm is due wholly to its\n correct proportions and to the grace and variety of its beautiful,\n tall windows, some straight, others rounded, and surmounted by an\n inconspicuous ornament, the signature of the artist. All of them\n are enlivened by little squares of glass, which are to a window\n what the facets are to a diamond.\n\n The spacious vestibule is paved with black and white marble,\n its ceiling supported by six strong columns. A charming stone\n staircase rises here. All is in the style of Louis XV, a style that\n is dignified when it is not delightfully elegant and coquettish.\n\n The house was to be torn down, and sold as junk; but Rodin\n was on guard. Ever since he had learned that this masterpiece was\n condemned his heart had bled, and for the first and only time in\n the course of his long existence an outside interest took him\n from his work. He wrote letters, took legal steps, called to\n his assistance artists, people of culture, and men in politics.\n M. Clemenceau, then president of the cabinet; M. Briand, who\n succeeded him; M. Gabriel Hanotaux, one of his great friends;\n M. Dujardin-Beaumetz, under-secretary of state of fine arts,\n all listened to his indefatigable pleading. Finally his plea was\n heard, and the Hotel Biron was classified as a historical monument,\n henceforth inviolate. Then the speculators had to abandon their\n idea of filling the park with hideous modern structures, and of\n disfiguring in six months this unique Quartier des Invalides, to\n construct which the architects had given years of work and all\n their intelligence.\n\n Rodin's admirers soon conceived the idea of converting the\n Hotel Biron into a museum for the master's works, which they\n pledged themselves to defend with a tenacity equal to that which\n Rodin had just displayed.\n\n * * * * *\n\n I knock at the door of the studio and rapidly pass through\n two large rooms containing no furniture, only busts of bronze and\n groups of marble. When I enter the study, Rodin is not here; I\n glance about. All the details of this room are familiar to me, but\n they always seem new, because everything is in harmony here, with a\n harmony which varies according to the day and the hour.\n\n It is a morning in spring. The bright light sheds its rays\n on the various antiquities that the master has assembled here:\n Empire chairs, with faded velvet coverings; a Louis XIV arm-chair\n of gilded wood and cherry- silk, in which one might fancy\n Moliere seating himself to chat with Rodin, who, ever ready as he\n is with a bit of raillery, would surely not have failed in repartee.\n\n On a round table there is a Persian material, and some\n Japanese vases filled with tulips and anemones. On the mantelpiece\n are bronzes from the far East and a statuette of porcelain in\n marvelous blues that Rodin calls his \"Chinese Virgin.\" On the\n walls, close together like the stones in a mosaic, are many of the\n master's water-colors. Their well-chosen tones harmonize with and\n intensify those of the flowers, the fabrics, and the ceramics of\n bygone days.\n\n Scattered pedestals support huge bronze busts, which call to\n mind warriors of the Middle Ages, and some unfinished pieces. They\n consist of small groups that, under the eye of the master, seem to\n grow out of the white marble, and in the golden sunlight look as\n soft as snow.\n\n On this table, where Rodin takes his meals and writes, is a\n Greek marble, a little torso without arms or legs; I know it well,\n for he showed it to me while murmuring words of admiration. This is\n his latest passion.\n\n I enter the garden, where he is enjoying a moment of rest, for\n he has been working a long while. Owing to his habits as a good\n workman, he rises at five every morning.\n\n I pass through one of the big doors which open upon the park.\n The beautiful view always captivates me anew. The light, the air,\n the expanse of sky, the magnificent groups of trees, this rustic\n solitude in the heart of Paris, take one by surprise, inspire and\n elevate the spirit. Rodin is here, smiling and in good humor.\n\n We are on the terrace that overlooks the expanse of green\n and forms a sort of slanting pedestal for the pavilion. Below\n stretches a broad alley, almost an avenue, overgrown with a rich\n carpet of grass and moss, which loses itself in the distant wood.\n Fruit-trees, growing wild, form impenetrable screens on both sides\n of this alley.\n\n The grandeur of this park is largely due to the age of the\n trees. Stepping to the edge of the balustrade, I can see toward the\n right the dome of the Invalides, standing alone, outlined against\n the sky, like a burgrave on guard under a helmet of gold.\n\n[Illustration: RODIN PHOTOGRAPHED IN THE COURT OF THE HOTEL BIRON.]\n\n The northern facade of the pavilion has a severe character.\n It is the facade which visitors and passers-by see, and for this\n an elegant simplicity suffices. But this other side, bathed in\n the midday sun, is meant for friends. All the delicate splendor\n that the architect conceived is expressed in these stones. This\n sculptured pediment, this balcony with its console of flowers, and\n the graceful windows, with their semicircular transoms, are models\n of elegance. The Hotel Biron is not large, but it is imposing. The\n blockheads who inhabited it during the last century, blind to its\n beauty, deaf to its appeal, demolished and sold the wrought-iron\n balustrades of the windows, balconies, and staircases, but they\n were not able, thank Heaven! to destroy its innate beauty.\n\n \"Let us go to work,\" said Rodin. I go back to the statues;\n Rodin begins to draw. In a little while he will model. During his\n hasty luncheon he has the little Greek torso placed before him, and\n he makes notes all the while.\n\n True genius is as changeable as nature. It finds as many ways\n of expressing its ideals as it finds subjects. But what always\n remains the same is the desire to be sincere. Yet the artist, with\n the best of intentions, is often the victim of his own sincerity.\n Rodin is no exception to this rule, for even he has had his\n portraits rejected. \"There is no resemblance!\" people declare,\n while, on the contrary, the resemblance is too true. With his keen\n insight he penetrates too far beyond the mere flesh of the model.\n People are frightened at seeing their hidden personality brought\n to the light of day, are taken aback at being compelled to know\n themselves. They consider the sculptor indiscreet and dangerous.\n\n If, in his portraits of men, he pries to their very souls,\n if he reveals without pity those of his own sex, his equals, his\n companions in life's struggle, in his portraits of women he is\n discreet and respectful. With delicacy he unfolds their delicate\n mystery. He does not say anything which is not true, but frequently\n he does not express the whole truth. Genius is ever in quiet\n complicity with womanhood, and leaves it in that half-obscurity\n which is its greatest power.\n\n In the bust before us of Mrs. X---- , one wonders what he\n refrained from expressing. Surely neither the unusual beauty of the\n woman nor her air as of an archduchess.\n\n I remember the day when I saw this bust for the first time.\n It was in the Salon, placed at the head of a high staircase. The\n marble was brilliant. Something regal and also lovable attracted\n those who came toward it. Resplendent in beauty, the shoulders\n emerge from the folds of a wrap with the proud grace of one who is\n to the manor born. The small, well-shaped head, supported by the\n plump, though delicate, neck, is half turned to the slightly raised\n left shoulder. The hair is drawn up high to form a crown, throwing\n forward some light strands that shed their soft shadows over the\n forehead, like a thatching of moss. The beautiful eyebrows, too,\n lend mystery to the glance of the eyes, so full of sweetness and\n understanding. The small ear is partly hidden under the waves of\n the well-groomed hair. The lines of delicate symmetry which run\n from the chin to the ear, and from the ear to the shoulder, and the\n coronet of hair, give the bust its distinguished look of race.\n\n Here we see, too, the firmness of beautiful flesh, hardened by\n exercise, radiating that spirit of joyous life that springs from\n a thoroughly healthy body, as we feel it in some of the Tanagra\n figurines. The quiet reserve which stamps the refined Anglo-Saxon\n is revealed, but not overaccentuated. The nose is straight and\n slightly raised at the tip, the mouth frank and regular. Those\n same changing shadows which beautify flowers, when the sun strikes\n them through the leaves of a tree, play over this countenance, and\n bathe it in a variety of delicate tones from the eyes to the chin.\n But beneath this placid beauty there is a restless soul eager to\n act, to express its goodness. The chin and the throat retain their\n look of youth, even of something childlike for those whom she\n loves; but the thoughtful brow is slightly wrinkled, as if from the\n intelligent search for happiness.\n\n This bust, almost Greek in its simplicity, is one of the most\n purely beautiful that has come from Rodin's hands.\n\n When we note the facility with which these works are produced,\n seemingly a natural growth, like vintage and harvest; when we\n contemplate these fruits of knowledge, we are too apt to overlook\n the laborious efforts involved, and to forget that a life has\n been given, drop by drop, to achieve this result in small steps\n of progress. Even when we know all this, we often prefer to give\n the credit to external causes, which appeal more strongly to our\n superficial minds, rather than to that endless patience that is,\n and always will be, the secret of genius.\n\n I watched Rodin model the head of Hanako, the Japanese\n actress. He rapidly modeled the whole in the rough, as he does\n all his busts. His keen eye and his experienced thumb enable him\n to establish the exact dimensions at the first sitting. Then the\n detailed work of modeling begins. The sculptor is not satisfied to\n mold the mass in its apparent outlines only. With absolute accuracy\n he slices off some clay, cuts off the head of the bust, and lays it\n upside down on a cushion. He then makes his model lie on a couch.\n\n Bent like a vivisector over his subject, he studies the\n structure of the skull seen from above, the jaws viewed from below,\n and the lines which join the head to the throat, and the nape of\n the neck to the spine. Then he chisels the features with the point\n of a pen-knife, bringing out the recesses of the eyelids, the\n nostrils, the curves of the mouth. Yet for forty years Rodin was\n accused of not knowing how to \"finish\"!\n\n With great joy he said one day, \"I achieved a thing to-day\n which I had not previously attained so perfectly--the commissure of\n the lips.\"\n\n In making a bust Rodin takes numerous clay impressions,\n according to the rate of progress. In this way he can revert to the\n impression of the previous day, if the last pose was not good, or\n if, in the language of the trade, \"he has overworked his material.\"\n Thus one may see five, six, or even eight similar heads in his\n studio, each with a different expression.\n\n Hanako did not pose like other people. Her features were\n contracted in an expression of cold, terrible rage. She had the\n look of a tiger, an expression thoroughly foreign to our Occidental\n countenances. With the force of will which the Japanese display in\n the face of death, Hanako was enabled to hold this look for hours.\n\n Little by little, under the sculptor's fingers, the mask of\n clay reflected all this. It cried out revenge without mercy, the\n thirst, for blood. A baffling contrast this--the spirit of a wild\n beast appearing on the human countenance.\n\n I have one of these studies before me now. It has been cast\n in a composition of glass, and the vivid flesh coloring\n lends reality to the work. This mask is not disfigured by rage. The\n bloodless head, with its fixed stare, lies on a white cushion, and\n no one escapes its disquieting influence. Some people shudder\n when they see it. \"One might think it the head of a dead person,\"\n they say.\n\n[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF MRS. X----.]\n\n Whenever I enter the spacious room I am irresistibly drawn\n toward it. My feelings are different every time, but always there\n is a feeling of uneasiness. I cannot say that it resembles death;\n on the contrary, it is so lifelike that it is almost supernatural.\n One might call it a condemned person, a being so terrified by the\n approach of death that all the blood has rushed to the heart. It\n is a spirit frozen with fear, the eyes looking toward the unknown,\n the large nostrils scenting death. The bulging forehead, the high,\n Mongolian cheek-bones, and the flat nose make the face still more\n singular. All the lines of the face run toward the mouth, with its\n remarkable expression. Obstinate, although conquered, it will draw\n its last breath without a cry.\n\n Meanwhile life seems to throb in every cell. This head, so\n like a being that has been put to death, has the soft, pliant flesh\n of a ripe fruit.\n\n At night I return to look at it by the light of a candle.\n It looks entirely different. The shadows vary as I move the\n candle, and the features grow mobile. How gentle and touching it\n seems now! It is no longer bloodthirsty and savage; that exotic\n expression which repelled me has quite disappeared. These features,\n expressing the innermost self under a stress of emotions, reveal a\n poor creature that has loved and suffered. It is a pitiable face\n that has been molded by life. I have seen that same sad, tired\n expression of anguish in one whose whole strength is gone, but who\n still makes an effort to understand misfortune in order to strive\n against it. I have seen it on my mother's face when one of us was\n ill.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA MORNING IN THE GARDEN\n\nIt is still night; the dawn is just breaking. I open my window to let\nthe refreshing air drive away my drowsiness. From the end of the garden,\nin the underbrush, and now all about me, I hear much lively chirping. It\ntells of the blessing of love, of springtime.\n\nIt is almost day. The blackbird has ended his scene of love; no one was\nabout when he sang his song of spring and harmony. The flowers listened,\nand blossomed at the call of this unseen Orpheus. The air is laden with\nmisty melodies. These songs do not disturb the silence; they are part\nof it. Later we shall still hear the happy call of birds, but no longer\nthese songs of love that proclaim the eternal reign of our mother earth.\n\nNow is the time for sighs of happiness; the flowers consecrate\nthemselves to the beautifying of Demeter, goddess of the under-world.\nOrpheus searches for Eurydice; he calls her, and his notes break the\nharmonious silence.\n\nI must bathe my brows in the vague mist, in the fragrance of the earth,\nin the light of the dawning day. Spacious room, I leave you. I shall\nreturn to you to work, for here only have I known complete silence.\n\nI hurry into the garden, where I find inspiring freshness. I had looked\nforward to it; my whole body was awaiting it. A sprouting twig proclaims\nthe fullness of life. I am freed from the memory of yesterday, born anew\nfor all the seasons to come. In the _palais_ thoughts are more subdued\nand modest, content to be bounded by the splendid proportions of the\napartments--proportions that are correct, but nothing more.\n\nThe flight of time is marked by the song of the blackbird, and, as in\nMozart's music, one cannot quite define whence its charm springs. It\nis everywhere, to the right, to the left. That voice seems to pierce\nthrough the gaps and hollows of the wood, for now one hears it as an\necho, now as a solo, at the farthest end of the wood.\n\nMy flight of steps is my place for reflection, my _salle de pas\nperdus_.[1] At the foot of the steps the verdant carpet, sown with\nlittle stars of green, stretches out. It might be an old Arabian\nmaterial or a rich marble. Bits of earth are to be seen in delicate gray\npatches. The shadow of night still enshrouds the garden in a cloudy\nveil. In the distance, outlined against the horizon, are the bleak walls\nof houses, like huge stones. About me stretches that enormous Babylon,\nthat Paris where my tired nerves relax, where the substance of my life\nis woven, where my heart has found appreciation and no reproach, and\nwhere my mind, imbued with the true knowledge of life, has taught my\nsoul the gracious lesson of submission.\n\nThis broad, beautiful lane is like a Corot, and recalls his nymphs.\nThe bare trees look like limbs. A bright carpet of turf moistens their\nroots. Now a rabbit runs by. In the distance the carriages rumble like\nartillery. This is a fitting haunt for fauns, their rustic arbor.\nThe trees serve as a roof, their green shoots melting into the sky.\nThe freshness of new life is everywhere, and little exclamations of\nadmiration spring from every creature.\n\nWith this universal youth new thoughts are born. In this delightful\nretreat one feels that only an antique statue could add to its beauty.\n\nThe trees expand with vigor, their buds outlined against the sky. The\nrest of the lane seems an avenue of enchantment. Far down at the end\nI seem to see happiness. But no, I am wrong: it is not only in the\ndistance; it is here, all about me, now.\n\nThe slanting rays of the sun strike the trees and the grass; over\nthe lane bluish shadows play. The spreading shade of the trees falls\nsoftly on the fresh green. Those little dashes of blue among the grass\nare forget-me-nots. Those beautiful trees, garbed only since a week\nago, trail their lovely green draperies on the ground, while detached\ngarlands cling to the shrubs.\n\nThe majesty of youth in nature is unique; it is charm itself, an\ninimitable thing. Yet some men of genius have been able to express the\nspirit of spring.\n\n[Illustration: RODIN IN HIS GARDEN.]\n\nThe very soul of meditation dwells in this garden, in this alley of\ntrees. Polyhymnia, the Muse, in her graceful draperies, walks with me,\nand I follow her reverently.\n\nAway from the turmoil, I can forget the constant hurry of our days. How\nwe allow ourselves to be harassed! Reaching out for everything without\npossessing anything truly, we do not even realize what treasures we have\nlost. A few puffs of empty air are not poetry, and seeing happiness in\nthe distance is not enjoying it. What hurries you? Ah, your life is out\nthere, elsewhere? Go, then; but I shall remain here with the antique in\nmy charming garden.\n\nI will sit down on this old stone bench, surrounded by dense shrubs. The\ndead wood is piled in little heaps. The tree-tops form a semicircle,\nand stand out like a pantheon against the sky. The branches bear the\nmarks of lightning and grow in zigzag. The sap of the earth rises in the\narteries of the trees, ever ready to take part in the great festival of\nspring.\n\nNow the charm of the alley consists in the differences of light and\nshade. As the one strives to advance, the other recedes toward the dale.\nThe shadows disperse for the morning, leaving behind their beneficent\nmoisture for their friends, the flowers of this dale.\n\nBefore me, on a knoll, stands a beautiful column, as if in prayer. It\nseems to have sprung from the kingdom of Pluto, and now, like us, it\nstands in the bright sunlight, a part of the out-of-doors.\n\nStone, pure and beautiful material, destined for the work of men, just\nas flax is destined for the work of women. A gift scarcely hidden\nunder the earth, man has seized upon stones with rapture, carefully\ndrawing them from their dark hiding-place, to raise them on high as in\nchurch towers, making them tractable, transforming the crude rocks,\nand appropriating them for masterpieces. Under the protection of man's\nsacrilegious hand, these stones lend beauty to our cities. They have a\ntender sympathy with the trees, the roots of which join their own.\n\nBoth hard and soft stones have a place in man's esteem. Sculpture has\nglorified them. The column is like a tree, but simpler than a tree, with\na silent life of its own. And like the plants which cling about it, it\nalso has its foliage and leaves. The artist who conceived the Sphinx\nmade her to be the guardian of temples and secrets.\n\nThat column there rises up like a druid-stone, as though to converse\nwith the moon at night. It awaits the appearance of man in the solemn\nritual of night, for in its immensity it bears witness that man has\ncreated it. Man, too, has had his part, an ephemeral part, in the\ncreation; his idea strives with the works of God, as Israel strove with\nthe angel. His illuminating thought, expressed in stone, arouses those\nwho otherwise might be insensible to beauty. The hand of man, like the\nhand of God, can transform a soul and make it new.\n\nMystery in which I have lived, but which I understand only now that I am\nabout to depart. The marvel of it all! And to think that one must leave\nit! Well, that is the lot of all other living creatures.\n\nAnd now the blue of the sky has grown darker, without a shadow, while\nbeauty itself has taken its abode in these avenues of trees. Now and\nthen passing clouds dim the glory of this splendid youth of nature, but\nthe green is brilliant even in the shadow. High up among the trees, I\nsee a blue river, the sky, while the great clouds, mountains of water,\nare hanging above to quench the thirst of the flowers.\n\n\n[Footnote 1: _Salle de pas perdus_ is the name given to the large hall\nof the Gare St. Lazare, Paris.]\n\n\n\nAN ANTIQUE FRAGMENT\n\nTwenty times a day I walk in front of this little torso. I bring all my\nfriends to see it, for Greek sculpture is the very source of beauty.\n\nWhy am I surprised whenever I look upon this torso? I think it is\nbecause nature, which is behind this work of art, always calls forth\nnew, unlooked-for sensations.\n\nVenus, glorious Venus, model of all women, your purity survives even\nafter two thousand years. Your charm charms me--me who have admirers for\nmy own sculpture. Before you they remain cold; but I, with a spirit that\nsees further--I admit my defeat as an artist, my poor ability vanishes\nbefore your grace.\n\nForm, as I used to express it, seems a mere illusion before the\nharmonious strength of your lines, which embody the very truth of\nlife. Divine fragment, I shall live by you! What days you recall\nto me! Perhaps the last moments of the soul of Greek sculpture,\never-increasingly my Muse.\n\nThis torso shows the suppleness and strength of the joints. It is a\nsumming-up of former masterpieces of the artist. Those endless studies\nthat grow into experience and all the qualities of balance are here\nconcealed beneath the beauty and the gracious inspiration of the figure.\nThe inspired sculptor has just discovered all these qualities, and in\nappreciation has given expression to them with his very soul.\n\nAn antique piece of sculpture cannot be imitated. This torso seems to\nhave a soul. Are not the shadows trembling on it there? One can see them\nmove.\n\nWhat a progress toward truth we find in the advance from Assyrian and\nEgyptian to Greek art! Antique things, if we knew how to look at them,\nwould bring about a new renaissance for us, we who stagnate in the\nParisian spirit. The Parisian spirit, young though it is, is already\ntoo old to serve us. It is like those pretentious monuments, those\nconstructions in plaster, which are hollow and horrible under their\ncrumbling stucco.\n\nGreece was the land of sculpture beyond all others. The subject of\ntheir sculpture was life. The people concealed it under names and\nsymbols,--Jupiter, Apollo, Venus, the fauns,--but behind all these was\nthe eternal truth of life.\n\nThis torso on my table looks as though it had been washed to the shore\nby the loving waves, as boats are stranded on the beach at low tide.\nWhat more beautiful offering could be made to men and gods? For is this\nfragment not an eternal prayer?\n\nThe thoughts expressed in this torso are numerous, infinite. I could\nwrite about it forever. Do I bring these thoughts with me? Is it I who\nput them into the marble? No, for when it is out of my sight, this\ndivinity of life vanishes from me at the same time. Since it ceases\nto be in me, it must be the fragment which possesses it. It teaches a\nsculptor more than any professor could. It whispers secrets to me, and\nif I am true to it, it will tell me more and more; it will transform\nme in harmony with the soul of its friend, the Greek sculptor. For are\nnot the thoughts of God expressed all the world over? Are they not the\nfruitful germs, now growing within a brain, now in a beautiful grouping\nof stone, and now captured by those magicians, the poets? And are\nsculptors, too, not like poets?\n\nWhere can one find more perfect harmony than in this fragment? It is\na monument. And is it not providential? It is only a fragment, yet it\nseems to embody the whole Acropolis. Truth, that lasting joy, fills in\nall that is missing. It is a fact that this torso, which weighs one\nhundred and sixty pounds, seems as light as the woman herself would\nbe, as light as her gracious, swelling flesh. I know contours, but the\ncontours of a masterpiece always surprise me anew. Whenever I see you,\nbeautiful little torso, my eyes and my soul feast on you. Masterpiece,\nyou are my master, too.\n\nIf, as they say, stones have fallen from heaven, this surely must be one\nof them. I leave it in the condition in which I found it, as it first\nappealed to me, with all its charm, as I carried it in my arms to this\ntable. The changing lights of day mold it; but I shall not touch it, I\nshall not change it. It is truth itself, and it shines in no matter what\nsurroundings.\n\nThis torso has within it the seductiveness of woman, that garden of\npleasure the secret charms of which imbue old and young alike with a\nterrible power. Feminine charm which crushes our destiny, mysterious\nfeminine power that s the thinker, the worker, and the artist,\nwhile at the same time it inspires them--a compensation for those who\nplay with fire!\n\nIt is not by analysis that you will learn to understand art, you who are\nignorant. Greek art eludes the imbeciles and ignorant who have always\nundervalued it. How can one comprehend this beauty by mere analysis?\nWhere lies the secret of force? It is ever shifting. And the shadow,\nso genially arranged, varies with the way the light strikes it. In\nart, what do we call life? That which speaks to you through all your\nsenses. If this torso were to bleed, it could not be more lifelike. The\nharmony of its lines dominates my soul. The soul lives and grows on\nmasterpieces. That is why we have a soul.\n\nIs it surprising, then, that I live with these antiques of mine, poets\nfar more inspiring than any of our day? They have created beings that\nwill live to survive us.\n\n\n\nAN EVENING IN THE GARDEN\n\nI leave my exacting work always more and more its slave. Walking,\nbecause of its regularity, always refreshes me. Such a walk means\na great deal to me. It puts my nerves into a state of delightful\ntranquillity.\n\nThe trees are still bare of leaves and have a wintry look. At their\nbase there are dainty sprouts, clouds of green. The lawns are ponds of\nemerald green. The charm of this alley is partly due to the twigs and\nshoots that sprout out of the ground and spring up like a cloud of lace.\n\nThere is a faint decline in this soft brightness, for now the sun is\nsetting. The sun-god is moderating his power for the benefit of the\nlittle flowers which otherwise would dry up and fade. This is the hour\nwhen the sun lends full value to the works of man, so that architecture\nstands out in all its beauty, while at the same time the sun softly\ncolors the lovely clouds.\n\nThe pediment of the Palais Biron is brilliant in the sunlight. The\nbalcony casts shadows on the grimacing consoles, and the shell-work is\nluminous in this glorious light. The window-panes glow in glory. The\ngreat staircase seems arranged for ladies to descend on their way to\nthe garden, graciously trailing their long robes, which rustle over the\nsteps.\n\nLike a pilgrim, full of hope, who rests a moment at the gates of a town,\nand breathes the balmy evening air, so I seat myself in this garden.\nThe hour passes quickly, but it could not be better employed than in\nabsorbing these marvels.\n\nWhen the sun drops behind the horizon, with its glowing colors like the\nflaming fires of a forge, our hearts are filled with wonder and awe.\nIt gilds all in a last golden glory of triumph, the sky so brilliant\nthat one cannot define the line of the horizon. There, where the sun\ndisappeared, the sky is now orange. Everything is fading away; another\nimmensity spreads out before us. The glory of night is about to extend\nover the firmament its melancholy charm.\n\n[Illustration: THE POET AND THE MUSES.]\n\nThe corner of this garden is a corner of happiness, a corner of\neternity. Here thoughts can thrive and worship, for here they have\neverything. For the great things in life are not the exceptional things,\nbut the beauties of every day, which we do not stop to notice. These\nvast treasures, within our grasp, which we do not even touch, they are\nthe things that count.\n\nThe public believes that one is happy in the admiration of nature; but\nthere are various degrees of happiness. Doubtless a glorious feeling of\nadmiration may take hold of one; but if one does not constantly cling\nto one's admiration as a matter of habit, one grows weary and becomes\nsuperficial. Indeed, I do not know why we demand another life, since we\nhave not learned to enjoy and understand this one fully. In any case, if\nwe find this a bad world, it is our fault. We are childish about it. We\nbelittle one another wilfully. Fancy the trees doing that, if one could\nsuspect them of such a thing!\n\nWhen I descend the steps, I am overwhelmed by that fluid which is life.\nI am in touch with life. What more can I want? This tenderness which\nsurrounds me everywhere, this ever-varying nature which says so much to\nme, the atmosphere which envelops me--am I already in heaven, or am I a\npoet?\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nTHE LINE AND THE STRUCTURE OF THE GOTHIC\n\n\n One of Rodin's friends, M. Leon Bourgeois, the eminent,\n highly cultivated French statesman, has said, \"Rodin is himself\n a cathedral.\" This remark wonderfully characterizes Rodin's\n intellectuality as it appears to us to-day. Rich in years and\n experience, his intellect is in truth as complicated as a\n cathedral, but like it, too, superbly simple in its general\n structure. His intellect possesses the wealth of detail that makes\n up life and the calm balance of the laws that govern nature. His\n mind, formed on principles scrupulously controlled by observation,\n abounds in that wonderful artistic imagination which is the poetry\n of life. Ever renewing itself, ever active, his mind inspires\n intense confidence because it is deeply rooted in truth. It looks\n at its subjects of study with such conscientious devotion that it\n perceives every phase of reality; for it is only love such as this,\n a love springing not from impatience and passion, but from faith\n and hope, that is always victorious in the end.\n\n Churches! He lives near them, so as to study them in the\n fleeting changes of the hours. He likes to be enveloped by the\n sound of the church bells that for seven or eight centuries have\n spoken the same language of discipline to the spirit of France.\n Day and night he visits the naves. There his soul feels the sacred\n mystery. The churches are truly the cradle of his artistic faith.\n\n But it is only recently that the joys which he drew from them\n reached their height; for although he was long under the influence\n of Gothic art, that most extraordinary product of the hand of\n man, only in the last few years has he learned to penetrate its\n principles and understand its methods.\n\n How often in my youth I questioned him about the cathedrals!\n He always replied with that caution which in deep natures is a\n form of deference: \"I am pervaded by the marvel of this art; but\n I cannot as yet explain it to myself. The Gothic is the world\n foreshortened. Where am I to begin? For more than thirty years\n I have been accumulating and comparing my observations. Perhaps\n eventually I shall succeed in deducing the rule, the law of divine\n intelligence; but perhaps I shall not have sufficient time. Then it\n will be the task of another, younger than myself, who will start\n his researches earlier, and who, besides, will have been informed\n by me.\"\n\n On his return from each of these pilgrimages he was possessed\n by the happy restlessness of one who would soon be able to give\n expression to his secret. One felt that \"the law of divine\n intelligence\" was being formulated in his mind. I then hoped and\n expected that soon he would reap the fruit of his long labors.\n\n At last one day Rodin took me to Notre Dame, beautiful among\n the beautiful, despite the modern restorations that have detracted\n from the grace and suppleness of its sculpture. Notre Dame of Paris\n is beautiful in itself and in its situation on the banks of the\n Seine, that river of feminine grace, which in its innocent course\n draws with it the memory of many terrible historic events.\n\n From Notre Dame to Saint-Eustache, from the Tour Saint-Jacques\n to Saint-Etienne-du-Mont, during this long walk of ours Rodin\n talked, quite unaware of the curious glances of those who\n recognized him, and of the scoffing of the street urchins, who\n mistook the great Frenchman for a stranger discovering the capital\n of France. Later he gave me numerous notes that supplemented his\n conversations.\n\n His words and notes combined form the clearest and most\n important lesson on Gothic art that has been handed down since the\n days of the Gild of the Francs-Macons, by one of their own sort, a\n craftsman such as they were, a veritable sculptor, a stone-cutter\n loving the material in which he works.\n\n Has Rodin, after so thoroughly grasping the secrets of the\n builders of bygone days, never felt the desire to apply them in the\n execution of some work of architecture? Was he never tempted by\n their example and by that of Michelangelo to expand his resources\n beyond those of the sculptor? Those who know the creative power\n and the vastness of imagination of the modeler of \"The Burghers of\n Calais\" and of \"The Gate of Hell\" may well ask this question.\n\n Well, yes, he has had that great dream, which in more prolific\n times would have become a glorious reality. He hoped to revive\n the spirit of a day when a whole nation of artists covered France\n with masterpieces; he hoped to organize labor collectively, and\n to gather about him a legion of artisans to work together on a\n monument which should become in a certain sense the cathedral of\n the modern age.\n\n He even drew up plans for that wonderful project, the subject\n of which was to be the glorification of labor, that triumphant\n force of our present civilization. He did not plan to rival the\n Gothic style, the prodigious achievement of which would have\n required throngs of workmen thoroughly organized and disciplined,\n well trained under the system of master and apprentice,\n accomplishing their common task in the joy of work and the\n enthusiasm of faith. He planned to approximate the art of the\n Renaissance, less removed from modern intellectuality, and simpler\n of execution.\n\n[Illustration: THE TOWER OF LABOR.]\n\n In Rodin's studio at Meudon one can see the plan for this\n monument. The axis is a high column calling to mind Trajan's\n Column, and, like it, covered with bas-reliefs. A tower broken\n by large openings, as in the Tower of Pisa, encircles it. In the\n interior a gradually inclining way leads one from the base to the\n top along the bas-reliefs. These represent all the active crafts\n and trades: those of the cities, such as masons, carpenters,\n weavers, bakers, brewers, glass-workers, and goldsmiths; and\n those of the country, such as plowmen, harvesters, vintagers,\n vine-dressers, shepherds, and farmers. On the exterior, between\n the arches, stand statues of the great geniuses that have led\n humanity, whose efforts have raised them to celestial heights; that\n is, to the peace and happiness of creating. There great thinkers,\n inventors, and artists have their niches, just as the prophets\n have theirs in the vaults of cathedrals. The edifice rests on a\n crypt where groups of sculpture are devoted to the glorification\n of work under the earth and its obscure heroes, miners, divers,\n pearl-fishers. At the time when the plan for this monument was\n advanced, and was exciting the imagination of European writers and\n journalists, an ardent admirer of Rodin even proposed to build\n the tomb of the master under the crypt, where he would have had a\n resting-place worthy of a Pharaoh. On each side of the entrance is\n a statue representing Morning and Evening, and at the summit of\n the column two angels, messengers of God, their hands outstretched\n toward the earth with a gesture of exquisite tenderness, shed the\n blessings of heaven on the work of man.\n\n Alas! this noble, stirring project will not be realized during\n the life of the artist. Will there some day be another possessed of\n the ardor and love of beauty necessary to build this mountain of\n stone?\n\n For a time Rodin's friends hoped that America, the nation of\n work par excellence, would seize upon this idea. They pictured\n the philanthropists of the New World in characteristic fashion\n pouring forth millions for this work of universal art and national\n glorification; they saw Rodin being called to the United States,\n gathering about him not only American artists, but all the\n intelligent forces of the world of culture. They saw the Tower\n of Labor, with its angels bestowing their benediction over some\n formidable industrial city, New York, Pittsburgh, or Chicago.\n This might have been the starting-point for a new era of art, for\n nothing is more contagious than the realization of beauty in actual\n form.\n\n Doubtless the writers of France did not discuss the matter\n long or forcibly enough, and the Tour de Travail, which might have\n been the ardent expression of a whole race, will remain the idea\n of a solitary genius, a last offshoot of the masters of the Middle\n Ages.\n\n But if the hour has not yet struck for the construction of\n the modern cathedral, at least we possess, thanks to the man who\n dreamed of erecting it, the secrets and principles of those who\n constructed the cathedrals of bygone days.\n\n * * * * *\n\nTo acquire a thorough and fruitful understanding of the cathedrals, we\nmust break away from the narrow and cold spirit of the present day. The\nspirit of our time does not harmonize in architecture with the monuments\nof the past.\n\nFirst let us contemplate the whole. The church is a cliff. The\nconstruction of the slender side springing up is quite in the spirit of\nour race. The Gothic towers are stones set up like Druidic monuments.\nThe church is laid out like a dolmen, and the towers are the menhirs.\nLike the menhirs, they have beautiful, flexible lines; they possess the\neloquence of natural outlines, which are never cold or meager.\n\nThe line of the Gothic tower is slightly curved, swelling like that of\na barrel. A straight line is hard and cold. The Greeks perceived that;\nthey refrained from straight lines, and the columns of their temples\nalso show a slight swelling.\n\nThe two sides of the Gothic tower are not alike. The architects\nconsidered that preferable to obvious symmetry. Look at the Tour\nSaint-Jacques in Paris. One of the sides shows a long, sloping hollow,\nmaking it look quite different from the other, which, again, is like\nstones set on high. The hollowed line permits protuberances, details of\nornamentation that soften and harmonize with the line of the ensemble.\nIt has been restored, and therefore from near at hand seems cold, for\nour workmen have lost the science and art of modeling. But the beauty of\nthe general structure remains; they could not detract from that.\n\nThis softened line, this line full of life, is one of the chief\ncharacteristics of the Gothic. The sky of our northern climates ordained\nit so, for the architects of the Middle Ages carved their monuments\nout of doors. Once the general plan was established, they easily found\nthe details while working with their tools, guided by the light and\ninfluenced by natural conditions.\n\nOur light is not that of Greece. Humanity the world over is akin; but\nto what the Greek expressed in a chastened manner, in keeping with his\neternally pure light, we have added the oblique slant of our sun, our\nreality, our country, our autumns, the sting of our winters, our less\ndefinite spirit, our remoteness from the glaring Olympian sun; and, last\nof all, we have added our trees.\n\nWe also have light, but it is frequently obscured by passing clouds. Is\nit not natural that we should reproduce them in our art? And the line,\nthe abundant line, is more accentuated in the half-night of our long\nautumns. Thus we are more in the mood of our woods and our forests. Our\nsouls have more shadows than the Greek soul, our determinations are more\nvaried; for our clouds and our forests are reflected in our hearts.\n\nArtists, let us, then, revert to the interpretation of our race, but in\nthe spirit, not in the letter. Let us copy only the soul of our external\nnature, not its Gothic form, for a mere copy is cold and dead. Beautiful\narchitecture is a reproduction by man, but from a divine model. From\nthis it receives the warmth of life. If architecture is true to the\nspirit of nature, it is embraced by the trees, the rocks, the clouds;\nthey are the silent company of beauty.\n\nO Cathedral! Sphinx of Northern life! although mutilated, are you not\neternal? Do you cease to live? From a distance, and in the evening, when\ndusk sets in, you seem truly a great sphinx crouching in the country.\n\nThe drama that unfolds itself on the stone pages of the churches recalls\nto us with a very few gestures and movements the silent drama of\nantiquity, the sculptures, illustrations of AEschylus and Sophocles.\n\nFrom the Greek type, in truth, sprang the thoughts that guide man, and\nagain from the Egyptian granite; and eventually from the stone of the\nGothic, that Gothic which leads to the period of Louis XVI, and which in\nFrance is always the principal path of art. Other styles were derived\nfrom it, those of the fourteenth, fifteenth, sixteenth, seventeenth, and\neighteenth centuries. Their basis is Gothic; therefore the Gothic is the\nfundamental style, which ought to keep us from the path of decadence,\nif that is possible. You do not understand it? You say you prefer the\nGreek? O ye mortals that wish to pass judgment on all matters, take\nheed lest these masterpieces prevail against you! The cathedral is as\nbeautiful, perhaps more beautiful, than the Parthenon. If you do not\nunderstand this style, then you are still further removed from the\nGreek, which is of another country and epoch. It is more beautiful,\nperhaps more concise, more marble; but we belong more with stone and\nforests, we are more autumnal, more of the cold and melancholy season.\n\n\n\nTHE GOTHIC BUILDERS ARE REALISTS\n\nDo not let us lose sight of the fact that beneath this poem of stone\nthere is a foundation of knowledge based on a close and comprehensive\nstudy.\n\nTo-day I understand it. As a result of study, one truth after another\ncomes to light. At the outset one is lost before these marvels. Where\nis one to begin studying? One's thoughts and one's admiration rise like\nclouds. The mind makes prodigious leaps to grasp again what it already\nknows, to combine it with the recently acquired knowledge, to attempt to\ndraw conclusions which simplify and generalize the study, and thus to\ndiscern the fundamental law.\n\nFor a long time during my youth I thought, like many others, that Gothic\nart was poor. I was so ungrateful during the first enthusiasm of my\nliberty! I learned to understand its grandeur only through traveling.\nObservation and work led me back to the right road. In the course of my\nefforts I have grasped the meaning of the thoughts of the masters. My\npersistent work was not futile, and, like one of the Magi, I have at\nlast come to bow in humble reverence before them.\n\nA true artist must penetrate the primordial principles of creation; only\nby understanding the beautiful does he become inspired, and that not\nthrough a sudden awakening of his sensibilities, but by slow penetration\nand perception, by patient love. The mind need not be quick, for slow\nprogress should imply precaution in every direction.\n\nThe Gothic builders are the greatest observers of nature that have ever\nexisted, the greatest realists, despite all that professors and critics\nsay to the contrary. They call them idealists. They say the same of the\nGreeks and of all artists whose profound knowledge has enabled them to\nborrow their effects and charm from nature. Idealists! That is a term\nwhich signifies nothing and merely confounds cause and effect.\n\nBuilders of the Middle Ages, you independent scholars, models of a\nprofound intelligence, this is what our age has found as an explanation\nof your masterpieces!\n\nI have devoted my whole life in endeavoring to catch a glimpse of\nthe rules, the secrets of experience, which you transmitted to one\nanother, and it is only now, when my days are numbered, that I am at\nlast grasping the synthesis of beauty. To whom shall I confide the\nfruit of my research? Some future genius will gather it. The cathedral\nis eternal, rising toward the sky. When we think it has attained its\nultimate height, it rises again higher still, like a mountain of truth.\n\n\n\nPLANS AND OPPOSITIONS\n\nThe architects of our churches subordinated detail to arrive at a more\neffective whole. That is why our churches are so beautiful when seen\nfrom a distance. They sacrificed everything to the essential, the \"plan.\"\n\nThe plan? Like all synthetic conceptions, this is difficult to define.\nIt is the space that an object displaces in the atmosphere, its volume.\nWhen an artist is able to determine exactly the space an object occupies\nin the atmosphere, be he painter, sculptor, or architect, he possesses\nthe real science of plans.\n\nWhat is detail in a plan? Nothing. The towers of the church at Bruges\nare superb in their bareness, while our modern houses, overladen with\ndetail, are hideous to look upon. Of the two towers of the cathedral at\nChartres, the one is bare, just a huge wall; the other is covered with\nornamentation, and the first is possibly the more beautiful because of\nthe potency of its plan. What does this force of simplicity express to\nus? It is the soul of a nation. A people expresses its nature through\nthe medium of its architecture. Stones are faithful when we do not\nretouch them. They are the signatures of a nation.\n\n[Illustration: HEADLESS FIGURE.]\n\nThrough the science of plans the great oppositions or contrasts of light\nand shadow are obtained. They give life and color to the structure.\nAccording to the position of the sun, the appearance of a building\nvaries. One part is in the shade, the other in the light, and between\nthese two is the gradation of shadings.\n\nThe master architects did not set their edifices apart from the\nuniverse; they gave them the benefit of all the phenomena of\nnature--dawn and dusk, twilight, cloud effects, haze, and fog. Every\nmoment of the day adds to or detracts from their effect.\n\nSometimes I stand before a cathedral, and it does not seem at all\nbeautiful. I feel I should like to alter it. Then I revisit it at\nanother hour and see it in a different lighting. The light strikes it\naslant, the shadows are deeper; the cathedral is absolutely beautiful,\nand I feel abashed at my former impatience and critical mistrust.\n\n\n\nTHE SCIENCE OF EQUILIBRIUM\n\nThese great effects of light and shade, obtained by the plan--effects\nsimple in their means, yet mysterious in their power of attraction for\nus, have strengthened the idea that Gothic art is idealistic. The masses\nwho see the cathedral dominating the city, with its two slanting roofs\nlike hands joined at the finger-tips, certainly feel in it the great\nidea, the poem. They do not realize that the sentiments aroused in them\nby the beauty of the building are wholly due to the science of the plans.\n\nBy means of what principle did the master builders support the weight\nof these enormous masses of stone, which yet join lovingly in the\nimponderable atmosphere? By obeying the law of equilibrium of the human\nbody. The human body, standing upright, the feet joined, in equilibrium,\nis the basis of the Greek column. Pediments and roof, supported by a\nseries of these standing bodies, these human columns, that is the Greek\ntemple. The architecture of the Parthenon reproduces the equilibrium\nof the body in a state of rest. In action the body sways; that is to\nsay, the weight rests on only one leg, while the body inclines to the\nopposite side to regain its balance by counterpoise. That is the sway\nof Gothic architecture. This sway constitutes the law of motion for the\nbody of man and animal, ever seeking perfect equilibrium.\n\nWithout this law we could not move; we would be like blocks of stone.\nEvery motion that we make produces an initial swaying, which an opposing\nweight instantaneously balances. Thus without any consciousness on\nour part a perpetual balancing is taking place within us, a change as\nfacile and immediate as the changes which take place in the phenomena\nof respiration and circulation. All goes on with the speed, order, and\nsilence that exist in the domain of electricity. It is a perpetual\nprodigy to which we do not even give a thought.\n\nIt is not surprising that the Gothic masters, who copied from all\nnature, took from man and animals the charm of balance.\n\nThe ogive (pointed arch) of the cathedral, is achieved by two opposing\nthrusts. But the archivolts do not always harmonize with the capitals;\nthey are not set exactly over them, they are out of the perpendicular.\nTwo movements of equal force, exactly opposed, cause a stable\nequilibrium. Just so the masses of stone are supported by this same\nopposition of thrusts.\n\nThe interior of the cathedral is high and vast, broken by large windows\nthat diminish the resistance and help to support the great weight. It\nwas necessary to find a way of reestablishing the equilibrium, lest the\nnave break down under its own weight. That is the purpose of the flying\nbuttresses. Like the arms of giants, they throw their opposing weight\nagainst the exterior walls.\n\nSome have drawn the conclusion that cathedrals are imperfect, since they\ncannot stand without this support. It is a characteristic idea of our\nage. Just as though one would reproach the human body for bearing first\non one leg and then on the other.\n\nThese powerful buttresses are wonderfully effective in their contrast\nto the lacework of the sculpture. What is more beautiful than Notre\nDame in Paris at night, with its island as its pedestal? It is the huge\nskeleton of the France of the Middle Ages which appears to us here. How\nattractive the light and shade on the buttresses! Indeed, it took genius\nto bring out beauty in that which is in reality only the skeleton of the\nedifice, and which could be offensive, were it badly carried out.\n\n\n\nTHE LACEWORK OF STONE\n\nThe Gothic style exists by virtue of oppositions, contrasts in effects\nand in balance. They built huge bare walls, but in the upper heights\nornamentation flourishes and abounds. There the \"increase and multiply\"\nof the Bible has been figuratively carried out.\n\nOnce the basis of construction was established, the masons embellished\nthe \"line\" by admirable ornamentation, due to their splendid\nworkmanship. We should never forget that modeling supplies the\nlife-blood to the mass; without it we can have neither grace nor power.\n\nFormerly I did not understand the architecture; I merely saw the\nlacework of the Gothic. But even in my conception of that I was\nmistaken, for I thought it a caprice of genius. I did not know that it\nhad a scientific _raison d'etre_; namely, to break and soften the line.\nNow I see its importance: it rounds off the outlines; it gives them life\nand warmth. These statues, these graceful caryatids, propping up the\nportals, these copings in the covings, are like vegetation which softens\nthe rigid summit of a wall. There again we find the Gothic artists as\nskilful colorists as the cleverest painters, because they have gained\ninsight from the vegetation of our country. In our plants, in our trees,\nall is light and shadowy, and from them they gained their wonderful\nmastery of the art of depth, which brings out the finest shadings of\nlight, the mellowness of half-tints. To-day we misuse black, the medium\nof power. We use it too extensively; we put it everywhere for the sake\nof effect, and therefore lose its effect entirely.\n\nThe Gothic is nature transposed and reproduced in stone. To show\nadmiration for this form of art is to preserve the memory of the\ncreation. The artist is the confidant of nature. Shakspere says in \"King\nLear,\" we\n\n ... take upon 's the mystery of things,\n As if we were God's spies.\n\n\n\nTHE NAVE\n\nA church is spread out like a dolmen between two menhirs. The interior\nbreathes the solemn calm of a forest, the columns are the trees, the\nmasses of the base are the rocks, the pointed arches are the massive\nroots, the vaultings are the caves, and the windows are radiant flowers\nin large bowls. When I emerge from the darkness of a cathedral, I feel\nas if I came from the shadow of a vast, extinguished world.\n\nWithout the brightening light of the stained-glass windows, our churches\nwould be sad. In Spain the gloom is funereal, but the genius of France\nhas understood how to capture the caressing light through its windows.\nThe productiveness of the Celtic spirit is also noticeable in the\ncapitals. Gothic art abandoned Greek ornament, which had been reproduced\nso often that it lost all significance. It found its models in the woods\nand gardens. From the oak it took its crown of foliage, from the thistle\nand cabbage their gracefully drooping leaves, and from the bramble\nits intertwined thorns. They made wonderful capitals by reversing the\nacanthus, and copying the languid grace of falling blossoms.\n\nThe cathedral of Bourges--the vastness of this church makes me tremble.\nOne might say there are three churches in its three naves. Grandeur\ndemands repetition. The superbness of this work of architecture\nenforces silence. People attribute their emotion here to religious\nsentiment alone, and do not realize that it is due also to the correct\ncalculations of art. They do not realize that the impressive darkness\nof the vast church, its lighting, the wax tapers here, and the\ndaylight with its brilliancy there, have all been planned beforehand.\nThe stained-glass windows of Bourges are dazzling, almost terrible, in\ntheir beauty. There are flashes as red as blood, and dashes of blue, a\nflame--the wounds of Christ, the funeral pile of Jeanne d'Arc. When the\nsun sinks, the bright light will fade away; then we have before us only\nthe charming effect of bowls of flowers.\n\nThe legends which are told on the stained-glass are good enough to amuse\nchildren; but the glass itself, the splendor of its colors, the extent\nto which it harmonizes with the nave--all that is the actual result and\nobject of profound thought. The Middle Ages put life into everything;\nthey worshiped life. They drew extensively from nature, wisely realizing\nthat its source is inexhaustible, while the day of man is fleeting.\n\n\n\nTHE MOLDING\n\nThe science of plans, balance of volumes, and proportion in the moldings\ngovern the spirit of Gothic art. Of late I believe I have discovered how\nthe masters struck upon the beautiful Gothic molding, that undulating\nmolding which gives so much suppleness to the architecture. I have found\nsomething new in the well-known, and beauty in forms which I did not\nunderstand before. This change is due above all to my work. Having\nalways studied more intensely, I can say that I have always loved more\nardently.\n\nI believe the masters of Gothic art got their ideas of molding through\ntheir understanding of the human body, and perhaps above all of the body\nof woman. The body, that human column, seen in profile is a line of\nprojections and protuberances, of the nose, the chin, the breast, the\nflank. Thence springs the beautiful undulating line which is the outline\nof Gothic molding. For Gothic molding, like the Greek, is soft and\nswelling. The \"doucine\" (a molding, concave above, convex below), a term\nof the trade, tender as the name of a woman, well expresses the charm of\nthe beautiful French molding.\n\nThe proportions of molding exist in nature, but in such form that we\nhave not yet been able to subject them to rules. It required men of\npositive taste, of most profound understanding, to grasp the harmony of\nthese proportions and to express them in sculpture. One might say the\nGothic architects understood molding by means of their intelligence as\nwell as by means of their heart.\n\nBy means of the cathedral the artists of the Middle Ages have shown\nus the most impressive drama in existence--the mass. The mass has the\ngrandeur of the antique drama. Greek tragedies are in fact only a form\nof the mass. The human mind starts afresh at different epochs. When the\npriest officiates, his gestures have the beauty of the antique, and this\nbeauty merges into that of the church music, that sublime tongue, the\nvoice of the sea. Then, when the crowds prostrate themselves, when they\narise simultaneously, the undulation of their bending bodies is like the\nwaves of the ocean. Truly the Gothic master builders were the familiar\nfriends of the sublime. From what source did these men spring! From what\nminds did those ideas arise! God has shared his power with some of his\nsons.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nART AND NATURE\n\n\nCriticizing nature is as stupid as criticizing the cathedrals. It is the\nvice of our cold and petty age to criticize. It is the evil of decadent\nraces. We are constantly being told that we live in an age of progress,\nan age of civilization. That is perhaps true from the point of view of\nscience and mechanics; from the point of view of art it is wholly false.\n\nDoes science give happiness? I am not aware of it; and as to mechanics,\nthey lower the common intelligence. Mechanics replace the work of the\nhuman mind with the work of a machine. That is the death of art. It is\nthat which has destroyed the pleasure of the inner life, the grace of\nthat which we call industrial art--the art of the furniture-maker, the\ntapestry-worker, the goldsmith. It overwhelms the world with uniformity.\nOnce artisans created; to-day they manufacture. Once they rejoiced in\nthe pleasure of making a work of art; to-day the workman is so bored in\nhis shop that he has invented sabotage and has made alcoholism general.\n\nThe sight of a modern monument throws one into melancholy even while\nan ancient one has not ceased to enrapture. I visit a small city, and,\nlosing my train, am obliged to wait for the next one. I take a walk\nabout the ancient church, a delicious thing, very simple, but with its\nGothic ornaments placed with taste, in a delicate relief that, in the\nlight, provides an enchantment for my friendly glances. In the little\nnave, which invites to calm, to thought,--thought as soft and composed\nas the light shadows that move slowly across the pillars,--I settle\nmyself. Ah, I come away charmed. If I had waited in the station, I would\nhave been wearied to death, and would have returned home fatigued and\ndiscontented. As it is, I have gained something--the beautiful counsels\nof moderation and the fine charm of a monument of former days.\n\nArt alone gives happiness. And I call art the study of nature, the\nperpetual communion with her through the spirit of analysis.\n\nHe who knows how to see and feel may find everywhere and always things\nto admire. He who knows how to see and feel is preserved from ennui,\nthat _bete noire_ of modern society. He who sees and feels deeply never\nlacks the desire to express his feelings, to be an artist. Is not nature\nthe source of all beauty? Is she not the only creator? It is only by\ndrawing near to her that the artist can bring back to us all that she\nhas revealed to him.\n\nWhen one says this, the public thinks it a commonplace. All the world\nbelieves that it knows that; but it knows it only in seeming, the truth\npenetrates only the superficial shell of its intelligence. There are\nso many degrees in real comprehension! Comprehension is like a divine\nladder. Only he who has reached the top rounds has a view of the world.\nThe public is astonished or shocked when some one goes against its\npreconceived notions, against the prejudices of a badly interpreted or\ndegenerate tradition. Words are nothing; the deed alone counts. It is\nnot by reading manuals of esthetics, but by leaning on nature herself\nthat the artist discovers and expresses beauty.\n\nAlas! we are not prepared to see and to feel. Our sorry education, far\nfrom cultivating in us the feeling for enthusiasm, makes us in our\nyouth little pedants who without result overwhelm ourselves and others\nwith our pretensions. Those who too late, by long efforts, escape this\ndemon of folly arrive only after that education has fatally sapped their\nstrength and has destroyed the flower of enthusiasm that God had planted\nin them as a sign of His paradise. People without enthusiasm are like\nmen who carry their flags pointed down to the ground instead of proudly\nabove their heads.\n\nConstantly I hear: \"What an ugly age! That woman is plain. That dog is\nhorrible.\" It is neither the age nor the woman nor the dog which is\nugly, but your eyes, which do not understand. One generally disparages\nthe things that are above one's comprehension. Disparagement is the\nchild of ignorance. As soon as you discover that, you enter into the\ncircle of joy.\n\n[Illustration: RODIN'S HOUSE AND STUDIO AT MEUDON.]\n\nMan, animals, down to the smallest insects, down to the infinitesimal;\nthe earth, the waters, the woods, the sky--all are marvelous. The\nfirmament is the vastest landscape, the most profound, the most\nenchanting, with its variations, its effects of color and light, which\ndelight the eye, astonish the thought, and subjugate the heart. And\nto say that artists--those who consider themselves such--attempt to\nrepresent all that simply as it appears to them, without having studied\nit, without having deciphered it, without having felt it! I pity them.\nThey are prisoners, slaves of stupidity.\n\nI was like them in the first periods of my perverted youth, but I have\ndelivered myself. I have regained the liberty to approach the things\nthat I love by the pathway of true study. Who follows me on the road?\nWho can learn it from a study of sculpture and design in books? You who\nhave caught a glimpse of the splendor of that tree, of that giant whose\nmagnificent column has been denuded by autumn of its leafy capital,\nbut which is perhaps more beautiful in the nudity of its members;\nyou who admire the structure of its branches and twigs, etched in an\ninfinitude of forms against the sky, where they resemble the lacework\nof the windows of our churches, would you not understand far better that\nbeauty, would not your pleasure be far more complete, if you sketched\nthat tree not only in the mass, but in the innumerable details of its\nframework? And to think that the schools recommend to pupils, painters,\nand sculptors research on the subject! The subject! The subject does\nnot exist in that--the poor little arrangement that you, one and all,\nsummon up while poring over the same anecdotes, the same conventional\nattitudes. The human imagination is narrow, and you do not see the\nhundred thousand motives of art that multiply themselves under your eye.\nI could pass my whole life in the garden where I walk without exhausting\nthem.\n\nThe subject is everywhere. Every manifestation of nature is a subject.\nArtists, pause here! Sketch these flowers; writers, describe them for\nme, not in the mass, as has always been done, but in minute detail,\nin the marvelous precision of their organs, in their characteristics,\nwhich are as varied as are those of animals and men. How beautiful to\nbe in the same moment an artist and a botanist, to paint and model the\nplant at the same time that one studied it! Those great realists, the\nJapanese, understand this, and make the knowledge and cultivation of\nplants one of the bases of their education.\n\nWe place love and sensual pleasure in the same category. Undoubtedly\nit is nature herself who has led is astray in this by the instinct to\nperpetuate ourselves, in youth this instinct is like an overflowing\nriver; it sweeps away everything, yet pleasure is everywhere about\nus. I imbibe it in the forms of the clouds that build their majestic\narchitecture in the sky, in the rapture of this woman who holds her\nchild in her arms, an attitude divine, so beautiful indeed, that the\npoet of the Gospels has deified it. It is the attitude of the Virgin. I\nimbibe it in the atmosphere which bathes me now, and will still continue\nto bless me, bringing me peace, rest, and health.\n\nFor that which is beautiful in a landscape is that which is beautiful in\narchitecture--the air, space. No one in these days realizes its depth.\nIt is this quality of depth that carries the soul where it wishes to go.\nIn a well-constructed monument that which enraptures us is the science\nof its depths. The throngs in the churches attribute their emotion\nto mysticism, to the transport of the soul toward divinity. They are\nunaware that they owe their emotion to the exact knowledge of great\nplanes possessed by the architects of former days. Even upon the most\nignorant beholder they impose this. Man disregards that which he already\nhas, and longs for something else. He longs for swiftness, to have wings\nlike a bird. He does not know that he already enjoys this pleasure of\nmoving through space. He rejoices in it in his soul, which takes wing\nand goes where it pleases, through the sky, on the waters, to the depths\nof the forests.\n\nAll the misfortune here below arises from a lack of comprehension. We\nclassify our limited knowledge in narrow systems, like the card-systems\nof an office, and these pitiful conventions we take seriously. They\nteach us disconnected things, and we leave them disconnected. Those who\nhave a little patience assemble these isolated facts; but such patient\nones are rare, and nothing is so unbearable as that man who, not having\nit, speaks ill of him who has a sense of the truth. To see accurately is\nthe secret of good design. Objects dart at one another, unite, and throw\nlight on one another, explain themselves. That is life; a marvelous\nbeauty covers all things like a garment, like an aegis.\n\nGod created the great laws of opposition, of equilibrium. Good and evil\nare brothers, but we desire the good, which pleases us, and not the\nevil, which seems to us error. When we consider matters from a distance,\ndoes not evil often seem good, and good, evil? That is only because we\nhave judged without proper consideration. Just as white and black are\nnecessary in a drawing, so good and evil are necessary in life. Sorrow\nought not to be cast out. As long as we live it is as strong a part of\nlife as radiant joy. Without it we would be very ill trained.\n\nTo comprehend nature it is of importance that we never substitute\nourselves for it. The corrections that a man imposes upon himself are a\nmass of mistakes. The tiger has claws and teeth and uses them skilfully;\nman at times shows himself inferior. Possessing intelligence, too\noften he strives to turn to that. Animals respect everything and touch\nnothing. The dog loves his master, and has no thought of criticizing\nhim. The average man does not care that his daughter should be\nbeautiful. He has in his mind certain ideas of manner and instruction,\nand the beauty of his daughter does not enter into the program that he\nhas made. But the daughter herself feels the influence of nature, and\ndisplays her modest and triumphant movements, which this blind one does\nnot see, but which fascinate the artist.\n\nThe artist who tells us of his ideal commits the same error that this\naverage man commits. His ideal is false, in the name of this ideal he\npretends to rectify his model, retouching a profound organism which\nadmirably combined laws regulate. Through his so-called corrections he\ndestroys the ensemble; he composes a mosaic instead of creating a work\nof art; the faults of his model do not exist. If we correct that which\nwe call a fault, we simply present something in the place of that which\nnature has presented. We destroy the equilibrium; the rectified part is\nalways that which is necessary to the harmony of the whole. There is\nnothing paradoxical here, because a law that is all-powerful keeps the\nharmony of opposites. That is the law of life. Everything, therefore, is\ngood, but we discover this only when our thought acquires power; that\nis to say, when it attaches itself indissolubly to nature, for then it\nbecomes part of a great whole, a part of united and complex forces.\nOtherwise it is a miserable, debased, detached part contending with a\nwhole that is formed of innumerable units.\n\nNature, therefore, is the only guide that it is necessary to follow. She\ngives us the truth of an impression because she gives us that of its\nforms, and if we copy this with sincerity, she points out the means of\nuniting these forms and expressing them.\n\nSincerity, conscience--these are the true bases of thought in the work\nof an artist; but whenever the artist attains to a certain facility of\nexpression, too often he is wont to replace conscience with skill. The\nreign of skill is the ruin of art. It is organized falsehood. Sincerity\nwith one fault, indeed with many faults, still preserves its integrity.\nThe facility that believes that it has no faults has them all. The\nprimitives, who ignored the laws of perspective, nevertheless created\ngreat works of art because they brought to them absolute sincerity. Look\nat this Persian miniature, the admirable reverence of this illuminator\nfor the form of these plants and animals, and the attitudes of these\npersons which he has forced himself to render just as he saw them. How\neagerly has he painted that, this man who loved it all! Do you tell me\nthat his work is bad because he is ignorant of the laws of perspective?\nAnd the great French primitives and the Roman architects and sculptors!\nHas it not been repeatedly said that their style is a barbaric style? On\nthe contrary, it has a formidable beauty. It breathes the sacred awe of\nthose who have been impressed by the great works of nature herself. It\noffers us the strongest proof that these men had made themselves part of\nlife and also a part of its mystery.\n\nTo express life it is necessary to desire to express it. The art of\nstatuary is made up of conscience, precision, and will. If I had not had\ntenacity of purpose, I should not have produced my work. If I had ceased\nto make my researches, the book of nature would have been for me a dead\nletter, or at least it would have withheld from me its meaning. Now, on\nthe contrary, it is a book that is constantly renewed, and I go to it,\nknowing well that I have only spelled out certain pages. In art to admit\nonly that which one comprehends leads to impotence. Nature remains full\nof unknown forces.\n\nAs for me, I have certainly lost some time through the fault of my\nperiod. I should have been able to learn much more than I have grasped\nwith so much slowness and circumlocution; but I should not have tasted\nless happiness through that highest form of loss; that is, work. And\nwhen my hour shall come, I shall dwell in nature, and shall regret\nnothing.\n\n\n\nTHE ANTIQUE--THE GREEKS\n\nIf the artists of antiquity are the greatest of all it is because they\napproached most closely to Nature.\n\nThey studied it with magnificent sincerity and copied it with all\ntheir intelligence. They never wasted their time in trying to invent\nsomething. To invent, to create, these are words that mean nothing. They\ncontented themselves with rendering the adorable model that enchanted\ntheir eyes. This love and this respect for creation has never since\ntheir time been surpassed. They did not copy literally what they saw;\nto a certain degree they interpreted the character of forms. The aim of\nart is not to copy literally. It consists in slightly exaggerating the\ncharacter of the model in order to make it salient; it consists also in\nreassembling in a single expression the successive expressions given by\nthe same model. Art is the living synthesis.\n\nThis is what the ancients did, with what taste, what incomparable\nscience! From this science that respected unity their works derived\ntheir calm, contained force, the sentiment of grand serenity, the\natmosphere of peace that envelops them. The ignorant and the professors\nof esthetics who do not know the source of all this have named it Greek\nidealism. This is nothing but a word that serves to conceal a want\nof understanding. There is no idealism in the ancients; there is an\nexercise of choice, a marvelous taste; but it is by the most realistic\nmeans that they render human beauty.\n\n[Illustration: THE TEMPEST.]\n\nWe others, we moderns, are carried away by the restlessness of the\nepoch; we are superficial, we only regard things cursorily, and we have\nconcluded from this sublime simplicity that Greek art is cold. To us\nindeed it seems very cold. It is really warm. To it alone belongs in\nthis respect the quality of life, reality in forms, and precision in\nmovement. It is through this that it attains perfect equilibrium. But\nthat is beyond our little spirit of detail. We seek nothing but detail;\nthe Greek, for his part, saw nothing but the whole; that is to say, the\nequilibrium, the harmony.\n\n\n\nTHE RICHNESS OF THE ANTIQUE LIES IN MODELING\n\nThe value of the antique springs from _ronde-bosse_. It possesses in a\nsupreme degree the art of relief. How can the critics and the professors\nexplain this, being what they are? They do not belong to the trade. Art\nshould not be taught except by those who practise it.\n\nObserve any fragments of Greek sculpture: a piece of an arm, a hand.\nWhat you call the idea, the subject, no longer exists here, but is not\nall this debris none the less admirably beautiful? In what does this\nbeauty consist? Solely in the modeling. Observe it closely, touch it; do\nyou not feel the precision of this modeling, firm yet elastic, in flux\nlike life itself? It is full, it is like a fruit. All the eloquence of\nthis sculpture comes from that.\n\nWhat is modeling? The very principle of creation. It is the\njuxtaposition of the innumerable reliefs and depressions that constitute\nevery fragment of matter, inert or animated. Modeling creates the\nessential texture, supple, living, embracing every plante. It fills,\ncooerdinates, and harmonizes them. It penetrates everything, it animates\neverything, as well the depths as the surfaces. It comprises the minute\nas well as the immense. Mountain, horse, flower, woman, insect equally\nowe to it their form. When God created the world, it is of modeling He\nmust have thought first of all. If you consider a hand, you notice its\ncontours and the character of the whole. But the eye of the artist,\nthat eye, sees more: it sees the infinite assemblage of projections and\ndepressions forming a texture more closely knit, more exactly blended\nthan the most perfect mosaic. It is this that he seeks to render; this\nthat he translates, if he is a sculptor, by the science of depression\nand relief, if he is a draughtsman or painter by that of light and\nshadow. For light serves, in conformity with depressions and reliefs,\nto give the eye the same sensation that the hand receives from touch:\nTitian is just as great a modeler as Donatello.\n\nTo-day the sense of _ronde-bosse_ is completely lost, not only\nin Europe, but among the peoples of the Orient. It is the age of\nthe _flat_. No one knows anything about it. Men love what they do\nthemselves, until they are made to see that it is not beautiful; but it\ntakes years and years for this to penetrate into their consciousness. In\nthe seventeenth and eighteenth centuries China and Japan still produced\ncharming works. In ancient times their art was very great; it approached\nthe Greek. At the exposition of 1900, we were enabled to see antique\nJapanese statues, superb nudes nearly as fine as those of Greece. In our\ntime the pest of flatness has contaminated the Asiatic races as well as\nthe European: decadence is universal.\n\nWe are so far removed from antique beauty that when we photograph the\nworks of the ancients we take them in the spirit of our own taste,\nwhich is that of low-relief; we take from them that flower of beautiful\nmodeling, their richness, their crowning grace. When I say low-relief,\nI do not use this term exactly; it is only that I know no other means\nof expressing the modern evil of uniformity; but I know that good\nlow-relief is as full and as fruit-like as sculpture in the round, that\nit is sculpture in the round itself, as in the friezes of the Parthenon,\nas in our buildings of the Renaissance and of the seventeenth century.\n\nThe great concern of my life is the struggle I have maintained to escape\nfrom the general flatness. All the success of my sculpture comes from\nthat. Although it has little enough taste, the public, despite all, is\ntired to death of this flatness. The charm of _ronde-bosse_ is so great\nthat it captivates the ignorant even without their knowing it.\n\n\n\nRONDE-BOSSE AND CHIAROSCURO\n\nObserve this little torso of a woman; it is a little Venus. It is\nbroken; it has no longer a head, arms, legs, yet I never weary of\ncontemplating it; each day, each hour for me adds to this masterpiece\nbecause I only understand it better. What could it say to our\nindifferent glance? For me it has the ineffable voluptuousness of\nsoftly maturing flesh. The effect lies in no part and in every part.\nIt is perfection. This little childish body, has it not all the charm\nof woman? It does not catch the light, the light catches it, glancing\nover it lightly; without any effect of roughness, any dark shadow. Here\nshadow can no longer be called shadow but only the decline of light.\nShe does not become dark, she grows pale in imperceptible depressions,\nin delicious undulations. She is indivisible; she is whole or\nincomplete, but her unity is not disturbed. And this passage that joins\nthe abdomen to the thighs, this little declivity of graces, this valley\nof love! Everything is full of the calm, the lightness, the serenity\nof pure beauty in the perfect confidence of nature. The ideal that you\nimagine you find in a gesture, in a momentary attitude, is here; it is\nhere because of the infinite love of the flesh, of the human fruit. What\nyou call the ideal is nothing but the perfume of beautiful modeling.\nWhat more could you ask?\n\nWhen I look at this marble in the evening by candle-light, how the\nwonder deepens! If those who have been telling us for a hundred years\nthat Greek art is cold studied it with care, could they for one hour\nmaintain this absurdity? This sculpture, on the contrary, is of an\nextraordinary living complexity, which the flame reveals; the whole\nsurface is nothing but depressions and reliefs, but united, melted\ntogether in the great, harmonious force of the _ensemble_. I turn the\nlittle torso about under the caressing rays of the light. There is not\na fault, not a weakness, not a dead spot; it is the very continuity\nof life, its intoxicating voluptuousness hidden in the bosom of the\nmolecule.\n\nWhy should such artists have sought to create an abstract Beauty by\nthe idealization of forms? These men of genius loved Nature too well to\npresume to correct her. They knew well that despite their genius, they\nstill remained beneath her. Nothing can surpass the marvel of creation.\nThe conception of an idealistic art comes from the Academy. Before the\npurity of the antique forms people used to believe that the beauty lay\nsolely in the exterior profiles. It is really beautiful because of\nthe interior modeling. And still we make this distinction between the\nprofiles and the modeling, thanks to our mania for dividing things; but\nwe know that the one is inseparable from the other; the surfaces are\nnothing but the extremities of volumes, the boundaries of the mass.\n\nAll the sculpture of the period of Louis-Philippe was imitated from the\nantique, but only by means of the exterior profiles. If it had been\npractised by true modelers, by geometrical minds, it would have been\nas beautiful as its original. What pleased people in that epoch, what\npleases people in ours, is not at all the antique; it is the fashion\nin which we see it. It was the Renaissance that really understood the\nGreek. It created works exactly the same in feeling, though somewhat\ndifferent in arrangement and general color. For color does not exist\nin painting alone. Its role is equally great in sculpture. To-day this\ncolor is bad; it fails to obtain the chiaroscuro which derives from\n_ronde-bosse_. Good sculpture owes to chiaroscuro clarity, unity, charm,\neven, I might say, the voluptuousness of breathing flesh. Shadow, at\nonce luminous and mysterious, models the fulness of the body in the\nexuberance of health; it makes one understand abundance, solidity. In\nthe art of the Renaissance and the eighteenth century shadow is always\nsupple and warm as in Greek art; it has the tender coloring of the\nvegetation of our country, the sweetness of which our great artists have\ncaptured. The chiaroscuro of the antique consists of the density and\ndepth of light falling over the entire modeling. Chiaroscuro penetrates\nto every plane and renders the reality of them; it is reality itself.\nThis is because the antique and nature are part and parcel of the same\nmystery, the infinitely harmonious mystery of force in suspense. The\ngreat artists compose as nature itself operates.\n\nUndoubtedly the Greeks possessed certain methods which they handed down\nfrom master to pupil, as has been the case in all artistic epochs. They\nhad celebrated ateliers, schools, where they taught their principles.\nBy the fifth century they had established a canon of the human body;\nbut they never made use of it without consulting the model. As for us,\nwe have imagined that we could use it like a magic formula. It is not\nthe formula that makes the art; it is the experience of the artist\nthat creates the formula. If we abandon nature for a rule, if we do\nnot constantly vivify the one by means of the other, we soon speak a\nlanguage that means nothing.\n\nOne cannot repeat this enough: the ancients are realists; they work in\n_ronde-bosse_. This explanation seems commonplace and even vulgar; it is\nthe whole truth. It can be understood by the humblest artisan, provided\nonly that he knows his trade. But it is as difficult to get it into the\nheads of people to-day as it is to restore faith in a man who has lost\nit.\n\n\n\nROME AND ROMAN ART\n\nWhat I have said of Greek art applies equally well to Roman. Another\nopinion has been adopted by critics and the world in general: the Roman\nis less beautiful than the Greek. It is less beautiful perhaps, by a\ncertain shade, a shade which those who speak of it are incapable of\nappreciating. It is a little less substantial, but it is superb. It is\nGreek, with a different character, a certain ruggedness, and more! The\nMaison Carree at Nimes, that little temple, the flower of austerity, the\nsmile of the race as sweet as the smile of Greece; the Pont du Gard,\nthat heroic masterpiece, that giant which bestrides the country, which\nimposes the power of Rome on the peaceful landscape, these are what they\ncriticize!\n\nRome is magnificent. We say it, but we do not believe it; otherwise it\nwould not be despoiled. No, in Rome itself, they have no idea of the\nbeauty of Rome. Where are there artists great enough to appreciate you,\nsevere genius, splendid city, daughter of the she-wolf? Your genius\nthey pillage every day. They destroy its proportion, and that is to\nstrike at the foundation of the master work. Proportion is the law of\narchitecture. ... In the very midst of the ancient city they are setting\nup atrocious monuments, enormous or too petty.\n\nIn Rome, as in Athens, as in the France of Gothic art, the architect of\nold planned the monument in relation to the landscape; he harmonized it\nwith the outline of the mountains, with the expanse of the surrounding\ncountry-side; he determined its proportions according to its environment.\n\nThe architect of to-day plans out his monument in his own study on a\npiece of paper and produces it ready-made. Whether this mass of stone\nobliterates the buildings that surround it or whether, on the other\nhand, it turns out a miserable little contrivance in the midst of great\nworks of the past matters little to him: he does not see it.\n\nThe French Academy sends students to work in Rome. But they get nothing\nfrom Rome, they can get nothing; they come there with a spirit entirely\nopposed to it. At a time when I did not know the city I heard the bridge\nof Sant' Angelo spoken ill of and fun made of the contorted angels;\nbut they are all very well in their place; they are needed there;\nthere is enough repose elsewhere. Bernini, so often sneered at, is as\nbeautiful as Michelangelo, although he is not so fine. It is he who made\nthe Rome of the seventeenth century. They do not know that the Appian\nWay is sublime. It will disappear one of these days. These things are\nawaiting their condemnation. They are constructing quays like ours. If\nthey do not put a stop to it, Rome will be destroyed. Those who have\nnot seen cities such as this was in the nineteenth century will not\nunderstand anything. I have said as much to my Italian friends, who\nappeared greatly astonished; for nobody makes these reflections which\ncome to me constantly in my studies. They consider me a gloomy fellow, a\nmisanthrope. Gloomy, yes; for it is painful to live in a decadent epoch;\nbut I have no _parti-pris_; I only wish to try to arrest the general\nmassacre. In France, as everywhere, we commit exactly the same faults.\nWe destroy our monuments by surrounding them with great open spaces;\nwe have ruined the effect of Notre Dame, on the side of the parvis. At\nBrussels, in the Musee du Cinquantenaire, they have set up a model of\nthe Parthenon; but they have placed it in the midst of enormous objects\nthat annihilate it. We have come to that! We have killed the Parthenon!\nBarbarism could go no further. We live in a barbarous age. There is no\ndoubt about that! People cry out that we must create schools for people\nto learn art; we bungle the most beautiful of all schools--the Museum.\n\n\n\nFOR AMERICA\n\nThese things ought to be said again and again to the point of satiety,\nif we wish to save any remnants. Coming from me, whose opinions carry\nsome weight, they are repeated when I am no longer on the spot. People\nfeel the justice of them, the shaft goes home. A few who are more\nardent than the rest propagate them and stir up a current of opinion\nthat may lead to reform. There is no reason therefore to fear repeating\nthem in America, where also people have fallen into the general error.\nAmerican artists have followed our teaching, altogether in a bad sense.\nNotwithstanding that in taking their point of departure they could have\nescaped into the good epochs of art, they have saddled themselves with\nthe poverty of modern taste.\n\nLet them return to the school of the past; above all, let them return to\nnature; it is as beautiful with them as elsewhere. The mountains, the\ntrees, the vegetation, the men and women of their own country--these\nshould be their masters in architecture and sculpture. America is full\nof will. It desires to be a great nation. It stops at no expense in\norder to obtain instruction; it creates immense universities, libraries,\nmuseums. It pours into them streams of money. The favor with which my\nwork has been received there is the sign of a movement toward truth in\nart; they are developing an affection for this naturalistic school which\nborrows from life its charm and its variety. But all this will be as\nnothing unless America creates work of its own; unless it breaks with\nthe old errors of the nations of Europe in order to find the path of\ntrue science.\n\n[Illustration: THE VILLAGE FIANCEE.]\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nTHE GOTHIC GENIUS\n\nTo THE RENAISSANCE AND THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY\n\nNOTRE-DAME\n\n\nNOTRE DAME--Notre Dame de Paris--more splendid than ever in the\nhalf-light of this winter day. The veils of the atmosphere redress the\nevils that modern restorations have done to this monument; the folds of\nthe mist soften the sharpness of the retouched outlines: the elements\nare more respectful to this masterpiece than are men.\n\nI come upon it at the turn of the bridge. At once I drop out of this\nindustrial epoch of ours, so poor despite its love of money; my\nsculptor's soul escapes from its exile.\n\nThe Gothic sphinx rises before me. The strength of its beauty overwhelms\nme. I struggle against it and I am broken by it. Then it attracts me\nanew with its sweetness; it exalts me. My spirit makes the ascent of\nthis sculptured mountain. What power in these motionless stones to\ncreate the sense of movement in the mind! What makes this possible?\nThe mason of genius; the science of oppositions. That whole effect of\npower--he has put it in the thickness of the foundations, the enormous\nwalls, the buttresses. They are as formidable as the tiers of a dike,\nas a breakwater planted in the sea. One would say that this church was\nbuilt to combat the forces of nature: the temple of peace and love has\nthe air of a fortress.\n\nOne's spirit is weighed down by the bareness of the stone, but stirred\nby the height of the structure and the towers; it soars toward them\nas toward a world that reassures it; the hard material has become\nhumanized; the genius of man is at play there amid the lacework of\nstone. He has placed there angels, saints, animals, fruits, flowers, all\nthe gifts of the seasons; it is life in its entirety such as the Creator\nin His infinite munificence has bestowed upon him. The Gothic artist\nknows that paradise is on earth; he has no need to invent another. The\nchildish and monotonous heaven presented to us in our legends is nothing\nbut a poor copy of the marvels of our life.\n\nLet us enter. I tremble. The beauty is terrible. I am plunged into\nnight, a living night in which I do not know what mysteries are being\nenacted--the cruel mysteries of the ancient religions? There are\nshimmering rays from the long windows, the rose windows. Hope enters my\nheart: there is light here, then? I am no longer alone.\n\nMy eyes grow accustomed to this populous obscurity. There is a world\nabout me, a world of columns. It seems terrible, it _is_ terrible\nbecause of its power, but this power has its _raison d'etre_. It\nseems frightening to me but it is only necessary. It is distributed\npower; therefore it is beneficent. It holds the vault in the air, the\nprodigious weight of stone that it maintains aloft, above my head, as\nlightly as the canvas of a tent. Marvel of equilibrium, calculation of\nthe intelligence, how is it possible not to adore you? It is you that\none comes here to worship under the name of God.\n\nThe darkness grows lighter; it becomes chiaroscuro. We are in a picture\nby Rembrandt, that great Gothic of the sixteenth century. The forest\nof pillars divides the nave into spaces of shadow and light. It is the\norder of nature which knows nothing of disorder. This I rediscover with\njoy: the eye does not love chaos.\n\nI familiarize myself with the people of the columns. I recognize them:\nthey are Romans. It is the Roman, the Romance, hardly altered, that\ncomes to receive the Gothic arch. The immense nave which I thought a\nforest full of hidden dangers I see, I understand, I read like a sacred\nbook. The mystery is not that of cruelty; it is only that of beauty. It\ngrows lighter gradually in order to allow the spirit to approach slowly\nthe joy of a perfect interior. This solemnity of the nave, this immense\nvoid, is like the bed of a great river; the columns range themselves\nrespectfully on each side in order to give free passage to the flood of\nhuman piety. It flows like a majestic river; it bears onward toward the\ntabernacle, about which it spreads itself like a lake of love under the\nrays of the thought of God. Amid the stones the architect has known how\nto play the part of the apostle: he has created faith. Art and religion\nare the same thing; they are love.\n\n\n\nSAINT-EUSTACHE\n\nIt is the interior of this church that should be admired. Here I do\nnot experience the same commotion of the spirit as in Notre Dame. I am\nbathed in the fine light of the sixteenth century. At Notre Dame it\nwas the shadow of Rembrandt; here, it is the clear tonality of French\npainting, of a Clouet. Admirable is the _elan_ of this Renaissance\nnave; it is as bold as, and even perhaps bolder than that of the Gothic\nbuildings. It proceeds on the same plan. The skyward lift is only to\nbe found in the Gothic; it is of the very spirit of the race. Are the\nvaults round and no longer pointed? What does it matter if they are\nequally elegant, if they have the same aerial grace as the ogive?\n\nWhat I rediscover in Saint-Eustache, less austere than its grand sister\nof the Middle Age, but with a sweetness which is itself noble, is\nthe determination of the architect to subordinate everything to the\neffect of simplicity, to the total effect. On each side of the nave\nthe columns cutting the side wall are disposed fanwise in order to\nhide the light of the lateral windows. One sees nothing but the stone,\nand yet there is no effect of heaviness; one could not make anything\nlighter. This is because the color of the stone is admirably varied by\nthe diversity of the flutings that line the columns. The main fluting\nmarks the outline, and the others, less emphatic, shading off, give it\na velvet-like quality. The light throws a golden haze between the great\ncolumns, among the deep gorges, and is, on the other hand, channeled,\nstreaked by the little nerves that impel it upward toward the vaults.\nBy this effect of lightness the building seems to rise; it is an\nassumption. It is no longer the forest of trees that one finds here,\nbut the forest of creepers. These vertiginous columns are like fine,\ndelicate vines. Above the altar the great lights of the windows, with\ntheir beautiful glass, harmonize well with the general color. The light,\nat once abundant and restrained, has the coolness which the Renaissance\nrecaptured from Greece. This church welcomes one as with an immense\nsmile; it has the sweetness of Christ holding out his hands: \"Suffer the\nlittle children to come unto me.\" Intelligence has planned it, but it is\nthe heart that has modeled it.\n\nIf we enter Saint-Eustache at nightfall, we could almost believe\nourselves in a Gothic building. The Renaissance did not bring about such\nprofound transformations in architecture as people think. There is a\nheavy Italian Renaissance element that is altogether alien to us; but\nin the true French Renaissance the Celtic taste was not betrayed: it\nwas modified with a certain grace and elegance. Grace is an aspect of\nstrength. A nation no more escapes from its racial quality than a man\nfrom his temperament. The Celtic mingled with the Roman produced the\nRomance, out of which the Gothic sprang directly--the Romance, that is\nto say, the Roman which has passed through the spirit of the Franks. It\nhas the severity, the Roman qualities, united with the imagination of\nthe Barbarians, since we have agreed so to call them. The Romance of the\nsecond epoch has already sprung forth; it rises during the eleventh and\ntwelfth centuries and goes to make the Gothic. The Gothic elevates and\nmagnifies the Romance. It detaches the buttresses, even to the point of\nseparating them from the walls, in order to carry them further out to\nsustain the height of the nave.\n\nAs for the Renaissance, it continues the Gothic. We could not have a\nmore striking example of this than just here in Saint-Eustache. Here\nare the same lines, the same idea, with a different ornamentation.\nIt is the same body, clothed in a new way. It is another age of the\nGothic; sweeter, less powerful, the final florescence of the French\ngenius, which, despite the adorable eighteenth century, follows a\ndescending path down to the first restoration. Contrary to what has\nbeen thought and taught for so long, the Renaissance already marks\na stage of decadence. The most beautiful epoch in architecture and\nsculpture is the Middle Age, an age as beautiful as, perhaps more\nbeautiful than, the great age of Greece, and almost universally despised\nby our nineteenth century, the century of criticism and pretension, the\ncentury of ignorance. Yes, with the Renaissance things begin to give\nway. And yet to say that is almost a sacrilege! It is as if one struck\none's father! Our ravishing Gothic of the sixteenth century has charmed\nFrance with its masterpieces; it has made artists cherish a whole\ncountry, the sweet country of the Loire. Despite its misalliance with\nthe Italian Renaissance, it stood firm, it did not bend; it remained the\ngrand French style. Witness the Louvre with its high pavilions; that\nsprang, that too, from the Gothic vein; the sculptors of the Renaissance\ndecorated it less severely, but the general aspect remains the same.\n\nThe Gothic under different names has been the main path of our genius\nduring five hundred years. It has been the blessing of France; it was\nits active principle down to 1820. If we wish to return to art it will\nonly be through comparative study--the comparison with nature of our\nnational style. The beautiful lines are eternal. Why are they used so\nlittle?\n\n\n\nCONCERNING COLOR IN SCULPTURE\n\nThe true difference between the Gothic and the Renaissance does not lie\nin the structure of the building but in the quality of the sculpture and\nin its color.\n\nWhat is meant by color in sculpture and in architecture? It is the law\nof light and shade, the great law of oppositions which constitutes\nthe charm of nature, the beauty of a landscape at dawn, its splendor\nat sunset. The color springs from the quality of the modeling; it is\nthe relief which gives the light tones and, by contrast, the dark,\nin the parts that do not stand out. The ensemble of the intermediary\ndiminutions of light and shade produces the general coloring, whose\nnuances can be infinitely varied according to the skill of the artist.\nModeling is the only way in which to express life; and there is only one\nthing that counts in sculpture and in architecture--the expression of\nlife. A beautiful statue, a well-made monument, live like living beings;\nthey seem different according to the day and the hour. How beautiful it\nis to give to stone, through nothing but the values of planes, through\nthe handling of shadow and light, the same charm of color as that of\nliving nature, of the flesh of a woman. In the plastic arts, the color\nbetrays the quality of the planes as a beautiful complexion reveals\nhealth in a human being.\n\nThe antique has shorter planes than the Gothic; it lacks therefore\nthose deep shadows that give to the Gothic such a tormented and tragic\naspect. The Greek balances the framework of the human body on four\nplanes, the Gothic on two only. The latter produces a stronger effect,\na more _hollowed_ effect, that _effet de console_ which is essentially\nGothic. Nevertheless, the shadow that results from it is more sustained\nthan in the antique and nothing could be softer or more full of nuances.\n\nThe Roman presents an abundance of dark shadows which, in turn, create\nan effect of heaviness and density. The Greek puts in just enough of\nthem to quicken the general coloring. The Roman gives a flatter effect,\nwhich shows nevertheless a magnificent vigor. As for us, we copy these\nstyles endlessly without understanding them, for if we did understand\nthem we should do quite otherwise. We abuse the black, the powerful\nlines, we put them everywhere; we do not know how to shade light. That\nis why our sculpture is so poor, why our monuments appear so hard, so\ndry. The Bourse, the Corps Legislatif, might be made of iron with their\ncolumns set against a uniform background which prevents the light and\nair from circulating about them and enveloping them and destroys the\natmosphere. This is what people call a simple style. It is not simple,\nit is cold. The simple is the perfect, coldness is impotence.\n\nThe Renaissance recaptured the antique measure and imposed its generous\ncolor upon the Gothic plane. It used less shadow than our sculptors of\nthe Middle Ages; it diminished the reliefs. The effect in consequence\nwas lighter. This was because the Renaissance was enchanted by all the\nGreek statues that were discovered at this period; and in its enthusiasm\nit recreated Greek art, not by copying it, but by copying nature\naccording to antique principles. It is perhaps a little less beautiful\nbut it has quite the same feeling of gentle strength, of delicacy. One\nfeels the joy of the artist who throws himself against the problem of\nthe nude in the open air. Till then statues had been draped, but under\nthe draperies was concealed a carefully studied nude. In the Renaissance\nthe drapery was dropped: the nymphs of Jean Goujon, of Germain Pilon--I\nrecognize them; these long bodies of women, these undulating bodies, are\nGothic statues unclothed and set in another light. Our whole sixteenth\ncentury is a song of grace rising from the Gothic heart to the art of\nthe Parthenon.\n\nBut nowhere than in the country of the Loire is there Renaissance art\nmore gentle and amply luminous. This is the Greek part of France. The\ntranquil river touched the heart of our architects and bestowed on them\nsome of its calm and smiling majesty. From it, from the air impregnated\nwith its vapors, came those chateaux so happy in their beauty and those\nlovable cottages; for the artist worked as beautifully for peasants as\nfor kings. Before Usse, before Chenonceaux, Blois, Azay-le-Rideau, I am\nnot in the presence of dead things but of a living spirit, the spirit of\ndivine beauty that animated equally the antique and the Gothic. Charming\nsixteenth century France, it is you who have forced me to the study of\nchiaroscuro. Formerly I tried my best to understand your motives, your\nthousand nerves, but the general law escaped me. I did not see your\nsoul, which consists entirely in the voluptuous shadings of light; I did\nnot perceive your principle, the modeling which impressed movement upon\neverything and gave the movement life.\n\n\n\nTHE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY\n\nThe eighteenth century is the exaggeration of the sixteenth. Our elegant\nhouses, our houses in the style of Louis XV and Louis XVI have always\nthe Gothic line with its proud, graceful air. Without moldings, without\nornaments, their beauty lies in their very lack of ornaments, in their\nnudity. But what proportions they have! The finest of the fine!\n\nThe eighteenth century is considered too frail, too affected. It is,\non the contrary, full of life and strength. It possesses admirable\nsculptors: Pigalle, creator of that immortal masterpiece, the tomb of\nMarshal Saxe; Houdon, whose busts to-day are bought for their weight in\ngold without even then bringing their proper price. There were thousands\nthen, the whole rank and file of the trade, who created marvels, with a\nsureness of hand accustomed to every difficulty. The outline of a table,\nof a chest, was as much considered as that of a statue. For that matter,\nwhat difference did the dimensions of a work make? It was the modeling\nthat counted. The peasant himself sat down in a well-made chair. Artists\nand artisans had a taste, an alert grace, and a dexterity sufficient to\nfit out the whole world; but their dexterity was based on a foundation\nof intelligence as an ornament is based upon a building. The dexterity\nwe possess nowadays is nothing but mockery, a kind of banter that\ntouches everything without discernment; it kills force.\n\nThe Louis XV and Louis XVI styles possessed grandeur. We call it the art\nof the boudoir, but the boudoir of that period had a nobility like that\nof those white and gold salons where the seats are disposed with dignity\nlike persons of quality. The music had the same character; the dances\nalso, the dances, those charming scenes in which men and women with the\nnatural spirit of play threw themselves into the cadence, translating it\nwith the eloquence of youth. The dance--that was architecture brought to\nlife.\n\nThe eighteenth century was a century which _designed_; in this lay its\ngenius. Nowadays people are searching for a new style and do not find\nit. Style comes unawares through the concurrence of many elements; but\ncan we achieve it without design? To-day we design no longer and our\nart, which is altogether industrial, is bad. The central matter in art\nis the nude, and this we no longer understand. How can we be expected\nto have art when we do not understand its central principle? The minor\narts are the rays that go out from the center. When I draw the body of a\nwoman I rediscover the form of the beautiful Greek vases. Through design\nalone we arrive at a knowledge of the shading of forms. The forms that\ndelight us in the art of past centuries are nothing but those presented\nby living nature, those of human beings, animals, verdure, interpreted\nby men of supreme taste. The art that people are struggling to discover\nto-day might be deduced from my sculpture and my drawings, for I have\nalways drawn with passion. The quality of my drawing I owe in large\nmeasure to the eighteenth century. I am nothing but a link in the great\nchain of artists, but I maintain the connection with those of the past.\nAt the Petite Ecole they made us copy the red chalks of Boucher and the\nmodels of flowers, animals, and ornaments. They were Louis XVI models,\nvery well executed; they certainly gave me a little of the warmth of the\nartists of that period. In my youth I made drawings by the hundreds, by\nthe thousands. At the Petite Ecole we were badly placed, badly lighted\nby poor candles; when we touched them we made them sticky with the clay\nwith which our fingers were covered so that they were worse than ever\nafterwards. It did not matter; we were working according to the right\nprinciples.\n\nTo-day the Petite Ecole is entirely in the power of the larger school,\nthat of the Beaux-Arts. Far from learning one gets spoiled there for the\nrest of one's life. One copies the antique, but one copies it badly.\n\nI am speaking with the experience of a genuine artistic life. There was\na time when I never talked; to-day I hold forth! If I am understood\nit will not have been in vain. But how much effort it will take to\nreestablish truths which are so self-evident, so obvious, so fundamental\nthat one is ashamed to repeat them so many times! Nevertheless they are\n_essential_. The public is a thousand miles away from them, the public,\nby which I mean the general taste. If it does not become enlightened,\nart will disappear. Observe its attitude before the works of the new\nschool, before the pictures of those who call themselves cubists:\nsarcasm, anger. These artists show us squares, cubes, geometrical\nfigures according to their own ideas. They name them: _Portrait\nof Mme. X._ or _Landscape_. This exasperates the public. What does it\nmatter? Is it good? That is the whole point. Is the ornament well\ntreated? That is the capital question, the only one that is not\ndiscussed. Their canvases are combinations of color recalling mosaic\nor even stained glass. We have accepted many other things; we have\naccepted the green or rather the violet women of our later salons, and\nwomen with wooden heads, but we do not wish to admit the squares of the\ncubists. Why? They are not portraits, we say. They are not landscapes.\nSo much the better! They are something else. What does it matter if\nthe artist has deceived himself knowingly or wilfully on a matter so\ninsignificant as the subject? It is ornamental, that is enough. They are\ncurious, these quarrels that break out, these sects that are created for\nreasons like this--for a sock put on inside out! Ignorance inflames the\npassions. There are struggles whose aim is great; others that appear\nuseless have their use perhaps.\n\nIt may be that this slackening of taste and knowledge is necessary.\nPerhaps it is a period of transition, a fallow period required by the\nintelligence like that required by a soil that has been productive for\ntoo long. If ignorance is prolonged it will mean that the history of\nFrance is ended; it will mean the annihilation of the Celtic genius\nwhich has fertilized Europe for two thousand years. We shall become like\nAsia. Roman art declined for four or five centuries after Augustus. With\nus the decadence has only been going on for a hundred years. During\nthe present war marvels have been destroyed. Formerly, even during\nthe religious wars, the monuments were spared; it is for this reason\nthat France is still so rich. When stone is no longer respected, it\nmeans decadence. The cannon turn up the earth like a plow, leveling\neverything. This war appears therefore like an explosion of barbarism;\nat bottom it indicates a latent state of soul which has been shaping\nitself since the beginning of the nineteenth century. During this period\nthe world has ceased to obey the law of beauty and love; it has lived\nfor nothing but business. What is the leading idea that has precipitated\nthe nations against one another? Trade: the desire, the longing to make\nmore money than one's neighbor. Trade is the anxious care of people who\nthink of nothing but their own petty welfare; it is not the basis on\nwhich is founded the grandeur of peoples. It alone regulates at present\nthe relations between things. The war is nothing but the consequence of\nsuch habits and their natural conclusion.\n\n[Illustration: METAMORPHOSIS ACCORDING TO OVID.]\n\nDo you ask me what will spring out of the conflict? I am not a prophet.\nI know only that without religion, without art, without the love of\nnature--these three words are for me synonymous--men will die of ennui.\nBut nothing easily resigns itself to death. An outburst of courage has\njust transfigured the world. Can we preserve this courage during peace?\nThe patience of the soldier, the patience of the trenches surpasses\nin sublimity the virtue of the ancients. Will it produce a rebirth of\nintelligence? Shall we have, in study, the force of soul that we have\nhad in the great struggle? That is the question. Of course the stupid,\nthe ignorant will not suffer any transformation through the war; but\nmen of character will be reinvigorated by the hardships of the military\nlife; we have recaptured patience and we have yet to learn what we can\nexpect from this virtue. Genius is as much character as talent. If we\nhave men of force in this country where taste is a natural gift, it\nseems to me impossible that this force will not quicken the gift and\ndevelop it and that we shall not have once more an era of beauty.\n\nAUGUSTE RODIN.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WORK OF RODIN\n\n\n\n\nI\n\nTHE STUDY OF THE CATHEDRALS--INFLUENCE OF THE GOTHIC ON THE ART OF\nRODIN--\"SAINT JOHN THE BAPTIST\" (1880)--\"THE GATE OF HELL\"\n\n\nIn 1877 Rodin visited our most illustrious cathedrals, Rheims, Amiens,\nChartres, Soissons, Noyon. During his youth, the choir of Beauvais\nand Notre Dame de Paris appealed more to his imagination than to his\ntaste, and it required many years of travel and comparison to enable\nhim to grasp the splendors of that Gothic art which he was to admire\nthenceforth at least as much as the antique. As a splendidly gifted,\nbut inexperienced young man, he shared the error of his epoch: the\neighteenth and the first half of the nineteenth century had despised the\nRoman and the Gothic; they had ridiculed them and called them barbaric;\nthe nineteenth century, while flattering itself that it appreciated\nthem, did still worse--it restored them.\n\nThe romantic writers of the Schools of Chateaubriand and Victor Hugo\nhad exalted the art of the Middle Ages, but chiefly because of their\nhatred of the classic and without understanding its true worth. What\nstruck them, especially, was the immensity and the picturesqueness of\nthe buildings, the luxuriousness of this stone vegetation, but not the\nunique character of their architecture and sculpture.\n\nVictor Hugo was perhaps one of the few to discover the precise\nexplanation of this beauty: relief and modeling. This all-powerful\nwriter, this architect of words who constructed poems like cathedrals,\nunderstood the plastic intelligence of the master masons because he\nhimself possessed the _sense of mass_. One is convinced of this not only\nin reading his descriptions of cities and monuments, but in studying\nthose astonishing pen-and-ink drawings which he multiplied in idle\nmoments.\n\nIf the romanticists have failed fully to explain medieval art to us,\nlet us still be grateful to them: they gave our cathedrals back to us,\nthey denounced ignorance and scourged the stupidity that would have\nended by tearing down those sublime piles. Finally if the writers and\nart critics of this epoch have not given them superlative praise, if on\ntheir behalf they have not burned with apostolic zeal, it is because it\nwas necessary for this prophecy of art to come from a man of the craft,\na man dominated, captivated, himself, by the craft, a man who understood\nstone and adored it because he had married it in spirit with all its\ndifficulties and its dazzling possibilities.\n\nThat man was to be Rodin. Although he has been listened to by the\nignorant and superficial multitude, it has not been chiefly because of\nthe authority of his genius, of the general renown that he has enjoyed.\nHe has truly thrown a new light over the mystery of Gothic construction.\nThanks to him, we understand in a measure, for tangible reasons, the\nreasons of an actual carver, this \"world in little\" that constitutes the\nGothic cathedrals. What study, what researches are necessary in order to\ncomprehend the art of stonework! Does any one suppose that Rodin himself\nhas attained this in a day? By no means. That lover of perfection in\ndetail does not possess the instantly penetrating glance that is often\nthe property of genius: to the task of deciphering our monuments he\nbrought that slow-minded, customary patience of his, together with\nhis energy. He had first of all to rid himself of the false current\nideas. After that thirty years of observation were necessary for him to\nreach conclusions that satisfied his artistic conscience. Even to-day\nhe is far from affirming that he has understood everything, that he\nhas grasped the full significance of the Gothics. Read his book, \"The\nCathedrals of France,\" published in 1914; observe the carefullness of\nhis judgments, the gropings of his thought, the constant retracing of\nhis steps. He makes attempts, ventures; he never proclaims his opinion\nin the peremptory tone dear to specialists in criticism, but endeavors\nto approach respectfully, as closely as possible, to the spirit of\nthe masters. Sometimes a flash of genius springs from his brain and\nillumines to the depths of its mysteries the Gothic universe; but\nnothing is suggested that does not spring from a prolonged observation,\nand when at last he speaks it is in the tone of a man who mistrusts\nhimself. It must be confessed that in this work, \"The Cathedrals of\nFrance,\" something is lacking, even though it is prefaced by a long and\nvery learned introduction by one of our good writers, Charles Morice. It\nlacks the magnificent lesson that the reader will find in these pages,\nsigned with Rodin's name. This lesson constitutes really a vital page\nthat is, as it were, the key and the summary of the whole work; but the\nmaster, having given me the first rights in it, had scruples, as had\nCharles Morice, about including it in his own book.\n\nBefore obtaining this page, with what insistence did I have to question\nRodin not once, not twice, but twenty times, during the course of a\nnumber of years. Every time he came back from one of his pilgrimages\nto some old city of the provinces, to our churches, our town halls, I\nrenewed my questions without receiving any satisfactory answer. In my\nheart I could not but honor this rigorous honesty which was unwilling to\nventure anything lightly on so vast, so noble a subject.\n\nIn 1877, after having accomplished his first tour of France, he came\nback filled with wonder. But the impression that he carried with him was\nstill confused; he did not know at what point to begin the analytical\nstudy of French architecture, for in what concerned sculpture he\nhad immediately been struck with amazement and adoration before the\nessential beauty of the status of Chartres, Amiens, and Rheims. He had\nreturned from Italy haunted by the antique and Michelangelo, and now\nhere he was haunted by the modeling and the rhythm of the Gothic figures.\n\nBut in order to understand them entirely he had to rediscover this\nmodeling and these movements in nature, he had to verify them in the\nliving model. Fortune favors those who seek greatly. When one is the\nvictim of an idea unexpected elements arise to nourish and develop it.\nOne day two Italians knocked at the door of his studio. One of them,\na professional model, had already posed for Rodin and he introduced\nthe other, his comrade. He was a peasant from the Abruzzi who had come\nto seek his fortune in Paris. He was fresh from his native province.\nHis robust body, his fierce head, his bristling beard and hair, and\nabove all his expression of indomitable force charmed the artist. He\nundressed, climbed upon the model's stand, planted himself firmly on\nhis legs, which were spread like a compass, the head well raised, and,\ncontinuing to talk, advanced with a gesture full of ardor.\n\nRodin, struck by this wild energy, immediately set to work. He made the\nman such as he saw him; he desired to capture this movement of the legs,\nthis brusk forward movement that complemented the movement of the arms,\nthe shining eyes, the open mouth. He surrendered himself to a great\nstudy, without any preconceived idea, without any intention of treating\na _subject_. What he made was _a man walking_. The name has stuck to the\nfigure. The first study remains incomplete; Rodin has sculptured neither\nthe head nor the arms; what he sought eagerly, passionately, was the\nequilibrium of the torso and of the legs cast forward into space. He\nsucceeded; he made a superb fragment, \"The Man Walking.\" Thirty years\nlater it occurred to a group of his admirers to ask the state to acquire\nthis study and erect it in the court of the French embassy at Rome, in\nthe Farnese Palace; but the official architects up to the present time\nhave objected to the erection of this statue, and for the last seven or\neight years it has awaited, in some obscure shed, the good pleasure of\nthese gentlemen.\n\nRodin, in the presence of his Italian peasant, had rediscovered, to his\ngreat joy as a seeker, the peculiar equipoise of the Gothic figures. In\nthe antique statues the plumb-line falls through one of the legs, while\nthe other, lightly raised, impresses on the different planes of the body\nthe graceful effect that has become classic. In Gothic statues, on the\ncontrary, the line of equilibrium passes through the middle of the body\nand falls right between the two legs as they are planted on the earth.\n\nIn \"The Age of Bronze\" Rodin has adopted the balanced rhythm of Greek\nsculpture; in his new figure he passed to the Gothic equipoise, with\na harmony that is less gracious, but with a reality stronger and more\nliving. What he did not abandon was the rigorous construction and the\nstrength of modeling which his study of the antique had given him. \"The\nMan Walking,\" as well as the greater part of his subsequent works, thus\nexhibits the union of the two great principles of sculpture that have\ngoverned the Occidental genius.\n\nRodin, strengthened by study, now made a complete statue with head and\narms. While he was working he discovered that his model was half a\nsavage, still close to the animal and its ferocious instincts. Sometimes\nhis eyes burned, his jaws, armed with powerful teeth, were thrust\nforward as if to bite something; he resembled a wolf. At other times a\nkind of strange passion inflamed him. His face radiated faith and will;\nhe spoke with such energy that he seemed to be haranguing a crowd; one\nwould have thought him a prophet of the primitive ages, a visionary\nbursting forth from the desert to preach and to convert the people.\nRodin regarded him in amazement. It was no longer his model, but a man\nfrom the Bible; surely it was a prophet that stood before him: it was\nSaint John the Baptist brought back to life. The sculptor bowed before\nthe command of nature: his statue should bear the name of the forerunner.\n\n[Illustration: EVE.]\n\nHe thought at first of emphasizing the disturbing impression: he placed\non the shoulders of Saint John a simple cross. But here was revealed the\nall-powerful instinct of the sculptor, making the subject, the anecdote,\nthe literary connotation a matter of secondary importance. The cross,\nthe sublime symbol, would be here only an accessory, not really needed.\nIt would complicate the simplicity of line dictated by the laws of\nsculpture, destroying the appositions of equilibrium of the great body\nand distracting the attention from that speaking head.\n\nSo Rodin gave it up. He came at last to the decision that his work\nshould remain free from what was not of the very essence of art. He sent\nit off in the form in which it appeared in the Salon of 1880, adding\nalso \"The Age of Bronze.\"\n\nThe artists, the true artists, those whose enthusiasm was not poisoned\nby envy and jealousy, applauded these two superb figures artistically\nso different, but so similar in their sincerity; they acclaimed them\nwith the grave joy of generous souls who perceive the dawn of a great\ntalent. The name of Rodin became fixed forever in their memory.\n\nAs for the jury of this Salon, it considered it sufficient to award\nthe \"Saint John the Baptist\" and \"The Age of Bronze\" a medal _of the\nthird class_. Let us, in turn, give it our reward--the reward for its\ninsensitiveness--by not disclosing the names of the sages who composed\nit.\n\n\n\n\"THE GATE OF HELL\"\n\nWhile finishing these works, which he was not even certain of being able\nto sell, Rodin was still compelled to provide for his own subsistence\nand that of his family; he had also to meet the expenses of his trade.\nA costly trade! It requires a studio, models, large fires to keep them\nwarm, clay, tools of every kind. It was luck enough if the sculptor,\nstill unknown, was able to have plaster casts made of his work. But\nthis did not satisfy him; he dreamed of seeing them take on a new\naspect in the richness of marble and bronze. Alas! in many cases he\nhad to wait until middle age to have this dream realized. Rodin has\nnever complained of the slowness of fortune. He knows that in order to\nattain the fullness of his productive power it is well for the artist\nto be thwarted, exalted by difficulties, the desire to conquer. After a\nfive-years' stay in Belgium he had returned to Paris to take part in the\nwork of the World Exposition of 1878, and he had taken a position with\nthe ornament-worker Legrain, in whose workshop he met Jules Desbois,\nthe future great sculptor, to whom he became attached for life. What\ninnumerable decorations he executed at that time--decorations which\ndisappeared like the leaves and flowers of the season when the stucco\npalaces of the exposition vanished! Only the masks ornamenting the\nPalais du Trocadero remained.\n\nAt the same time he accumulated busts, studies, large figures with\na fury of work which from then on was to resemble that of the most\npowerfully productive minds, the fecundity of a Rubens, of a Balzac, of\na Michelet, of a Hugo. In the studios which he rented in the Faubourg\nSt. Jacques, from 1877 to 1883, besides the \"Saint John the Baptist,\" he\nexecuted the admirable little tough model of the \"Monument Commemorating\nthe National Defense\"; after his wife, whose characterful features and\nnaturally tragic countenance he had often reproduced, he made a helmeted\nbust, a \"Bellona.\" He exhibited three life-sized figures: \"The Creation\nof Man\"; \"Adam,\" since destroyed; and \"Eve,\" the bronze of which did\nnot appear until the Salon of 1899. He did the busts of W.E. Henley;\nthe painter Jean-Paul Laurens (to mention some of the most beautiful),\nCarrier-Belleuse, the etcher Alphonse Legros, all in the midst of\ndifficulties and injustices which did not in any way disturb the depths\nof his serenity, the noble tranquillity of the artisan sure of attaining\nhis end by labor. Is it possible to-day to believe that the model of the\n\"Monument of the Defense\" was not only refused, but was not even classed\namong the thirty designs that were retained by the jury of 1880 after\nthe first choice had been made? This same jury, the composition of which\nis also worthy of passing into history, decided on a solemn confection\nby M. Barrias for the _prix de Rome_, the result of which was that four\nyears later its creator was elected a member of the Academy of Fine Arts.\n\nI do not know whether many collectors contend for reproductions of M.\nBarrias's monstrous design for a clock; but Rodin's group, a wounded\nsoldier entirely enveloped by the wings of a prodigious figure of a\nwarrior goddess crying out for aid, which was later renamed \"The Genius\nof the Defense\" or \"The Appeal to Arms,\" and which has acquired to-day\nso pathetic a character of actuality, is coveted by most of the museums\nand art collectors of Europe and America.\n\nAs if these works, which have since acquired such glory, were nothing\nbut fragments of secondary importance, Rodin attacked a great piece of\nwork, like those that used to be executed in the great ages of art: he\nundertook the famous \"Gate of Hell.\"\n\nAt the time of the affair of \"The Age of Bronze\" there was at the\nhead of the ministry of fine arts, an under-secretary of state named\nEdmond Turquet. To him fell the task of deciding in the last resort the\ncase of Rodin. M. Edmond Turquet was a brilliant lawyer who had become\n_procureur_ under the empire, which did not altogether qualify him for\nthe part of director of fine arts under the republic. In the field of\nart he knew no more than any one else, Rodin says; but he was a very\nfair-minded man, and his honesty had the effect of quickly straightening\nout the affair of the sculptor. In his genuine desire to atone for the\nwrong done to Rodin in the eyes of public opinion he not only offered\nto obtain for him a position in the porcelain factory at Sevres, in\norder to assure him a regular livelihood, but ordered from him a great\nornamental piece, a door destined for the Palais des Arts Decoratifs.\nIn addition, by a special privilege created in favor of artists under\nLouis XIV,--a privilege the traditions of which the French Government\nhas happily perpetuated,--M. Turquet granted Rodin a good studio in the\nDepot des Marbres, so that he could execute his order.\n\n\"And what will you represent on that door?\" enquired the under-secretary\nof state.\n\n\"I am sure I don't know,\" replied the artist. \"But I shall make a\nquantity of little figures; then no one will say that they are casts\ntaken from the life.\"\n\nThus we find him at Sevres, a ceramist; he has carried on so many\ndifferent trades that he succeeds marvelously with this one. It was his\ntask to decorate vases of delicate clay; he modeled light bas-reliefs,\nrepresentations of mythological scenes, idylls. Nymphs, cupids, fauns,\nevoked by his miraculously delicate fingers, were born out of the milky,\ntransparent material, bringing back to life the flowery graces of the\ndrawing-room art of the eighteenth century, the dainty elegances of the\nwax figures of Clodion, but with a graver sense of the mystery of nature\nand of love.\n\nUnfortunately, when these vases left the hand of the master they were\noverladen with hideous ornaments in the style of Louis-Philippe.\nMoreover, the officials at the head of the factory did not like them.\nThey were carried up to the attics, they were left lying about on the\nfloor, in the secret hope of seeing them broken by the feet of some\ncareless or ill-willed workman.\n\nThe feeling of being isolated and misunderstood at times threw a shadow\nover the soul of the sculptor; but on the other hand he felt himself\nso strong, so solidly based in his will, in his self-confidence, and\nin the virtue of labor that these moments of depression passed away\nquickly. Besides, he knew the secret of the poor, the secret of creating\nhappiness for oneself out of everything that the rich and powerful\ndespise: a simple life, health, regular work, the contemplation of\nnature, and a few real friendships. Rodin earned at Sevres only two or\nthree francs an hour and lost a great deal of time on the railroad. What\ndid it matter? He found pleasure and rest in these little journeys.\nEvery day he set out from Paris by train, and, the day over, winter and\nsummer, his wife came to meet him. They returned together on foot either\nalong the banks of the Seine, charming in their profusion of little\nhills and islands, covered with meadows or fine trees, or through the\nwoods of Meudon and Clamart, with their vistas of Paris, its heights,\nits buildings, its changing sky full of light and spirit.\n\nAt the end of four years of opposition and annoyance Rodin gave up\npottery in order to consecrate himself wholly to his own work. The\nmuseum of the factory preserves a vase signed by him, and the future\nMusee de l'Hotel Biron can show a second example. What has become of the\nothers? What price would not be paid for them to-day by admirers of the\nmaster?\n\nThese supplementary works did not turn him away from his essential task;\nwhatever were the technical means employed, his efforts tended toward\none unique end, the plastic quality, and he gave himself up desperately\nto this search in executing his new order, the \"Gate.\"\n\nRising at four in the morning, as he had done in his youth, he studied\nthe plans and the details of this great work. He had announced a series\nof little figures. How was he to group them? What visions surged in the\nsculptor's imagination? Of what legendary theme, what theme of history\nor poetry, should he make use in order to realize his program? He had\nnever ceased to be a passionate reader. He read especially the Greek\npoets and dramatists, the Roman historians, the old French chronicles,\nDante, Shakspere, Victor Hugo, and Baudelaire. He did not wish to draw\nthe subject of his future work from Homer, AEschylus or Sophocles;\nthe School of the Beaux-Arts had so abused the theme of the antique,\nalready immortalized by Greek sculptors, that it had entirely lost its\nfreshness. The moderns attracted him less, but he was obsessed by the\nwork of the great poet of the Renaissance, by the \"Divine Comedy\" of\nDante. He had read and reread it and made a sort of commentary in the\nform of innumerable sketches which he jotted down mornings and evenings\nat table, while walking, stopping by the wayside to dash off attitudes\nand gestures on the leaves of his note-book. He rediscovered in the\npoem of Dante the fateful grandeur of the Greek dramas, but with an\natmosphere more modern, closer to ourselves, more mournfully familiar to\nour anguishes and our torments. The idea took shape in his imagination,\n\"that imagination ceaselessly rumbling and groaning like a forge\"; it\nexalted his bold spirit. Genius joins to the richness of the intellect\nthe simplicity of heart that creates faith. Genius _believes_ ever more\nthan it _thinks_. It has the strength which succeeds in anything, and\nit possesses also that supreme gift, the ingenuousness of the child who\ndoubts nothing. Rodin believed the poem of Dante as if he had lived it,\nas Dante himself believed in Vergil. What a magnificent homage great men\nrender to one another in this credulity of genius toward genius!\n\n[Illustration: RODIN AT WORK ON THE MARBLE.]\n\nThe subject chosen by Rodin for his decorative panels, then, was\nhell--hell as Dante conceived it in a vision that lends itself, for\nthat matter, marvelously to a plastic realization. The \"Gate\" would\nbe a poem, an immense sculptured poem; that is to say, a resume of\nthe attitudes and gestures of life called forth by the release of the\npassions, a strange catalogue of the expressions of the human body under\nthe shock of sorrow and of joy. If the imagination of Rodin caught\nfire like that of a visionary, he remained beyond everything and above\neverything the sculptor, and he plunged immediately into the search for\nthe general scheme of the work.\n\nThe truth of the movements, the poetry of the evocations, his models\nwould give him; he could feel at ease as to that: the resources that\nnature would offer him were inexhaustible. But the plan, that he\nmust find himself; he must do the work of the builder, almost of the\ngeometrician. There could be no self-deception as to that. The fuller\nthe ornamentation was to be of figures and movements, the more solid\nmust be the frame of the immense picture, the more vigorous and compact\nmust be the general plan of the work.\n\nRodin's mind wavered between two great schools, that of the Renaissance\nand that of the Middle Ages, that which had produced the doors of the\nbaptistry at Florence and that to which we owe the portals of the Gothic\ncathedrals.\n\nThe celebrated gates of Florence are a series of bas-reliefs arranged\nsymmetrically in a regular framework; they present a series of separate\npictures having no common bond except their subject. The execution\nis admirable, and it is perhaps impossible to surpass it. Lorenzo\nGhiberti has done there the work of an incomparable modeler, actually\na goldsmith; but he has in no way troubled himself with regard to\narchitecture. Now, architecture is the great French point of view. The\nRoman and the Gothic have placed in their monument (the church) that\nother monument (the portal). The portal is complete in itself; the\nart of the sculptor and that of the architect have united and become\nindistinguishable here in order to realize an absolute beauty.\n\nRodin, profoundly French, inheriting the instinct and taste of his\nancestors the master-masons, having to compose a door, was fated to\nconceive a portal. On the other hand, he could not escape the influence\nof the antique, the result of his early studies. This was the entirely\ndifferent element which in the course of the work he had undertaken was\nto mingle with the Gothic element.\n\nIt was not the first time that the mingling of these two great\nconceptions of art had occurred in France. From it had sprung our\nRenaissance sculpture; in that epoch the sculpture of the Greeks united\nitself with the Gothic architecture, the Hellenic sunlight brought to\nblossom the majesty of our monuments. Does not Rodin himself, with his\nvast outlook over the whole field of art, call this period of national\nart, the sixteenth century, the French Gothic?\n\n\"The Gate of Hell,\" then, took on in its general structure a Renaissance\naspect. It preserves the graceful line of the Gothic portal and has the\nluminous whiteness inspired by Greek sculpture. This singular work has\ntouched all contemporary artists. Most of our writers have described it,\nand, after them, the critics of other countries. This living multitude,\nthis suffering, groaning multitude that covers the two panels with a\nthousand passionate movements, has drawn into its magic whirlpool the\nworld of literature, which has been able to liberate itself only by\nmeans of innumerable printed pages. The poem of Dante has come forth as\nit were revivified from the hands of Rodin. Fresh tears, one would say,\nhave bathed the most poignant passages; the pity of a man of to-day,\nof one like ourselves, our brother, has enveloped the terrible work of\nthe Florentine poet, that man of the Middle Ages, with an atmosphere of\ntenderness and compassion which seems the emotion of Christianity at its\npurest, its original source. In order to become our own, it has passed\nthrough the great soul of Rodin. It is not surprising, then, that the\nsensibility of our artists, reanimated by this new spectacle, should be\ntouched to so voluminous an expression by this haunting work.\n\nBut what has not been sufficiently remarked is that the \"Gate\" is, above\neverything, a piece of architecture of the highest order.\n\nWhen we see it we are at once struck with an impression of majesty, of\ncalm strength and plenitude. It seems even longer than it actually is.\nIt is a rectangle six meters high and two and a half meters wide, but\nthe source of the illusion is the justness of the proportions and the\nvalue of the masses.\n\nThe powerful frame is furrowed with deep depressions. It rests on the\nground upon a strong base from which rise the two door-posts, as robust\nas pillars and mounting together toward the summit. A pediment in the\nshape of an entablature overhangs the entire monument, casting over\nit a deep shadow full of nuances; and it is this shadow, skilfully\ngraduated, that gives to the work its rich, soft color. The body of\nthe portal is divided into two panels; a vast tympanum surmounts them\ntransversally. This tympanum, surmounted by a large cornice, dominates\nthe work. Without weighing it down, it gives it its mass, it attracts,\nit obsesses, the eye; it is the soul of the edifice, its intellect. No\nword can more justly describe it than the word brow, for it is magnetic,\nhaunting, mysterious, like the forehead of a man of genius.\n\nThe panels sink deep into a shadow that is heavy, but not harsh, while\nin the foreground the pillars advance into the light; the delicate\nbas-reliefs that cover them keep them in a silvery atmosphere, the\nsource of the great softness which envelopes this work, otherwise severe\nand tragic, the source of the fugitive lightness of the lines, which\nstrike up from the earth toward the somber and tormented upper regions.\n\nCarried away by this marvelous technic, the spirit of the visitor\nsuccumbs; it follows this ascending movement of the door-posts, to lose\nitself in the sorrowful dream sculptured on the tympanum.\n\nOn the panel writhe the clusters of human figures, the eddies of the\nmultitude of damned souls pursued by the rage of the elements, by\nthe devouring tongues of the infernal fire, by the frozen waters, by\nthe wind that tears them and stings them. \"It is,\" says the eminent\nart critic Gustave Jeffroy, in the most beautiful pages that have\nbeen consecrated to a description of this work, \"the dizzy whirl, the\nfalling through space, the groveling on the face of the earth of a\nwhole wretched humanity obstinately persisting in living and suffering,\nbruised and wounded in its flesh, saddened in its soul, crying aloud\nits griefs, harshly laughing through its tears, chanting its breathless\nfears, its sickly joys, its ecstatic sorrows.\"\n\nThe genius of Rodin became intoxicated with all the resources of his\nart. Master of a technic of the first order, he delighted in every kind\nof effect, arranging them as a great symphonist arranges the instruments\nof an immense orchestra. Low-relief, half-relief, high-relief, and\nsculpture in the round, he omitted none. He did not yield to the\nliterary temptation. At the height of his fever of invention he was\ncircumspect, measured, guided by his knowledge as a modeler. The poet\nthinks, but the carver speaks; he speaks justly, he speaks admirably,\nbecause he uses only his own true and personal language, which he knows\nfrom the ground up. That is the whole secret of the way in which this\nman inflames our soul and subjugates our imagination.\n\nTwo principal notes, two motives form, above the whirlwind of the\ninfernal fires, a resting-place for the eye troubled by so much\nvehemence: one, in the midst of the tympanum, is the figure of Dante. It\nis Dante, but it is even more the eternal poet. Seated, leaning over the\nabyss of suffering, thrilled with anguish, he seems to seek in the very\ndepths of the pit itself the word of infinite pity that will deliver\nthis sorrowful humanity.\n\nHigher yet, above his bowed head, rising suddenly from the frame and\nsplayed in a large protuberance, a group of three entwined figures\ncrowns and completes the brow. With the same despairing gesture they\npoint to the multitude of the damned. One does not know what these\nshuddering beings are, but they have the sweetness of angels; at once\nwe seem to hear their lips murmur the words of the grand Florentine,\n\"_Lasciate ogni speranza_\"; but across their forms, their compassionate\nforms, their fraternal forms, one feels passing a tremor of love and\npity. Far from condemning, their clasped hands offer to the sad wreckage\nof fatality that writhes at their feet a sign, a unique sign, the sign\nof good-will of pity.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"The Gate of Hell\" was shown only once to the public. This was at the\nUniversal Exposition of 1900. Although it was nearly finished, it was\nseen then only in an incomplete state.\n\nThe day of the opening arrived before the master had been able to have\nplaced on the _fronton_ and on the panels of his monument the hundreds\nof great and small figures destined for their ornamentation. People saw\nthe \"Gate,\" then in the nudity of its construction, grandiose assuredly,\nbut despoiled of its extraordinary raiment of sculpture.\n\nThat day was a sad one for the true friends of art and of Rodin. A band\nof snobs, full of their own importance, crowded about the great man.\nHaving considered the work with the hasty and casual glance of men of\nthe world of the sort that are concerned above all to get themselves\nnoticed, they remarked to Rodin, in a tone of augury, \"Your doorway is\nmuch more beautiful like that; in no circumstances do anything more to\nit.\"\n\nThis absurd advice befell at an evil moment: the artist felt worn out\nfrom overwork and anxieties of all kinds and, moreover, was troubled\nover the fate of his exhibit the failure of which might in truth have\nruined him completely. In these circumstances he did not have the\nfreedom of spirit necessary to judge correctly the value of his own\nwork. And besides he had seen it too much during the twenty years in\nwhich it had been before his eyes. He was tired of it, weary of it.\n\n[Illustration: PERISTYLE OP THE STUDIO AT MEUDON.]\n\nThus everything combined to make him lend an ear to the unfavorable\nopinions of the Parisian aviary. Had he been in better health, more\nthe master of himself physically and morally, he would have replied to\nthe prattling of these excited paroquets and guinea-hens:\n\n\"Take more room, examine my 'Gate' from a little farther off, and you\nwill see once more the effect of the whole--the effect of unity which\ncharms you when it is deprived of its ornamentation. You must understand\nthat my sculpture is so calculated as to melt into the principal masses.\nFor that matter, it completes them by modeling them into the light.\nThe essential designs are there: it is possible that in the course\nof the final work I may find it necessary to diminish such or such a\nprojection, to fill out such or such a pool of shadow; nevertheless,\nleave this difficulty to my fifty years of artisanship and experience,\nand you may be sure that quite by myself I shall find the best way of\nfinishing my work.\"\n\nBut the master was silent. Later, carried away by the abundance of his\nconceptions, by his ever-deepening researches, he lost all interest in\nthe \"Gate\" and has never taken the trouble to have it entirely mounted.\n\nFortunately, casts of it have been carefully preserved. It would be\nonly an affair of a few months to reconstruct the work in its original\nintegrity. Since the Universal Exposition time has rolled forward, and\nevents also. Auguste Rodin has entered into the great serenity which\nage brings with it. He composes less, he corrects his work, he judges\nhimself, and he does not deny his \"Gate,\" one of the most exceptional of\nhis works.\n\nAt last the creation of the Musee Rodin has been decided upon by the\nstate. \"The Gate of Hell\" will be one of its important pieces; we shall\nbe able to contemplate it then in all its majesty; it will not then\nsimply be molded in plaster, but cast in bronze and cut in marble.\nIt will offer a noble example of what work can accomplish when it is\nserved by that supreme gift, will; for it will testify as much to\nresistance against the powerful enemies of the life of thought as to the\nintelligence of the man who created it. It forces upon us not only a\nformidable impression of strength, labor, talent, but also an impression\nno less lofty of method, order, and inner harmony. The multitude, who\nthrough their profound instincts approach much closer than one might\nsuppose to the man of genius, will exclaim in contemplating this work,\nthis true monument which undoubtedly the sculptor has raised through his\nown force of character, \"Whoever erected this beautiful thing with his\nindefatigable hands was truly a man.\"\n\n\n\n\nII\n\n\"THE BURGHERS OF CALAIS\" (1889)--RODIN AND VICTOR HUGO--THE STATUE OF\nBALZAC (1898)\n\n\nAt the time the plaster model of \"The Burghers of Calais\" was first\noffered to the judgment of the public, in 1889, nearly seven years had\ngone by since Rodin had originally undertaken the group.\n\nThis is the period of my own childish memories of the master. He was a\nfrequent visitor at the home of my father, who lived in Sevres, on the\noutskirts of Paris.\n\nRodin, with his silent nature, apparently so full of calm and\nmeditation, delighted in the ardor, the patriotic enthusiasm, the\nferment of character, the brilliant conversation of that powerful,\noriginal writer, my father; he loved his books, too, spirited and\npassionate like himself, and possessing a vigor of expression that was\nnew to French letters.\n\nLeon Cladel received his friends on Sundays. In winter they gathered in\nthe drawing-room, in summer on a terrace shaded by great chestnuts and\nlimes, where thousands of birds twittered and chattered so energetically\nthat at dusk they ended by drowning the voices of the visitors. Among\nthe latter were writers, painters, and sculptors, several of whom have\nsince become famous. Among them were Auguste Rodin and his colleague,\nhis dear comrade, Jules Dalou, creator of many fine works, notably the\nmonument to Eugene Delacroix which stands in the Luxembourg Gardens.\n\nThe sculptor of \"The Burghers of Calais\" was then barely fifty. He was\nfar from possessing the immense fame that is his to-day, but artists\nalready regarded him as a master. Of medium height, robust, with large\nshoulders and heavy limbs, placid and deliberate in appearance, never\ngesticulating, he himself resembled a block of stone; but above this\nheavy base his countenance, with its broadly designed features and its\ngray-blue eyes, expressed an extraordinarily keen intelligence and\nfinesse. Despite my youth I was struck by this physiognomy, so singular\nand so penetrating, and also by the remarkable shyness that made the\nsculptor blush whenever he was addressed. Since then innumerable\nportraits have familiarized people with these features, which with age\nhave settled into an expression of authority and firm will; his strange\ntimidity has disappeared with time, with the consciousness of his\nstrength, with his having become accustomed to glory. Moreover, Rodin\nhas become a ready talker. Of old he listened intently, but always\nheld his peace; at most a few words, spoken in a soft, clear voice,\nescaped from the waves of his long beard. He would at once relapse into\nsilence, while with a slow movement giving his beard an instinctive\ncaress with his large, square, irresistible hand, the true hand of a\nbuilder. But when he raised his eyelids, almost always lowered, the\ntransparent eye, that limpid gray-blue eye, betrayed a perspicacity\nthat was almost malicious, almost cunning: one felt that he penetrated\nthrough the forms of people to their very souls; and this he fixed so\nskilfully in the clay of his busts that his models were not always\npleased with it. Many of Rodin's portraits have been refused by sitters\noffended by their pitiless realism.\n\n[Illustration: STATUE OF BASTIEN-LEPAGE.]\n\nSometimes my father kept Rodin and Jules Dalou to dinner. The two\nsculptors were devoted to each other. They were comrades from of old who\nhad traveled together the hard road of beginners; since their student\ndays at the Petite Ecole they had many times reencountered each other\nin the same workshops, where they had received the same contemptuous\nwages for their long days of labor. They felt a profound esteem for each\nother's talent, different as these talents were, altogether opposed, in\nfact, as were their natures; and it was a fine, a lovely thing to see\nthem bring forward each other's respective merits. Alas! I shall have\nto tell later how an artistic rivalry came one day to destroy this noble\nfriendship.\n\nThe appearance of \"The Burghers of Calais\" aroused a flood of enthusiasm\nin the world of art. I remember it well. At that time I was only a\nyoung school-girl, and my father was unwilling to allow me to \"miss\nmy classes\" in order to accompany him to the opening of the Rodin\nExhibition. After all, the lessons I received that day, following them\nquite absent-mindedly, were they worth the lesson I should have received\nfrom the contemplation of that masterpiece, even if my age would have\nprevented me from quite understanding it? Beauty is always the most\nfertilizing teacher.\n\nA rich art-lover, acting with the municipal authorities of Calais, had\nordered from Rodin the statue of Eustache de Saint-Pierre, the Calais\nhero whose devotion had in the fourteenth century, during the Hundred\nYears' War, saved the city when it was besieged by King Edward III of\nEngland.\n\nRodin, true to his principles, sought as ever to approach his subject\nfrom the quick of reality. He consulted history. He read the old\nchronicles of France, above all those of Jean Froissart, who was\ncontemporaneous with the event and almost a witness of it. Froissart was\na man of the fourteenth century, a man of the age of the cathedrals,\nand therefore himself a Gothic. His narrative has the force, the\nsavor, the naivete, the simple and profound art of the masters of that\nmarvelous epoch. What a source of emotion for Rodin, a Gothic likewise\nin his faith and his artistic rectitude! He caught fire at the recital\nof the old master as at the voice of a brother-in-arms. He read, he\nlearned that Edward III would not consent to spare the city of Calais\nfrom pillage and destruction unless six of her richest citizens would\ncome out to him dressed only in their shirts, barefoot, with ropes about\ntheir necks, bringing him the keys of the city and their own heads to be\ncut off. In response to this terrible message, Eustache de Saint-Pierre\nand five of his fellow-citizens, taking counsel with the notables\nof the place, at once rose to go to the king's camp. They set forth\nimmediately, escorted on their way by the hunger-stricken multitude,\nweeping and groaning over their sacrifice and \"adoring them with pity.\"\n\nThis was the vision which from that time on took possession of Rodin,\ndominating him and never leaving him. But it was not an isolated person\ndetached from his environment that he saw: it was the six martyrs just\nas they appeared in history, just as they were in life. In his thought\nhe followed this band of heroes marching to the sacrifice in the midst\nof the weeping city. He could not bring himself to separate them either\nfrom their whole number or from their tragic surroundings. Therefore,\nin accordance with the genius of his theme, that is to say, with\nhistoric truth, he would make all six of them, and he would insist that\nthey should be set up in the midst of the city, among the old houses,\nwhere they would continue to live their sublime life in the heart of the\nvery town that they had saved.\n\nFor the price of one statue, therefore, Rodin set out to execute six.\nHe rented a vast atelier in the rue des Fourneaux, in the Vaugirard\nQuarter. He worked unceasingly. To keep this enormous group in good\ncondition, to maintain the proper temperature, he moistened the clay\nmorning and evening, having as his _garcon d'atelier_ no one but his\ndevoted wife, who had become thoroughly experienced in these matters.\nDespite all, accidents would happen: the clay would give way, an\narm, modeled with his habitual exactitude, would fall and have to be\nlaboriously repaired; but the fervent modeler never hesitated in his\nwork, and on the day when he exhibited \"The Burghers of Calais\" at the\nhouse of Georges Petit the praise and the homage that sprang forth from\nthe soul of all true artists recompensed him magnificently, bringing\nhim the intoxicating caress of dawning glory. They spoke, in connection\nwith the \"Burghers,\" of the image-makers of our cathedrals; they spoke\nof the statues of Claus Sluters, of the famous statues of the \"Well of\nMoses\" at Dijon. Really, in the Calais monument Rodin is more than ever\nunder the Gothic influence in subject, in thought, and in execution.\nThe equilibrium of the figures composing the group is the same as that\nof the \"Saint John the Baptist.\" The long shifts that cover the naked\nbodies of his heroes recall those draperies in vertical folds dear to\nthe Middle Ages. The very modeling of the figures and of the faces\nincreases this effect of elongation caused by the fall of the fabric;\nthe modeling in large planes, the vigorous accents, the simple and\npathetic movements are certainly those of the sort that out-of-door\nsculpture calls for. In twenty years Rodin had made innumerable visits\nto the Gothic monuments. Here was the result of his tours of France. He\nhad made them in order to recapture the traditions of art from the hands\nof our wonderful old stone-cutters, and his heart must have throbbed\nwith joy when he was told that in his own hands that tradition had\nsuffered no loss.\n\nNaturally, the appearance of \"The Burghers of Calais,\" even that,\ncould not fail to have its share of comic anecdote, that bitter and\npainful humor that marks the adventures of genius in its struggle with\nvulgarity. Let us not complain too much. The contrast between these\nadventures and the proud way of life of a great man, the regularity\nof his hours of toil--it is this that creates opposition, movement,\nlife. The elect soul feels a savage joy in these blows which shake it\nlike a tree tormented by brutal hands, a tree aware of the vigor of its\nresistance and its ever-increasing tenacity.\n\nThe municipality of Calais, hearing that there were to be six statues\ninstead of the one that had been ordered, took umbrage, and deliberated\nfor two years. The heroic group waited, and, as it encumbered Rodin's\natelier, where other works were going forward, it was placed in a\nstable. At last the worthy town authorities decided to assign it a\nsite. Naturally, the site in question was exactly opposed to the ideas\nof the master--ideas that had been thought out and that were perfectly\nlogical, based on the laws of decorative art and still more determined\nby that infallible criterion, taste. Rodin desired that his monument\nshould be in the center of the town; they placed it on the edge of\nthe sea. He counted on emphasizing the tall stature of his figures\nby enshrining it in the narrow frame of the houses; they placed it\nagainst a horizon without limits. He requested that the group should be\nplaced very low, almost on the ground, or else very high on an elevated\npedestal, like the \"Colleoni\" at Venice or the \"Gattamelata\" at Padua;\nthey placed it at a middle height, thus diminishing the effect of its\nimposing proportions. The lesson had to come from foreign lands. The\ncity of Antwerp has erected, in front of its museum of fine arts,\ntwo of the statues of the celebrated group, and England, which does\nthings splendidly when it is a question of embellishing its cities or\nof rendering homage to the valor of its adversaries, has erected the\neffigies of the six heroes of Calais on one of the most beautiful sites\nin London, before the Palace of Westminster.\n\n * * * * *\n\nBy this time the reader is sufficiently familiar with the technic of\nRodin for it to be unnecessary to analyze here in detail this well-known\nwork. What must not be forgotten is that the sculptor had first modeled\nthese six powerful bodies entirely in the nude. This is his invariable\nmethod when he executes draped figures. One realizes this, even without\nknowing it, before these arms, these hands, these legs, and these feet\nconstructed with that rigorous conscience which, with the true artist,\nis at once a necessity and a delight; one divines the of the\ntorsos bent with grief or rigid in the pride of sacrifice.\n\n\"Yes, they are beautiful,\" the master said to me one day when I was\ntalking with him. \"The shirt, the blouse are garments the folds of\nwhich yield simple planes and effects that, rightly rendered, are those\nof true sculpture. But there is something better still, and that is\nsackcloth. If I had clothed my 'Burghers of Calais' in sackcloth, they\nwould certainly be more beautiful. I did not dare to. Some one else will\ndo this and will succeed. It is sufficient to express an idea and leave\nit to its destiny.\"\n\nWe ought to love in Rodin this intellectual vigor that skirts the\nborders of the impossible. In our age, consumed with indecision, it is a\npriceless aid, a resting-place, a _point d'appui_ from which one starts\nforth afresh, fortified, one's nerves recharged with vitality, to the\nconquest of one's share of knowledge or of talent. This accounts in part\nfor the irresistible influence which for thirty years the illustrious\nsculptor has exercised over the minds of artists. One feels that this\nfount of strength condensed in his virile soul comes from something\ndeeper than his personality alone; it comes from the very depths of\nthe national reserves. The conviction, the energy of Rodin are those\nof the workman who knows his trade, of the laborer impassioned by the\nculture of his own soil. This endurance is the foundation of the French\ntemperament; the events happening now have proved it. When a country\npossesses such individualities through the course of history, the roads\nof the future open out before it brilliant with hope despite passing\nshadows, and promise the highest surprises.\n\n[Illustration: DANAIADE.]\n\n\n\nRODIN AND VICTOR HUGO\n\nThe creation of \"The Burghers of Calais\" marks the middle of a period\nof truly prodigious fecundity. From 1889 to 1896, monuments, busts,\nstatues, and groups of every kind issue without interruption from the\nateliers of Rodin, and the more numerous the works his hand models,\nthe more it grasps the contexture of the work, the more it refines the\nexecution. Orders for portraits pour in; collectors hold it an honor to\npossess a marble, a bronze, signed with a name which every day increases\nin celebrity. In 1888 comes that jewel of marble, the bust of Madame\nMorla Vicunha, and the monument to Claude Vicunha, president of the\nRepublic of Chile; in 1889, the bronze portrait of Dalou, the statue of\nBastien-Lepage, that admirable head \"La Pensee,\" acquired by the Musee\ndu Luxembourg.\n\nIn 1890 comes the portrait of Mme. Russell, a bust in silver, of\nnoble simplicity, which one would say was the head of a Roman matron,\nwith the luminous veil upon her thoughtful forehead and the flower of\ngood-will blossoming upon her delicately swelling mouth. Then there is\n\"The Danaid,\" \"La vielle Heaulmiere,\" and a great study, a long woman's\ntorso, \"La Terre.\"\n\nIn 1892, not to mention delightful minor works like \"The Young Mother\"\nand \"Brother and Sister,\" appear two masterpieces: the bust of Puvis\nde Chavannes and that of Henri Rochefort, magnificent contrasts in\nconstruction and execution. The painter-gentleman carries his haughty\nhead like an old leaguer chief, and the pamphleteer bends over the\ndestinies of France, which for fifty years he has defended day in, day\nout, with his flaming pen, an enormous brow--a brow like a spherical\nvault that seems to contain a world.\n\n\"You have made it grander, you have made it more beautiful than nature,\"\nsome one said to Rodin one day.\n\n\"One can never do anything so beautiful as nature,\" he replied.\n\nIn this same year, 1892, he exhibited the charming monument to Claude\nLorrain, in which he recaptured the spirit of the eighteenth century. It\nwas the town of Nancy that ordered this figure of its painter and has\nplaced it in its vast park.\n\nOne cannot mention everything. Forms and attitudes renew themselves,\nbut not the terms that express them. To measure the abundance of this\nwork one should read the catalogue, till now incomplete,--for it has\nbeen impossible to compile one that was not so,--of the master's\nworks; only so can we realize how almost dizzily his productiveness\nbecame accelerated with the epoch of his maturity. Mythological\nsubjects dominate it, but are always treated with a profoundly human\nunderstanding of the poetry and the grace of the form in which they\nachieve an aspect delightfully new.\n\nSuch titles as \"Venus and Adonis,\" \"The Education of Achilles,\" \"The\nDeath of Alcestis,\" \"Cupid and Psyche,\" \"The Faun and the Fountain,\"\n\"Pygmalion and Galatea,\" Rodin inscribed only as an afterthought on\nthe pedestals of his groups. They are not the result of a necessary\npreliminary conception; it is his figures themselves that breathe them,\nhis models unconsciously repeated the combinations of movement and\ngesture through which are translated the eternal sentiments immortalized\nby the legends of paganism. So true is this that Rodin obtained his\ncharming groups by assembling in harmony with his researches the\nanimated little figures that encumbered the windows of his ateliers.\nHe amused himself by uniting them, by marrying their attitudes; with\nthese little figures, these puppets of genius, he composed actual little\nintimate dramas or idylls revived from the antique. In the hollow of\na Greek bowl he places a little nude body, and one would say that it\nis the soul of the wave that conceals itself against the side of the\nvase. He enlaces three feminine figures, upright, beside the body of a\nrecumbent youth: they are the Graces, who come to bend over the dying\npoet. Thus he perpetuates the fantasy of things through that of his own\ntaste; he eternalizes the most delicious caprices of nature.\n\n * * * * *\n\nWe come now to the year 1896 and the appearance of the \"Monument to\nVictor Hugo.\"\n\nThis monument had been ordered for the Pantheon. Rodin, who had modeled\nin 1885 the bust of the singer of the \"Legende des Siecles,\" was\ndoubly, on this account, entitled to the order. In the midst of what\ndifficulties had he achieved that bust! It required all his patience,\nall the tenacity of a Lorrainese peasant, to accomplish it. When he\nhad begged the honor of reproducing those illustrious features, the\npoet, already nearing his end, tired out with having posed for mediocre\nplaster-daubers and unaware of the superiority of his new sculptor,\nconsented to pose only for two hours. All the same, he authorized Rodin\nto come as often as necessary and make as many sketches as he needed\nwhile he, Hugo, worked or received his friends.\n\nRodin accepted these difficult conditions. Was it not Victor Hugo with\nwhom he was dealing, the father of modern poetry? And then what a\nspectacle for his artist's eyes, that of the great man bending over his\npapers that Jupiter-like head of his in which thought, in gestation,\nswelled the sublime brow with a tumult of ideas! When he talked, what\nmajesty in \"this face of a lion in repose\"!\n\n[Illustration: PORTRAIT BUST OF VICTOR HUGO.]\n\nThe sculptor placed a stool, some clay, some tools in the corner of\na gallery; it was there that he worked out the general form of the\nbust. Then, studying his wonderful model for months, he made hundreds\nof sketches of him, under every aspect; at times, having used up the\npages of his note-books, he even covered entire blocks of cigarette\npaper with rapid notes and jottings. Then he transferred this record\nof observations to his clay. Working in this manner, it took him three\nmonths to finish his bust. He exhibited it, in bronze, at the Salon of\n1884. One cannot fail to admire the volumes, the beautiful mass of the\nwhole, even though it does not show that brilliant touch of genius which\nstrikes us before the bust of Jean-Paul Laurens or that of Rochefort;\nbut later, relying upon this document and upon his own special memory\nof forms in action, Rodin was to restore for us this moving head in his\nmonument of the poet, which was to be one of his very loftiest works.\nThis same bust of Victor Hugo was to rupture the friendship between\nRodin and Jules Dalou--Dalou of whom he sent to the same Salon of 1884,\nby a curious coincidence, an incomparable bust that puts one in mind of\nthose of Donatello.\n\nThe family of Victor Hugo did not like Rodin's portrait of the master.\nWhen the poet died (1885), it was Dalou whom they called to execute a\ndeath-mask of the features of the great poet. Filled with ambition and\neager for official glory, Dalou had the weakness to accept, forgetting\nwhat he owed to Rodin, not even informing him, in fact. Deeply hurt, the\nlatter withdrew his affection for his old friend. My father, saddened by\nthis occurrence, which destroyed so rare and noble a friendship, brought\nthe two friends together at his table in the hope of reconciling them;\nbut nothing could melt the wall of ice that had fallen between these\ndissevered hearts.\n\nTen years afterward a magnificent compensation was offered to Rodin.\nFrom him was ordered the monument of the poet for the Pantheon. He\nrepresented him nude, under the folds of a vast cloak, and seated on\na rock, as if by the seashore, with his wonderful head bowed in an\nattitude of meditation, just as Rodin had often contemplated it in\npriceless hours.\n\nThis manner of representing a great man, quite simply revived from the\nRenaissance and the eighteenth century, shocked to the last degree the\nadministrative staff of the department of fine arts. Why this nude\npersonage, instead of a quite respectable Victor Hugo in the frock-coat\nof an academician? Why not one of those statues that peacefully occupy\nsome corner of a public square without attracting any one's attention,\none of those statues that are not made to be looked at? As for this\npoet, who resembled a Homer, a hero or a demigod, this grand body,\noutrageously beautiful and simple, is it not scandalous in the midst of\nthe conformity of bourgeois civilization, enslaved by the ugliness of\nfashion, whose perverted taste can no longer recognize the beauty of the\nnude? The painter David used to say of his epoch, in which, however, the\nmode of dress was less displeasing than it is to-day, \"What misery to be\nobliged to spend one's life in fashioning coats and shoes!\" Rodin, like\nDavid, and like Phidias, preferred the trade of the sculptor to that of\nthe tailor.\n\nSuch an uproar arose that he had to withdraw the model of his monument\nand promise another. But everything comes with time, even the best: the\nfortunes of politics brought to the ministry of fine arts an intelligent\nand cultivated director, the dramatic critic Gustave Larroumet.\nDelighted with Rodin's scheme, the magnificent symbolization of French\npoetry, he confirmed the order for the audacious monument, no longer for\nthe Pantheon, but for the Luxembourg Gardens; and, not satisfied with\nthis reparation, charged the master with the additional execution of\nanother monument destined for the Pantheon. One can imagine the anger in\ncertain circles--two orders on the same subject to the same sculptor!\nWhat an aberration! What madness! But the decision was made and well\nmade.\n\nRodin took six years to perfect his first \"Victor Hugo\"; the marble\nwas not exhibited until 1901. The vigor of the work and the sovereign\ngesture by which the bard of contemplation seems to impose silence upon\nthe voice of nature in order that the voices struggling within himself,\nin the depths of his genius, may be the better heard, the suppleness of\nthe material, of this Carrara marble, with its warm reflections, as if\nmelted under the pressure of a fiery hand, obstinately make one think of\nMichelangelo; one has the disturbing sensation, not of an imitation, but\nof a resurrection of the plastic power reincarnated out of nature, of a\nnew spring of sap from the same vein of genius.\n\nThe original plan allowed, in addition, for two allegorical figures,\n\"The Inner Voice\" and \"The Tragic Muse,\" which, placed beside the poet,\nshould breathe into him thought and inspiration. But, very beautiful\nin themselves, they gave to the monument, once they were executed and\nplaced, an anecdotal quality that diminished its force; they weakened\nthe grandeur of the Olympian gesture and destroyed that feeling of\nsolitude inseparable from such a personality as that of the great man:\nan island in the midst of the flood of the human multitude, genius\nitself is aware of its own splendid isolation.\n\n[Illustration: MONUMENT TO VICTOR HUGO.]\n\nThis is what I ventured to express one day to the master, not without\nhesitation. Nothing equals the simplicity of Rodin face to face with\nwhat he knows is sincere and animated by a true love of art. He\nlistened, gazed at his work, and, turning toward me, gave me a joyous\nglance.\n\n\"You are right,\" he replied, with a spontaneity that put my sense of\nresponsibility on its mettle. \"I sacrificed to the mania of the age,\nwhich is to overload things. My modeling is there, the eloquence of the\ngesture also. The rest would only spoil the essential things. It is a\nstroke of genius. I am going to write to the under-secretary of state\nthat my monument is ready.\"\n\nIn lieu of the two figures that were to have accompanied the statue of\nVictor Hugo, to indemnify the Government Rodin gave to the Musee du\nLuxembourg a series of his most beautiful busts in bronze, including the\nhead of the poet.\n\nAs for the marble, it was in the garden of the Palais Royal that it\nwas finally erected; but this site is not of the happiest: a large\nlawn separates the spectator from the monument; one sees it from the\nwrong angle, and this destroys the equilibrium of its planes. Moreover,\nin our damp climate marble quickly loses the charm of its purity and\ntransparency; streaks of brown already stain and deface that of the\n\"Victor Hugo.\" Let us hope that the organizers of the Musee Rodin\nwill find it possible to place it in one of the rooms of the future\nmuseum, substituting for it a bronze upon which the inclemencies of the\natmosphere will serve to produce a beautiful patina.\n\n\n\nTHE STATUE OF BALZAC (1898)\n\nThis is the most famous and the least known of Rodin's works. Newspaper\ncontroversies have made it famous throughout the whole world; but it\nhas, nevertheless, made only one brief appearance in public, in 1898, at\nthe Salon of the Societe Nationale des Beaux Arts. It marks at the same\ntime a vital stage in the career of the master and the most poignant\nperiod of his life as a fighter. It is the point of equilibrium in\nthe perpetual balancing of the art of Rodin between the several great\ntraditions. It was the object of a famous quarrel, in which the glory\nof the sculptor, momentarily all but eclipsed by ridicule, recovered\nitself, nevertheless, and rose higher than ever.\n\nWhat strikes one in this statue, at first sight, is its strange\nblock-like aspect, its monolithic simplicity. People say quite rightly\nthat it looks like a stone _lovee_, a druidic monument. Ever since \"The\nBurghers of Calais,\" one of the figures of which at least, that of\nthe man with the key, already suggests the idea of a monolith, Rodin\nhad been going further and further in his stubborn search for the\nsimplification of planes, and here he finally achieved his object. In\norder to obtain it, he went back all the way to the primitive Gothic\nand even to the archaic Greek, which likewise preserves in the general\noutline of its statues the rigid aspect of those statues of wood that\nhad preceded it. In all these early epochs of art one finds the form of\nthe tree trunk in which their sculpture was cut. One of the examples of\nthis art that had most forcibly impressed Rodin was the statue of Hera\nof Samothrace in the Louvre. The beauty of this figure, denuded of all\nforeign artifice in the exact research for masses, the public little\ncomprehends; but the sculptor perceives its justness, the power of its\nrelief and its modeling, disconcerting in these primitive artists,\nqualities that are concealed under the extreme simplicity of its\nappearance. In this magnificent Hera it is as if one saw the rotundities\nof woman coming to birth and undergoing in the tree, the vegetal column,\none of those metamorphoses familiar in the fables of paganism. The\n\"Balzac,\" with its athletic body, veiled in a spread robe that envelopes\nit, does not it also resemble a powerful tree trunk from the summit of\nwhich looks down, like a solitary, monstrous flower, the head of the\ninspired writer?\n\nThis statue had been ordered by the Societe des Gens de Lettres, and was\nintended for one of the public squares of Paris. After Victor Hugo,\nBalzac. After the giant of modern poetry, the giant of the novel. What\na redoutable honor, but also what a homage to the talent of the great\nsculptor! What joy for artists in the association of these two names,\nBalzac and Rodin! On the other hand, how many adversaries rejoiced in\nthe hope of seeing Rodin come to grief with this task, fraught not\nless with peril than with glory! He did not conceal from himself that\nthe statue of Balzac would be a severe problem to solve. We possess\nno authentic bust of the creator of the \"Comedie Humaine,\" not even\na death-mask giving the exact measure of the cranial bones and hence\nthe actual planes. We know through his contemporaries that the author\nwas fat and short. Fat and short--that is far from facilitating the\ncomposition of a work of decorative art. But, more precious than\nmediocre portraits, there is a famous page about him by Lamartine,\nanother great genius. \"Balzac,\" he says, \"was the figure of an element\n... stout, thick-set, square at the base and at the shoulders, ample,\nmuch as Mirabeau was; but not heavy in any way; he had so much soul that\nit carried _him_ lightly.\"\n\n[Illustration: STATUE OF BALZAC.]\n\nIt was this essence that he set out to render. A frank artist takes\nno liberties with reality. It alone gives him force; the \"majesty of\nthe true\" is alone durable. Nature, which dowered Balzac with one\nof the most prodigious intellects known to us, dowered him at the\nsame time, to support this intellect, with the physical breadth of a\ncolossus. To have altered anything that went to make up the harmony of\nthe structure would have been to commit a grave error; it would have\nbeen to denaturalize the divine work. On the other hand, above this\nmass of flesh it was necessary to make that marvelous spirit hover,\nthat sparkling spirit, that myriad-faceted spirit of the greatest of\nnovelists.\n\nRodin knows by experience that nature repeats herself. Has not a\nhumorist said: \"It is useless to make a bust of you; it exists already.\nYou have only to look for it in the museums\"?\n\nHe set out to find a man who resembled Balzac, going all the way to\nTouraine, the writer's native province, a hundred times depicted by\nhim in his books. The family of Balzac was originally from Languedoc,\nbut that made no difference; the intuition of a great artist is always\nrewarded. Rodin found at Tours the model he desired; he was a young\ncountryman, a carter, who resembled his hero to an almost miraculous\ndegree. Of him he made a very animated bust, in which one sees the full\nface, the nose, concave and large at the end, but voluptuous and full\nof spirit, the rounded chin, the vast shoulders of the master of the\n\"Comedie Humaine.\" There was lacking, however, the flame of thought that\nspiritualized and rendered buoyant this mass of human substance. Rodin\nmodified the expression, illuminating the physiognomy with delicacy and\nfrank gaiety. It is Balzac at twenty-five, a peasant Balzac, breathing\nat every pore youth, self-confidence, and the love of life. Not yet\nis it the man tormented by fate, the tragic visionary of the \"Comedie\nHumaine,\" the slave of his work who in twenty years wrote fifty novels,\nstaged a thousand characters, and gave life to an entire society. It is\nnot the man who has suffered, thought, meditated, with all the power\nof one of the most extraordinary organisms known to us; it has not the\nappearance of a phenomenon.\n\nAfter this Rodin skilfully altered these features; he gave them the\nscars of the interior effort, he made them soft and hollowed them, he\nmade them old and grave. In a few weeks he did the work that nature\nhad taken years to accomplish. He finished by creating that Titan's\nmask which we know, that head as round as a bullet and, like a bullet,\nterrible in its concentrated force. Later he augmented this; that is\nto say, he doubled its proportions: and this head, almost frightening\nin its expression, recalls the masks which the Greek tragedians wore\nwhen they played in the open air. Finally he modeled the body of the\ncolossus, making it entirely nude, with arms crossed, braced against\nthe earth with the tension of the whole will, evoking the idea of some\nprodigious birth. Then he draped this heavy body in the monk's robe\nin which the writer used to envelope himself for work and the straight\nfolds of which enwrapped him like the sheath of a mummy, offering to the\nsight nothing but the tumultuous head--the head ravaged by intelligence\nand savage energy.\n\nRodin felt almost frightened by his own work.\n\nHe kept it a long time before turning it over to the cast-makers. He had\nworked it out in his atelier, but it was destined for the open air. How\nwould it appear in broad daylight?\n\nThe gestation of this work was accompanied by a thousand miseries. The\ncommittee of the Societe des Gens de Lettres incessantly demanded the\n\"Balzac\"; they were dumfounded before the extraordinary figure that was\nshown to them, before this white phantom the conception of which was so\nutterly the reverse of all current ideas. Not knowing what to say, they\ninsisted that it should be modified and urged haste upon Rodin, whose\nextraordinary dexterity became slowness itself when it was a question\nof putting the final touches upon a great work. The press began to\ntake note of the affair. He himself became troubled and nervous. With\nwhat transports would he have left it, fled, gone away to rest and to\ndream of something else for a few weeks! The time of the Salon was\napproaching. Quite suddenly he made his decision, gave the clay to be\ncast, and ordered an enlargement. The statue was brought back to him at\nthe Depot des Marbres, in the rue de l'Universite; it was twice as large\nas the original model. It was placed in the garden that stretched out\nin front of the studio. He examined it as it rose against the depths of\nthe open sky and the bright spring light. It was as if he had never seen\nit, and suddenly his mind was illuminated. The work was grand, simple,\nstrong; the essential modeling was there, and the details they had\nexhorted him to add would only have diminished its unsurpassable unity.\n\nRodin had made up his mind. He sent his \"Balzac\" to the Salon.\n\nImmediately there was war. The press, worked upon by the committee of\nthe Societe des Gens de Lettres, was unfavorable in advance. On the day\nof the opening of the Salon the word was passed around, and the official\nart world _s'esclaffe_. There was a crowd at the foot of the lofty\nimage, near which Rodin took up his position, calm according to his\nwont, and talked quietly with his friends. Some, a very few, told him\nhow they admired this work so proudly offered, so strange in its banal\nsurroundings.\n\nThe next day the press broke forth. What an uproar! Everything went off\nat once: the heavy artillery of the great newspapers scolded solemnly,\nthe light artillery crackled in the political sheets, and the grape-shot\nof the minor papers spat their rage, only too happy for so rich a prey\nto cut to pieces. The Institute, as might have been foreseen, fanned the\nconflagration. The public, excited, in turn broke loose, in the fury of\nignorance stirred up against knowledge.\n\n[Illustration: THE HEAD OF BALZAC.]\n\nIt became a \"case,\" an affair, the _affaire de Balzac_. The committee of\nthe Societe des Gens de Lettres mobilized; by a vote of eleven to four\nit declared that it \"did not recognize the writer in the statue of M.\nRodin.\" The president of the same society, the poet Jean Aicard, refused\nthe chance of immortality which this stupidity was to confer upon his\ncolleagues and flung his resignation in their faces. A group of members\nof the municipal council of Paris decreed that it would be ridiculous\nto accord \"this block\" a place in one of the squares of the city. For\ntwo months music-halls and cafe-concerts vented every evening the wit\nof the gutter on the scandalous statue and its sculptor; peddlers sold\ncaricatures of it in plaster, Balzac being represented as a heap of snow\nor as a seal. In short, such was the event that it required nothing\nbut the pen of Aristophanes to note down the harmonies of this chorus\nof frogs. The health of Rodin suffered a reaction from his long effort\nand from this battle. Then, too, there are hours when the strongest are\nseized with nausea before the bad faith and the stupidity of people.\nNervous, his mind aching, a prey to insomnia, the master offered a\nmelancholy spectacle, that beautiful serenity of his destroyed and his\nworking strength put in jeopardy.\n\n\"For all that,\" says M. Leon Riotor, who tells the story with eloquence,\n\"Rodin had a wonderful awakening. All the young world of letters rose\nup to declare its sympathy with the vanquished in this new skirmish. A\nnumber of painters and sculptors joined in. And the protest that was\ncirculated came back covered with signatures.\"\n\nNo, Rodin was not vanquished. He retired for a moment from the melee\nto recover and to meditate in peace, but without deviating by a single\nstep from his line of conduct. A collector offered to buy the \"Balzac.\"\nA group of intellectuals started a public subscription; funds flowed\nin. Although he was not yet wealthy, Rodin courteously declined these\noffers, and, declaring that \"an artist, like a woman, has to guard his\nhonor,\" decided to withdraw his monument from the Salon and not have it\nerected anywhere.\n\nThe epic statue was transported to Meudon, and placed in the garden of\nthe villa. In its loftiness it imposes itself against the sky, against\nthe hills, against the trees that surround it, with the quality of\nnature herself. Like a gigantic pole it triumphs in the open air. It\nis specially on clear nights that its disturbing authority strikes\nthe soul. The great phantom appears then formidable in the extreme\nsimplicity of its planes, which, as in strong architecture, distribute\nover large spaces the masses of shadow and light. The American painter\nSteichen has passed nights in this enchanted garden in order to take\nof the \"Balzac\" photographs that are more beautiful than engravings.\nHaughty, with a ferocious majesty in the moonlight, the master of\nthe \"Comedie Humaine\" brings his soul face to face with nature; he\nlistens to its silence, he sounds its mysteries, he questions it in\nmute dialogue, the like of which has not been heard since the colloquy\nof _Hamlet_ with the shade of his father. For it is of _Hamlet_, of\nthe most profound symbolization of the human spirit wrestling with the\nunknown, that one dreams before this meditating Balzac, alone, under the\nnocturnal light. This is what Rodin has known how to make out of that\nshort, thick-set man who was the author of the \"Etudes Philosophiques\";\nthis is how he has lighted the fires of the intelligence on the mask of\ngenius.\n\nIt is at the Musee Rodin that we shall rediscover this statue. Time\nwill have progressed, and ideas also. When they see it anew, how many\npeople will be astounded at having formerly scoffed at the work and\noffended the master, struck dumb and secretly humiliated at having thus\ncontributed to the writing of the hundred thousandth chapter of that\nendless book, the book of human stupidity.\n\n\n\nTHE EXPOSITION OF 1900--THE BAS-RELIEFS OF EVIAN--RODIN AND THE WAR\n\nIn 1899, Rodin exhibited a large part of his work at Brussels and in\nHolland. The effect produced upon artists and upon the cultivated\nportion of the public was such that he resolved to repeat this\nexperiment at the Universal Exposition of Paris.\n\nIt was foreordained that nothing should be easy for the great toiler,\nthat it would be necessary for him to conquer everything through effort\nand struggle.\n\nThe administration of the Exposition, which had granted innumerable\nrequests for space addressed to it by the industrialists and business\nmen of the whole world, by bar-keepers, itinerant booth-holders, and\nmanagers of cafe-concerts, raised a thousand difficulties when it\nwas a question of according a few feet of ground to the greatest of\nliving sculptors. It required all the insistence of his most devoted\nand powerful friends to gain his point. Rodin finally received the\nauthorization to construct a pavilion not in the Exposition itself, but\noutside the grounds in the place de l'Alma.\n\nOnce again, so much the better. How much finer for a man of the elite to\nstand aside from the rout!\n\nAccording to the master's plan, there was erected a hall simple in\nappearance, elegant, reservedly in the Louis XVI style, a veritable\nrepose for the eye strained by the strident architecture of the great\nfair of 1900. There were assembled the people of his sculpture.\n\n[Illustration: THE STUDIO AT MEUDON.]\n\nOnce more Rodin experienced an hour of trial, a formidable hour. If\nfor the last dozen years he had left poverty behind, he had not yet\nachieved wealth, and it was a great risk to assume the expenses of his\nexhibition. If these expenses were not covered by the entrance-fees and\nthe sale of his sculpture, how would he come out? He would be forced\nto a kind of transaction that he had always spurned, he would have to\nturn over all or part of his work to the art dealers. These groups,\nthese busts, so painstakingly cast, or cut in the most beautiful\nmarble by excellent workmen, and often by renowned sculptors, once the\ndealers had acquired rights in them, would they not be duplicated in a\nquantity of replicas of mediocre workmanship or, worse, reproduced by\nundiscriminating stone-cutters, who would disfigure the modeling and\nthe character? The idea was odious to the scrupulous sculptor. He had\nreached the age of sixty, and if he did not show it, thanks to the vigor\nof his temperament and the persistent youth that goes with great minds,\nit was not less painful for him to put his apprehensions to the test.\nToo dignified, too proud, to give way to vain lamentations, he made only\nthe most reserved references to his ordeal.\n\nThe success of the exhibition remained uncertain during the first\nweeks: many people hoped it would be a failure. At the end of a month\nor two, visitors from abroad, to whom thanks be given, began to pour\nin; the principal museums of Europe wished to possess some important\nfigure of Rodin's. Soon the number of purchasers increased day by day,\nand I do not have to mention here how many art-lovers from the United\nStates decided to enrich their collections with some rare piece signed\nby the master. In short, during the latter months Rodin had the joy\nof perceiving that he could remain the sole possessor of his work,\nthat nothing could now separate him from his dear family of bronze and\nmarble. It was happiness for him; it signalized also the great glory\nthat comes with outstretched wing, bringing fortune with it.\n\nThe pretty pavilion in the place de l'Alma was transported and reerected\nin the garden at Meudon, and he filled it with masterpieces. Since then\nthe whole world of art and literature and that portion of the political\nworld that esteems art has passed through it. The French aristocracy\nand that of England, the most eminent personages of the two Americas,\nhave been eager to visit it. One receives in it an impression at once\ngrand and touching, giving one the highest idea of the supremacy\nof intellectual valor above the other goods of this world when one\nperceives the contrast of these artistic treasures with the altogether\nmodest little house, almost bare, attended by a single servant, where\nRodin continues, in the midst of the luxury of an epoch intoxicated with\npleasures, to maintain the simplicity of his life in the sober company\nof his old single-spirited, faithful-hearted wife. This impression I\nnever felt more vividly than on the occasion of the visit of the late\nKing of England. Edward VII, like others, had conceived the desire to\nrender this homage to French art. The day before, when I encountered the\nmaster in Paris, he said to me, without further explanation, \"Come and\nhave a look at the studio.\"\n\nIt was a beautiful afternoon in May. When I entered the pavilion, I\ncould not restrain a cry of admiration. Marbles, nothing but marbles,\nof a dazzling whiteness! He had brought together all that he possessed,\nall those that his friends and the purchasers of his work had consented\nto lend him for the occasion, and one would have said that it was\nthese groups of young, enlaced bodies, these busts of women, with\ntheir transparent, rosy flesh, that gave forth the light with which\nthe apartment was filled. It was a unique vision, a vision which, in\nits purity and its unity, surpassed in delicate splendor that of the\nmost celebrated collections, with all their accumulation of pictures,\ntapestries, bronze, and jewels. I wondered in silence; I wondered\nat the sure taste of the artist, but I wondered also at his will:\neverything of him was there. Who can deny that it was necessary for him\nto put pressure on himself to decide on such a choice, to sacrifice\nthe bronzes, the sketches, the terra cottas, and many charming pieces?\nNothing but marble, the kingdom of marble, but also that of life; for\nthe sumptuous material trembled and palpitated under the play of the\nlight that entered through the bay-windows of the atelier, bringing with\nit the soft brilliance of the season.\n\nSince the Exposition of 1900, Rodin's reputation has increased steadily\nin France and abroad. England and Italy have organized triumphal\nreceptions for him of a sort reserved hitherto for the most illustrious\nmen of state. The artists of London have acclaimed him, and have charged\nhim, on the death of Whistler, with the presidency of the International\nSociety of Painters, Sculptors, and Engravers. Oxford University has\ngiven him a doctorate. The municipality of Rome has greeted him with\nspecial homage at the capitol; the court of Greece, having invited\nhim, awaits his visit; at Prague, where he was received by the Society\nof Young Czech Artists, they accorded him royal honors, the public\nunharnessing the horses from his carriage and applauding at the same\ntime the personal genius of this great Frenchman and the free ideas of\nhis country.\n\nWithout altering in any way his life of labor, which these tributes have\nat times slightly interfered with, he has permitted himself only one\nluxury as the result of his fortune--a collection of antiques. This he\nhas formed with passion. It is, once more, for purposes of study, and\nwhat a study, to possess a few of these sublime fragments, to feel them\nand handle them under all aspects of light! Rodin has placed a certain\nnumber of them in his garden, arranging them among the trees, among the\nshrubs; he has placed them on the fresh grass, where they seem to live\nin another and a happier way than in the rooms of museums. At a stroke\nthe little garden at Meudon, with its pedestals, its statues, with its\ngrove where a charming little marble, the \"Sleeping Cupid,\" reposes, has\nbecome like the villa of a Roman citizen of the time of Augustus.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe art of Rodin has in a certain measure shown the effect of these\nhappy events. During these latter years he has grown calm; he displays\na serenity of spirit and a self-possession that increases day by day.\nBut if the struggle in his composition has been tranquilized, his\nworkmanship has grown freer. The sculptor's effort concentrates itself\nnow in the search for a modeling ever more ample and suppler, which\nwith him constitutes a new and decisive manner. It is to this that we\nowe those exquisite marbles, \"Psyche Bearing the Lamp,\" \"Benedictions,\"\n\"The Young Girl and the Two Genii,\" \"Romeo and Juliet,\" \"The Fall of\nIcarus.\" This has been the epoch also of the busts of Mrs. Simpson and\nthe proud and handsome George Wyndham, the English statesman. It is\nthe epoch, finally, of the \"Monument to President Sarmiento,\" which\noffers at the same time, in happy opposition, the two most recent and\nmost characteristic methods of Rodin. The bronze statue of the great\nArgentine statesman has an aspect at once romantic and realistic that\nrecalls that of \"The Burghers of Calais,\" and the marble pedestal that\nsupports it, a vanquishing Apollo emerging from the clouds all luminous\nwith youth and glory, belongs to the latest period. Of this monument,\nordered by the city of Buenos Aires, France does not possess a replica,\nthough the model has been preserved. The Musee Rodin will soon contain a\nduplicate.\n\nFrom 1901 to 1906 there was an uninterrupted creation of figures and of\nportraits, among them the busts of Sir Howard Walden, Berthelot, Gustave\nGeffroy, Mme. Hunter, and Bernard Shaw.\n\nOne must add the myriad drawings that Rodin has never ceased to execute.\nThe will to sustain his eye and his hand instead of permitting them to\nbecome weakened with age has become a passion with him. He draws as a\nwriter thinks. He thinks pencil in hand; his drawings are aphorisms.\nLine-sketches, stump-drawings, water-colors in strange tints multiply\nthemselves like the leaves of a tree and quite constitute alone a\ncomplete work. The master has sold and given away quantities of them,\nyet; nevertheless, the Musee will contain more than three thousand. I\nhave been honored with the charge of counting them over and classifying\nthem. After days of this work one has a sensation of dazzlement, as I\nhave discovered, before this accumulation of toil and beauty.\n\nThe most precious of these drawings are the most recent. The study of\nlight has been carried in these to the supreme nuances. More and more\nRodin detests what is black, what is hard, what is dry. He adores, on\nthe other hand, that which is supple, enveloped, drowned in the light\nmist of the atmosphere. He conceives everything through an almost\nimperceptible veil which softens the contours, and which he discerns\nwith an eye that grows every day more sensitive. His sculpture has\nfollowed the same path. In the greater part of his marbles he has\npursued the effects of mass and of the ensemble in what concerns the\nvolumes and the effects of gradation, the study of the diminutions of\nlight in what concerns the coloring. The color that obtains uniquely in\nthe art of shadow and light is the charm of beautiful sculpture. Rodin\nthus captures the variations with a competence that ravishes our eyes,\naccustomed to the dryness of limits that are too distinct. It is in the\nreliefs entitled \"The Seasons\" that Rodin has attained the apogee of\nthis science of luminous modeling.\n\nThese works, executed for La Sapiniere, the estate of Baron Vitta at\nEvian, comprise three high-reliefs fashioned on a gate and two fountain\nbasins, or monumental garden urns. They are cut in the stone of the\nEstaillade, a white stone the richness of grain and delicate golden tone\nof which make it unsurpassable for the interpretation of the human body.\nThey were exhibited for a short time in February, 1905, at the Musee du\nLuxembourg, on the initiative of M. Leon Benedite, the very accomplished\ncurator and critic of art, who arranged them with perfect taste. But far\nfrom being embraced and vindicated, as he would be now by the present\nadministration of fine arts, Rodin was still regarded as a revolutionist\nwhose example could neither be followed nor trusted.\n\nThis was made quite plain to the audacious curator who decided quite by\nhimself to exhibit the latest works of the master before their departure\nfor Evian. After this _coup d'etat_ he was for several years the victim\nof attacks from academic circles, and underwent, on the part of the\nGovernment, a sort of disgrace. Since then he has been brilliantly\ncompensated, and to-day he has been placed in charge of the installation\nof the Musee Rodin at the Hotel Biron, a great work in which I have the\nhappiness to be his collaborator.\n\nThe decorative designs of the villa of Evian adorn the vestibule of the\nhome of Baron Vitta. \"Their subject,\" says M. Benedite, in an excellent\nnotice which served as a catalogue for the Exhibition of 1905, \"if\none wishes to speak of the motive that serves as their pretext, is\nthe most banal in the world. One would find it difficult to count the\nnumber of times that it has served artists since antiquity. So true it\nis that the commonest, the most general, the most seemingly worn-out\nthemes are those in which the great artists find themselves the most at\nhome. Without difficulty they renew them, and stamp them unforgettably\nwith their own peculiar mark. Rodin has calmly returned to the four\nseasons, confident that they would bear without effort the impress of\nhis personality and his time and that they would suffice to express his\nwhole conception of beauty and of life.\"\n\nRodin has figured \"The Seasons\" under the aspect of four sleeping\nwomen. Their beautiful forms model themselves in the warm-tinted stone,\nwhich itself seems animated with the reflections of the living flesh.\nTheir mysterious sleep evokes the successive phases of the year. Now\nit marks the quietude of the earth, full of the joy of yielding up her\nflowers and her fruits under the caresses of the sun, now it is death\nrevealing itself through a nature tormented with the heavy travail of\ngeneration. In the \"Spring\" it is a young body that lies voluptuously\nunder a rose-bush the fragrant petals of which are mingled with her own\nflesh, enveloping her in the dream of their perfume. In the \"Autumn,\"\nthe sleeper crouches close to the ground under the fruits and the\nvine-leaves, oppressed by the intoxicating aroma. The \"Winter\" presses\nher chilled limbs closely against the cavities of the denuded earth,\nwhile above her the roots of the trees enlace themselves intricately,\nlike sacred serpents charged with protecting her slumber. The \"Summer\"\nis a siesta upon the bosom of a Nature _en fete_, lulled by the golden\nsounds of harvest balanced on the breeze and the murmur of a spring that\npours forth freshness and quietude.\n\nBut in what, you ask, resides the originality of these decorative\ncommonplaces, their brilliant, unquestionable originality? In the\ndeliberate simplicity, in the spirit of sobriety that has presided over\ntheir composition, and, above all, in their execution. It is through\ntheir execution that the sculptures of Evian occupy a place apart in\nthe work of Rodin. Since the beautiful Greek epoch, stone has perhaps\nnever assumed such a living sweetness under any human hand. One might\nbelieve that it had not been touched by the steel of the chisel, but\ncaressed by a touch as delicate as it is firm, molded like wax under\nthe warmth of that hand. These mellow figures do not detach themselves\nfrom the living framework in which they are set; they stand out,\nthanks to an insensible transition which leaves them enveloped, in the\nreflections of the fair material; they mass themselves under a sifted\nlight, among the flowers and the clusters of grapes. With all this there\nis no insipidity. Under the skin one feels the plenitude of bodies rich\nwith health, harmonious organisms: it is a force that has found its\nequilibrium, a force relaxing in sweetness. Strangely enough, when one\nseeks for antecedents to which it is possible to relate the reliefs of\nEvian, it is not in the domain of sculpture, but in that of painting,\nthat one finds the terms of comparison. The intense power, carefully\nmeasured as it is, of this vibrant modeling and this color drenched in\nsunlight we find again among the tenderest creations of Correggio, of\nRubens, and, closer to ourselves, of Renoir.\n\nThe two jardinieres which complete this unique series represent groups\nof children mad with joy and with liberty; in the one case playing and\njostling one another in a field of wheat, in the midst of the moving\nsea of spears, and in the other, spread out on the green summer grass,\nrapturously holding up in their little arms, already robust, the grapes\nheavy with wine. They are exquisite fantasies of movement, of grace, of\nmad life just beginning. Here, too, the flesh of these little laughing\ngods, melting in the mass of ripe corn and tottering vines, seems bathed\nin the clearness of a beautiful day, full of air and of light.\n\nThese five works of the old age of the master might be entitled the\n\"Poem of Youth.\" It is the privilege of genius to return, in its\ndecline, to its point of departure, to remount to the sources of life,\nwhich remain ever the most intoxicating. The sensations of infancy and\nadolescence solicit him with all their unforgettable seductiveness, and\nhe surrenders himself lovingly to the sweetness of this lost dream; but\nit has cost him his entire, existence to acquire the gift of translating\nit.\n\nThis search for the envelopment of forms fruitful of new effects is the\ndecisive point in the career of Rodin; it is the supreme thought, the\nend and aim of sixty years of toil and reflection. Therefore it is a\nvery happy thing for French sculpture that Rodin has been able to live\nlong enough to realize completely this definitive conception of his\nart. For from the summit attained by him other artists can spring forth\nafresh, to renew once more perhaps the manifestations of the national\ngenius. The resources indicated by Rodin have hardly been used hitherto;\nto bring them fully into employment meanwhile there will perhaps be born\na new school of sculpture.\n\n[Illustration: BUST OF BERNARD SHAW.]\n\nWhat constitutes the originality of a great artist is that it is never\nisolated. It belongs at once to the past, to the present, and to\nthe future; it is altogether a derivative and a root. It springs from\nthe past through atavism, through study, and through admiration for\nthe masters; it is of the present through contact with those of the\nartist's contemporaries who march at the same time with him along the\nroad of discovery; finally, it influences the future by bequeathing to\nthe generations that follow a new conception and new methods. To-day\nwe see clearly the sources from which have come the ultimate aspect of\nthe talent of Rodin. They are the art of Greece; they are also certain\nmarvels of Gothic art in which miraculously reblossomed the Hellenic\nsuppleness and sweetness, as if the springs of the Greek genius had\nmysteriously coursed under the earth from Athens to France, bursting\nforth at last in the walls of our cathedrals; then there are those\nunfinished marbles of Michelangelo from which Rodin derived the idea of\nvapor and flow in sculpture. But other artists have arrived, at about\nthe same time, at the same end, or almost the same end, by different\npaths. Among these are two of our great painters, friends and comrades\nof Rodin, Renoir and Carriere. Does not this community of thought\nprove how profound is the vitality our country continues to possess in\nthe domain of art? We are less struck by this phenomenon than when we\nverify its effects in the past, when we see them related and summed up\nin the history of art; because we are not in a position to disengage\nit from our present life, which is encumbered and complicated, and to\ndraw a conclusion from it. And then, too, the present political regime\ndoes little to signalize the great artists, to muster them before the\nuntutored admiration of the multitude, to give value to the intellectual\nwealth of the country. As a rule, when a man of genius receives the\nhomage he deserves, it is when he is near his end, if it is not after\nhis death. What public festivals have been given in France in this\ncentury to honor the glories of our artistic and scientific life,\nVictor Hugo excepted? When and how have we celebrated men like Puvis de\nChavannes, Rodin, Renoir, Carriere, Claude Monet, Besnard, Odilon Redon,\nand Bartholome, to mention only masters of the chisel and the brush?\nOccasionally they have been gratified by the boredom of an official\nbanquet, where they have been assigned a rank considerably lower than\nthat of the least important politician, and they are expected to be\nthankful when they have had bestowed upon them a few parchments and some\nbits of ribbon. Fortunately, their joys are in another sphere, whither\nno one who is not their equal can follow them.\n\nIn their ardent effort toward a similar end, then, it is necessary to\nassociate Rodin, Renoir, and Carriere. All three, for that matter, have\nmutually admired and even influenced one another. Whether in the course\nof their work or in their conversations, one cannot deny that the\nattempt of the Impressionist School, which consists precisely in not\nseparating the being or the object from its atmosphere, in prolonging\nits life in the life of that which envelopes it, really succeeds only\nin the work of these masters. They have, if not recreated, at least\nbroadened the law of the distribution of shadow and of light in their\nintricate fusion. Certainly others had already manifested and realized\nsimilar ways of seeing things, according to their various temperaments,\nsuch men as Fantin-Latour and Henner in the study of the human figure\nand Claude Monet in landscape. But, except for Monet, no one affirms\nthem with the authority of a Rodin, a Carriere, a Renoir. If Carriere,\ntoo early interrupted by a cruel death, is a tragic, a somber genius,\na genius of the Gothic line, which in him does not exclude great\nsweetness, Renoir and Rodin, in their maturity, are happy geniuses,\nmasters of young beauty and of a serenity which art has scarcely known\nsince ancient Greece. A like sentiment of serenity, a like aspiration\nfor harmonious unity, therefore a closer contact with nature, bring them\ntogether.\n\nThis serenity, this aspiration for unity, Rodin and Renoir have sought\nduring their whole life, and it is in the radiant works of their old age\nthat it triumphs. The genius of form and its union with the universal\nhas been the master thought, the plastic ideal, which their fraternal\nminds have realized simultaneously by different methods.\n\n\"With Rodin a style begins,\" said Octave Mirbeau twenty years ago. The\nphrase stirred up a tempest. All the time that has passed since then has\nbeen required to make people admit its truth. The great writer might\nhave said with more exactitude, but with less force, \"With Rodin style\nitself has begun anew.\"\n\nWill it continue? It has never entirely ceased to exist, even if it has\nno longer the force of expansion with which, from France and through\nher, it spread through all Europe. Will it begin again with its vigor as\nof old? The question touches those problems raised by the events that\nare to-day overturning the world and also the profound modifications\nwhich the war will bring.\n\nThe master gives us his opinion on this matter in a few words,\ncircumspect and measured, as he himself always is. How could he be\notherwise before the formidable unknown that still hides from us the\nnext turn of destiny? It is fitting, then, to leave him the last word on\nthis subject. Fortunately his word has the warm ring of hope.\n\n[Illustration: A FETE GIVEN IN HONOR OF RODIN BY SOME OF HIS FRIENDS.]\n\nThis hope he draws in a measure from himself, from his own strength,\nwhich is, he feels, a distinct outgrowth of the national strength, of\nthe unconquerable soul of our ancestors; he draws it also from the\nconsciousness of a task accomplished in the face of the hard blows\nof life; and finally from the promise of the artistic youth of the\ncountry, of that which belongs to his school. For if with two or three\nexceptions he has not directly formed pupils, his artistic principles,\nhis faith in the virtue of character and labor, supported by the example\nof an unequaled body of work, have given him innumerable disciples. The\nlesson which he offers us and which will soon be offered to all at the\nmuseum in the Hotel Biron, will endure for centuries. He says himself\njustly, with pride and modesty, that this museum will form a true home\nof education.\n\n * * * * *\n\nA few words more about this life which in the fecundity of its\nunexpected incidents remains for the attentive witness profoundly\nsignificant to the very end.\n\nAt the moment when the war of 1914 broke out, the master was in his\nvilla at Meudon. When the German armies approached Paris, he thought\nof leaving his home. He had excited great admiration in the land\nof Schiller and Goethe, he had been urged to take part in numerous\nexpositions there; but he had quite special reasons for knowing that\nhis work, were it to fall into their hands, would not be spared by the\nsoldiers from beyond the Rhine. Overwhelmed by the terrifying surprise\nof the invasion, he did not know where to go.\n\nAs he had many friends in England, I offered to guide him there. He\ntherefore crossed the channel, accompanied by his wife, the companion\nof his good and evil days. It was without a word of bitterness that he\nset out, without expressing a regret for all that he was leaving behind\nhim. Before the immensity of the national misfortune he seemed to have\ncompletely forgotten the menace that hung over the work of his whole\nlife. In the train that carried us by night to one of the French ports,\nhe said in his clear and always tranquil voice: \"Yes, I am leaving\nmuch behind me. It is the work of an entire life that will disappear,\nperhaps.\" That was all. This attitude of an old exiled king inspired a\nrespect free from all compassion.\n\nThe fate of his collection of antiques caused him more disquietude.\n\n\"If they take them, that is nothing; they will still exist. But if they\nbreak them! They will have destroyed what is irreplaceable.\"\n\nHe did not wish to remain in London. Too many relationships would\nhave hindered him from collecting himself and from preserving that\ndignity of solitude, that reserve of a refugee which was proper to his\nsituation. He preferred to accompany us to a small country town, where\nfor six weeks he lived a modest life, very retired, interested only, but\npassionately interested, in the reading of English newspapers, which we\ntranslated for him.\n\nWhen we apprised him of the burning of Rheims Cathedral, he replied\nwith a laugh of incredulity. For two days he refused to believe it. It\nseemed to him an invention of the press designed to stir the public and\nincrease recruiting. At last, convinced, he said, with inexpressible\nsadness: \"The biblical times have come back again, the great invasions\nof the Medes and the Persians. Has the world, then, reached the point\nwhere it deserves to be punished for the egotistical epicureanism in\nwhich it has slumbered?\" After this he became absorbed in his own\nthoughts.\n\nThe Battle of the Marne, in saving France and the world, saved also that\nlittle temple of art, the museum at Meudon. Rodin, on his return from\nEngland, found it intact.\n\nHe took up his work again, without a pause, with that unalterable\npatience of his--that patience of the peasant that turns him back to his\nfield the moment the enemy has passed. He awaits there sadly the dawn of\npeace.\n\n * * * * *\n\nDuring the last months of the year 1916 the question of the Musee Rodin,\nbroached five years ago, became again a living one; it was brought\nbefore the assembly. Certain of the master's adversaries who have not\nbeen calmed even by the events of the present affected a righteous\nindignation that the discussion of this question of art should at\nthis moment have any place in the order of the day, and they tried to\nmake people believe that it was he who had chosen this tragic hour for\ndebates of this kind. Let us repeat that five years ago Rodin offered\nthis gift to his country, and that the delay in settling the matter is\nimputable solely to the procrastination of public affairs.\n\nOn the day I write these lines the creation of the Musee Rodin has been\ndetermined upon. The two chambers have voted by a majority that proves\nthat everything France contains in the way of cultivated intelligence\ndesires to assure a home worthy of itself for the works of its greatest\nsculptor.\n\nBut before we have arrived there what other mishaps may not befall! It\nis too soon to write the history of the Musee Rodin. Its adventure is\nnot less singular than all the others that have marked this long career,\ncertain of which have been summed up in these pages. The more forceful\nthe personality, the more it is in contradiction with the passions of\nthe vulgar, the more are the incidents that spring up in the contact of\nthese two opposite elements. It would require a whole volume to recount\nthose that have punctuated the life of Rodin during these later years.\n\nDespite the bitterness of the combat, the master has had nothing to\ncomplain of and does not complain. The outcome of his life-story is most\nbeautiful, and if this beauty already strikes us, it is in the years\nto come that it will attain its full glory. For if the gesture with\nwhich Rodin offers to France his work and his dearest possessions is\nthat of those who count in the annals of their country, no one perhaps\nhas ever received such a homage as that which the country has bestowed\nupon him in the manner of accepting his gift. In the midst of war, in\nthe very hour when the country is suffering unheard of evils, it has\nself-possession enough in the firmness of its indomitable soul to honor\nin a magnificent way the work of one of its sons--a work accomplished in\ntime of peace. Turning its attention for an instant from the necessities\nof war, from the front where it struggles, suffers, and dies, it remains\ncalm enough, sufficiently sure of itself, to offer to one of its heroes\nof toil, and of the thought which its soldiers defend, a testimony of\nits gratitude and admiration.\n\nTHE END\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's Rodin: The Man and his Art, by Judith Cladel\n\n*** "], ["\n\n\n\nProduced by Dagny; John Bickers\n\n\n\n\n\nSIR HUMPHREY GILBERT'S VOYAGE TO NEWFOUNDLAND\n\nBy Edward Hayes\n\n\n PREPARER'S NOTE\n\n This text is one of the items included in Voyages and Travels:\n Ancient and Modern and was prepared from a 1910 edition,\n published by P F Collier & Son Company, New York.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTORY NOTE\n\nSir Humphrey Gilbert, the founder of the first English colony in North\nAmerica, was born about 1539, the son of a Devonshire gentleman,\nwhose widow afterward married the father of Sir Walter Raleigh. He was\neducated at Eton and Oxford, served under Sir Philip Sidney's father in\nIreland, and fought for the Netherlands against Spain. After his return\nhe composed a pamphlet urging the search for a northwest passage to\nCathay, which led to Frobisher's license for his explorations to that\nend.\n\nIn 1578 Gilbert obtained from Queen Elizabeth the charter he had long\nsought, to plant a colony in North America. His first attempt failed,\nand cost him his whole fortune; but, after further service in Ireland,\nhe sailed again in 1583 for Newfoundland. In the August of that year he\ntook possession of the harbor of St. John and founded his colony, but\non the return voyage he went down with his ship in a storm south of the\nAzores.\n\nThe following narrative is an account of this last voyage of Gilbert's,\ntold by Edward Hayes, commander of \"The Golden Hind,\" the only one to\nreach England of the three ships which set out from Newfoundland with\nGilbert.\n\nThe settlement at St. John was viewed by its promoter as merely the\nbeginning of a scheme for ousting Spain from America in favor of\nEngland. The plan did not progress as he hoped; but after long delays,\nand under far other impulses than Gilbert ever thought of, much of his\ndream was realized.\n\n\n\n\n\nSIR HUMPHREY GILBERT'S VOYAGE TO NEWFOUNDLAND\n\n\nA report of the Voyage and success thereof, attempted in the year of\nour Lord 1583, by Sir Humphrey Gilbert, Knight, with other gentlemen\nassisting him in that action, intended to discover and to plant\nChristian inhabitants in place convenient, upon those large and ample\ncountries extended northward from the Cape of Florida, lying under very\ntemperate climes, esteemed fertile and rich in minerals, yet not in the\nactual possession of any Christian prince. Written by Mr. Edward\nHayes, gentleman, and principal actor in the same voyage,[*] who alone\ncontinued unto the end, and, by God's special assistance, returned home\nwith his retinue safe and entire.\n\n [*] Hayes was captain and owner of the _Golden Hind_,\n Gilbert's Rear-Admiral.\n\nMany voyages have been pretended, yet hitherto never any thoroughly\naccomplished by our nation, of exact discovery into the bowels of those\nmain, ample, and vast countries extended infinitely into the north from\nthirty degrees, or rather from twenty-five degrees, of septentrional\nlatitude, neither hath a right way been taken of planting a Christian\nhabitation and regiment (government) upon the same, as well may appear\nboth by the little we yet do actually possess therein, and by our\nignorance of the riches and secrets within those lands, which unto this\nday we know chiefly by the travel and report of other nations, and most\nof the French, who albeit they cannot challenge such right and interest\nunto the said countries as we, neither these many years have had\nopportunity nor means so great to discover and to plant, being vexed\nwith the calamities of intestine wars, as we have had by the inestimable\nbenefit of our long and happy peace, yet have they both ways performed\nmore, and had long since attained a sure possession and settled\ngovernment of many provinces in those northerly parts of _America_, if\ntheir many attempts into those foreign and remote lands had not been\nimpeached by their garboils at home.\n\nThe first discovery of these coasts, never heard of before, was well\nbegun by John Cabot the father and Sebastian his son, an Englishman\nborn, who were the first finders out of all that great tract of land\nstretching from the Cape of Florida, into those islands which we now\ncall the Newfoundland; all which they brought and annexed unto the crown\nof England. Since when, if with like diligence the search of inland\ncountries had been followed, as the discovery upon the coast and\noutparts thereof was performed by those two men, no doubt her Majesty's\nterritories and revenue had been mightily enlarged and advanced by this\nday; and, which is more, the seed of Christian religion had been sowed\namongst those pagans, which by this time might have brought forth a most\nplentiful harvest and copious congregation of Christians; which must\nbe the chief intent of such as shall make any attempt that way; or else\nwhatsoever is builded upon other foundation shall never obtain happy\nsuccess nor continuance.\n\nAnd although we cannot precisely judge (which only belongeth to God)\nwhat have been the humours of men stirred up to great attempts of\ndiscovering and planting in those remote countries, yet the events do\nshew that either God's cause hath not been chiefly preferred by them, or\nelse God hath not permitted so abundant grace as the light of His word\nand knowledge of Him to be yet revealed unto those infidels before the\nappointed time. But most assuredly, the only cause of religion hitherto\nhath kept back, and will also bring forward at the time assigned by God,\nan effectual and complete discovery and possession by Christians both\nof those ample countries and the riches within them hitherto concealed;\nwhereof, notwithstanding, God in His wisdom hath permitted to be\nrevealed from time to time a certain obscure and misty knowledge, by\nlittle and little to allure the minds of men that way, which else will\nbe dull enough in the zeal of His cause, and thereby to prepare us unto\na readiness for the execution of His will, against the due time ordained\nof calling those pagans unto Christianity.\n\nIn the meanwhile it behoveth every man of great calling, in whom is any\ninstinct of inclination unto this attempt, to examine his own motions,\nwhich, if the same proceed of ambition or avarice, he may assure himself\nit cometh not of God, and therefore cannot have confidence of God's\nprotection and assistance against the violence (else irresistible) both\nof sea and infinite perils upon the land; whom God yet may use as an\ninstrument to further His cause and glory some way, but not to build\nupon so bad a foundation. Otherwise, if his motives be derived from\na virtuous and heroical mind, preferring chiefly the honour of God,\ncompassion of poor infidels captived by the devil, tyrannizing in most\nwonderful and dreadful manner over their bodies and souls; advancement\nof his honest and well-disposed countrymen, willing to accompany him\nin such honourable actions; relief of sundry people within this realm\ndistressed; all these be honourable purposes, imitating the nature of\nthe munificent God, wherewith He is well pleased, who will assist such\nan actor beyond expectation of many. And the same, who feeleth this\ninclination in himself, by all likelihood may hope or rather confidently\nrepose in the preordinance of God, that in this last age of the world\n(or likely never) the time is complete of receiving also these gentiles\ninto His mercy, and that God will raise Him an instrument to effect the\nsame; it seeming probable by event of precedent attempts made by the\nSpaniards and French sundry times, that the countries lying north of\nFlorida God hath reserved the same to be reduced into Christian civility\nby the English nation. For not long after that Christopher Columbus had\ndiscovered the islands and continent of the West Indies for Spain,\nJohn and Sebastian Cabot made discovery also of the rest from Florida\nnorthwards to the behoof of England.\n\nAnd whensoever afterwards the Spaniards, very prosperous in all their\nsouthern discoveries, did attempt anything into Florida and those\nregions inclining towards the north, they proved most unhappy, and were\nat length discouraged utterly by the hard and lamentable success of\nmany both religious and valiant in arms, endeavouring to bring those\nnortherly regions also under the Spanish jurisdiction, as if God had\nprescribed limits unto the Spanish nation which they might not exceed;\nas by their own gests recorded may be aptly gathered.\n\nThe French, as they can pretend less title unto these northern parts\nthan the Spaniard, by how much the Spaniard made the first discovery of\nthe same continent so far northward as unto Florida, and the French did\nbut review that before discovered by the English nation, usurping upon\nour right, and imposing names upon countries, rivers, bays, capes, or\nheadlands as if they had been the first finders of those coasts; which\ninjury we offered not unto the Spaniards, but left off to discover\nwhen we approached the Spanish limits; even so God hath not hitherto\npermitted them to establish a possession permanent upon another's right,\nnotwithstanding their manifold attempts, in which the issue hath been\nno less tragical than that of the Spaniards, as by their own reports is\nextant.\n\nThen, seeing the English nation only hath right unto these countries\nof America from the Cape of Florida northward by the privilege of first\ndiscovery, unto which Cabot was authorised by regal authority, and set\nforth by the expense of our late famous King Henry the Seventh; which\nright also seemeth strongly defended on our behalf by the powerful hand\nof Almighty God withstanding the enterprises of other nations; it may\ngreatly encourage us upon so just ground, as is our right, and upon so\nsacred an intent, as to plant religion (our right and intent being meet\nfoundations for the same), to prosecute effectually the full possession\nof those so ample and pleasant countries appertaining unto the crown of\nEngland; the same, as is to be conjectured by infallible arguments of\nthe world's end approaching, being now arrived unto the time of God\nprescribed of their vocation, if ever their calling unto the knowledge\nof God may be expected. Which also is very probable by the revolution\nand course of God's word and religion, which from the beginning hath\nmoved from the east towards, and at last unto, the west, where it is\nlike to end, unless the same begin again where it did in the east, which\nwere to expect a like world again. But we are assured of the contrary by\nthe prophecy of Christ, whereby we gather that after His word preached\nthroughout the world shall be the end. And as the Gospel when it\ndescended westward began in the south, and afterward begun in the south\ncountries of America, no less hope may be gathered that it will also\nspread into the north.\n\nThese considerations may help to suppress all dreads rising of hard\nevents in attempts made this way by other nations, as also of the heavy\nsuccess and issue in the late enterprise made by a worthy gentleman\nour countryman, Sir Humfrey Gilbert, Knight, who was the first of our\nnations that carried people to erect an habitation and government in\nthose northerly countries of America. About which albeit he had consumed\nmuch substance, and lost his life at last, his people also perishing for\nthe most part: yet the mystery thereof we must leave unto God, and judge\ncharitably both of the cause, which was just in all pretence, and of\nthe person, who was very zealous in prosecuting the same, deserving\nhonourable remembrance for his good mind and expense of life in so\nvirtuous an enterprise. Whereby nevertheless, lest any man should be\ndismayed by example of other folks' calamity, and misdeem that God doth\nresist all attempts intended that way, I thought good, so far as myself\nwas an eye-witness, to deliver the circumstance and manner of our\nproceedings in that action; in which the gentleman was so unfortunately\nencumbered with wants, and worse matched with many ill-disposed people,\nthat his rare judgment and regiment premeditated for those affairs was\nsubjected to tolerate abuses, and in sundry extremities to hold on a\ncourse more to uphold credit than likely in his own conceit happily to\nsucceed.\n\nThe issue of such actions, being always miserable, not guided by God,\nwho abhorreth confusion and disorder, hath left this for admonition,\nbeing the first attempt by our nation to plant, unto such as shall take\nthe same cause in hand hereafter, not to be discouraged from it; but to\nmake men well advised how they handle His so high and excellent\nmatters, as the carriage is of His word into those very mighty and\nvast countries. An action doubtless not to be intermeddled with base\npurposes, as many have made the same but a colour to shadow actions\notherwise scarce justifiable; which doth excite God's heavy judgments\nin the end, to the terrifying of weak minds from the cause, without\npondering His just proceedings; and doth also incense foreign princes\nagainst our attempts, how just soever, who cannot but deem the sequel\nvery dangerous unto their state (if in those parts we should grow to\nstrength), seeing the very beginnings are entered with spoil.\n\nAnd with this admonition denounced upon zeal towards God's cause, also\ntowards those in whom appeareth disposition honourable unto this action\nof planting Christian people and religion in those remote and barbarous\nnations of America (unto whom I wish all happiness), I will now proceed\nto make relations briefly, yet particularly, of our voyage undertaken\nwith Sir Humfrey Gilbert, begun, continued, and ended adversely.\n\nWhen first Sir Humfrey Gilbert undertook the western discovery of\nAmerica, and had procured from her Majesty a very large commission to\ninhabit and possess at his choice all remote and heathen lands not\nin the actual possession of any Christian prince, the same commission\nexemplified with many privileges, such as in his discretion he might\ndemand, very many gentlemen of good estimation drew unto him, to\nassociate him in so commendable an enterprise, so that the preparation\nwas expected to grow unto a puissant fleet, able to encounter a king's\npower by sea. Nevertheless, amongst a multitude of voluntary men, their\ndispositions were diverse, which bred a jar, and made a division in the\nend, to the confusion of that attempt even before the same was begun.\nAnd when the shipping was in a manner prepared, and men ready upon\nthe coast to go aboard, at that time some brake consort, and followed\ncourses degenerating from the voyage before pretended. Others failed\nof their promises contracted, and the greater number were dispersed,\nleaving the General with few of his assured friends, with whom he\nadventured to sea; where, having tasted of no less misfortune, he was\nshortly driven to retire home with the loss of a tall ship and, more to\nhis grief, of a valiant gentleman, Miles Morgan.\n\nHaving buried, only in a preparation, a great mass of substance, whereby\nhis estate was impaired, his mind yet not dismayed, he continued his\nformer designment, and purposed to revive this enterprise, good occasion\nserving. Upon which determination standing long without means to satisfy\nhis desire, at last he granted certain assignments out of his commission\nto sundry persons of mean ability, desiring the privilege of his grant,\nto plant and fortify in the north parts of America about the river of\nCanada; to whom if God gave good success in the north parts (where then\nno matter of moment was expected), the same, he thought, would\ngreatly advance the hope of the south, and be a furtherance unto his\ndetermination that way. And the worst that might happen in that course\nmight be excused, without prejudice unto him, by the former supposition\nthat those north regions were of no regard. But chiefly, a possession\ntaken in any parcel of those heathen countries, by virtue of his grant,\ndid invest him of territories extending every way 200 leagues; which\ninduced Sir Humfrey Gilbert to make those assignments, desiring greatly\ntheir expedition, because his commission did expire after six years, if\nin that space he had not gotten actual possession.\n\nTime went away without anything done by his assigns; insomuch that\nat last he must resolve himself to take a voyage in person, for more\nassurance to keep his patent in force, which then almost was expired or\nwithin two years. In furtherance of his determination, amongst others,\nSir George Peckham, Knight, shewed himself very zealous to the action,\ngreatly aiding him both by his advice and in the charge. Other gentlemen\nto their ability joined unto him, resolving to adventure their substance\nand lives in the same cause. Who beginning their preparation from that\ntime, both of shipping, munition, victual, men, and things requisite,\nsome of them continued the charge two years complete without\nintermission. Such were the difficulties and cross accidents opposing\nthese proceedings, which took not end in less than two years; many of\nwhich circumstances I will omit.\n\nThe last place of our assembly, before we left the coast of England,\nwas in Cawset Bay, near unto Plymouth, then resolved to put unto the\nsea with shipping and provision such as we had, before our store yet\nremaining, but chiefly the time and season of the year, were too far\nspent. Nevertheless, it seemed first very doubtful by what way to shape\nour course, and to begin our intended discovery, either from the south\nnorthward or from the north southward. The first, that is, beginning\nsouth, without all controversy was the likeliest, wherein we were\nassured to have commodity of the current which from the Cape of Florida\nsetteth northward, and would have furthered greatly our navigation,\ndiscovering from the foresaid cape along towards Cape Breton, and all\nthose lands lying to the north. Also, the year being far spent, and\narrived to the month of June, we were not to spend time in northerly\ncourses, where we should be surprised with timely winter, but to covet\nthe south, which we had space enough then to have attained, and there\nmight with less detriment have wintered that season, being more mild\nand short in the south than in the north, where winter is both long and\nrigorous. These and other like reasons alleged in favour of the southern\ncourse first to be taken, to the contrary was inferred that forasmuch as\nboth our victuals and many other needful provisions were diminished and\nleft insufficient for so long a voyage and for the wintering of so many\nmen, we ought to shape a course most likely to minister supply; and that\nwas to take the Newfoundland in our way, which was but 700 leagues from\nour English coast. Where being usually at that time of the year, and\nuntil the fine of August, a multitude of ships repairing thither for\nfish, we should be relieved abundantly with many necessaries, which,\nafter the fishing ended, they might well spare and freely impart\nunto us. Not staying long upon that Newland coast, we might proceed\nsouthward, and follow still the sun, until we arrived at places more\ntemperate to our content.\n\nBy which reasons we were the rather induced to follow this northerly\ncourse, obeying unto necessity, which must be supplied. Otherwise, we\ndoubted that sudden approach of winter, bringing with it continual\nfog and thick mists, tempest and rage of weather, also contrariety of\ncurrents descending from the Cape of Florida unto Cape Breton and Cape\nRace, would fall out to be great and irresistible impediments unto our\nfurther proceeding for that year, and compel us to winter in those north\nand cold regions. Wherefore, suppressing all objections to the contrary,\nwe resolved to begin our course northward, and to follow, directly as\nwe might, the trade way unto Newfoundland; from whence, after our\nrefreshing and reparation of wants, we intended without delay, by God's\npermission, to proceed into the south, not omitting any river or bay\nwhich in all that large tract of land appeared to our view worthy of\nsearch. Immediately we agreed upon the manner of our course and orders\nto be observed in our voyage; which were delivered in writing, unto the\ncaptains and masters of every ship a copy, in manner following.\n\nEvery ship had delivered two bullets or scrolls, the one sealed up\nin wax, the other left open; in both which were included several\nwatchwords. That open, serving upon our own coast or the coast of\nIreland; the other sealed, was promised on all hands not to be broken up\nuntil we should be clear of the Irish coast; which from thenceforth\ndid serve until we arrived and met all together in such harbours of\nthe Newfoundland as were agreed for our rendezvous. The said watchwords\nbeing requisite to know our consorts whensoever by night, either by\nfortune of weather, our fleet dispersed should come together again; or\none should hail another; or if by ill watch and steerage one ship should\nchance to fall aboard of another in the dark.\n\nThe reason of the bullet sealed was to keep secret that watchword while\nwe were upon our own coast, lest any of the company stealing from the\nfleet might bewray the same; which known to an enemy, he might board us\nby night without mistrust, having our own watchword.\n\n\nOrders agreed upon by the Captains and Masters to be observed by the\nfleet of Sir Humfrey Gilbert.\n\nFirst, The Admiral to carry his flag by day, and his light by night.\n\n2. Item, if the Admiral shall shorten his sail by night, then to shew\ntwo lights until he be answered again by every ship shewing one light\nfor a short time.\n\n3. Item, if the Admiral after his shortening of sail, as aforesaid,\nshall make more sail again; then he to shew three lights one above\nanother.\n\n4. Item, if the Admiral shall happen to hull in the night, then to make\na wavering light over his other light, wavering the light upon a pole.\n\n5. Item, if the fleet should happen to be scattered by weather, or other\nmishap, then so soon as one shall descry another, to hoise both topsails\ntwice, if the weather will serve, and to strike them twice again; but\nif the weather serve not, then to hoise the maintopsail twice, and\nforthwith to strike it twice again.\n\n6. Item, if it shall happen a great fog to fall, then presently every\nship to bear up with the Admiral, if there be wind; but if it be a calm,\nthen every ship to hull, and so to lie at hull till it clear. And if\nthe fog do continue long, then the Admiral to shoot off two pieces\nevery evening, and every ship to answer it with one shot; and every man\nbearing to the ship that is to leeward so near as he may.\n\n7. Item, every master to give charge unto the watch to look out well,\nfor laying aboard one of another in the night, and in fogs.\n\n8. Item, every evening every ship to hail the Admiral, and so to fall\nastern him, sailing through the ocean; and being on the coast, every\nship to hail him both morning and evening.\n\n9. Item, if any ship be in danger in any way, by leak or otherwise,\nthen she to shoot off a piece, and presently to bring out one light;\nwhereupon every man to bear towards her, answering her with one light\nfor a short time, and so to put it out again; thereby to give knowledge\nthat they have seen her token.\n\n10. Item, whensoever the Admiral shall hang out her ensign in the main\nshrouds, then every man to come aboard her as a token of counsel.\n\n11. Item, if there happen any storm or contrary wind to the fleet after\nthe discovery, whereby they are separated; then every ship to repair\nunto their last good port, there to meet again.\n\nOUR COURSE _agreed upon_.\n\nThe course first to be taken for the discovery is to bear directly to\nCape Race, the most southerly cape of Newfoundland; and there to harbour\nourselves either in Rogneux or Fermous, being the first places appointed\nfor our rendezvous, and the next harbours unto the northward of Cape\nRace: and therefore every ship separated from the fleet to repair to\nthat place so fast as God shall permit, whether you shall fall to the\nsouthward or to the northward of it, and there to stay for the meeting\nof the whole fleet the space of ten days; and when you shall depart, to\nleave marks.\n\nBeginning our course from Scilly, the nearest is by west-south-west\n(if the wind serve) until such time as we have brought ourselves in\nthe latitude of 43 or 44 degrees, because the ocean is subject much to\nsoutherly winds in June and July. Then to take traverse from 45 to 47\ndegrees of latitude, if we be enforced by contrary winds; and not to go\nto the northward of the height of 47 degrees of septentrional latitude\nby no means, if God shall not enforce the contrary; but to do your\nendeavour to keep in the height of 46 degrees, so near as you can\npossibly, because Cape Race lieth about that height.\n\nNOTE.\n\nIf by contrary winds we be driven back upon the coast of England, then\nto repair unto Scilly for a place of our assembly or meeting. If we be\ndriven back by contrary winds that we cannot pass the coast of Ireland,\nthen the place of our assembly to be at Bere haven or Baltimore\nhaven. If we shall not happen to meet at Cape Race, then the place\nof rendezvous to be at Cape Breton, or the nearest harbour unto the\nwestward of Cape Breton. If by means of other shipping we may not safely\nstay there, then to rest at the very next safe port to the westward;\nevery ship leaving their marks behind them for the more certainty of the\nafter comers to know where to find them. The marks that every man ought\nto leave in such a case, were of the General's private device written\nby himself, sealed also in close wax, and delivered unto every ship\none scroll, which was not to be opened until occasion required, whereby\nevery man was certified what to leave for instruction of after comers;\nthat every of us coming into any harbour or river might know who had\nbeen there, or whether any were still there up higher into the river, or\ndeparted, and which way.\n\n\nOrders thus determined, and promises mutually given to be observed,\nevery man withdrew himself unto his charge; the anchors being already\nweighed, and our ships under sail, having a soft gale of wind, we began\nour voyage upon Tuesday, the 11 day of June, in the year of our Lord\n1583, having in our fleet (at our departure from Cawset Bay) these\nships, whose names and burthens, with the names of the captains and\nmasters of them, I have also inserted, as followeth:--1. The _Delight_,\nalias the _George_, of burthen 120 tons, was Admiral; in which went the\nGeneral, and William Winter, captain in her and part owner, and Richard\nClarke, master. 2. The bark _Raleigh_, set forth by Master Walter\nRaleigh, of the burthen of 200 tons, was then Vice-Admiral; in which\nwent Master Butler, captain, and Robert Davis, of Bristol, master. 3.\nThe _Golden Hind_, of burthen 40 tons, was then Rear-Admiral; in which\nwent Edward Hayes, captain and owner, and William Cox, of Limehouse,\nmaster. 4. The _Swallow_, of burthen 40 tons; in her was captain Maurice\nBrowne. 5. The _Squirrel_, of burthen 10 tons; in which went captain\nWilliam Andrews, and one Cade, master. We were in number in all about\n260 men; among whom we had of every faculty good choice, as shipwrights,\nmasons, carpenters, smiths, and such like, requisite to such an action;\nalso mineral men and refiners. Besides, for solace of our people, and\nallurement of the savages, we were provided of music in good variety;\nnot omitting the least toys, as morris-dancers, hobby-horse, and\nMay-like conceits to delight the savage people, whom we intended to\nwin by all fair means possible. And to that end we were indifferently\nfurnished of all petty haberdashery wares to barter with those simple\npeople.\n\nIn this manner we set forward, departing (as hath been said) out of\nCawset Bay the 11 day of June, being Tuesday, the weather and wind fair\nand good all day; but a great storm of thunder and wind fell the same\nnight. Thursday following, when we hailed one another in the evening,\naccording to the order before specified, they signified unto us out of\nthe Vice-Admiral, that both the captain, and very many of the men,\nwere fallen sick. And about midnight the Vice-Admiral forsook us,\nnotwithstanding we had the wind east, fair and good. But it was after\ncredibly reported that they were infected with a contagious sickness,\nand arrived greatly distressed at Plymouth; the reason I could never\nunderstand. Sure I am, no cost was spared by their owner, Master\nRaleigh, in setting them forth; therefore I leave it unto God. By this\ntime we were in 48 degrees of latitude, not a little grieved with the\nloss of the most puissant ship in our fleet; after whose departure the\n_Golden Hind_ succeeded in the place of Vice-Admiral, and removed her\nflag from the mizen into the foretop. From Saturday, the 15 of June,\nuntil the 28, which was upon a Friday, we never had fair day without\nfog or rain, and winds bad, much to the west-north-west, whereby we were\ndriven southward unto 41 degrees scarce.\n\nAbout this time of the year the winds are commonly west towards the\nNewfoundland, keeping ordinarily within two points of west to the south\nor to the north; whereby the course thither falleth out to be long and\ntedious after June, which in March, April, and May, hath been performed\nout of England in 22 days and less. We had wind always so scant from the\nwest-north-west, and from west-south-west again, that our traverse was\ngreat, running south unto 41 degrees almost, and afterwards north into\n51 degrees. Also we were encumbered with much fog and mists in manner\npalpable, in which we could not keep so well together, but were\ndiscovered, losing the company of the _Swallow_ and the _Squirrel_\nupon the 20 day of July, whom we met again at several places upon\nthe Newfoundland coast the 3 of August, as shall be declared in place\nconvenient. Saturday, the 27 July, we might descry, not far from us, as\nit were mountains of ice driven upon the sea, being then in 50 degrees,\nwhich were carried southward to the weather of us; whereby may be\nconjectured that some current doth set that way from the north.\n\nBefore we came to Newfoundland, about 50 leagues on this side, we pass\nthe bank, which are high grounds rising within the sea and under water,\nyet deep enough and without danger, being commonly not less than 25 and\n30 fathom water upon them; the same, as it were some vein of mountains\nwithin the sea, do run along and form the Newfoundland, beginning\nnorthward about 52 or 53 degrees of latitude, and do extend into the\nsouth infinitely. The breadth of this bank is somewhere more, and\nsomewhere less; but we found the same about ten leagues over, having\nsounded both on this side thereof, and the other toward Newfoundland,\nbut found no ground with almost 200 fathom of line, both before and\nafter we had passed the bank. The Portugals, and French chiefly, have a\nnotable trade of fishing upon this bank, where are sometimes an hundred\nor more sails of ships, who commonly begin the fishing in April, and\nhave ended by July. That fish is large, always wet, having no land near\nto dry, and is called cod fish. During the time of fishing, a man\nshall know without sounding when he is upon the bank, by the incredible\nmultitude of sea-fowl hovering over the same, to prey upon the offals\nand garbage of fish thrown out by fishermen, and floating upon the sea.\n\nUpon Tuesday, the 11 of June we forsook the coast of England. So again\non Tuesday, the 30 of July, seven weeks after, we got sight of land,\nbeing immediately embayed in the Grand Bay, or some other great bay;\nthe certainty whereof we could not judge, so great haze and fog did hang\nupon the coast, as neither we might discern the land well, nor take the\nsun's height. But by our best computation we were then in the 51\ndegrees of latitude. Forsaking this bay and uncomfortable coast (nothing\nappearing unto us but hideous rocks and mountains, bare of trees, and\nvoid of any green herb) we followed the coast to the south, with weather\nfair and clear. We had sight of an island named Penguin, of a fowl there\nbreeding in abundance almost incredible, which cannot fly, their wings\nnot able to carry their body, being very large (not much less than\na goose) and exceeding fat, which the Frenchmen use to take without\ndifficulty upon that island, and to barrel them up with salt. But for\nlingering of time, we had made us there the like provision.\n\nTrending this coast, we came to the island called Baccalaos, being not\npast two leagues from the main; to the north thereof lieth Cape St.\nFrancis, five leagues distant from Baccalaos, between which goeth in a\ngreat bay, by the vulgar sort called the Bay of Conception. Here we met\nwith the _Swallow_ again, whom we had lost in the fog, and all her\nmen altered into other apparel; whereof it seemed their store was so\namended, that for joy and congratulation of our meeting, they spared\nnot to cast up into the air and overboard their caps and hats in good\nplenty. The captain, albeit himself was very honest and religious, yet\nwas he not appointed of men to his humour and desert; who for the most\npart were such as had been by us surprised upon the narrow seas of\nEngland, being pirates, and had taken at that instant certain Frenchmen\nladen, one bark with wines, and another with salt. Both which we\nrescued, and took the man-of-war with all her men, which was the same\nship now called the _Swallow_; following still their kind so oft as,\nbeing separated from the General, they found opportunity to rob and\nspoil. And because God's justice did follow the same company, even\nto destruction, and to the overthrow also of the captain (though not\nconsenting to their misdemeanour) I will not conceal anything that\nmaketh to the manifestation and approbation of His judgments, for\nexamples of others; persuaded that God more sharply took revenge upon\nthem, and hath tolerated longer as great outrage in others, by how much\nthese went under protection of His cause and religion, which was then\npretended.\n\nTherefore upon further enquiry it was known how this company met with a\nbark returning home after the fishing with his freight; and because the\nmen in the _Swallow_ were very near scanted of victuals, and chiefly\nof apparel, doubtful withal where or when to find and meet with their\nAdmiral, they besought the captain that they might go aboard this\n_Newlander_, only to borrow what might be spared, the rather because\nthe same was bound homeward. Leave given, not without charge to deal\nfavourably, they came aboard the fisherman, whom they rifled of tackle,\nsails, cables, victuals, and the men of their apparel; not sparing by\ntorture, winding cords about their heads, to draw out else what they\nthought good. This done with expedition, like men skilful in such\nmischief, as they took their cockboat to go aboard their own ship, it\nwas overwhelmed in the sea, and certain of these men there drowned;\nthe rest were preserved even by those silly souls whom they had before\nspoiled, who saved and delivered them aboard the _Swallow_. What became\nafterwards of the poor _Newlander_, perhaps destitute of sails and\nfurniture sufficient to carry them home, whither they had not less to\nrun than 700 leagues, God alone knoweth; who took vengeance not long\nafter of the rest that escaped at this instant, to reveal the fact, and\njustify to the world God's judgments indicted upon them, as shall be\ndeclared in place convenient.\n\nThus after we had met with the _Swallow_, we held on our course\nsouthward, until we came against the harbour called St. John, about five\nleagues from the former Cape of St. Francis, where before the entrance\ninto the harbour, we found also the frigate or _Squirrel_ lying at\nanchor; whom the English merchants, that were and always be Admirals\nby turns interchangeably over the fleets of fishermen within the same\nharbour, would not permit to enter into the harbour. Glad of so happy\nmeeting, both of the _Swallow_ and frigate in one day, being Saturday,\nthe third of August, we made ready our fights, and prepared to enter\nthe harbour, any resistance to the contrary notwithstanding, there being\nwithin of all nations to the number of 36 sails. But first the General\ndespatched a boat to give them knowledge of his coming for no ill\nintent, having commission from her Majesty for his voyage he had in\nhand; and immediately we followed with a slack gale, and in the very\nentrance, which is but narrow, not above two butts' length, the Admiral\nfell upon a rock on the larboard side by great oversight, in that the\nweather was fair, the rock much above water fast by the shore, where\nneither went any sea-gate. But we found such readiness in the English\nmerchants to help us in that danger, that without delay there were\nbrought a number of boats, which towed off the ship, and cleared her of\ndanger.\n\nHaving taken place convenient in the road, we let fall anchors, the\ncaptains and masters repairing aboard our Admiral; whither also came\nimmediately the masters and owners of the fishing fleet of Englishmen,\nto understand the General's intent and cause of our arrival there.\nThey were all satisfied when the General had shewed his commission and\npurpose to take possession of those lands to the behalf of the crown of\nEngland, and the advancement of the Christian religion in those paganish\nregions, requiring but their lawful aid for repairing of his fleet, and\nsupply of some necessaries, so far as conveniently might be afforded\nhim, both out of that and other harbours adjoining. In lieu whereof he\nmade offer to gratify them with any favour and privilege, which upon\ntheir better advice they should demand, the like being not to be\nobtained hereafter for greater price. So craving expedition of his\ndemand, minding to proceed further south without long detention in those\nparts, he dismissed them, after promise given of their best endeavour\nto satisfy speedily his so reasonable request. The merchants with their\nmasters departed, they caused forthwith to be discharged all the great\nordnance of their fleet in token of our welcome.\n\nIt was further determined that every ship of our fleet should deliver\nunto the merchants and masters of that harbour a note of all their\nwants: which done, the ships, as well English as strangers, were\ntaxed at an easy rate to make supply. And besides, commissioners were\nappointed, part of our own company and part of theirs, to go into other\nharbours adjoining (for our English merchants command all there) to levy\nour provision: whereunto the Portugals, above other nations, did most\nwillingly and liberally contribute. In so much as we were presented,\nabove our allowance, with wines, marmalades, most fine rusk or biscuit,\nsweet oils, and sundry delicacies. Also we wanted not of fresh salmons,\ntrouts, lobsters, and other fresh fish brought daily unto us. Moreover\nas the manner is in their fishing, every week to choose their Admiral\nanew, or rather they succeed in orderly course, and have weekly their\nAdmiral's feast solemnized: even so the General, captains, and masters\nof our fleet were continually invited and feasted. To grow short in our\nabundance at home the entertainment had been delightful; but after our\nwants and tedious passage through the ocean, it seemed more acceptable\nand of greater contentation, by how much the same was unexpected in that\ndesolate corner of the world; where, at other times of the year, wild\nbeasts and birds have only the fruition of all those countries, which\nnow seemed a place very populous and much frequented.\n\nThe next morning being Sunday, and the fourth of August, the General and\nhis company were brought on land by English merchants, who shewed unto\nus their accustomed walks unto a place they call the Garden. But nothing\nappeared more than nature itself without art: who confusedly hath\nbrought forth roses abundantly, wild, but odoriferous, and to sense very\ncomfortable. Also the like plenty of raspberries, which do grow in every\nplace.\n\nMonday following, the General had his tent set up; who, being\naccompanied with his own followers, summoned the merchants and masters,\nboth English and strangers, to be present at his taking possession of\nthose countries. Before whom openly was read, and interpreted unto the\nstrangers, his commission: by virtue whereof he took possession in\nthe same harbour of St. John, and 200 leagues every way, invested the\nQueen's Majesty with the title and dignity thereof, had delivered unto\nhim, after the custom of England, a rod, and a turf of the same soil,\nentering possession also for him, his heirs and assigns for ever; and\nsignified unto all men, that from that time forward, they should take\nthe same land as a territory appertaining to the Queen of England, and\nhimself authorised under her Majesty to possess and enjoy it, and\nto ordain laws for the government thereof, agreeable, so near as\nconveniently might be, unto the laws of England, under which all people\ncoming thither hereafter, either to inhabit, or by way of traffic,\nshould be subjected and governed. And especially at the same time for\na beginning, he proposed and delivered three laws to be in force\nimmediately. That is to say the first for religion, which in public\nexercise should be according to the Church of England. The second, for\nmaintenance of her Majesty's right and possession of those territories,\nagainst which if any thing were attempted prejudicial, the party or\nparties offending should be adjudged and executed as in case of high\ntreason, according to the laws of England. The third, if any person\nshould utter words sounding to the dishonour of her Majesty, he should\nlose his ears, and have his ship and goods confiscate.\n\nThese contents published, obedience was promised by general voice and\nconsent of the multitude, as well of Englishmen as strangers, praying\nfor continuance of this possession and government begun; after this, the\nassembly was dismissed. And afterwards were erected not far from that\nplace the arms of England engraven in lead, and infixed upon a pillar of\nwood. Yet further and actually to establish this possession taken in the\nright of her Majesty, and to the behoof of Sir Humfrey Gilbert, knight,\nhis heirs and assigns for ever, the General granted in fee-farm divers\nparcels of land lying by the water-side, both in this harbour of St.\nJohn, and elsewhere, which was to the owners a great commodity, being\nthereby assured, by their proper inheritance, of grounds convenient to\ndress and to dry their fish; whereof many times before they did fail,\nbeing prevented by them that came first into the harbour. For which\ngrounds they did covenant to pay a certain rent and service unto Sir\nHumfrey Gilbert, his heirs or assigns for ever, and yearly to maintain\npossession of the same, by themselves or their assigns.\n\nNow remained only to take in provision granted, according as every ship\nwas taxed, which did fish upon the coast adjoining. In the meanwhile,\nthe General appointed men unto their charge: some to repair and trim the\nships, others to attend in gathering together our supply and provisions:\nothers to search the commodities and singularities of the country, to be\nfound by sea or land, and to make relation unto the General what either\nthemselves could know by their own travail and experience, or by good\nintelligence of Englishmen or strangers, who had longest frequented the\nsame coast. Also some observed the elevation of the pole, and drew plots\nof the country exactly graded. And by that I could gather by each man's\nseveral relation, I have drawn a brief description of the Newfoundland,\nwith the commodities by sea or land already made, and such also as are\nin possibility and great likelihood to be made. Nevertheless the cards\nand plots that were drawn, with the due gradation of the harbours, bays,\nand capes, did perish with the Admiral: wherefore in the description\nfollowing, I must omit the particulars of such things.\n\nThat which we do call the Newfoundland, and the Frenchmen _Baccalaos_,\nis an island, or rather, after the opinion of some, it consisteth\nof sundry islands and broken lands, situate in the north regions of\nAmerica, upon the gulf and entrance of a great river called St. Lawrence\nin Canada; into the which, navigation may be made both on the south and\nnorth side of this island. The land lieth south and north, containing in\nlength between 300 and 400 miles, accounting from Cape Race, which is\nin 46 degrees 25 minutes, unto the Grand Bay in 52 degrees, of\nseptentrional latitude. The land round about hath very many goodly bays\nand harbours, safe roads for ships, the like not to be found in any part\nof the known world.\n\nThe common opinion that is had of intemperature and extreme cold that\nshould be in this country, as of some part it may be verified, namely\nthe north, where I grant it is more cold than in countries of Europe,\nwhich are under the same elevation: even so it cannot stand with reason\nand nature of the clime, that the south parts should be so intemperate\nas the bruit hath gone. For as the same do lie under the climes of\nBretagne, Anjou, Poictou in France, between 46 and 49 degrees, so can\nthey not so much differ from the temperature of those countries: unless\nupon the out-coast lying open unto the ocean and sharp winds, it must\nindeed be subject to more cold than further within the land, where the\nmountains are interposed as walls and bulwarks, to defend and to resist\nthe asperity and rigour of the sea and weather. Some hold opinion that\nthe Newfoundland might be the more subject to cold, by how much it lieth\nhigh and near unto the middle region. I grant that not in Newfoundland\nalone, but in Germany, Italy and Afric, even under the equinoctial line,\nthe mountains are extreme cold, and seldom uncovered of snow, in their\nculm and highest tops, which cometh to pass by the same reason that\nthey are extended towards the middle region: yet in the countries lying\nbeneath them, it is found quite contrary. Even so, all hills having\ntheir descents, the valleys also and low grounds must be likewise hot\nor temperate, as the clime doth give in Newfoundland: though I am of\nopinion that the sun's reflection is much cooled, and cannot be so\nforcible in Newfoundland, nor generally throughout America, as in Europe\nor Afric: by how much the sun in his diurnal course from east to west,\npasseth over, for the most part, dry land and sandy countries, before he\narriveth at the west of Europe or Afric, whereby his motion increaseth\nheat, with little or no qualification by moist vapours. Whereas, on the\ncontrary, he passeth from Europe and Afric unto American over the ocean,\nfrom whence he draweth and carrieth with him abundance of moist vapours,\nwhich do qualify and enfeeble greatly the sun's reverberation upon\nthis country chiefly of Newfoundland, being so much to the northward.\nNevertheless, as I said before, the cold cannot be so intolerable under\nthe latitude of 46, 47, and 48, especial within land, that it should be\nunhabitable, as some do suppose, seeing also there are very many people\nmore to the north by a great deal. And in these south parts there be\ncertain beasts, ounces or leopards, and birds in like manner, which\nin the summer we have seen, not heard of in countries of extreme and\nvehement coldness. Besides, as in the months of June, July, August and\nSeptember, the heat is somewhat more than in England at those seasons:\nso men remaining upon the south parts near unto Cape Race, until after\nholland-tide (All-hallow-tide--November 1), have not found the cold so\nextreme, nor much differing from the temperature of England. Those\nwhich have arrived there after November and December have found the snow\nexceeding deep, whereat no marvel, considering the ground upon the\ncoast is rough and uneven, and the snow is driven into the places most\ndeclining, as the like is to be seen with us. The like depth of snow\nhappily shall not be found within land upon the plainer countries, which\nalso are defended by the mountains, breaking off the violence of winds\nand weather. But admitting extraordinary cold in those south parts,\nabove that with us here, it cannot be so great as in Swedeland, much\nless in Moscovia or Russia: yet are the same countries very populous,\nand the rigour of cold is dispensed with by the commodity of stoves,\nwarm clothing, meats and drinks: all of which need not be wanting in the\nNewfoundland, if we had intent there to inhabit.\n\nIn the south parts we found no inhabitants, which by all likelihood have\nabandoned those coasts, the same being so much frequented by Christians;\nbut in the north are savages altogether harmless. Touching the\ncommodities of this country, serving either for sustentation of\ninhabitants or for maintenance of traffic, there are and may be made\ndivers; so that it seemeth that nature hath recompensed that only defect\nand incommodity of some sharp cold, by many benefits; namely, with\nincredible quantity, and no less variety, of kinds of fish in the sea\nand fresh waters, as trouts, salmons, and other fish to us unknown; also\ncod, which alone draweth many nations thither, and is become the most\nfamous fishing of the world; abundance of whales, for which also is a\nvery great trade in the bays of Placentia and the Grand Bay, where is\nmade train oil of the whale; herring, the largest that have been heard\nof, and exceeding the Marstrand herring of Norway; but hitherto was\nnever benefit taken of the herring fishing. There are sundry other\nfish very delicate, namely, the bonito, lobsters, turbot, with others\ninfinite not sought after; oysters having pearl but not orient in\ncolour; I took it, by reason they were not gathered in season.\n\nConcerning the inland commodities, as well to be drawn from this land,\nas from the exceeding large countries adjoining, there is nothing which\nour east and northerly countries of Europe do yield, but the like also\nmay be made in them as plentifully, by time and industry; namely, resin,\npitch, tar, soap-ashes, deal-board, masts for ships, hides, furs, flax,\nhemp, corn, cables, cordage, linen cloth, metals, and many more. All\nwhich the countries will afford, and the soil is apt to yield. The trees\nfor the most in those south parts are fir-trees, pine, and cypress, all\nyielding gum and turpentine. Cherry trees bearing fruit no bigger than a\nsmall pease. Also pear-trees, but fruitless. Other trees of some sort\nto us unknown. The soil along the coast is not deep of earth, bringing\nforth abundantly peasen small, yet good feeding for cattle. Roses\npassing sweet, like unto our musk roses in form; raspises; a berry which\nwe call whorts, good and wholesome to eat. The grass and herb doth\nfat sheep in very short space, proved by English merchants which have\ncarried sheep thither for fresh victual and had them raised exceeding\nfat in less than three weeks. Peasen which our countrymen have sown in\nthe time of May, have come up fair, and been gathered in the beginning\nof August, of which our General had a present acceptable for the\nrareness, being the first fruits coming up by art and industry in that\ndesolate and dishabited land. Lakes or pools of fresh water, both on the\ntops of mountains and in the valleys; in which are said to be muscles\nnot unlike to have pearl, which I had put in trial, if by mischance\nfalling unto me I had not been letted from that and other good\nexperiments I was minded to make. Fowl both of water and land in great\nplenty and diversity. All kind of green fowl; others as big as bustards,\nyet not the same. A great white fowl called of some a gaunt. Upon the\nland divers sort of hawks, as falcons, and others by report. Partridges\nmost plentiful, larger than ours, grey and white of colour, and\nrough-footed like doves, which our men after one flight did kill\nwith cudgels, they were so fat and unable to fly. Birds, some like\nblackbirds, linnets, canary birds, and other very small. Beasts of\nsundry kinds; red deer, buffles, or a beast as it seemeth by the tract\nand foot very large, in manner of an ox. Bears, ounces or leopards, some\ngreater and some lesser; wolves, foxes, which to the northward a little\nfarther are black, whose fur is esteemed in some countries of Europe\nvery rich. Otters, beavers, marterns; and in the opinion of most men\nthat saw it, the General had brought unto him a sable alive, which he\nsent unto his brother, Sir John Gilbert, Knight, of Devonshire, but it\nwas never delivered, as after I understood. We could not observe\nthe hundredth part of creatures in those unhabited lands; but these\nmentioned may induce us to glorify the magnificent God, who hath\nsuper-abundantly replenished the earth with creatures serving for the\nuse of man, though man hath not used the fifth part of the same, which\nthe more doth aggravate the fault and foolish sloth in many of our\nnations, choosing rather to live indirectly, and very miserably to live\nand die within this realm pestered with inhabitants, then to adventure\nas becometh men, to obtain an habitation in those remote lands, in which\nnature very prodigally doth minister unto men's endeavours, and for art\nto work upon. For besides these already recounted and infinite more, the\nmountains generally make shew of mineral substance; iron very common,\nlead, and somewhere copper. I will not aver of richer metals; albeit by\nthe circumstances following, more than hope may be conceived thereof.\n\nFor amongst other charges given to enquire out the singularities of\nthis country, the General was most curious in the search of metals,\ncommanding the mineral-man and refiner especially to be diligent. The\nsame was a Saxon born, honest, and religious, named Daniel. Who after\nsearch brought at first some sort of ore, seeming rather to be iron than\nother metal. The next time he found ore, which with no small show of\ncontentment he delivered unto the General, using protestation that if\nsilver were the thing which might satisfy the General and his followers,\nthere it was, advising him to seek no further; the peril whereof he\nundertook upon his life (as dear unto him as the crown of England\nunto her Majesty, that I may use his own words) if it fell not out\naccordingly.\n\nMyself at this instant liker to die than to live, by a mischance, could\nnot follow this confident opinion of our refiner to my own satisfaction;\nbut afterward demanding our General's opinion therein, and to have some\npart of the ore, he replied, _Content yourself, I have seen enough; and\nwere it but to satisfy my private humour, I would proceed no further.\nThe promise unto my friends, and necessity to bring also the south\ncountries within compass of my patent near expired, as we have already\ndone these north parts, do only persuade me further. And touching the\nore, I have sent it aboard, whereof I would have no speech to be made so\nlong as we remain within harbour; here being both Portugals, Biscayans,\nand Frenchmen, not far off, from whom must be kept any bruit or\nmuttering of such matter. When we are at sea, proof shall be made; if\nit be our desire, we may return the sooner hither again._ Whose answer\nI judged reasonable, and contenting me well; wherewith I will conclude\nthis narration and description of the Newfoundland, and proceed to the\nrest of our voyage, which ended tragically.\n\nWhile the better sort of us were seriously occupied in repairing our\nwants, and contriving of matters for the commodity of our voyage, others\nof another sort and disposition were plotting of mischief; some casting\nto steal away our shipping by night, watching opportunity by the\nGeneral's and captains' lying on the shore; whose conspiracies\ndiscovered, they were prevented. Others drew together in company, and\ncarried away out of the harbours adjoining a ship laden with fish,\nsetting the poor men on shore. A great many more of our people stole\ninto the woods to hide themselves, attending time and means to return\nhome by such shipping as daily departed from the coast. Some were\nsick of fluxes, and many dead; and in brief, by one means or other our\ncompany was diminished, and many by the General licensed to return home.\nInsomuch as after we had reviewed our people, resolved to see an end of\nour voyage, we grew scant of men to furnish all our shipping; it seemed\ngood thereof unto the General to leave the _Swallow_ with such provision\nas might be spared for transporting home the sick people.\n\nThe captain of the _Delight_ or Admiral, returned into England, in whose\nstead was appointed captain Maurice Browne, before the captain of the\n_Swallow_; who also brought with him into the _Delight_ all his men of\nthe _Swallow_, which before have been noted of outrage perpetrated and\ncommitted upon fishermen there met at sea.\n\nThe General made choice to go in his frigate the _Squirrel_, whereof\nthe captain also was amongst them that returned into England; the same\nfrigate being most convenient to discover upon the coast, and to search\ninto every harbour or creek, which a great ship could not do. Therefore\nthe frigate was prepared with her nettings and fights, and overcharged\nwith bases and such small ordnance, more to give a show, than with\njudgment to foresee unto the safety of her and the men, which afterward\nwas an occasion also of their overthrow.\n\nNow having made ready our shipping, that is to say, the _Delight_, the\n_Golden Hind_, and the _Squirrel_, we put aboard our provision, which\nwas wines, bread or rusk, fish wet and dry, sweet oils, besides many\nother, as marmalades, figs, limons barrelled, and such like. Also we had\nother necessary provision for trimming our ships, nets and lines to fish\nwithal, boats or pinnaces fit for discovery. In brief, we were supplied\nof our wants commodiously, as if we had been in a country or some city\npopulous and plentiful of all things.\n\nWe departed from this harbour of St. John's upon Tuesday, the 20 of\nAugust, which we found by exact observation to be in 47 degrees 40\nminutes; and the next day by night we were at Cape Race, 25 leagues from\nthe same harborough. This cape lieth south-south-west from St. John's;\nit is a low land, being off from the cape about half a league; within\nthe sea riseth up a rock against the point of the cape, which thereby is\neasily known. It is in latitude 46 degrees 25 minutes. Under this cape\nwe were becalmed a small time, during which we laid out hooks and lines\nto take cod, and drew in less than two hours fish so large and in such\nabundance, that many days after we fed upon no other provision. From\nhence we shaped our course unto the island of Sablon, if conveniently it\nwould so fall out, also directly to Cape Breton.\n\nSablon lieth to the seaward of Cape Breton about 25 leagues, whither we\nwere determined to go upon intelligence we had of a Portugal, during our\nabode in St. John's, who was himself present when the Portugals, above\nthirty years past, did put into the same island both neat and swine to\nbreed, which were since exceedingly multiplied. This seemed unto us very\nhappy tidings, to have in an island lying so near unto the main, which\nwe intended to plant upon, such store of cattle, whereby we might at\nall times conveniently be relieved of victual, and served of store for\nbreed.\n\nIn this course we trended along the coast, which from Cape Race\nstretcheth into the north-west, making a bay which some called Trepassa.\nThen it goeth out again towards the west, and maketh a point, which with\nCape Race lieth in manner east and west. But this point inclineth to the\nnorth, to the west of which goeth in the Bay of Placentia. We sent men\non land to take view of the soil along this coast, whereof they made\ngood report, and some of them had will to be planted there. They saw\npease growing in great abundance everywhere.\n\nThe distance between Cape Race and Cape Breton is 87 leagues; in which\nnavigation we spent eight days, having many times the wind indifferent\ngood, yet could we never attain sight of any land all that time, seeing\nwe were hindered by the current. At last we fell into such flats and\ndangers that hardly any of us escaped; where nevertheless we lost our\nAdmiral (the _Delight_) with all the men and provisions, not knowing\ncertainly the place. Yet for inducing men of skill to make conjecture,\nby our course and way we held from Cape Race thither, that thereby the\nflats and dangers may be inserted in sea cards, for warning to others\nthat may follow the same course hereafter, I have set down the best\nreckonings that were kept by expert men, William Cox, Master of the\n_Hind_, and John Paul, his mate, both of Limehouse. . . . Our course we\nheld in clearing us of these flats was east-south-east, and south-east,\nand south, fourteen leagues, with a marvellous scant wind.\n\nUpon Tuesday, the 27 of August, toward the evening, our General caused\nthem in his frigate to sound, who found white sand at 35 fathom, being\nthen in latitude about 44 degrees. Wednesday, toward night, the wind\ncame south, and we bare with the land all that night, west-north-west,\ncontrary to the mind of Master Cox; nevertheless we followed the\nAdmiral, deprived of power to prevent a mischief, which by no\ncontradiction could be brought to hold another course, alleging they\ncould not make the ship to work better, nor to lie otherways. The\nevening was fair and pleasant, yet not without token of storm to ensue,\nand most part of this Wednesday night, like the swan that singeth before\nher death, they in the Admiral, or _Delight_, continued in sounding of\ntrumpets, with drums and fifes; also winding the cornets and hautboys,\nand in the end of their jollity, left with the battle and ringing of\ndoleful knells. Towards the evening also we caught in the _Golden Hind_\na very mighty porpoise with harping iron, having first stricken divers\nof them, and brought away part of their flesh sticking upon the iron,\nbut could recover only that one. These also, passing through the ocean\nin herds, did portend storm. I omit to recite frivolous report by them\nin the frigate, of strange voices the same night, which scared some from\nthe helm.\n\nThursday, the 29 of August, the wind rose, and blew vehemently at south\nand by east, bringing withal rain and thick mist, so that we could\nnot see a cable length before us; and betimes in the morning we were\naltogether run and folded in amongst flats and sands, amongst which\nwe found shoal and deep in every three or four ships' length, after we\nbegan to sound; but first we were upon them unawares, until Master Cox\nlooking out, discerned, in his judgment, white cliffs, crying _Land!_\nwithal; though we could not afterward descry any land, it being very\nlikely the breaking of the sea white, which seemed to be white cliffs,\nthrough the haze and thick weather.\n\nImmediately tokens were given unto the _Delight_, to cast about to\nseaward, which, being the greater ship, and of burthen 120 tons, was yet\nforemost upon the breach, keeping so ill watch, that they knew not the\ndanger, before they felt the same, too late to recover it; for presently\nthe Admiral struck aground, and has soon after her stern and hinder\nparts beaten in pieces; whereupon the rest (that is to say, the\nfrigate, in which was the General, and the _Golden Hind_) cast about\neast-south-east, bearing to the south, even for our lives, into the\nwind's eye, because that way carried us to the seaward. Making out from\nthis danger, we sounded one while seven fathom, then five fathom, then\nfour fathom and less, again deeper, immediately four fathom then but\nthree fathom, the sea going mightily and high. At last we recovered, God\nbe thanked, in some despair, to sea room enough.\n\nIn this distress, we had vigilant eye unto the Admiral, whom we saw cast\naway, without power to give the men succour, neither could we espy any\nof the men that leaped overboard to save themselves, either in the\nsame pinnace, or cock, or upon rafters, and such like means presenting\nthemselves to men in those extremities, for we desired to save the men\nby every possible means. But all in vain, sith God had determined their\nruin; yet all that day, and part of the next, we beat up and down as\nnear unto the wrack as was possible for us, looking out if by good hap\nwe might espy any of them.\n\nThis was a heavy and grievous event, to lose at one blow our chief ship\nfreighted with great provision, gathered together with much travail,\ncare, long time, and difficulty; but more was the loss of our men,\nwhich perished to the number almost of a hundred souls. Amongst whom was\ndrowned a learned man, a Hungarian (Stephen Parmenius), born in the\ncity of Buda, called thereof Budoeus, who, of piety and zeal to good\nattempts, adventured in this action, minding to record in the Latin\ntongue the gests and things worthy of remembrance, happening in this\ndiscovery, to the honour of our nations, the same being adorned with the\neloquent style of this orator and rare poet of our time.\n\nHere also perished our Saxon refiner and discoverer of inestimable\nriches, as it was left amongst some of us in undoubted hope. No less\nheavy was the loss of the captain, Maurice Browne, a virtuous, honest,\nand discreet gentleman, overseen only in liberty given late before\nto men that ought to have been restrained, who showed himself a man\nresolved, and never unprepared for death, as by his last act of\nthis tragedy appeared, by report of them that escaped this wrack\nmiraculously, as shall be hereafter declared. For when all hope was past\nof recovering the ship, and that men began to give over, and to save\nthemselves, the captain was advised before to shift also for his life,\nby the pinnace at the stern of the ship; but refusing that counsel, he\nwould not give example with the first to leave the ship, but used all\nmeans to exhort his people not to despair, nor so to leave off their\nlabour, choosing rather to die than to incur infamy by forsaking\nhis charge, which then might be thought to have perished through his\ndefault, showing an ill precedent unto his men, by leaving the ship\nfirst himself. With this mind he mounted upon the highest deck, where he\nattended imminent death, and unavoidable; how long, I leave it to God,\nwho withdraweth not his comfort from his servants at such times.\n\nIn the mean season, certain, to the number of fourteen persons, leaped\ninto a small pinnace, the bigness of a Thames barge, which was made in\nthe Newfoundland, cut off the rope wherewith it was towed, and committed\nthemselves to God's mercy, amidst the storm, and rage of sea and winds,\ndestitute of food, not so much as a drop of fresh water. The boat\nseeming overcharged in foul weather with company, Edward Headly, a\nvaliant soldier, and well reputed of his company, preferring the greater\nto the lesser, thought better that some of them perished than all, made\nthis motion, to cast lots, and them to be thrown overboard upon whom\nthe lots fell, thereby to lighten the boat, which otherways seemed\nimpossible to live, and offered himself with the first, content to take\nhis adventure gladly: which nevertheless Richard Clarke, that was master\nof the Admiral, and one of this number, refused, advising to abide\nGod's pleasure, who was able to save all, as well as a few. The boat was\ncarried before the wind, continuing six days and nights in the\nocean, and arrived at last with the men, alive, but weak, upon the\nNewfoundland, saving that the foresaid Headly, who had been late sick,\nand another called of us Brazil, of his travel into those countries,\ndied by the way, famished, and less able to hold out than those of\nbetter health. . . . Thus whom God delivered from drowning, he appointed\nto be famished; who doth give limits to man's times, and ordaineth the\nmanner and circumstance of dying: whom, again, he will preserve,\nneither sea nor famine can confound. For those that arrived upon the\nNewfoundland were brought into France by certain Frenchmen, then being\nupon the coast.\n\nAfter this heavy chance, we continued in beating the sea up and down,\nexpecting when the weather would clear up that we might yet bear in\nwith the land, which we judged not far off either the continent or some\nisland. For we many times, and in sundry places found ground at 50, 45,\n40 fathoms, and less. The ground coming upon our lead, being sometime\ncozy sand and other while a broad shell, with a little sand about it.\n\nOur people lost courage daily after this ill success, the weather\ncontinuing thick and blustering, with increase of cold, winter drawing\non, which took from them all hope of amendment, settling an assurance of\nworse weather to grow upon us every day. The leeside of us lay full of\nflats and dangers, inevitable if the wind blew hard at south. Some again\ndoubted we were ingulfed in the Bay of St. Lawrence, the coast full of\ndangers, and unto us unknown. But above all, provision waxed scant,\nand hope of supply was gone with the loss of our Admiral. Those in the\nfrigate were already pinched with spare allowance, and want of clothes\nchiefly: thereupon they besought the General to return to England before\nthey all perished. And to them of the _Golden Hind_ they made signs\nof distress, pointing to their mouths, and to their clothes thin and\nragged: then immediately they also of the _Golden Hind_ grew to be of\nthe same opinion and desire to return home.\n\nThe former reasons having also moved the General to have compassion of\nhis poor men, in whom he saw no want of good will, but of means fit to\nperform the action they came for, he resolved upon retire: and calling\nthe captain and master of the _Hind_, he yielded them many reasons,\nenforcing this unexpected return, withal protesting himself greatly\nsatisfied with that he had seen and knew already, reiterating these\nwords: _Be content, we have seen enough, and take no care of expense\npast: I will set you forth royally the next spring, if God send us safe\nhome. Therefore I pray you let us no longer strive here, where we\nfight against the elements._ Omitting circumstance, how unwillingly the\ncaptain and master of the _Hind_ condescended to this motion, his own\ncompany can testify; yet comforted with the General's promise of a\nspeedy return at spring, and induced by other apparent reasons, proving\nan impossibility to accomplish the action at that time, it was concluded\non all hands to retire.\n\nSo upon Saturday in the afternoon, the 31 of August, we changed our\ncourse, and returned back for England. At which very instant, even in\nwinding about, there passed along between us and towards the land which\nwe now forsook a very lion to our seeming, in shape, hair, and colour,\nnot swimming after the manner of a beast by moving of his feet, but\nrather sliding upon the water with his whole body excepting the legs,\nin sight, neither yet diving under, and again rising above the water,\nas the manner is of whales, dolphins, tunnies, porpoises, and all\nother fish: but confidently showing himself above water without hiding:\nnotwithstanding, we presented ourselves in open view and gesture to\namaze him, as all creatures will be commonly at a sudden gaze and sight\nof men. Thus he passed along turning his head to and fro, yawing and\ngaping wide, with ugly demonstration of long teeth, and glaring eyes;\nand to bid us a farewell, coming right against the _Hind_, he sent forth\na horrible voice, roaring or bellowing as doth a lion, which spectacle\nwe all beheld so far as we were able to discern the same, as men prone\nto wonder at every strange thing, as this doubtless was, to see a lion\nin the ocean sea, or fish in shape of a lion. What opinion others had\nthereof, and chiefly the General himself, I forbear to deliver: but he\ntook it for _bonum omen_, rejoicing that he was in war against such\nan enemy, if it were the devil. The wind was large for England at our\nreturn, but very high, and the sea rough, insomuch as the frigate,\nwherein the General went, was almost swallowed up.\n\nMonday in the afternoon we passed in sight of Cape Race, having made as\nmuch way in little more than two days and nights back again, as before\nwe had done in eight days from Cape Race unto the place where our ship\nperished. Which hindrance thitherward, and speed back again, is to be\nimputed unto the swift current, as well as to the winds, which we\nhad more large in our return. This Monday the General came aboard the\n_Hind_, to have the surgeon of the _Hind_ to dress his foot, which he\nhurt by treading upon a nail: at which time we comforted each other\nwith hope of hard success to be all past, and of the good to come.\nSo agreeing to carry out lights always by night, that we might keep\ntogether, he departed into his frigate, being by no means to be\nentreated to tarry in the _Hind_, which had been more for his security.\nImmediately after followed a sharp storm, which we over passed for that\ntime, praised be God.\n\nThe weather fair, the General came aboard the _Hind_ again, to make\nmerry together with the captain, master, and company, which was the last\nmeeting, and continued there from morning until night. During which\ntime there passed sundry discourses touching affairs past and to come,\nlamenting greatly the loss of his great ship, more of the men, but most\nof all his books and notes, and what else I know not, for which he was\nout of measure grieved, the same doubtless being some matter of more\nimportance than his books, which I could not draw from him: yet by\ncircumstance I gathered the same to be the ore which Daniel the Saxon\nhad brought unto him in the Newfoundland. Whatsoever it was, the\nremembrance touched him so deep as, not able to contain himself, he\nbeat his boy in great rage, even at the same time, so long after the\nmiscarrying of the great ship, because upon a fair day, when we were\nbecalmed upon the coast of the Newfoundland near unto Cape Race, he sent\nhis boy aboard the Admiral to fetch certain things: amongst which, this\nbeing chief, was yet forgotten and left behind. After which time he\ncould never conveniently send again aboard the great ship, much less he\ndoubted her ruin so near at hand.\n\nHerein my opinion was better confirmed diversely, and by sundry\nconjectures, which maketh me have the greater hope of this rich mine.\nFor whereas the General had never before good conceit of these north\nparts of the world, now his mind was wholly fixed upon the Newfoundland.\nAnd as before he refused not to grant assignments liberally to them\nthat required the same into these north parts, now he became contrarily\naffected, refusing to make any so large grants, especially of St.\nJohn's, which certain English merchants made suit for, offering to\nemploy their money and travail upon the same yet neither by their\nown suit, nor of others of his own company, whom he seemed willing to\npleasure, it could be obtained. Also laying down his determination\nin the spring following for disposing of his voyage then to be\nre-attempted: he assigned the captain and master of the _Golden Hind_\nunto the south discovery, and reserved unto himself the north, affirming\nthat this voyage had won his heart from the south, and that he was now\nbecome a northern man altogether.\n\nLast, being demanded what means he had, at his arrival in England, to\ncompass the charges of so great preparation as he intended to make\nthe next spring, having determined upon two fleets, one for the south,\nanother for the north; _Leave that to me_, he replied, _I will ask a\npenny of no man. I will bring good tiding unto her Majesty, who will\nbe so gracious to lend me 10,000 pounds_, willing us therefore to be\nof good cheer; for _he did thank God_, he said, _with all his heart for\nthat he had seen, the same being enough for us all, and that we needed\nnot to seek any further_. And these last words he would often repeat,\nwith demonstration of great fervency of mind, being himself very\nconfident and settled in belief of inestimable good by this voyage;\nwhich the greater number of his followers nevertheless mistrusted\naltogether, not being made partakers of those secrets, which the General\nkept unto himself. Yet all of them that are living may be witnesses of\nhis words and protestations, which sparingly I have delivered.\n\nLeaving the issue of this good hope unto God, who knoweth the truth\nonly, and can at His good pleasure bring the same to light, I will\nhasten to the end of this tragedy, which must be knit up in the person\nof our General. And as it was God's ordinance upon him, even so the\nvehement persuasion and entreaty of his friends could nothing avail to\ndivert him of a wilful resolution of going through in his frigate;\nwhich was overcharged upon the decks with fights, nettings, and small\nartillery, too cumbersome for so small a boat that was to pass through\nthe ocean sea at that season of the year, when by course we might expect\nmuch storm of foul weather. Whereof, indeed, we had enough.\n\nBut when he was entreated by the captain, master, and other his\nwell-willers of the _Hind_ not to venture in the frigate, this was his\nanswer: _I will not forsake my little company going homeward, with whom\nI have passed so many storms and perils._ And in very truth he was urged\nto be so over hard by hard reports given of him that he was afraid of\nthe sea; albeit this was rather rashness than advised resolution, to\nprefer the wind of a vain report to the weight of his own life. Seeing\nhe would not bend to reason, he had provision out of the _Hind_, such\nas was wanting aboard his frigate. And so we committed him to God's\nprotection, and set him aboard his pinnace, we being more than 300\nleagues onward of our way home.\n\nBy that time we had brought the Islands of Azores south of us; yet we\nthen keeping much to the north, until we had got into the height and\nelevation of England, we met with very foul weather and terrible seas,\nbreaking short and high, pyramid-wise. The reason whereof seemed to\nproceed either of hilly grounds high and low within the sea, as we see\nhills and vales upon the land, upon which the seas do mount and fall,\nor else the cause proceedeth of diversity of winds, shifting often in\nsundry points, all which having power to move the great ocean, which\nagain is not presently settled, so many seas do encounter together,\nas there had been diversity of winds. Howsoever it cometh to pass, men\nwhich all their lifetime had occupied the sea never saw more outrageous\nseas, we had also upon our mainyard an apparition of a little fire by\nnight, which seamen do call Castor and Pollux. But we had only one,\nwhich they take an evil sign of more tempest; the same is usual in\nstorms.\n\nMonday, the 9 of September, in the afternoon, the frigate was near cast\naway, oppressed by waves, yet at that time recovered; and giving forth\nsigns of joy, the General, sitting abaft with a book in his hand, cried\nout to us in the _Hind_, so oft as we did approach within hearing, _We\nare as near to heaven by sea as by land!_ Reiterating the same speech,\nwell beseeming a soldier, resolute in Jesus Christ, as I can testify he\nwas.\n\nThe same Monday night, about twelve of the clock, or not long after, the\nfrigate being ahead of us in the _Golden Hind_, suddenly her lights were\nout, whereof as it were in a moment we lost the sight, and withal our\nwatch cried _the General was cast away_, which was too true. For in that\nmoment the frigate was devoured and swallowed up of the sea. Yet still\nwe looked out all that night, and ever after until we arrived upon the\ncoast of England; omitting no small sail at sea, unto which we gave\nnot the tokens between us agreed upon to have perfect knowledge of each\nother, if we should at any time be separated.\n\nIn great torment of weather and peril of drowning it pleased God to\nsend safe home the _Golden Hind_, which arrived in Falmouth the 22 of\nSeptember, being Sunday, not without as great danger escaped in a flaw\ncoming from the south-east, with such thick mist that we could not\ndiscern land to put in right with the haven. From Falmouth we went to\nDartmouth, and lay there at anchor before the Range, while the captain\nwent aland to enquire if there had been any news of the frigate, which,\nsailing well, might happily have been before us; also to certify Sir\nJohn Gilbert, brother unto the General, of our hard success, whom the\ncaptain desired, while his men were yet aboard him, and were witnesses\nof all occurrences in that voyage, it might please him to take the\nexamination of every person particularly, in discharge of his and their\nfaithful endeavour. Sir John Gilbert refused so to do, holding himself\nsatisfied with report made by the captain, and not altogether despairing\nof his brother's safety, offered friendship and courtesy to the captain\nand his company, requiring to have his bark brought into the harbour; in\nfurtherance whereof a boat was sent to help to tow her in.\n\nNevertheless, when the captain returned aboard his ship, he found his\nmen bent to depart every man to his home; and then the wind serving to\nproceed higher upon the coast, they demanded money to carry them home,\nsome to London, others to Harwich, and elsewhere, if the barque should\nbe carried into Dartmouth and they discharged so far from home, or else\nto take benefit of the wind, then serving to draw nearer home, which\nshould be a less charge unto the captain, and great ease unto the men,\nhaving else far to go. Reason accompanied with necessity persuaded the\ncaptain, who sent his lawful excuse and cause of this sudden departure\nunto Sir John Gilbert, by the boat of Dartmouth, and from thence the\n_Golden Hind_ departed and took harbour at Weymouth. All the men tired\nwith the tediousness of so unprofitable a voyage to their seeming, in\nwhich their long expense of time, much toil and labour, hard diet, and\ncontinual hazard of life was unrecompensed; their captain nevertheless\nby his great charges impaired greatly thereby, yet comforted in the\ngoodness of God, and His undoubted providence following him in all that\nvoyage, as it doth always those at other times whosoever have confidence\nin Him alone. Yet have we more near feeling and perseverance of His\npowerful hand and protection when God doth bring us together with others\ninto one same peril, in which He leaveth them and delivereth us, making\nus thereby the beholders, but not partakers, of their ruin. Even so,\namongst very many difficulties, discontentments, mutinies, conspiracies,\nsicknesses, mortality, spoilings, and wracks by sea, which were\nafflictions more than in so small a fleet or so short a time may be\nsupposed, albeit true in every particularity, as partly by the former\nrelation may be collected, and some I suppressed with silence for their\nsakes living, it pleased God to support this company, of which only\none man died of a malady inveterate, and long infested, the rest kept\ntogether in reasonable contentment and concord, beginning, continuing,\nand ending the voyage, which none else did accomplish, either not\npleased with the action, or impatient of wants, or prevented by death.\n\nThus have I delivered the contents of the enterprise and last action of\nSir Humfrey Gilbert, Knight, faithfully, for so much as I thought meet\nto be published; wherein may always appear, though he be extinguished,\nsome sparks of his virtues, be remaining firm and resolute in a purpose\nby all pretence honest and godly, as was this, to discover, possess, and\nto reduce unto the service of God and Christian piety those remote and\nheathen countries of America not actually possessed by Christians, and\nmost rightly appertaining unto the crown of England, unto the which as\nhis zeal deserveth high commendation, even so he may justly be taxed of\ntemerity, and presumption rather, in two respects. First, when yet there\nwas only probability, not a certain and determinate place of habitation\nselected, neither any demonstration if commodity there _in esse_, to\ninduce his followers; nevertheless, he both was too prodigal of his own\npatrimony and too careless of other men's expenses to employ both his\nand their substance upon a ground imagined good. The which falling, very\nlike his associates were promised, and made it their best reckoning, to\nbe salved some other way, which pleased not God to prosper in his first\nand great preparation. Secondly, when by his former preparation he was\nenfeebled of ability and credit to perform his designments, as it were\nimpatient to abide in expectation better opportunity, and means which\nGod might raise, he thrust himself again into the action, for which he\nwas not fit, presuming the cause pretended on God's behalf would carry\nhim to the desired end. Into which having thus made re-entry, he could\nnot yield again to withdraw, though he saw no encouragement to proceed;\nlest his credit, foiled in his first attempt, in a second should utterly\nbe disgraced. Between extremities he made a right adventure, putting all\nto God and good fortune; and, which was worst, refused not to entertain\nevery person and means whatsoever, to furnish out this expedition, the\nsuccess whereof hath been declared.\n\nBut such is the infinite bounty of God, who from every evil deriveth\ngood. For besides that fruit may grow in time of our travelling into\nthose north-west lands, the crosses, turmoils, and afflictions, both\nin the preparation and execution of this voyage, did correct the\nintemperate humours which before we noted to be in this gentleman, and\nmade unsavoury and less delightful his other manifold virtues. Then\nas he was refined, and made nearer drawing unto the image of God so it\npleased the Divine will to resume him unto Himself, whither both his and\nevery other high and noble mind have always aspired.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sir Humphrey Gilbert's Voyage to\nNewfoundland, by Edward Hayes\n\n*** "], ["\n\n\n\nProduced by Chris Curnow, Anna Whitehead and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE MYSTERY OF MARY STUART\n\n\n\n\nBY THE SAME AUTHOR.\n\n\nA MONK OF FIFE. Crown 8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._\n\nANGLING SKETCHES. Crown 8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._\n\nBALLADS OF BOOKS. Fcp. 8vo. 6_s._\n\nBAN AND ARRIERE BAN. Fcp. 8vo. [_Out of print._\n\nBOOK OF DREAMS AND GHOSTS. Crown 8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._\n\nBOOKS AND BOOKMEN. Fcp. 8vo. 2_s._ 6_d._ _net_.\n\nCOCK LANE AND COMMON-SENSE. Crown 8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._\n\nCOMPANIONS OF PICKLE. 8vo. 16_s._\n\nCUSTOM AND MYTH. Crown 8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._\n\nESSAYS IN LITTLE. Crown 8vo. 2_s._ 6_d._\n\nGRASS OF PARNASSUS. Fcp. 8vo. 2_s._ 6_d._ _net_.\n\nHOMER AND THE EPIC. Crown 8vo. 9_s._ _net_.\n\nLETTERS ON LITERATURE. Fcp. 8vo. 2_s._ 6_d._ _net_.\n\nLETTERS TO DEAD AUTHORS. Fcp. 8vo. 2_s._ 6_d._ _net_.\n\nMAGIC AND RELIGION. 8vo. 10_s._ 6_d._ _net_.\n\nMODERN MYTHOLOGY. 8vo. 9_s._\n\nMYTH, RITUAL, AND RELIGION. 2 vols, crown 8vo. 7_s._\n\nOLD FRIENDS. Fcp. 8vo. 2_s._ 6_d._ _net_.\n\nPICKLE THE SPY. 8vo. [_Out of print._\n\nST. ANDREWS. 8vo. [_Out of print._\n\nTHE MAKING OF RELIGION. Crown 8vo. 5_s._ _net_.\n\n LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO., 39 Paternoster Row, London\n New York and Bombay.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Mary Stuart\n\nFrom the portrait in the collection of the Earl of Morton.\n\nWalker & Cockerell. ph. sc.]\n\n\n\n\n THE MYSTERY OF MARY STUART\n\n\n BY ANDREW LANG\n\n\n WITH ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n _NEW EDITION_\n\n\n LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.\n 89 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON\n NEW YORK AND BOMBAY\n 1901\n\n All rights reserved\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nIn revising this book I have corrected a number of misreadings in the\nArabic numerals of dates of years. I owe much to Mr. David Bruce-Gardyne\nand Mr. Hay Fleming. In deference to other criticisms offered privately, I\nhave somewhat modified certain phrases about the hypothetical forged\nletter, as quoted by Moray and Lennox (pp. 211-236). That such a letter\nonce existed is, of course, an inference on which readers must form their\nown opinion. The passage as to the site of Darnley's house, Kirk o' Field\n(pp. 124-131), ought to have been banished to an Appendix. On any theory\nthe existence of the town wall, shown in the contemporary chart opposite\np. 130, is a difficulty. The puzzle is caused by the chart of 1567,\nreduced in the design given at p. 130. In all published forms the drawing\nis given as it is here. But it reverses the points of the compass, east\nand west. Mr. A. H. Millar has suggested to me that if reflected in a\nmirror some errors of the chart disappear, whence one infers that it was\ndrawn in reverse for an engraving. I have, therefore, corrected the text\nin this sense. But difficulties remain: there is a town wall, running\nsouth to north, of which we have no other knowledge; and Hamilton House\n(if the chart is reversed) is placed east instead of west of Kirk o'\nField, where it actually stood. The original design contains only the name\nof Hamilton House. In our chart the house is copied from the picture of it\nas part of the University buildings, in the map of 1647.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nMr. Carlyle not unjustly described the tragedy of Mary Stuart as but a\npersonal incident in the true national History of Scotland. He asked for\nother and more essential things than these revelations of high life. Yet\nhe himself wrote in great detail the story of the Diamond Necklace of\nMarie Antoinette. The diamonds of the French, the silver Casket of the\nScottish Queen, with all that turned on them, are of real historical\ninterest, for these trifles brought to the surface the characters and\nprinciples of men living in an age of religious revolution. Wells were\nsunk, as it were, deep into human personality, and the inner\ncharacteristics of the age leaped upwards into the light.\n\nFor this reason the Mystery of Mary Stuart must always fascinate:\nmoreover, curiosity has never ceased to be aroused by this problem of\nMary's guilt or innocence. Hume said, a hundred and fifty years ago, that\nthe Scottish Jacobite who believed in the Queen's innocence was beyond the\nreach of reason or argument. Yet from America, Russia, France, and Germany\nwe receive works in which the guilt of Mary is denied, and the arguments\nof Hume, Robertson, Laing, Mignet, and Froude are contested. Every inch of\nthe ground has been inspected as if by detectives on the scene of a recent\nmurder; and one might suppose that the Higher Criticism had uttered its\nlast baseless conjecture and that every syllable of the fatal Casket\nLetters, the only external and documentary testimony to Mary's guilt, must\nhave been weighed, tested, and analysed. But this, as we shall see, is\nhardly the fact. There are 'points as yet unseized by Germans.' Mary was\nnever tried by a Court of Justice during her lifetime. Her cause has been\nin process of trial ever since. Each newly discovered manuscript, like the\nfragmentary biography by her secretary, Nau, and the Declaration of the\nEarl of Morton, and the newly translated dispatches of the Spanish\nambassadors, edited by Major Martin Hume (1894), has brought fresh light,\nand has modified the tactics of the attack and defence.\n\nAs Herr Cardauns remarks, at the close of his 'Der Sturz der Maria\nStuart,' we cannot expect finality, and our verdicts or hypotheses may be\nchanged by the emergence of some hitherto unknown piece of evidence.\nAlready we have seen too many ingenious theories overthrown. From the\ndefence of Mary by Goodall (1754) to the triumphant certainties of\nChalmers (1818), to the arguments of MM. Philippson and Sepp, of Mr.\nHosack, and of Sir John Skelton (1880-1895), increasing knowledge of\nfacts, new emergence of old MSS. have, on the whole, weakened the\nposition of the defence. Mr. Henderson's book 'The Casket Letters and Mary\nStuart' (First Edition 1889) is the last word on the matter in this\ncountry. Mr. Henderson was the first to publish in full Morton's sworn\nDeclaration as to the discovery, inspection, and safe keeping of the fatal\nCasket and its contents. Sir John Skelton's reply[1] told chiefly against\nminor points of criticism and palaeography.\n\nThe present volume is not a Defence of Mary's innocence. My object is to\nshow, how the whole problem is affected by the discovery of the Lennox\nPapers, which admit us behind the scenes, and enable us to see how Mary's\nprosecutors, especially the Earl of Lennox, the father of her murdered\nhusband, got up their case. The result of criticism of these papers is\ncertainly to reinforce Mr. Hosack's argument, that there once existed a\nforged version of the long and monstrous letter to Bothwell from Glasgow,\ngenerally known as 'Letter II.' In this book, as originally written, I had\nmyself concluded that Letter II., as it stands, bears evidence of\ngarbling. The same is the opinion of Dr. Bresslau, who accepts the other\nCasket Papers as genuine. The internal chronology of Letter II. is\ncertainly quite impossible, and in this I detected unskilled dove-tailing\nof genuine and forged elements. But I thought it advisable to rewrite the\nfirst half of the Letter, in modern English, as if it were my own\ncomposition, and while doing this I discovered the simple and ordinary\nkind of accident which may explain the dislocation of the chronology, and\nremove the evidence to unskilled dove-tailing and garbling. In the same\nspirit of rather reluctant conscientiousness, I worked out the scheme of\ndates which makes the Letter capable of being fitted into the actual\nseries of events. Thus I am led, though with diffidence, to infer that,\nthough a forged version of Letter II. probably once existed, the Letter\nmay be, at least in part, a genuine composition by the Queen. The fact,\nhowever, does not absolutely compel belief, and, unless new manuscripts\nare discovered, may always be doubted by admirers of Mary.\n\nSir John Skelton, in his 'Maitland of Lethington,' regarded the supposed\nfalsification of Letter II. as an argument against all the Casket Letters\n('false in one thing, false in all'). But it is clear that forgery may be\nemployed to strengthen the evidence, even of a valid cause. If Mary's\nenemies deemed that the genuine evidence which they had collected was\ninadequate, and therefore added evidence which was not genuine, that\nproves their iniquity, but does not prove Mary's innocence. Portions of\nthe Letter II., and of some of the other Letters, have all the air of\nauthenticity, and suffice to compromise the Queen.\n\nThis inquiry, then, if successfully conducted, does not clear Mary, but\nsolves some of the darkest problems connected with her case. I think that\na not inadequate theory of the tortuous and unintelligible policy of\nMaitland of Lethington, and of his real relations with Mary, is here\npresented. I also hope that new light is thrown on Mary's own line of\ndefence, and on the actual forgers or contaminators of her Letters, if the\nexistence of such forgery or contamination is held to be possible.\n\nBy study of dates it is made clear, I think, that the Lords opposing Mary\ntook action, as regards the Letters, on the very day of their discovery.\nThis destroys the argument which had been based on the tardy appearance of\nthe papers in the dispatches of the period, an argument already shaken by\nthe revelations of the Spanish Calendar.\n\nMary's cause has, hitherto, been best served by her accusers, most injured\nby her defenders. For political and personal reasons her enemies, her\naccomplices, or the conscious allies of her accomplices, perpetually\nstultified themselves and gave themselves the lie. Their case was\notherwise very badly managed. Their dates were so carelessly compiled as\nto make their case chronologically impossible. Their position, as stated,\nprobably by George Buchanan and Makgill, in 'The Book of Articles,' and\nthe 'Detection,' is marred by exaggerations and inconsistencies. Buchanan\nwas by no means a critical historian, and he was here writing as an\nadvocate, mainly from briefs furnished by Lennox, his feudal chief, the\nfather of the murdered Darnley. These briefs we now possess, and the\ngenerosity of Father Pollen, S.J., has allowed me to use these hitherto\nvirgin materials.\n\nThe Lennox Papers also enable us to add new and dramatically appropriate\nanecdotes of Mary and Darnley, while, by giving us some hitherto unknown\nmyths current at the moment, they enable us to explain certain\ndifficulties which have puzzled historians. The whole subject throws a\nlurid light on the ethics and the persons of the age which followed the\nReformation in Scotland. Other novelties may be found to emerge from new\ncombinations of facts and texts which have long been familiar, and\nparticular attention has been paid to the subordinate persons in the play,\nwhile a hitherto disregarded theory of the character of Bothwell is\noffered; a view already, in part, suggested by Mignet.\n\nThe arrangement adopted is as follows:\n\nFirst, in two preliminary chapters, the characters and the scenes of the\nevents are rapidly and broadly sketched. We try to make the men and women\nlive and move in palaces and castles now ruinous or untenanted.\n\nNext the relations of the characters to each other are described, from\nMary's arrival in Scotland to her marriage with Darnley; the murder of\nRiccio, the interval of the eleven predicted months that passed ere beside\nRiccio lay 'a fatter than he,' Darnley: the slaying of Darnley, the\nmarriage with Bothwell, the discovery of the Casket, the imprisonment at\nLoch Leven, the escape thence, and the flight into England.\n\nNext the External History of the Casket Letters, the first hints of their\nexistence, their production before Elizabeth's Commission at Westminster,\nand Mary's attitude towards the Letters, with the obscure intrigues of the\nCommission at York, and the hasty and scuffling examinations at\nWestminster and Hampton Court, are described and explained.\n\nNext the Internal Evidence of the Letters themselves is criticised.\n\nFinally, the later history of the Letters, with the disappearance of the\noriginal alleged autograph texts, closes the subject.\n\nVery minute examination of details and dates has been deemed necessary.\nThe case is really a police case, and investigation cannot be too anxious,\nbut certain points of complex detail are relegated to Appendices.\n\nIn writing the book I have followed, as Socrates advises, where the\n_Logos_ led me. Several conclusions or theories which at first beguiled\nme, and seemed convincing, have been ruined by the occurrence of fresher\nevidence, and have been withdrawn. I have endeavoured to search for, and\nhave stated, as fully as possible, the objections which may be urged to\nconclusions which are provisional, and at the mercy of criticism, and of\nfresh or neglected evidence.\n\nThe character of Mary, _son naturel_, as she says, or is made to say in\nthe most incriminating Letter, is full of fascination, excellence and\ncharm. Her terrible expiation has won the pity of gentle hearts, and\nsentiment has too often clouded reason, while reaction against sentiment\nhas been no less mischievous. But History, the search for truth, should be\nas impersonal as the judge on the bench. I am not unaccustomed to be\nblamed for 'destroying our illusions,' but to cultivate and protect\nillusion has never been deemed the duty of the historian. Mary, at worst,\nand even admitting her guilt (guilt monstrous and horrible to contemplate)\nseems to have been a nobler nature than any of the persons most closely\nassociated with her fortunes. She fell, if fall she did, like the\nClytaemnestra to whom a contemporary poet compares her, under the almost\ndemoniacal possession of passion; a possession so sudden, strange and\noverpowering that even her enemies attributed it to 'unlawful arts.'\n\nI have again to acknowledge the almost, or quite, unparalleled kindness of\nFather Pollen in allowing me to use his materials. He found transcripts of\nwhat I style the 'Lennox MSS.' among the papers of the late learned Father\nStevenson, S.J. These he collated with the originals in the University\nLibrary at Cambridge. It is his intention, I understand, to publish the\nwhole collection, which was probably put together for the use of Dr.\nWilson, when writing, or editing, the 'Actio,' published with Buchanan's\n'Detection.' Father Pollen has also read most of my proof-sheets, but he\nis not responsible for any of my provisional conclusions. I have also\nconsulted, on various points, Mr. George Neilson, Dr. Hay Fleming, Mr. A.\nH. Millar, and others.\n\nMiss Dorothy Alston made reduced drawings, omitting the figures, of the\ncontemporary charts of Edinburgh, and of Kirk o' Field. Mr. F. Compton\nPrice supplied the imitations of Mary's handwriting, and the facsimiles in\nPlates A B, B A, &c.\n\nFor leave to photograph and publish the portrait of Darnley and his\nbrother I have to acknowledge the gracious permission of his Majesty, the\nKing.\n\nThe Duke of Hamilton has kindly given permission to publish photographs of\nthe Casket at Hamilton Palace (see Chapter XVIII.).\n\nThe Earl of Morton has been good enough to allow his admirable portraits\nof Mary (perhaps of 1575) and of the Regent Morton to be reproduced.\n\nMr. Oliphant, of Rossie, has placed at my service his portrait of Mary as\na girl, a copy, probably by Sir John Medina, of a contemporary French\nlikeness.\n\nTo the kindness of the Right Hon. A. J. Balfour and Miss Balfour we owe\nthe photographs of the famous tree at Whittingham, Mr. Balfour's seat,\nwhere Morton, Lethington, and Bothwell conspired to murder Darnley.\n\nThe Lennox Papers are in the Cambridge University Library.\n\n\n_The Suppressed Confessions of Hepburn of Bowton_\n\nToo late for notice in the body of this book, the following curious piece\nof evidence was observed by Father Ryan, S.J., in the Cambridge MS. of\nthe deposition of Hepburn of Bowton. This kinsman and accomplice of\nBothwell was examined on December 8, 1567, before Moray, Atholl,\nKirkcaldy, Lindsay, and Bellenden, Lord Justice Clerk. The version of his\nconfession put in at the Westminster Conference, December 1568, will be\nfound in Anderson, ii. 183-188, and in Laing, ii. 256-259. The MS. is in\nCotton Caligula, C.I. fol. 325. It is attested as a 'true copy' by\nBellenden. But if we follow the Cambridge MS. it is _not_ a true copy. A\nlong passage, following 'and lay down with him,' at the end, is omitted.\nThat passage I now cite:\n\n'Farther this deponar sayis that he inquirit at my lord quhat securitie he\nhad for it quhilk wes done, because their wes sic ane brute and murmo{r}\nin the toun And my lord ansuerit that diuerse noblemen had subscrivit the\ndeid with him And schew the same band[2] to the deponar, quhairat wes the\nsubscriptionis of the erles of huntlie, ergile, boithuile altogether, and\nthe secretares subscriptioun far beneth the rest. And insafar as the\ndeponar remembers this was the effect of it, it contenit sum friuose\n[frivolous?] and licht caussis aganis the king sic as hys behavio{r}\ncontrar the quene, quhilk band wes in ane of twa silver cofferis and wes\nin dunbar, and the deponar saw the same there the tyme that they wer thare\nafter the quenis revissing And understandis that the band wes with the\nremanent letters, and putt in the castell be george dalgleis. Inquirit\nquha deuisit that the king suld ludge at the kirk of feild?\n\n'Answeris S{r} James balfo{r} can better tell nor he And knew better and\nbefoir the deponer yof. And quhen the Quene wes in glasgow my lord\nBoithuile send the deponar to S{r} James balfo{r} desiring that he wald\ncum and meit my lord at the kirk of feild To quhome Schir James ansuerit,\n\"will my lord cum thair? gif he cum it wer gude he war quiet.\" And yit\nthey met not at that place than nor at natyme thairefter to the deponers\nknawledge.\n\n'Thair wes xiiii keyis quhilkis this deponer efter the murtho{r} keist in\nthe grevvell hoill [? quarrel-hoill, _i.e._ quarry hole] betuix the abbay\nand leith. And towardes the makers of the keyis they were maid betuix\nLeuestoun and S{r} James balfo{r} and thai twa can tell. Item deponis that\nIlk ane that wer of the band and siclike the erle of Morton and Sy{r}\nJames balfo{r} suld haif send twa men to the committing of the murther.\nAnd the erle boithuile declarit to the deponar are nyt or twa afore the\nmurtho{r} falland in talking of thame that wer in the kingis chalmer My\nlord said that Sandy Durham wes ane gude fallowe and he wald wische that\nhe weir out of the same.\n\n'This is the trew copy, etc.'\n\nPerhaps few will argue that this passage has been fraudulently inserted in\nthe Cambridge MS. If not, Bellenden lied when he attested the mutilated\ndeposition to be a true copy. His own autograph signature attests the\nCambridge copy. Moray, who heard Bowton make his deposition, was a partner\nto the fraud. The portion of the evidence burked by Moray is corroborated,\nas regards the signatures of the band for Darnley's murder, by Ormistoun,\nmuch later (Dec. 13, 1573) in Laing, ii. 293. Ormistoun, however, probably\nby an error of memory, says that he saw what Bothwell affirmed to be the\nsignature of Sir James Balfour, in addition to those spoken of by Bowton,\nnamely Argyll, Bothwell, Huntly, and Lethington. This statement as to\nBalfour Bowton withdrew in his dying confession as published. Bowton's\nremark that Lethington's signature came 'far beneath the rest' sounds\ntrue. Space would be left above for the signatures of men of higher rank\nthan the secretary.\n\nBowton saw the band at Dunbar (April-May, 1567, during Mary's detention\nthere), 'in one of two silver coffers.' He only 'understands' that the\nband was 'with the remanent letters, and put in the Castle by George\nDalgleish.' If 'the remanent letters' are the Casket Letters, and if\nBowton, at Dunbar, had seen them with the band, and read them, his\nevidence would have been valuable as to the Letters. But as things are, we\nhave merely his opinion, or 'understanding,' that certain letters were\nkept with the band, as Drury, we know, asserted that it was in the Casket\nwith the other papers, and was destroyed, while the Letters attributed to\nMary 'were kept to be shown.' Of course, if this be true, Morton lied\nwhen he said that the contents of the Casket had neither been added to\nnor diminished.\n\nNext, Bowton denied that, to his knowledge, Bothwell and Balfour met at\nthe Kirk o' Field, while Mary was at Glasgow, or at any other time. If\nBowton is right, and he was their go-between, Paris lied in his Deposition\nwhere he says that Bothwell and Sir James had passed a whole night in Kirk\no' Field, while Mary was at Glasgow.[3]\n\nBowton's confession that Morton 'should have sent two men to the\ncommitting of the murder,' explains the presence of Archibald Douglas,\nMorton's cousin, with Binning, his man. These two represented Morton.\nFinally, Bowton's confession in the Cambridge MS. joins the copy of his\nconfession put in at Westminster, on the point of the fourteen false keys\nof Kirk o' Field, thrown by Bowton into a gravel hole. Unless then the\nCambridge MS. is rejected, the Lord Justice Clerk and Moray deliberately\nsuppressed evidence which proved that Moray was allied with two of\nDarnley's murderers in prosecuting his sister for that crime. Such\nevidence, though extant, Moray, of course, dared not produce, but must\nburke at Westminster.\n\nI have shown in the text (p. 144) that, even on Bowton's evidence as\nproduced at Westminster, Moray was aware that Bothwell had allies among\nthe nobles, but that, as far as the evidence declares, he asked no\nquestions. But the Cambridge MS. proves his full knowledge, which he\ndeliberately suppressed. The Cambridge MS. must either have been furnished\nto Lennox, before the sittings at Westminster; or must have been the\noriginal, or a copy of the original, later supplied to Dr. Wilson while\npreparing Buchanan's 'Detection,' the 'Actio,' and other documents for the\npress in November 1571.[4] It will be observed that when Lethington was\naccused of Darnley's murder, in September 1569, Moray could not well have\nprosecuted him to a conviction, as his friends, Atholl and Kirkcaldy,\nhaving been present at Bowton's examination, knew that Moray knew of\nLethington's guilt, yet continued to be his ally. The Cambridge copy of\nthe deposition of Hay of Tala contains no reference to the guilt of Morton\nor Lethington; naturally, for Morton was present at Hay's examination.\nFinally, the evidence of Binning, in 1581, shows that representatives of\nLethington and Balfour, as well as of Morton, were present at the murder,\nas Bowton, in his suppressed testimony, says had been arranged.\n\nIt is therefore clear that Moray, in arraigning his sister with the aid of\nher husband's assassins, could suppress authentic evidence. Mary's\napologists will argue that he was also capable of introducing evidence\nless than authentic.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n PAGE\n\n INTRODUCTION vii\n\n I. DRAMATIS PERSONAE 1\n\n II. THE MINOR CHARACTERS 28\n\n III. THE CHARACTERS BEFORE RICCIO'S MURDER 45\n\n IV. BEFORE THE BAPTISM OF THE PRINCE 71\n\n V. BETWEEN THE BAPTISM AND THE MURDER 105\n\n VI. THE MURDER OF DARNLEY 123\n\n VII. THE CONFESSIONS OF PARIS 154\n\n VIII. MARY'S CONDUCT AFTER THE MURDER 171\n\n IX. THE EMERGENCE OF THE CASKET LETTERS 193\n\n X. THE CASKET LETTERS 208\n\n XI. THE LETTERS AT THE CONFERENCE OF YORK 237\n\n XII. THE LETTERS AT WESTMINSTER AND HAMPTON COURT 266\n\n XIII. MARY'S ATTITUDE AFTER THE CONFERENCE 283\n\n XIV. INTERNAL EVIDENCE OF THE LETTERS 290\n\n XV. THE SIX MINOR CASKET LETTERS 322\n\n XVI. THE CASKET SONNETS 344\n\n XVII. CONCLUSIONS AS TO THE LETTERS AND THE POSSIBLE FORGERS 346\n\n XVIII. LATER HISTORY OF CASKET AND LETTERS 365\n\n\n _APPENDICES_\n\n A. THE SUPPOSED BODY OF BOTHWELL 371\n\n B. THE BURNING OF LYON KING OF ARMS 374\n\n C. THE DATE OF MARY'S VISIT TO GLASGOW 379\n\n D. THE BAND FOR DARNLEY'S MURDER 381\n\n E. THE TRANSLATIONS OF THE CASKET LETTERS 385\n\n\n THE CASKET LETTERS:\n\n LETTER I. PUBLISHED SCOTS TRANSLATION AND ENGLISH TRANSLATION\n AT RECORD OFFICE 391\n\n \" II. PUBLISHED SCOTS AND ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS 393\n\n \" III. ORIGINAL FRENCH VERSION AT HATFIELD 414\n\n \" IV. ORIGINAL FRENCH VERSION 416\n\n \" V. ORIGINAL FRENCH VERSION AT HATFIELD 417\n\n \" VI. PUBLISHED SCOTS TRANSLATION 418\n\n \" VII. SCOTS VERSION 419\n\n \" VIII. ORIGINAL FRENCH VERSION 420\n\n \" IX. THE FRENCH 'SONNETS' 422\n\n CRAWFORD'S DEPOSITION 427\n\n\n INDEX 433\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n_PHOTOGRAVURE PLATES_\n\n MARY STUART _Frontispiece_\n _From the Portrait in the Collection of the Earl of\n Morton._\n\n MARY AT EIGHTEEN _To face p._ 4\n\n DARNLEY ABOUT THE AGE OF EIGHTEEN \" 10\n\n THE REGENT MORTON \" 30\n _From the Portrait in the Collection of the Earl of\n Morton._\n\n LE DEUIL BLANC \" 48\n _Sketch by Janet, 1561._\n\n HOUSE OCCUPIED BY QUEEN MARY AT JEDBURGH \" 94\n\n\n_OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS_\n\n BIRD'S-EYE VIEW OF EDINBURGH \" 40\n\n THE OLD TOWER, WHITTINGHAM \" 116\n\n THE WHITTINGHAM TREE \" 118\n _After a Drawing by Richard Doyle._\n\n THE WHITTINGHAM TREE (External View) \" 120\n\n KIRK O' FIELD SITE IN 1646, SHOWING EDINBURGH UNIVERSITY \" 126\n\n KEY PLAN OF KIRK O' FIELD \" 130\n\n PLACARD OF MARY, 1567 (Mary as a Mermaid) \" 174\n\n TWO SONNETS FROM THE CAMBRIDGE MS. (Plate A) \" 344\n\n EXAMPLES OF MARY'S HAND (Plates A B, B A) \" 362\n\n HANDS OF MARY BEATON, KIRKCALDY, LETHINGTON AND MARY\n FLEMING (Plate C) \" 364\n\n SIDE OF CASKET WITH ARMS OF HAMILTON (Plate D) \" 366\n\n RAISED WORK ON ROOF OF CASKET (Plate D) \" 366\n\n CASKET SHOWING THE LOCK AND KEY (Plate E) \" 368\n\n FRONT OF CASKET SHOWING PLACE WHENCE THE LOCK HAS BEEN\n 'STRICKEN UP' (Plate E) \" 368\n\n MODERN IMITATION OF MARY'S HAND (Plate F) \" 420\n\n\n\n\n_Errata_\n\n\nPage 38, lines 20-23, _the sentence should read_: Holyrood is altered by\nbuildings of the Restoration; where now is the chapel where Mary prayed,\nand the priests at the altar were buffeted?\n\nPage 165, line 21, _for_ Blackadder, _read_ Blackader.\n\nPage 175, line 18, _for_ Mr. James Spens, _read_ Mr. John Spens.\n\nPages 196-205, 320, 355: Melville was _not_ 'the bearer,' as erroneously\nstated in Bain, ii. 336.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MYSTERY OF MARY STUART\n\n\n\n\nI\n\n_DRAMATIS PERSONAE_\n\n\nHistory is apt to be, and some think that it should be, a mere series of\ndry uncoloured statements. Such an event occurred, such a word was\nuttered, such a deed was done, at this date or the other. We give\nreferences to our authorities, to men who heard of the events, or even saw\nthem when they happened. But we, the writer and the readers, _see_\nnothing: we only offer or accept bald and imperfect information. If we try\nto write history on another method, we become 'picturesque:' we are\ncomposing a novel, not striving painfully to attain the truth. Yet, when\nwe know not the details;--the aspect of dwellings now ruinous; the hue and\ncut of garments long wasted into dust; the passing frown, or smile, or\ntone of the actors and the speakers in these dramas of life long ago; the\nclutch of Bothwell at his dagger's hilt, when men spoke to him in the\nstreet; the flush of Darnley's fair face as Mary and he quarrelled at\nStirling before his murder--then we know not the real history, the real\ntruth. Now and then such a detail of gesture or of change of countenance\nis recorded by an eyewitness, and brings us, for a moment, into more vivid\ncontact with the past. But we could only know it, and judge the actors and\ntheir conduct, if we could see the personages in their costume as they\nlived, passing by in some magic mirror from scene to scene. The stage, as\nin Schiller's 'Marie Stuart,' comes nearest to reality, if only the facts\ngiven by the poet were real; and next in vividness comes the novel, such\nas Scott's 'Abbot,' with its picture of Mary at Loch Leven, when she falls\ninto an hysterical fit at the mention of Bastian's marriage on the night\nof Darnley's death. Far less intimate than these imaginary pictures of\ngenius are the statements of History, dull when they are not\n'picturesque,' and when they are 'picturesque,' sometimes prejudiced,\ninaccurate, and misleading.\n\nWe are to betake ourselves to the uninviting series of contradictory\nstatements and of contested dates, and of disputable assertions, which are\nthe dry bones of a tragedy like that of the 'Agamemnon' of AEschylus. Let\nus try first to make mental pictures of the historic people who play their\nparts on what is now a dimly lighted stage, but once was shone upon by the\nsun in heaven; by the stars of darkling nights on ways dimly discerned; by\nthe candles of Holyrood, or of that crowded sick-room in Kirk o' Field,\nwhere Bothwell and the Lords played dice round the fated Darnley's couch;\nor by the flare of torches under which Mary rode down the Blackfriars Wynd\nand on to Holyrood.\n\nThe foremost person is the Queen, a tall girl of twenty-four, with brown\nhair, and sidelong eyes of red brown. Such are her sidelong eyes in the\nMorton portrait; such she bequeathed to her great-great-grandson, James,\n'the King over the Water.' She was half French in temper, one of the proud\nbold Guises, by her mother's side; and if not beautiful, she was so\nbeguiling that Elizabeth recognised her magic even in the reports of her\nenemies.[5]\n\n'This lady and Princess is a notable woman,' said Knollys; 'she showeth a\ndisposition to speak much, to be bold, to be pleasant, and to be very\nfamiliar. She showeth a great desire to be avenged of her enemies, she\nshoweth a readiness to expose herself to all perils in hope of victory,\nshe delighteth much to hear of hardiness and valiance, commending by name\nall approved hardy men of her country, although they be her enemies, and\nconcealeth no cowardice even in her friends.'\n\nThere was something 'divine,' Elizabeth said, in the face and manner which\nwon the hearts of her gaolers in Loch Leven and in England. 'Heaven bless\nthat sweet face!' cried the people in the streets as the Queen rode by, or\nswept along with the long train, the 'targetted tails' and 'stinking pride\nof women,' that Knox denounced.\n\nShe was gay, as when Randolph met her, in no more state than a burgess's\nwife might use, in the little house of St. Andrews, hard by the desecrated\nCathedral. She could be madly mirthful, dancing, or walking the black\nmidnight streets of Edinburgh, masked, in male apparel, or flitting 'in\nhomely attire,' said her enemies, about the Market Cross in Stirling. She\nloved, at sea, 'to handle the boisterous cables,' as Buchanan tells.\nPursuing her brother, Moray, on a day of storm, or hard on the doomed\nHuntly's track among the hills and morasses of the North; or galloping\nthrough the red bracken of the October moors, and the hills of the\nrobbers, to Hermitage; her energy outwore the picked warriors in her\ncompany. At other times, in a fascinating languor, she would lie long\nabed, receiving company in the French fashion, waited on by her Maries,\nwhose four names 'are four sweet symphonies,' Mary Seton and Mary Beaton,\nMary Fleming and Mary Livingstone. To the Council Board she would bring\nher woman's work, embroidery of silk and gold. She was fabled to have\ncarried pistols at her saddle-bow in war, and she excelled in matches of\narchery and pall-mall.\n\n[Illustration: Mary at Eighteen.]\n\nHer costumes, when she would be queenly, have left their mark on the\nmemory of men: the ruff from which rose the snowy neck; the brocaded\nbodice, with puffed and jewelled sleeves and stomacher; the diamonds,\ngifts of Henri II. or of Diane; the rich pearls that became the spoil of\nElizabeth; the brooches enamelled with sacred scenes, or scenes from\nfable. Many of her jewels--the ruby tortoise given by Riccio; the enamel\nof the mouse and the ensnared lioness, passed by Lethington as a token\ninto her dungeon of Loch Leven; the diamonds bequeathed by her to one whom\nshe might not name; the red enamelled wedding-ring, the gift of Darnley;\nthe diamond worn in her bosom, the betrothal present of Norfolk--are, to\nour fancy, like the fabled star-ruby of Helen of Troy, that dripped with\nblood-gouts which vanished as they fell. Riccio, Darnley, Lethington,\nNorfolk, the donors of these jewels, they were all to die for her, as\nBothwell, too, was to perish, the giver of the diamond carried by Paris,\nthe recipient of the black betrothal ring enamelled with bones and tears.\n'Her feet go down to death,' her feet that were so light in the dance,\n'her steps take hold on hell.... Her lips drop as an honeycomb, and her\nmouth is smoother than oil. But her end is bitter as wormwood, sharp as a\ntwo-edged sword.' The lips that dropped as honeycomb, the laughing mouth,\ncould wildly threaten, and vainly rage or beseech, when she was entrapped\nat Carberry; or could waken pity in the sternest Puritan when, half-clad,\nher bosom bare, her loose hair flowing, she wailed from her window to the\ncrowd of hostile Edinburgh.\n\nShe was of a high impatient spirit: we seem to recognise her in an\nanecdote told by the Black Laird of Ormistoun, one of Darnley's murderers,\nin prison before his execution. He had been warned by his brother, in a\nletter, that he was suspected of the crime, and should 'get some good way\nto purge himself.' He showed the letter to Bothwell, who read it, and gave\nit to Mary. She glanced at it, handed it to Huntly, 'and thereafter turnit\nunto me, and turnit her back, and gave _ane thring_ with her shoulder, and\npassit away, and spake nothing to me.' But that 'thring' spoke much of\nMary's mood, unrepentant, contemptuous, defiant.\n\nMary's gratitude was not of the kind proverbial in princes. In September\n1571, when the Ridolfi plot collapsed, and Mary's household was reduced,\nher sorest grief was for Archibald Beaton, her usher, and little Willie\nDouglas, who rescued her from Loch Leven. They were to be sent to\nScotland, which meant death to both, and she pleaded pitifully for them.\nTo her servants she wrote: 'I thank God, who has given me strength to\nendure, and I pray Him to grant you the like grace. To you will your\nloyalty bring the greatest honour, and whensoever it pleases God to set me\nfree, I will never fail you, but reward you according to my power.... Pray\nGod that you be true men and constant, to such He will never deny his\ngrace, and for you, John Gordon and William Douglas, I pray that He will\ninspire your hearts. I can no more. Live in friendship and holy charity\none with another, bearing each other's imperfections.... You, William\nDouglas, be assured that the life which you hazarded for me shall never be\ndestitute while I have one friend alive.'\n\nIn a trifling transaction she writes: 'Rather would I pay twice over, than\ninjure or suspect any man.'\n\nIn the long lament of the letters written during her twenty years of\ncaptivity, but a few moods return and repeat themselves, like phrases in a\nfugue. Vain complaints, vain hopes, vain intrigues with Spain, France, the\nPope, the Guises, the English Catholics, succeed each other with futile\niteration. But always we hear the note of loyalty even to her humblest\nservants, of sleepless memory of their sacrifices for her, of unstinting\nand generous gratitude. Such was the Queen's 'natural,' _mon naturel_:\nwith this character she faced the world: a lady to live and die for: and\nmany died.\n\nThis woman, sensitive, proud, tameless, fierce, and kind, was browbeaten\nby the implacable Knox: her priests were scourged and pilloried, her\ncreed was outraged every day; herself scolded, preached at, insulted; her\nevery plan thwarted by Elizabeth. Mary had reason enough for tears even\nbefore her servant was slain almost in her sight by her witless husband\nand the merciless Lords. She could be gay, later, dancing and hunting, but\nit may well be that, after this last and worst of cruel insults, her heart\nhad now become hard as the diamond; and that she was possessed by the evil\nspirits of loathing, and hatred, and longing for revenge. It had not been\na hard heart, but a tender; capable of sorrow for slaves at the galley\noars. After her child's birth, when she was holiday-making at Alloa,\naccording to Buchanan, with Bothwell and his gang of pirates, she wrote to\nthe Laird of Abercairnie, bidding him be merciful to a poor woman and her\n'company of puir bairnis' whom he had evicted from their 'kindly rowme,'\nor little croft.\n\nHer more than masculine courage her enemies have never denied. Her\nresolution was incapable of despair; 'her last word should be that of a\nQueen.' Her plighted promise she revered, but, in such an age, a woman's\nweapon was deceit.\n\nShe was the centre and pivot of innumerable intrigues. The fierce nobles\nlooked on her as a means for procuring lands, office, and revenge on their\nfeudal enemies. To the fiercer ministers she was an idolatress, who ought\nto die the death, and, meanwhile, must be thwarted and insulted. To\nFrance, Spain, and Austria she was a piece in the game of diplomatic\nchess. To the Pope she seemed an instrument that might win back both\nScotland and England for the Church, while the English Catholics regarded\nher as either their lawful or their future Queen. To Elizabeth she was,\nnaturally, and inevitably, and, in part, by her own fault, a deadly rival,\nwhatever feline caresses might pass between them: gifts of Mary's heart,\nin a heart-shaped diamond; Elizabeth's diamond 'like a rock,' a rock in\nwhich was no refuge. Yet Mary was of a nature so large and unsuspicious\nthat, on the strength of a ring and a promise, she trusted herself to\nElizabeth, contrary to the advice of her staunchest adherents. She was no\nnatural dissembler, and with difficulty came to understand that others\ncould be false. Her sense of honour might become perverted, but she had a\nstrong native sense of honour.\n\nOne thing this woman wanted, a master. Even before Darnley and she were\nwedded, at least publicly, Randolph wrote, 'All honour that may be\nattributed unto any man by a wife, he hath it wholly and fully.' In her\nauthentic letters to Norfolk, when, a captive in England, she regarded\nherself as betrothed to him, we find her adopting an attitude of\nsubmissive obedience. The same tone pervades the disputed Casket Letters,\nto Bothwell, and is certainly in singular consonance with the later, and\ngenuine epistles to Norfolk. But the tone--if the Casket Letters are\nforged--may have been borrowed from what was known of her early submission\nto Darnley.\n\nThe second _dramatis persona_ is Darnley, 'The Young Fool.' Concerning\nDarnley but little is recorded in comparison with what we know of Mary. He\nwas the son, by the Earl of Lennox, a royal Stewart, of that daughter whom\nMargaret Tudor, sister of Henry VIII., and widow of James IV., bore to her\nsecond husband, the Earl of Angus. Darnley's father regarded himself as\nnext to the Scottish crown, for the real nearest heir, the head of the\nHamiltons, the Duke of Chatelherault, Lennox chose to consider as\nillegitimate. After playing a double and dishonest part in the troubled\nyears following the death of James V., Lennox retired to England with his\nwife, a victim of the suspicions of Elizabeth.[6] The education of his\nson, Henry, Lord Darnley, seems to have been excellent, as far as the\nintellect and the body are concerned. The letter which, as a child of\nnine, he wrote to Mary Tudor, speaking of a work of his own, 'The New\nUtopia,' is in the new 'Roman' hand, carried to the perfection of\ncopperplate. The Lennox MSS. say that 'the Queen was stricken with the\ndart of love by the comliness of his sweet behaviour, personage, wit, and\nvertuous qualities, as well in languages[7] and lettered sciencies, as\nalso in the art of music, dancing, and playing on instruments.' When his\nmurderers had left his room at midnight, his last midnight, his\nchamber-child begged him to play, while a psalm was sung, but his hand,\nhe replied, was out for the lute, so say the Lennox Papers. Physically he\nwas 'a comely Prince of a fair and large stature, pleasant in countenance\n... well exercised in martial pastimes upon horseback as any Prince of\nthat age.' The Spanish Ambassador calls him 'an amiable youth.' But it is\nplain that 'the long lad,' the _gentil hutaudeau_, with his girlish bloom,\nand early tendency to fulness of body, was a spoiled child. His mother, a\npassionate intriguer, kept this before him, that, as great-grandson of\nHenry VII., and as cousin of Mary Stuart, he should unite the two crowns.\nThere were Catholics enough in England to flatter the pride of a future\nking, though now in exile. This Prince _in partibus_, like his far-away\ndescendant, Prince Charles Edward, combined a show of charming manners,\nwhen he chose to charm, with an arrogant and violent petulance, when he\ndeemed it safe to be insulting. At his first arrival in Scotland he won\ngolden opinions, 'his courteous dealing with all men is well spoken of.'\nAs his favour with Mary waxed he 'dealt blows where he knew that they\nwould be taken;' he is said to have drawn his dagger on an official who\nbrought him a disappointing message, and his foolish freedom of tongue\ngave Moray the alarm. It was soon prophesied that he 'could not continue\nlong.' 'To all honest men he is intolerable, and almost forgetful of her\nalready, that has adventured so much for his sake. What shall become of\nher or what life with him she shall lead, that already taketh so much\nupon him as to control and command her, I leave it to others to think.' So\nRandolph, the English Ambassador, wrote as early as May, 1565. She was\n'blinded, transported, carried I know not whither or which way, to her own\nconfusion and destruction:' words of omen that were fulfilled.\n\n[Illustration: Darnley at about the age of 18.\n\nWalker & Cockerell. ph. sc.]\n\nWhether Elizabeth let Darnley go to Scotland merely for Mary's\nentanglement, whether Mary fell in love with the handsome accomplished lad\n(as Randolph seems to prove) or not, are questions then, and now,\ndisputed. The Lennox Papers, declaring that she was smitten by the arrow\nof love; and her own conduct, at first, make it highly probable that she\nentertained for the _gentil hutaudeau_ a passion, or a passionate caprice.\n\nDarnley, at least, acted like a new chemical agent in the development of\nMary's character. She had been singularly long-suffering; she had borne\nthe insults and outrages of the extreme Protestants; she had leaned on her\nbrother, Moray, and on Lethington; following or even leading these\nadvisers to the ruin of Huntly, her chief coreligionist. Though constantly\nprofessing, openly to Knox, secretly to the Pope, her desire to succour\nthe ancient Church, she was obviously regarded, in Papal circles, as slack\nin the work. She had been pliant, she had endured the long calculated\ndelays of Elizabeth, as to her marriage, with patience; but, so soon as\nDarnley crossed her path, she became resolute, even reckless. Despite the\nopposition, interested, or religious, or based on the pretext of religion,\nwhich Moray and his allies offered, Mary wedded Darnley. She found him a\npetulant, ambitious boy; sullen, suspicious, resentful, swayed by the\nambition to be a king in earnest, but too indolent in affairs for the\nbusiness of a king.\n\nAt tennis, with Riccio, or while exercising his great horses, his\nfavourite amusement, Darnley was pining to use his jewelled dagger. In the\nfeverish days before the deed it is probable that he kept his courage\nscrewed up by the use of stimulants, to which he was addicted. That he\ndevoted himself to loose promiscuous intrigue injurious to his health, is\nnot established, though, when her child was born, Mary warned Darnley that\nthe babe was 'only too much his son,' perhaps with a foreboding of\nhereditary disease. A satirist called Darnley 'the leper:' leprosy being\nconfounded with 'la grosse verole.' Mary, who had fainting fits, was said\nto be epileptic.\n\nDarnley, according to Lennox, represented himself as pure in this regard,\nnor have we any valid evidence to the contrary. But his word was\nabsolutely worthless.\n\nOutraged and harassed, broken, at last, in health, in constant pain,\nexpressing herself in hysterical outbursts of despair and desire for\ndeath, Mary needed no passion for Bothwell to make her long for freedom\nfrom the young fool. From his sick-bed in Glasgow, as we shall see, he\nsent, by a messenger, a cutting verbal taunt to the Queen; so his own\nfriends declare, they who call Darnley 'that innocent lamb.' It is not\nwonderful if, in an age of treachery and revenge, the character of Mary\nnow broke down. 'I would not do it to him for my own revenge. My heart\nbleeds at it,' she says to Bothwell, in the Casket Letter II., if that was\nwritten by her. But, whatever her part in it, the deed was done.\n\nOf Bothwell, the third protagonist in the tragedy of Three, we have no\nportrait, and but discrepant descriptions. They who saw his body, not yet\nwholly decayed, in Denmark, reported that he must have been 'an ugly\nScot,' with red hair, mixed with grey before he died. Much such another\nwas the truculent Morton.[8] Born in 1536 or 1537, Bothwell was in the\nflower of his age, about thirty, when Darnley perished. He was certainly\nnot old enough to have been Mary's father, as Sir John Skelton declared,\nfor he was not six years her senior. His father died in 1556, and Bothwell\ncame young into the Hepburn inheritance of impoverished estates, high\noffices, and wild reckless blood. According to Buchanan, Bothwell, in\nearly youth, was brought up at the house of his great-uncle, Patrick\nHepburn, Bishop of Moray, who certainly was a man of profligate life. It\nis highly probable that Bothwell was educated in France.\n\n'Blockish' or not, Bothwell had the taste of a bibliophile. One of two\nbooks from his library, well bound, and tooled with his name and arms, is\nin the collection of the University of Edinburgh. Another was in the\nGibson Craig Library. The works are a tract of Valturin, on Military\nDiscipline (Paris, 1555, folio), and French translations of martial\ntreatises attributed to Vegetius, Sextus Julius, and AElian, with a\ncollection of anecdotes of warlike affairs (Paris, 1556, folio). The\npossession of books like these, in such excellent condition, is no proof\nof doltishness. Moreover, Bothwell appears to have read his 'CXX Histoires\nconcernans le faite guerre.' The evidence comes to us from a source which\ndiscredits the virulent rhetoric of Buchanan's ally.\n\nIt was the cue of Mary's foes to represent Bothwell as an ungainly,\nstupid, cowardly, vicious monster: because, he being such a man, what a\nwretch must the Queen be who could love him! 'Which love, whoever saw not,\nand yet hath seen him, will perhaps think it incredible.... But yet here\nthere want no causes, for there was in them both a likeness, if not of\nbeauty or outward things, nor of virtues, yet of most extream vices.'[9]\nBuchanan had often celebrated, down to December 1566, Mary's extreme\nvirtues. To be sure his poem, recited shortly before Darnley's death, may\nhave been written almost as early as James's birth, in readiness for the\nfeast at his baptism, and before Mary's intrigue with Bothwell could have\nbegun. In any case, to prove Bothwell's cowardice, some ally of Buchanan's\ncites his behaviour at Carberry Hill, where he wishes us to believe that\nBothwell showed the white feather of Mary's 'pretty venereous pidgeon.' As\na witness, he cites du Croc, the French Ambassador, an aged and sagacious\nman. To du Croc he has appealed, to du Croc he shall go. That Ambassador\nwrites: 'He' (Bothwell) 'told me that there must be no more parley, for he\nsaw that the enemy was approaching, and had already crossed the burn. He\nsaid that, if I wished to resemble the man who tried to arrange a treaty\nbetween the forces of Scipio and Hannibal, their armies being ready to\njoin in battle, like the two now before us, and who failed, and, wishing\nto remain neutral, took a point of vantage, and beheld the best sport that\never he saw in his life, why then I should act like that man, and would\ngreatly enjoy the spectacle of a good fight.' Bothwell's memory was\ninaccurate, or du Croc has misreported his anecdote, but he was certainly\nboth cool and classical on an exciting occasion.\n\nDu Croc declined the invitation; he was not present when Bothwell refused\nto fight a champion of the Lords, but he goes on: 'I am obliged to say\nthat I saw a great leader, speaking with great confidence, and leading his\nforces boldly, gaily, and skilfully.... I admired him, for he saw that his\nfoes were resolute, he could not be sure of the loyalty of half of his own\nmen, and yet he was quite unmoved.'[10] Bothwell, then, was neither dolt,\nlout, nor coward, as Buchanan's ally wishes us to believe, for the purpose\nof disparaging the taste of a Queen, Buchanan's pupil, whose praises he\nhad so often sung.\n\nIn an age when many gentlemen and ladies could not sign their names,\nBothwell wrote, and wrote French, in a firm, yet delicate Italic hand, of\nsingular grace and clearness.[11] His enemies accused him of studying none\nbut books of Art Magic in his youth, and he may have shared the taste of\nthe great contemporary mathematician, Napier of Merchistoun, the inventor\nof Logarithms. Both Mary's friends and enemies, including the hostile\nLords in their proclamations, averred that Bothwell had won her favour by\nunlawful means, philtres, witchcraft, or what we call Hypnotism. Such\nbeliefs were universal: Ruthven, in his account of Riccio's murder, tells\nus that he gave Mary a ring, as an antidote to poison (not that _he_\nbelieved in it), and that both she and Moray took him for a sorcerer. On a\ncharge of sorcery did Moray later burn the Lyon Herald, Sir William\nStewart, probably basing the accusation on a letter in which Sir William\nconfessed to having consulted a prophet, perhaps Napier of Merchistoun,\nthe father, not the inventor of Logarithms.[12] Quite possibly Bothwell\nmay really have studied the Black Art in Cornelius Agrippa and similar\nauthors. In any case it is plain that, as regards culture, the author of\n_Les Affaires du Conte de Boduel_, the man familiar with the Court of\nFrance, where he had held command in the Scots Guards, and had probably\nknown Ronsard and Brantome, must have been a _rara avis_ of culture among\nthe nobles at Holyrood. So far, then, Mary's love for him, if love she\nentertained, was the reverse of 'incredible.' It did not need to be\nexplained by a common possession of 'extreme vices.' The author, as usual,\noverstates his case, and proves too much: Lesley admits that Bothwell was\nhandsome, an opinion emphatically contradicted by Brantome.\n\nBothwell had the charm of recklessness to an unexampled degree. He was\nfierce, passionate, unyielding, strong, and, in the darkest of Mary's\ndays, had been loyal. He had won for her what Knollys tells us that she\nmost prized, victory. A greater contrast could not be to the false\nfleeting Darnley, the bully with 'a heart of wax.' In him Mary had more\nthan enough of bloom and youthful graces: she could master him, and she\nlonged for a master. If then she loved Bothwell, her love, however wicked,\nwas not unnatural or incredible. He had been loved by many women, and had\nruined all of them.\n\nAmong the other persons of the play, Moray is foremost, Mary's natural\nbrother, the son of her whom James V. loved best, and, it was said, still\ndreamed of while wooing a bride in France. Moray is an enigma. History\nsees him, as in Lethington's phrase, 'looking through his fingers,'\nlooking thus at Riccio's and at Darnley's murders. These fingers hide the\nface. He was undeniably a sound Protestant: only for a brief while, in\nMary's early reign, was he sundered from Knox. In war he was, as he aimed\nat being, 'a Captain in Israel,' cool, courageous, and skilled. That he\nwas extremely acquisitive is certain. Born a royal bastard, and trained\nfor the Church, he clung as 'Commendator' to the Church's property which\nhe held as a layman. His enormous possessions in land, collected partly by\nmeans that sailed close to the wind, partly from the grants of Mary,\nexcited the rash words of Darnley, that they were 'too large.'\n\nAn early incident in Moray's life seems characteristic. The battle of\nPinkie was fought in 1547, when he was sixteen. Among the slain was the\nMaster of Buchan, the heir-apparent of the Earl of Buchan. He left a\nchild, Christian Stewart, who was now heiress of the earldom. In January\n1550, young Lord James Stewart, though Prior of St. Andrews, contracted\nhimself in marriage with the little girl. The old earl was extravagant,\nperhaps more or less insane, and was deep in debt. His lands were\nmortgaged. In 1556 the Lord James bought and secured from the Regent, Mary\nof Guise, the right of redemption. In 1562, being all powerful now with\nMary, he secured a grant of the 'ward, non-entries, and reliefs of the\nwhole estates of the earldom of Buchan.' Now, by the proclamation made,\nas usual, before Pinkie fight, all these were left by the Crown, free, to\nthe heirs of such as might fall in the battle. Therefore they ought to\nhave appertained to Christian Stewart, whom Moray had not married, her\ngrandfather being dead. Moray secured everything to himself, by charters\nfrom the Crown. The unlucky Christian went on living at Loch Leven, with\nMoray's mother, Lady Douglas. In February 1562 Moray wedded Agnes Keith,\ndaughter of the Earl Marischal. His brother, apparently without his\nknowledge, then married Christian. Moray wrote a letter to his own mother\ncomplaining of this marriage as an act of treachery. The Old Man peeps out\nthrough the godly and respectful style of this epistle. Moray speaks of\nChristian as 'that innocent;' perhaps she was not remarkable for\nintellect. He adds that whoever tries to take from him the lady's estates\nwill have to pass over 'his belly.' And, indeed, he retained the\npossessions. The whole transaction does seem to savour of worldliness, to\nbe regretted in so good a man.\n\nMoray continued, after he was pardoned for his rebellion, to add estate to\nestate. He was a pensioner of England; from France he received valuable\npresents. His widow endeavoured to retain the diamonds which Mary had\nowned, and wished to leave attached to the Scottish crown. His ambition\nwas probably more limited than his covetousness, and the suspicion that he\naimed at being king, though natural, was baseless. While he must have\nknown, at least as well as Mary, the guilt of Morton, Lethington, Balfour,\nBothwell, and Argyll, he associated familiarly with them, before he left\nScotland prior to Mary's marriage with Bothwell, and he used Bothwell's\naccomplices, including the Bishop who married Bothwell to Mary, in his\nattack on the character of his sister. Whether he betrayed Norfolk, or\nnot, was a question between David Hume and Dr. Robertson. If to report\nNorfolk's private conversation to Elizabeth is to betray,[13] Moray was a\ntraitor, and did what Lethington scorned to do. But Moray's most\nremarkable quality was caution. He always had an _alibi_. He knew of\nRiccio's murder--and came to Edinburgh next day. He left Edinburgh in the\nmorning, some sixteen hours before the explosion of Kirk o' Field. He left\nEdinburgh for England and France, twelve days before the nobles signed the\ndocument upholding Bothwell's innocence, and urging him to marry the\nQueen. He allowed Elizabeth to lie, in his presence, and about her\nencouragement of his rebellion, to the French Ambassador. His own account\nof his first interview with his sister, in prison at Loch Leven, shows him\nas an adept in menace cruelly suspended over her helpless head. The\naccount of Mary's secretary, Nau, is much less unfavourable to Moray than\nhis own, for obvious reasons.\n\nAs Regent he was bold, energetic, and ruthless: the suspicion of his\nintention to give up a suppliant and fugitive aroused the tolerant ethics\nof the Border. A strong, patient, cautious man, capable of deep reserve,\nin his family relations, financial matters apart, austerely moral, Moray\nwould have made an excellent king, but as a Queen's brother he was most\ndangerous, when not permitted to be all powerful. He could not have\nrescued Darnley, or saved Mary from herself, without risks which a Knox or\na Craig would certainly have faced, but which no secular leader in\nScotland would have dreamed of encountering. Did he wish to save the\ndoomed prince? A precise Puritan, he was by no means like a conscience\namong the warring members of the body politic. Mary rejoiced at the news\nof his murder, pensioned the assassin, and, of all people, chose an\nArchbishop as her confidant.\n\nReviled by Mary's literary partisans, Moray to Mr. Froude seemed 'noble'\nand 'stainless.' He was a man of his time, a time when every traitor or\nassassin had 'God' and 'honour' for ever on his lips. At the hypocrisies\nand falsehoods of his party, deeds of treachery and blood, Moray 'looked\nthrough his fingers.'\n\nInfinitely the most fascinating character in the plot was William\nMaitland, the younger, of Lethington. The charm which he exercised over\nhis contemporaries, from Mary herself to diplomatists like Randolph, and\nmen of the sword like Kirkcaldy of Grange, has not yet exhausted itself.\nReaders of Sir John Skelton's interesting book, 'Maitland of Lethington,'\nmust observe, if they know the facts, that, in presence of Lethington, Sir\nJohn is like 'birds whom the charmer serpent draws.' He is an advocate of\nMary, but of Mary as a 'charming sinner.' By Lethington he is dominated:\nhe will scarcely admit that there is a stain on his scutcheon, a\nscutcheon, alas! smirched and defaced. Could a man of to-day hold an\nhour's converse with a man of that age, he would choose Lethington. He was\nbehind all the scenes: he held the threads of all the plots; he made all\nthe puppets dance at his will. Yet by birth he was merely the son of the\ngood and wise poet and essayist, Sir Richard Lethington, laird of a rugged\ntower and of lands in Lauderdale, _pastorum loca vasta_. He was born about\n1525, had studied in France, and was a man of classical culture, without a\ntouch of pedantry. As early as 1555, we find him arguing after supper with\nKnox, on the lawfulness of bowing down in the House of Rimmon, attending\nthe Mass. Knox had the last word, for Lethington was usually tactful; in\nargument Knox was a babe in the hands of the amateur theologian. Appointed\nSecretary to Mary of Guise, in the troubled years of the Congregation,\nLethington deserted her and joined the Lords. He negotiated for them with\nCecil and Elizabeth, and almost to the last he was true to one idea, the\nunion of the crowns of England and Scotland in peace and amity.\n\nThrough all the windings of his policy that idea governed him if not\nthwarted by personal considerations, as at the last. Before Mary's arrival\nin Scotland he hastened to make his peace with her, and her peace and\ntrust she readily granted. Lethington was the spoiled child of the\npolitical world, 'the flower of the wits of Scotland,' as Elizabeth styled\nhim; was reckoned indispensable, was petted, caressed, and forgiven. He\nnot only withstood Knox, in the interests of religious toleration, but he\nmet him with a smile, with the weapons of _persiflage_, which riddled and\nrankled in the vanity of the Reformer. Lethington was modern to the\nfinger-tips, a man of to-day, moving among the bravos, and using the\npoisoned tools, of an age of violence and perfidy.\n\nAllied by marriage to the Earl of Atholl, in hours of peril he placed the\nTay and the Pass of Killiecrankie between himself and the Law.\n\nFrom the time of his restoration to Mary's favour after Riccio's murder,\nhis part in the obscure intrigue of Darnley's murder, indeed all his\nfuture course, is a mystery. Being now over forty he had long wooed and\njust before the murder had won the beautiful Mary Fleming, of all the Four\nMaries the dearest to the Queen. His letter to Cecil on his love affair is\na charming interlude. 'He is no more fit for her than I to be a page,'\nsays the brawny, grizzled, Kirkcaldy of Grange. His devotion is often\nridiculed by perhaps envious acquaintances. But, from September 20, 1566,\nLethington was deep in every scheme against Darnley. He certainly signed\nthe murder 'band.' He was with Mary at Stirling (April 22-23, 1567) when,\nif he did not know that Bothwell meant to carry her off (and perhaps he\nreally did not know), he was alone in his ignorance among the inner circle\nof politicians. Yet he disliked the marriage, and was hated by Bothwell.\nOn the day of Mary's _enlevement_, Bothwell took Lethington, threatened\nhim, and, but for Mary, would probably have slain him. Passive as to\nherself, she defended the Secretary with royal courage. Days darkened\nround the Queen, the nobles rose in arms. Lethington, about June 7, fled\nfirst to Livingstone's house of Callendar, then joined Atholl and the\nenemies of the Queen. We shall later attempt to unfold the secret springs\nof his tortuous and fatal policy.\n\nLethington had been the Ahithophel of the age. 'And the counsel of\nAhithophel, which he counselled in those days, was as if a man had\nenquired at the oracle of God.' But the Lord 'turned the counsel of\nAhithophel into foolishness.' He wrought against Mary, just after she\nsaved his life from the dagger of Bothwell, some secret inexpiable\noffence, besides public injuries. Fear of her vengeance, for she knew\nsomething fatal to him, drove him into her party when her cause was\ndesperate. He escaped the gallows by a natural death; he had long been\nsmitten by creeping paralysis. Mary hated him dead, as after his betrayal\nof her she had loathed him living.\n\nMary was sorely bested, then, between the Young Fool, the Furious Man, the\nPuritan brother, and Michael Wylie (Machiavelli) as the Scots nicknamed\nLethington. She was absolutely alone. There was no man whom she could\ntrust. On every hand were known rebels, half pardoned, half reconciled.\nFeuds, above all that of her husband and his clan, the Lennox Stewarts,\nwith the nearest heirs of the crown, the Hamiltons, broke out eternally.\nThe Protestants hated her: the Preachers longed to drag her down: the\nEnglish Ambassadors were hostile spies. France was far away, the Queen\nMother was her enemy: her kindred, the Guises, were cold or powerless. She\nsaw only one strong man who had been loyal, one protector who had served\nher mother, and saved herself. That man was Bothwell.\n\nMost inscrutable of the persons in the play is Bothwell's wife, Lady Jane\nGordon, a daughter of Huntly, the dead and ruined Cock of the North. If we\nmay accept the Casket Sonnets, Lady Jane, a girl of twenty, resisted her\nbrother's scheme to wed her to Bothwell. She preferred some one whom the\nsonnet calls 'a troublesome fool,' and a note, in the Lennox Papers,\ninforms us that her first love was Ogilvy of Boyne, who consoled himself\nwith Mary Beaton. Still following the sonnets, we learn that the young\nLady Bothwell dressed ill, but won her wild husband's heart by literary\nlove letters plagiarised from 'some illustrious author.' The existing\nletters of the lady, written after the years of storm, are businesslike,\nand deal with business. She consented to her divorce for a valuable\nconsideration in lands which she held till her death, in the reign of\nCharles I. According to general opinion, Bothwell, as we shall see,\ngreatly preferred her to the Queen, and continued to live with her after\nthe divorce. Lady Bothwell kept the dispensation which enabled her to\nmarry Bothwell, though he was divorced from her for the want of it. She\nmarried the Earl of Sutherland in 1573, and, after his death, returned _a\nses premiers amours_, wedding her old true love who had wooed her in her\ngirlhood, Ogilvy of Boyne. Their conversation must have been rich in\ncurious reminiscences. The loves and hatreds of their youth were extinct;\nthe wild hearts of Bothwell, Mary, Mary Beaton, Lethington, Darnley, and\nthe rest, had long ceased to beat, and these two were left, Darby and\nJoan, alone in a new world.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\n_THE MINOR CHARACTERS_\n\n\nHaving sketched the chief actors in this tragedy, we may glance at the\nplayers of subordinate parts. They were such men as are apt to be bred\nwhen a religious and social Revolution has shaken the bases of morality,\nwhen acquiescence in theological party cries confers the title of 'godly:'\nwhen the wealth of a Church is to be won by cunning or force, and when\nfeudal or clan loyalty to a chief is infinitely more potent than fidelity\nto king, country, and the fundamental laws of morality. The Protestants,\nthe 'godly,' accused the Idolaters (the Catholics) of throwing their sins\noff their shoulders in the confessional, and beginning anew. But the\ngodly, if naturally ruffians, consoled and cleared themselves by\nrepentances on the scaffold, and one felt assured, after a life of crime,\nthat he 'should sup with God that night.'\n\nThe Earl of Morton is no minor character in the history of Scotland, but\nhis part is relatively subordinate in that of Mary Stuart. The son of the\nmost accomplished and perfidious scoundrel of the past generation, Sir\nGeorge Douglas, brother of Angus the brother-in-law of Henry VIII., Morton\nhad treachery in his blood. His father had alternately betrayed England of\nwhich he was a pensioner, and Scotland of which he was a subject. By a\nperverse ingenuity of shame, he had used the sacred Douglas Heart, the\ncognisance of the House, the achievement granted to the descendants of the\nGood Lord James, as a mark to indicate what passages in his treasonable\nletters might be relied on by his English employers. In Morton's father\nand uncle had lived on the ancient inappeasable feud between Douglases and\nStewarts, between the Nobles and the Crown. It was a feud stained by\nmurder under trust, by betrayal in the field, and perfidy in the closet.\nMorton was heir to the feud of his family, and to the falseness. When the\nReformation broke out, and the Wars of the Congregation against Idolatry,\nMorton wavered long, but at length joined the Protestants when they were\ncertain of English assistance. Henceforth he was one of Mr. Froude's\n'small gallant band' of Reformers, and, as such, was hostile to Mary. His\nsanctimonious snuffle is audible still, in his remark to Throckmorton at\nthe time when the Englishman probably saved the life of the Queen from the\nLords. Throckmorton asked to be allowed to visit Mary in prison: 'The Earl\nMorton answered me that shortly I should hear from them, but the day being\ndestined, as I did see, to the Communion, continual preaching, and common\nprayer, they could not be absent, nor attend matters of the world, but\nfirst they must seek the matters of God, and take counsel of Him who could\nbest direct them.'\n\nA red-handed murderer, living in open adultery with the widow of Captain\nCullen, whom he had hanged, and daily consorting with murderers like his\nkinsman, Archibald Douglas, the Parson of Glasgow, Morton approached the\nDivine Mysteries. His private life was notoriously profligate; he added\navarice to his other and more genial peccadilloes. He intruded on the Kirk\nthe Tulchan Bishops, who were mere filters, or conduits, through which\necclesiastical wealth flowed to the State. Yet he was godly: he was the\nfoe of Idolaters, and the Kirk, while deploring his excesses, cast on him\nno unfavourable eye. He held the office of Chancellor, and, during the\nraids and risings which were protests against Darnley's marriage with\nMary, he was in touch with both parties, but did not commit himself. About\nFebruary, 1566, there seems to have been a purpose to deprive him of the\nSeals. He seized the moment to join hands with Darnley in antagonism to\nRiccio: he and his Douglases, George and Archibald, helped to organise the\nmurder of the favourite: Morton was then driven into England. At\nChristmas, 1566, after signing a band, not involving murder, against\nDarnley, he was pardoned, returned, was made acquainted with the scheme\nfor killing Darnley, but, he declared, declined to join without Mary's\nwritten warrant. His friend and retainer, Archibald Douglas, was present\nat the laying of gunpowder in Kirk o' Field. Morton presently signed a\nband promising to aid and abet Bothwell, but instantly joined the nobles\nwho overthrew him. His retainers discovered the fatal Casket full of\nMary's alleged letters to Bothwell, and he was one of the most ardent of\nher prosecutors. Vengeance came upon him, fourteen years later, from\nStewart, the brother-in-law of John Knox.\n\n[Illustration: The Regent Morton\n\nFrom the portrait in the collection of the Earl of Morton.\n\nWalker & Cockerell. ph. sc.]\n\nIn person, Morton was indeed one of the Red Douglases. A good portrait at\nDalmahoy represents him with a common but grim set of features, and\nreddish tawny hair, under a tall black Puritanic hat.\n\nA jackal constantly attendant on Morton was his kinsman, Archibald\nDouglas, a son of Douglas of Whittingham. In Archibald we see the\n'strugforlifeur' (as M. Daudet renders Darwin) of the period. A younger\nson, he was apparently educated for the priesthood, before the\nReformation. In 1565, he was made 'Parson of Douglas,' drawing the\nrevenues, and also was an Extraordinary Lord of Session. Involved in\nRiccio's murder, he fled to France (where he may have been educated), but\nreturned to negotiate Morton's pardon. He was go-between to Morton,\nBothwell, and Lethington, in the affair of Darnley's murder, and was\npresent at, or just before, the explosion, losing one of his embroidered\nvelvet dress shoes, in which he had perhaps been dancing at Bastian's\nmarriage masque. He was also a spectator of the opening of the Casket\n(June 21, 1567), and so zealous and useful against Mary, that, after her\ndefeat at Langside, he received the forfeited lands of the Laird of\nCorstorphine, near Edinburgh. In 1568 he became an Ordinary, or regular\nJudge of the Court of Session, and, later obtained the parish of Glasgow.\nThe messenger of the Kirk, who came to bid him prepare his first sermon,\nfound him playing cards with the Laird of Bargany. He had previously been\nplucked in the examination for the ministry: this was his second chance.\nBeing examined he declined to attempt the Greek Testament; and requested\nanother minister to pray for him, 'for I am not used to pray.' His sermon\nwas not thought savoury. After Morton became Regent, Archibald, for money,\ntook the Queen's side, and is accused of an ungrateful and unclerical\nscheme to murder his cousin, Morton. Just for the devilry of it, and a\nlittle money, he was intriguing, a traitor to Morton, his benefactor, with\nMary's party, and also acting as a spy for Drury and the English. He was,\nlater, restored to his place on the Bench of Scottish Themis, crowded as\nit was with assassins, but he fled to England when Morton was accused and\ndragged down by Stewart of Ochiltree (1581). Morton, in his dying\ndeclaration, remembered his grudge against Archibald or for some other\nreason freely confessed _his_ iniquities. Archibald had distinguished\nhimself as a forger of letters intended to aid Morton, but was denounced\nby his own brother, also a judge, Douglas of Whittingham. The later career\nof this accomplished gentleman was a series of treacherous betrayals of\nMary. In England his charm and accomplishments recommended him to the\nfriendship of Fulke Greville, who did not penetrate his character. His\nletters reveal a polished irony. He was for some time ambassador of James\nVI. to Elizabeth, was again accused of forgery, and, probably, ended his\nactive career in rural retirement. History sees Archibald in the pulpit, a\nStickit Minister: on the Bench administering justice: hobbling hurriedly\nfrom Kirk o' Field in one shoe; watching the bursting open of the silver\nCasket; playing cards, spying, dancing, and winning hearts, and forging\nletters: a versatile man of considerable charm and knowledge of the world.\nHis life, after 1581, is a varied but always sordid chapter of romance.\n\nA grimmer and a godlier man is Mr. John Wood, secretary of Moray, with\nwhom he had been in France, an austere person, a rebuker of Mary's dances\nand frivolity. He, too, was a Lord of Session, and was wont to spur Moray\non against Idolaters. We shall find him very busy in managing the Casket\nLetters. He was slain by young Forbes of Reres, the son of the corpulent\nLady Reres, rumoured to have been the complacent confidant of Mary's amour\nwith Bothwell. Reres had certainly no reason to love Mr. John Wood. George\nBuchanan, too, is on the scene, the Latin poet, the Latin historian, who\nsang of and libelled his Queen, his pupil. Old now, and a devoted partisan\nof the Lennoxes, no man contributed more to the cause of Mary's innocence\nthan Buchanan, so grossly inaccurate and amusingly inconsistent are his\nvarious indictments of her behaviour. 'He spak and wret as they that wer\nabout him for the tym infourmed him,' says Sir James Melville, 'for he was\nbecom sleprie and cairles.' Melville speaks of a later date, but George's\ninvectives against Mary are 'careless' in all conscience.\n\nBesides these there is a pell-mell of men and women; crafty courteous\ndiplomatists like the two Melvilles; burly Kirkcaldy of Grange, a murderer\nof the Cardinal, a spy of England when he was in French service, a secret\nagent of Cecil, a brave man and good captain, but accused of forgery, and\nby no means 'the second Wallace of Scotland,' the frank, manly,\nopen-hearted Greysteil of historical tradition. Huntly and Argyll make\nlittle mark on the imagination: both astute, both full of promise, both\nbarren of accomplishment. The Hamiltons have a lofty position, but are\ndestitute of brains as of scruples; even the Archbishop, most unscrupulous\nof all, is no substitute for Cardinal Beaton.\n\nThere is a crowd of squires; loyal, gallant Arthur Erskine, Willie\nDouglas, who drew Mary forth of prison, the two Standens, English\nequerries of Darnley, whose lives are unwritten romances (what one of them\ndid write is picturesque but untrustworthy), Lennox Lairds, busy Minto,\nProvost of Glasgow, and Houstoun, and valiant dubious Thomas Crawford,\ncalled 'Gauntlets,' and shifty Drumquhassel; spies like Rokeby, assassins\nif need or opportunity arise; copper captains like Captain Cullen; and\nmost truculent of all, Bothwell's Lambs, young Tala, who ceased reading\nthe Bible when he came to Court; and the Black Laird of Ormistoun, he who,\non the day of his hanging, said 'With God I hope this night to sup.' Said\nhe, 'Of all men on the earth I have been one of the proudest and (_sic_)\nhigh-minded, and most filthy of my body. But specially I have shed\ninnocent blood of one Michael Hunter with my own hands. Alas therefore,\nbecause the said Michael, having me lying on my back, having a pitchfork\nin his hand, might have slain me if he pleased, but did it not, which of\nall things grieves me most in conscience.... Within these seven years I\nnever saw two good men, nor one good deed, but all kind of wickedness; and\nyet my God would not suffer me to be lost, and has drawn me from them as\nout of Hell ... for the which I thank him, and I am assured that I am one\nof his Elect.' This devotee used to hang about Mary in Carlisle, when she\nhad fled into England. 'Not two good men, nor one good deed,' saw\nOrmistoun, in seven long years of riding the Border, and following\nBothwell to Court or Warden's Raid. Few are the good men, rare are the\ngood deeds, that meet us in this tragic History. 'There is none that doeth\ngood, no, not one.'\n\nBut behind the men and the time are the Preachers of Righteousness, grim,\nindeed, as their Geneva gowns, not gentle and easily entreated, crying\nout on the Murderess, Adulteress, Idolatress, to be led to block or stake,\nbut yet bold to rebuke Bothwell when he had cowed all the nobles of the\nland. The future was with these men, with the smaller barons or lairds,\nand with sober burgesses, like the discreet author of the 'Diurnal of\nOccurrents,' and with honest hinds, like Michael Hunter, whom Ormistoun\nslew in cold blood. The social and religious cataclysm withdrew its waves:\na new Creed grew into the hearts of the people: intercourse with England\nslowly abated the ruffianism of the Lords: slowly the Law extended to the\nBorder: swiftly the bonds of feudal duty were broken: but not in Mary's\ntime.\n\nOne strange feature of the age we must not forget: the universal belief in\nsorcery. Mary and Moray (she declares) both believed that Ruthven had\ngiven her a ring of baneful magical properties. Foes and friends alike\nalleged that Bothwell had bewitched Mary 'by unleasom means,' philtres,\n'sweet waters,' magic. The preachers, when Mary fled, urged Moray to burn\nwitches, and the cliffs of St. Andrews flared with the flames wherein they\nperished. The Lyon King at Arms, as has been said, died by fire,\napparently for confessed dealings with a wizard, who foretold the events\nof the year, and for treasure hunting with the divining rod. A Napier of\nMerchistoun did foretell Mary's escape (according to Nau); this man,\n_ayant reputation de grand magicien_, may have been the soothsayer: his\nson sought for hidden treasure by divination. Buchanan tells how a dying\ngentleman beheld Darnley's fate in a clairvoyant vision: and how a dim\nshapeless thing smote and awoke, successively, four Atholl men in\nEdinburgh, on the night of the crime of Kirk o' Field. Old rhyming\nprophecies were circulated and believed. Knox himself was credited with\nwinning his sixteen-year-old bride by witchcraft, as Bothwell won Mary.\nMen listened to his reports of his own 'premonitions.'\n\nWhen Huntly, one of the band for Darnley's murder, died, his death was\nstrange. He had hunted, and taken three hares and a fox, after dinner he\nplayed football, fell into a fit, and expired, crying 'never a word save\none, looking up broad with his eyes, and that word was this, \"Look, Look,\nLook!\"' Unlike the dying murderer of Riccio, Ruthven, he perhaps did not\nbehold the Angel Choir. His coffers were locked up in a chamber, with\ncandles burning. Next day a rough fellow, banished by Lochinvar, and\nreceived by Huntly, fell into unconsciousness for twenty-four hours, and\non waking, cried '_Cauld, cauld, cauld!_' John Hamilton, opening one of\nthe dead Earl's coffers, fell down with the same exclamation. Men carried\nhim away, and, returning, found a third man fallen senseless on the\ncoffer. 'All wrought as the Earl of Huntly wrought in the death thraw.'\nThe chamber was haunted by strange sounds: the word went about that the\nEarl was rising again. Says Knox's secretary, Bannatyne, who tells this\ntale, 'I maun praise the Lord my God, and bless his holy name for ever,\nwhen I behold the five that was in the conspiracy, not only of the King's\n[Darnley's] and the second Regent's murder, but also of the first Regent's\nmurder. Four is past with small provision, to wit, Lethington, Argyll,\nBothwell, and last of all Huntly. I hope in God the fifth [Morton] shall\ndie more perfectly, and declare his life's deeds with his own mouth,\nmaking his repentance at the gallows foot.' Part of his life's deeds\nMorton did declare on his dying day.\n\nIn such a mist of dark beliefs and dreads was the world living, beliefs\nshared by Queen, preacher, and Earl, scholar, poet, historian, and the\nsimple secretary of Knox: while the sun shone fair on St. Leonard's\ngardens, and boys like little James Melville were playing tennis and golf.\nThe scenes in which the wild deeds were done are scarcely recognisable in\nmodern Scotland. Holyrood is altered by buildings of the Restoration; the\nlovely chapel is a ruin, where Mary prayed, and the priests at the altar\nwere buffeted. The Queen's chamber is empty, swept and garnished, as is\nthe little cabinet whereinto came the livid face of Ruthven, clad in\narmour, and Darnley, half afraid, and Standen, later to boast, with\ndifferent circumstances, that he saved the Queen from the dirk of Patrick\nBallantyne. The blood of Riccio, outside the door of the state chamber, is\nwashed away: there are only a tourist or two in the long hall where Mary\nleaned on Chastelard's breast in the dance called 'The Purpose' or\n'talking dance.' The tombs of the kings through which Mary stole,\nstopping, says Lennox, to threaten Darnley above the new mould of Riccio's\ngrave, have long been desecrated.\n\nAt Jedburgh we may still see the tall old house, with crow-stepped gables,\nand winding stairs, and the little chambers where Mary tried to make so\ngood an end, and where the wounded Bothwell was tended. In the long\ngallery above, Lethington, and Moray, and du Croc must have held anxious\nconverse, while physicians came and went, proposing uncouth remedies, and\nthe Confessor flitted through, and the ladies in waiting wept. But least\nchanged are the hills of the robbers, sweeping s of rough pasturage,\nbroken by marshes, and the foaming burns of October, through which Mary\nrode to the wounded Bothwell in Hermitage Castle, now a huge shell of grey\nstone, in the pastoral wastes.\n\nMost changed of all is Glasgow, then a pretty village, among trees,\nbetween the burn and the clear water of Clyde. The houses clustered about\nthe Cathedral, the ruined abodes of the religious, and the Castle where\nLennox and Darnley both lay sick, while Mary abode, it would seem, in the\npalace then empty of its Archbishop. We see the little town full of armed\nHamiltons, and their feudal foes, the Stewarts of Lennox, who anxiously\nattend her with suspicious glances, as she goes to comfort their young\nchief.\n\nIn thinking of old Edinburgh, as Mary knew it, our fancy naturally but\nerroneously dwells on the narrow wynds of the old town, cabined between\ngrimy slate-roofed houses of some twelve or fifteen stories in height,\n'piled black and massy steep and high,' and darkened with centuries of\nsmoke, squalid, sunless, without a green tree in the near view, so we are\napt to conceive the Edinburgh of Queen Mary. But we do the good town\ninjustice: we are conceiving the Edinburgh of Queen Mary under the colours\nand in the forms of the Edinburgh of Prince Charles and of Robert Burns.\n\nThere exists a bird's-eye view of the city, probably done by an English\nhand, in 1544. It looks a bright, red-roofed, sparkling little town, in\ncontour much resembling St. Andrews. At St. Andrews the cathedral forms,\nas it were, the handle of a fan, from which radiate, like the ribs of the\nfan, North Street, Market Street, and South Street, with the houses and\nlanes between them. At Edinburgh the Castle Rock was the handle of the\nfan. Thence diverged two spokes or ribs of streets, High Street and\nCowgate, lined with houses with red-tiled roofs. Quaint wooden galleries\nwere suspended outside the first floor, in which, not in the ground floor,\nthe front door usually was, approached by an outer staircase. Quaintness,\nirregularity, broken outlines, nooks, odd stone staircases, were\neverywhere. The inner stairs or turnpikes were within semicircular\ntowers, and these, with the tall crow-stepped gables, high-pitched roofs,\nand dormer windows, made up picturesque clumps of buildings, perforated by\nwynds. St. Giles's Church occupied, of course, its present site, and the\n'ports,' or gates which closed the High Street towards Holyrood, had\nturrets for supporters. Through the gate, the Nether Bow, the Court suburb\nof the Canongate ran down to Holyrood, with gardens, and groves, and green\nfields behind the houses. The towers of the beautiful Abbey of Holyrood,\npartly burned by the English in 1544, ended the line of buildings from the\nCastle eastward.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n1. Kirk o' Field Church\n\n2. Holyrood\n\n3. Canongate\n\n4. Netherbow Port\n\n5. Netherbow\n\n6. St. Giles's Church\n\n7. Cowgate\n\n8. Wynd leading to Kirk o' Field\n\n9. Castle\n\n10. Calton Hill]\n\nFar to the left of the town, on a wooded height, the highest and central\npoint of the landscape, we mark a tall rectangular church tower, crowned\nwith a crow-stepped high-pitched roof. It is the church of Kirk o' Field,\nsoon to be so famous as the scene of Darnley's death.\n\nThe blocks of buildings are intersected, we said, by narrow wynds, not yet\nblack, though, from Dunbar's poem, we know that Edinburgh was\nconspicuously dirty and insanitary. But the narrow, compact, bright little\ntown running down the spine of rock from the Castle to Holyrood, was on\nevery side surrounded by green fields, and there were still trout in the\nNorloch beneath the base of the Castle cliff, where now the railway runs.\nNew town, of course, there was none. Most of the town of Mary's age was\nembraced by the ruinous wall, hastily constructed after the defeat and\ndeath of James IV. Such was the city: of the houses we may gain an idea\nfrom the fine old building traditionally called John Knox's house: if we\nsuppose it neat, clean, its roof scarlet, its walls not grimy with\ncenturies of reek. The houses stood among green gardens, hedges, and\ntrees, and on the grassy hills between the city and the sea, and to the\neast and west, were _chateaux_ and peel-towers of lords and lairds.\n\nSuch was Queen Mary's Edinburgh: long, narrow, and mightily unlike the\npicturesque but stony, and begrimed, and smoke-hidden capital of\nto-day.[14]\n\n'There were fertile soil, pleasant meadows, woods, lakes, and burns, all\naround,' where now is nothing but stone, noisy pavement, and slate. The\nmonasteries of the Franciscans and Dominicans lay on either side of St.\nMary in the Fields, or Kirk of Field, with its college quadrangle and wide\ngardens.[15] But, in Mary's day, the monastic buildings and several\nchurches lay in ruins, owing to the recent reform of the Christian\nreligion, and to English invaders.\n\nThe palaces of the Cowgate and of the Canongate were the homes of the\nnobles; the wynds were crowded with burgesses, tradesmen, prentices, and\nthe throng of artisans. These were less godly than the burgesses, were a\nfickle and fiery mob, ready to run for spears, or use their tools to\ndefend their May-day sport of Robin Hood against the preachers and the\nBible-loving middle classes. Brawls were common, the artisans besieging\nthe magistrates in the Tolbooth, or the rival followings of two lairds or\nlords coming to pistol-shots and sword-strokes on the causeway, while\nburgesses handed spears to their friends from the windows. Among popular\npleasures were the stake, at which witches and murderesses of masters or\nhusbands were burned; and the pillory, where every one might throw what\ncame handy at a Catholic priest, and the pits in the Norloch where\nfornicators were ducked. The town gates were adorned with spikes, on which\nwere impaled the heads of sinners against the Law.\n\nMary rode through a land of new-made ruins, black with fire, not yet green\nwith ivy. On every side, wherever monks had lived, and laboured, and dealt\nalms, and written manuscripts, desolation met Mary's eyes. The altars were\ndesecrated, the illumined manuscripts were burned, the religious skulked\nin lay dress, or had fled to France, or stood under the showers of\nmissiles on the pillory. It was a land of fallen fanes, and of stubborn\nblind keeps with scarce a window, that she passed through, with horse and\nlitter, lace, and gold, and velvet, and troops of gallants and girls. In\nthe black tall Tolbooth lurked the engines of torture, that were to strain\nor crush the limbs of Bothwell's Lambs. Often must Mary have seen, on the\nskyline, the gallows tree, and the fruits which that tree bore, and the\nflocking ravens; one of that company followed Darnley and her from\nGlasgow, and perched ominous on the roof of Kirk o' Field, croaking loudly\non the day of the murder. So writes Nau, Mary's secretary, informed,\nprobably, by one of her attendants.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\n_THE CHARACTERS BEFORE RICCIO'S MURDER_\n\n\nAfter sketching the characters and scenes of the tragedy, we must show how\ndestiny interwove the life-threads of Bothwell and Mary. They were fated\nto come together. She was a woman looking for a master, he was a masterful\nand, in the old sense of the word, a 'masterless' man, seeking what he\nmight devour. In the phrase of Aristotle, 'Nature _wishes_' to produce\nthis or that result. It almost seems as if Nature had long 'wished' to\nthrow a Scottish Queen into the hands of a Hepburn. The Hepburns were not\nof ancient _noblesse_. From their first appearance in Scottish history\nthey are seen to be prone to piratical adventure, and to courting widowed\nqueens. The unhappy Jane Beaufort, widow of James I., and of the Black\nKnight of Lome, died in the stronghold of a Hepburn freebooter. A Hepburn\nwas reputed to be the lover of Mary of Gueldres, the beautiful and not\ninconsolable widow of James II. This Hepburn, had he succeeded in securing\nthe person of Mary's son, the boy James III., might have played Bothwell's\npart. The name rose to power and rank on the ruin of the murdered James\nIII., and of Ramsay, his favourite, who had worn, but forfeited to the\nHepburn of the day, the title of Bothwell. The name was strong in the most\nlawless dales of the Border, chiefly in Liddesdale, where the clans\nalternately wore the cross of St. Andrew and of St. George, and\nimpartially plundered both countries. The more profitable Hepburn estates,\nhowever, were in the richer bounds of Lothian.\n\nThe attitude and position of James Hepburn, our Bothwell, were, from the\nfirst, unique. He was at once a Protestant, 'the stoutest and the worst\nthought of,' and also an inveterate enemy of England, a resolute partisan\nof Mary's mother, Mary of Guise, the Regent, in her wars against the\nProtestant rebels, 'the Lords of the Congregation.' From this curious and\nillogical position, adopted in his early youth, Bothwell never wandered.\nHe was to end by making Mary wed him with Protestant rites, while she\nassured her confessor that she only did so in the hope of restoring the\nCatholic Church! We must briefly trace the early career of Bothwell.\n\nWhile Darnley was being educated in England, with occasional visits to\nFrance, and while Mary was residing there as the bride of the Dauphin:\nwhile Moray was becoming the leader of the Protestant opposition to Mary\nof Guise ('the Lords of the Congregation'), while Maitland was entering on\nhis career of diplomacy, Bothwell was active in the field. In 1558, after\nMary of Guise had been deserted by her nobles at Kelso, as her husband\nhad been at Fala, young Bothwell, being now Lieutenant-General on the\nBorder, made a raid into England. In the war between Mary of Guise, as\nRegent, and the Protestant Lords of the Congregation, Bothwell fought on\nher side. A Diary of the Siege of Leith (among the Lennox MSS.) describes\nhis activity in intercepting and robbing poor peaceful tradesmen. From\nanother unpublished source we learn that he, among others, condemned the\nEarl of Arran (in absence) as the cause of the Protestant rebellion.[16]\nOn October 5, 1559, Bothwell seized, near Haddington, Cockburn of\nOrmiston, who was carrying English gold to the Lords.[17] They, in\nreprisal, sacked his castle of Crichton, and nearly caught him. He later\nin vain challenged the Earl of Arran (the son of the chief of the\nHamiltons, the Duke of Chatelherault) to single combat. A feud of\nfar-reaching results now began between Arran and Cockburn on one side, and\nBothwell on the other. When Leith, held for Mary of Guise, in 1560, was\nbesieged by the Scots and English, Bothwell (whose estates had been sold)\nwas sent to ask aid from France. He went thither by way of Denmark, and\nnow, probably, he was more or less legally betrothed to a Norwegian lady,\nAnne Throndssoen, whom he carried from her home, and presently deserted.\nAlready, in 1559, he was said to be 'quietly married or handfasted' to\nJanet Beaton, niece of Cardinal Beaton, and widow of Sir Walter Scott of\nBuccleugh, the wizard Lady of Branxholme in Scott's 'Lay of the Last\nMinstrel.'[18] She was sister of Lady Reres, wife of Forbes of Reres, the\nlady said to have aided Bothwell in his amour with Mary. In 1567 one of\nthe libels issued after Darnley's murder charged the Lady of Branksome\nwith helping Bothwell to win Mary's heart by magic.\n\nAnne Throndssoen, later, accused Bothwell of breach of promise of marriage,\ngiven to her and her family 'by hand and mouth and letters.' In 1560 the\nLady of Branksome circulated a report that Bothwell had wedded a rich wife\nin Denmark: she does not seem to have been jealous.[19] An anonymous\nwriter represents Bothwell as having three simultaneous wives, probably\nAnne, the Branxholme lady, and his actual spouse, Lady Jane Gordon, sister\nof Huntly. But the arrangements in the first two cases were probably not\nlegally valid. There is no doubt that Bothwell, ugly or not, was a great\nconqueror of hearts. He may have been _un beau laid_, and he possessed, as\nwe have said, the qualities, so attractive to many women, of utter\nrecklessness, of a bullying manner, of great physical strength, and of\na reputation for _bonnes fortunes_. That Bothwell was extravagant and a\ngambler is probably true: and, in short, he was, to many women, a most\nattractive character. To the virtuous, like Lady Jane Gordon, he would\nappear as an agreeable brand to be snatched from the burning.\n\n[Illustration: Le Dueil Blanc\n\nSketch by Janet 1561.\n\nWalker & Cockerell. ph. sc.]\n\nDropping poor Anne Throndssoen in the Netherlands, on his way from Denmark,\nBothwell, in 1560, went to the French Court, where he was made Gentilhomme\nde la Chambre, but could not procure aid for Mary of Guise. He acquired\nmore French polish, and (so his enemies and his valet, Paris, said) he\nlearned certain infamous vices. Mary Stuart became a widow, and Dowager of\nFrance, in December 1560: it is not certain whether or not Bothwell was in\nher train at Joinville in April 1561.[20] After Mary's return to Scotland\nthe old feud between Arran and Bothwell broke out afresh. Bothwell and\nd'Elboeuf paid a noisy visit to the handsome daughter of a burgess, said\nto be Arran's mistress. There were brawls, and presently Bothwell attacked\nCockburn of Ormiston, the man he had robbed, Arran's ally, and carried off\nhis son to Crichton Castle. This occurred in March, 1562, and, as early as\nFebruary 21, Randolph, the English minister at Holyrood, had 'marked\nsomething strange' in Arran.[21] His feeble ambitious mind was already\ntottering, which casts doubt on what followed. On March 25, Bothwell\nvisited Knox (whose ancestors had been retainers of the House of Hepburn),\nand invited the Reformer to reconcile him with Arran. The feud, Bothwell\nsaid, was expensive: he dared not move without a company of armed men.\nKnox contrived a meeting at the Hamilton house near the fatal Kirk o'\nField. The enemies were reconciled, and next day went together to 'the\nSermon,' a spiritual privilege of which Bothwell was only too neglectful.\nKnox had done a good stroke for the Anti-Marian Protestant party, of whose\nleft wing Arran was the leader.[22]\n\nBut alas for Knox's hopes! Only three days after the sermon, on March 29,\nArran (who had been wont to confide his love-sorrows to Knox) came to the\nReformer with a strange tale. Bothwell had opened to him, in the effusions\nof their new friendship, his design to seize Mary, and put her in Arran's\nkeeping, in Dumbarton Castle. He would slay Mar (that is Lord James\nStuart, later Moray) and Lethington, whom he detested, 'and he and I would\nrule all,' said Arran, who knew very well what sort of share he would be\npermitted to enjoy in the dual control. I have very little doubt that the\nimpoverished, more or less disgraced Bothwell did make this proposal. He\nwas safe in doing so. If Arran accused him, Arran would, first, be\nincarcerated, till he proved his charge (which he could not do), or,\nsecondly, Bothwell would appeal to Trial by Combat, for which he knew\nthat Arran had no taste. In his opinion, Bothwell merely meant to entrap\nhim, and his idea was to write to Mary and her brother. Whether Knox\nalready perceived that Arran was insane, or not, he gave him what was\nperhaps the best advice--to be silent. Arran's position was perilous. If\nthe plot came to be known, if Bothwell confessed all, then he would be\nguilty of concealing his foreknowledge of it; like Morton in the case of\nDarnley's murder.\n\nArran did not listen to Knox's counsel. He wrote to Mary and Mar, partly\nimplicating his own father; he then fled from his father's castle of\nKeneil, hurried to Fife, and was brought by Mar (Moray) to Mary at\nFalkland, whither Bothwell also came, perhaps warned by Knox, who had a\nfamily feudal attachment to the Hepburns. Arran now was, or affected to\nbe, distraught. He persisted, however, in his charge against Bothwell, who\nwas warded in Edinburgh Castle, while Arran's father was deprived of\nDumbarton Castle.\n\nThe truth of Arran's charge is uncertain. In any case, 'the Queen both\nhonestly and stoutly behaves herself,' Randolph wrote. While Bothwell lay,\na prisoner on suspicion, in Edinburgh Castle, Mary was come to a crisis in\nher reign. Her political position, hitherto, may be stated in broad\noutline. The strains of European tendencies, political and theological,\nwere dragging Scotland in opposite directions. Was the country to remain\nProtestant, and in alliance with England, or was it to return to the\nancient league with France, and to the Church of Rome?\n\nDuring Mary's first years in Scotland, she and the governing politicians,\nher brother Moray and Maitland of Lethington, were fairly well agreed as\nto general policy. With all her affection for her Church and her French\nkinsmen, Mary could not hope, at present, for much more than a certain\nmeasure of toleration for Catholics. As to the choice of the French or\nEnglish alliance, her ambitions appeared to see their best hope in an\nunderstanding with Elizabeth, under which Mary and her issue should be\nrecognised as heirs of the English throne. So far the ruling politicians,\nMoray, Lethington, and Morton, were sufficiently in accord with their\nQueen. A restoration of the Church they would not endure. Not only their\ntheological tenets (sincerely held by Moray) opposed any such restoration,\nbut their hold of Church property was what they would not abandon save\nwith life. The Queen and her chief advisers, therefore, for years enjoyed\na _modus vivendi_: a pacific kind of compromise. Mary was so far from\nbeing ardently Catholic in politics, that, while Bothwell was confined in\nEdinburgh Castle, she accompanied Moray to the North, and overthrew her\nchief Catholic supporter, Huntly, 'the Cock of the North,' and all but the\nking of the Northern Catholics. Before she set foot in Scotland, he had\noffered to restore her by force, and with her, the Church. She preferred\nthe alliance of her brother, of Lethington, and of _les politiques_, the\nmoderate Protestants. Huntly died in battle against his Queen; his family,\nfor the hour, was ruined; but Huntly's son and successor in the title\nrepresented the discontents and ambitions of the warlike North, as\nBothwell represented those of the warlike Borderers. Similarity of\nfortunes and of desires soon united these two ruined and reckless men,\nHuntly and Bothwell, in a league equally dangerous to Moray, to amity with\nEngland, and, finally, to Mary herself.\n\nTo restore his family to land and power, Huntly was ready to sacrifice not\nonly faith and honour, but natural affection. Twice he was to sell his\nsister, Lady Jane, once when he married her to Bothwell against her will:\nonce when, Bothwell having won her love, Huntly compelled or induced her\nto divorce him. But these things lay in the future. For the moment, the\nautumn of 1562, the Huntlys were ruined, and Bothwell (August 28, 1562),\nin the confusion, escaped from prison in Edinburgh Castle. 'Some whispered\nthat he got easy passage by the gates,' says Knox. 'One thing,' he adds,\n'is certain, to wit, the Queen was little offended at his escaping.'[23]\nHe was, at least, her mother's faithful servant.\n\nWe begin to see that the Protestant party henceforward suspected the Queen\nof regarding Bothwell as, to Mary, a useful man in case of trouble.\nBothwell first fled to Hermitage Castle in Liddesdale. As\nLieutenant-General on the Border he commanded the reckless broken clans,\nthe 'Lambs,' his own Hepburns, Hays, Ormistouns of Ormistoun, and others\nwho aided him in his most desperate enterprises; while, as Admiral, he had\nthe dare-devils of the sea to back him.\n\nLord James now became Earl of Moray, and all-powerful; and Bothwell,\nflying to France, was storm-stayed at Holy Island, and held prisoner by\nElizabeth. His kinsfolk made interest for him with Mary, and, on February\n5, 1564, she begged Elizabeth to allow him to go abroad. In England,\nBothwell is said to have behaved with unlooked-for propriety. 'He is very\nwise, and not the man he was reported to be,' that is, not 'rash,\nglorious, and hazardous,' Sir Harry Percy wrote to Cecil. 'His behaviour\nhas been courteous and honourable, keeping his promise.' Sir John Forster\ncorroborated this evidence. Bothwell, then, was not loutish, but, when he\npleased, could act like a gentleman. He sailed to France, and says himself\nthat he became Captain of the Scottish Guards, a post which Arran had once\nheld. In France he is said to have accused Mary of incestuous relations\nwith her uncle, the Cardinal.\n\nDuring Bothwell's residence in England, and in France, the equipoise of\nMary's political position had been disturbed. She had held her ground,\nagainst the extreme Protestants, who clamoured for the death of all\nidolaters, by her alliance with _les politiques_, led by Moray and\nLethington. Their ambition, like hers, was to see the crowns of England\nand Scotland united in her, or in her issue. Therefore they maintained a\nperilous amity with England, and with Elizabeth, while plans for a meeting\nof the Queens, and for the recognition of Mary as Elizabeth's heir, were\nbeing negotiated. But this caused ceaseless fretfulness to Elizabeth, who\nbelieved, perhaps correctly, that to name her successor was to seal her\ndeath-warrant. The Catholics of England would have hurried her to the\ngrave, she feared, that they might welcome Mary. In the same way, no\nconceivable marriage for Mary could be welcome to Elizabeth, who hated the\nvery name of wedlock. Yet, while Bothwell was abroad, and while\nnegotiations lasted, there was a kind of repose, despite the anxieties of\nthe godly and their outrages on Catholics. Mary endured much and endured\nwith some patience. One chronic trouble was at rest. The feud between the\nHamiltons, the nearest heirs of the crown, and the rival claimants, the\nLennox Stewarts, was quiescent.\n\nThe interval of peace soon ended. Lennox, the head of the House hateful to\nthe Hamiltons, was, at the end of 1564, allowed to return to Scotland, and\nwas reinstated in the lands which his treason had forfeited long ago. In\nthe early spring of 1565, Lennox's son, Darnley, followed his father to\nthe North, was seen and admired by Mary, and the peace of Scotland was\nshattered. As a Catholic by education, though really of no creed in\nparticular, Darnley excited the terrors of the godly. His marriage with\nMary meant, to Moray, loss of power; to Lethington, a fresh policy; to the\nHamiltons, the ruin of their hopes of royalty, while, by most men, Darnley\nsoon came to be personally detested.\n\nBefore it was certain that Mary would marry Darnley, but while the friends\nand foes of the match were banding into parties, early in March 1565,\nBothwell returned unbidden to Scotland, and lurked in his Border fastness.\nKnox's continuator says that Moray told Mary that either he or Bothwell\nmust leave the country. Mary replied that, considering Bothwell's past\nservices, 'she could not hate him,' neither could she do anything\nprejudicial to Moray.[24] 'A day of law' was set for Bothwell, for May 2,\nbut, as Moray gathered an overpowering armed force, he sent in a protest,\nby his comparatively respectable friend, Hepburn of Riccartoun, and went\nabroad. Mary, according to Randolph, had said that she 'altogether\nmisliked his home-coming without a licence,' but Bedford feared that she\nsecretly abetted him. He was condemned in absence, but Mary was thought to\nhave prevented the process of outlawry. Dr. Hay Fleming, however, cites\nPitcairn's 'Criminal Trials,' i. 462,[25] as proof that Bothwell actually\nwas outlawed, or put to the horn. Knox's continuator, however, says that\nBothwell 'was not put to the horn, for the Queen continually bore a great\nfavour to him, and kept him to be a soldier.'[26] The Protestants ever\nfeared that Mary would 'shake Bothwell out of her pocket,' against\nthem.[27]\n\nPresently, her temper outworn by the perpetual thwartings which checked\nher every movement, and regardless of the opposition of Moray, of the\nHamiltons, of Argyll, and of the whole Protestant community, Mary wedded\nDarnley (July 29, 1565). Her adversaries assembled in arms, secretly\nencouraged by Elizabeth, and what Kirkcaldy of Grange had prophesied\noccurred: Mary 'shook Bothwell out of her pocket' at her opponents. In\nJuly, she sent Hepburn of Riccartoun to summon him back from France.\nRiccartoun was captured by the English, but Bothwell, after a narrow\nescape, presented himself before Mary on September 20. By October, Moray,\nthe Hamiltons, and Argyll were driven into England or rendered harmless.\nRandolph now reported that Bothwell and Atholl were all-powerful. The\nresult was ill feeling between Darnley and Bothwell. Darnley wished his\nfather, Lennox, to govern on the Border, but Mary gave the post to\nBothwell.[28] Her estrangement from Darnley had already begun. Jealousy of\nMary's new secretary, Riccio, was added.\n\nThe relations between Darnley, Bothwell, Mary, and Riccio, between the\ncrushing of Moray's revolt, in October 1565, and the murder of the\nItalian Secretary, in March 1566, are still obscure. Was Riccio Mary's\nlover? What were the exact causes of the estrangement from Darnley, which\nwas later used as the spring to discharge on Riccio, and on Mary, the\nwrath of the discontented nobles and Puritans? The Lennox Papers inform\nus, as to Mary and Darnley, that 'their love never decayed till their\nreturn from Dumfries,' whence they had pursued Moray into England.\n\nMary had come back to Edinburgh from Dumfries by October 18, 1565. Riccio\nwas already, indeed by September 22, complained of as a foreign upstart,\nbut not as a lover of Mary, by the rebel Lords.[29] The Lennox Papers\nattribute the estrangement of Mary and Darnley to her pardoning without\nthe consent of the King, her husband, 'sundry rebels,' namely the\nHamiltons. The pardon implied humiliation and five years of exile. It was\ngranted about December 3.[30] The measure was deeply distasteful to\nDarnley and Lennox, who had long been at mortal feud, over the heirship to\nthe crown, with the Lennox Stewarts. The pardon is attributed to the\ninfluence of 'Wicked David,' Riccio. But to pardon perpetually was the\nfunction of a Scottish prince. Soon we find Darnley intriguing for the\npardon of Moray, Ruthven, and others, who were not Hamiltons. Next, Lennox\ncomplains of Mary for 'using the said David more like a lover than a\nhusband, forsaking her husband's bed and board very often.' But this was\nnot before November. The 'Book of Articles' put in against Mary by her\naccusers is often based on Lennox's papers. It says 'she suddenly altered\nthe same' (her 'vehement love' of Darnley) 'about November, for she\nremoved and secluded him from the counsel and knowledge of all Council\naffairs.'[31] The 'Book of Articles,' like Lennox's own papers, omits\nevery reference to Riccio that can be avoided. The 'Book of Articles,'\nindeed, never hints at his existence. The reason is obvious: Darnley had\nnot shone in the Riccio affair. Moreover the Lennox party could not accuse\nMary of a guilty amour before mid November, 1565, for James VI. was born\non June 19, 1566. It would not do to discredit his legitimacy. But, as\nearly as September 1565, Bedford had written to Cecil that 'of the\ncountenance which Mary gave to David he would not write, for the honour\ndue to the person of a Queen.'[32] Thus, a bride of six weeks, Mary was\nreported to be already a wanton! Moreover, on October 13, 1565, Randolph\nwrote from Edinburgh that Mary's anger against Moray (who had really\nenraged her by rising to prevent her from marrying Darnley) came from some\ndishonourable secret in Moray's keeping, 'not to be named for reverence\nsake.' He 'has a thing more strange' even than the fact that Mary 'places\nBothwell in honour above every subject that she hath.' As the 'thing' is\n_not_ a nascent passion for Bothwell, it may be an amour with Riccio.[33]\nIndeed, on October 18, 1565, he will not speak of the cause of mischief,\nbut hints at 'a stranger and a varlet,' Riccio.[34] Randolph and the\nEnglish diplomatists were then infuriated against Mary, who had expelled\ntheir allies, Moray and the rest, discredited Elizabeth, their\npaymistress, and won over her a diplomatic victory. Consequently this talk\nof her early amour with Riccio, an ugly Milanese musician, need not be\ncredited. For their own reasons, the Lennox faction dared not assert so\nearly a scandal.\n\nThey, however, insisted that Mary, in November, 'removed and secluded'\nDarnley from her Council. To prevent his knowing what letters were\nwritten, when he signed them with her, she had his name printed on an iron\nstamp, 'and used the same _in all things_,' in place of his subscription.\nThis stamp was employed in affixing his signature to the 'remission' to\nthe Hamiltons.[35]\n\nIn fact, Darnley's ambitions were royal, but he had an objection to the\nbusiness which kings are well paid for transacting. Knox's continuator\nmakes him pass 'his time in hunting and hawking, and such other pleasures\nas were agreeable to his appetite, having in his company gentlemen willing\nto satisfy his will and affections.' He had the two Anthony Standens, wild\nyoung English Catholics. While Darnley hunted and hawked, Lennox 'lies at\nGlasgow' (where he had a castle near the Cathedral), and 'takes, I hear,\nwhat he likes from all men,' says Randolph.[36] He writes (November 6)\nthat Mary 'above all things desires her husband to be called King.'[37]\nYet it is hinted that she is in love with Riccio! On the same date 'oaths\nand bands are taken of all that ... acknowledge Darnley king, and liberty\nto live as they list in religion.' On November 19, Mary was suffering from\n'her old disease that commonly takes her this time of year in her side.'\nIt was a chronic malady: we read of it in the Casket Letters. From\nNovember 14 to December 1, she was ill, but Darnley hunted and hawked in\nFife, from Falkland probably, and was not expected to return till December\n4.[38] Lennox was being accused of 'extortions' at Glasgow, complained of\n'to the Council.' Chatelherault was 'like to speed well enough in his suit\nto be restored,' after his share in Moray's rebellion.\n\nDarnley was better engaged, perhaps, in Fife, than in advocating his needy\nand extortionate father before the Council, or in opposing the limited\npardon to old Chatelherault. In such circumstances, Darnley was often\nabsent, either for pleasure, or because his father was not allowed to\ndespoil the West; while the Hamilton chief, the heir presumptive of the\nthrone, was treated as a repentant rebel, rather than as a feudal enemy.\nHe was an exile, and lost his 'moveables' and all his castles, so he told\nElizabeth.[39] During, or after, these absences of Darnley, that 'iron\nstamp,' of which Buchanan complains, was made and used.\n\nThe Young Fool had brought this on himself. Mary already, according to\nRandolph, had been heard to say that she wished Lennox had never entered\nScotland 'in her days.' Lennox, the father-in-law of the Queen, was really\na competitor for the crown. If Mary had no issue, he and Darnley desired\nthe crown to be entailed on them, passing over the rightful heirs, the\nHouse of Hamilton. A father and son, with such preoccupations, could not\nsafely be allowed to exercise power. The father would have lived on\nrobbery, the son would have shielded him. Yet, so occupied was Darnley\nwith distant field sports, that, says Buchanan, he took the affair of the\niron stamp easily.[40] Next comes a terrible grievance. Darnley was driven\nout, in the depth of winter, to Peebles. There was so much snow, the roads\nwere so choked, the country so bare, that Darnley might conceivably have\nbeen reduced to 'halesome parritch.' Luckily the Bishop of Orkney, the\njovial scoundrel, 'Bishop Turpy,' who married Mary to Bothwell, and then\ndenounced her to Elizabeth, had brought wine and delicacies. This is\nBuchanan's tale. A letter from Lennox to Darnley, of December 20, 1565,\nrepresents the father as anxious to wait on 'Your Majesty' at Peebles,\nbut scarcely expecting him in such stormy weather. Darnley, doubtless,\nreally went for the sake of the deer: which, in Scotland, were pursued at\nthat season. He had been making exaggerated show of Catholicism, at matins\non Christmas Eve, while Mary sat up playing cards.[41] Presently he was to\nbe the ally of the extreme Protestants, the expelled rebels. Moray was\nsaid not to have two hundred crowns in the world, and was ready for\nanything, in his English retreat. Randolph (Dec. 25) reported 'private\ndisorders' between Darnley and Mary, 'but these may be but _amantium\nirae_,' lovers' quarrels.[42] Yet, two months before he had hinted broadly\nthat Riccio was the object of Mary's passion.\n\nOn this important point of Mary's guilt with Riccio, we have no\naffirmative evidence, save Darnley's word, when he was most anxious to\ndestroy the Italian for political reasons. Randolph, who, as we have seen,\nhad apparently turned his back on his old slanders, now accepted, or\nfeigned to accept, Darnley's anecdotes of his discoveries.\n\nIt is strange that Mary at the end of 1565, and the beginning of 1566,\nseems to have had no idea of the perils of her position. On January 31,\n1566, she wrote 'to the most holy lord, the Lord Pope Pius V.,' saying:\n'Already some of our enemies are in exile, and some of them are in our\nhands, but their fury, and the great necessity in which they are placed,\nurge them on to attempt extreme measures.'[43] But, ungallant as the\ncriticism may seem, I fear that this was only a begging letter _in\nexcelsis_, and that Mary wanted the papal ducats, without entertaining any\ngreat hope or intention of aiding the papal cause, or any real\napprehension of 'extreme measures' on the side of her rebels. Her\nintention was to forfeit and ruin Moray and his allies, in the Parliament\nof the coming March. She also wished to do something 'tending to' the\nrestoration of the Church, by reintroducing the spiritual lords. But that\nshe actually joined the Catholic League, as she was certainly requested to\ndo, seems most improbable.[44] Having arranged a marriage between Bothwell\nand Huntly's sister, Lady Jane Gordon, she probably relied on the united\nstrength of the two nobles in the North and the South. But this was a\nfrail reed to lean upon. Mary's position, though she does not seem to have\nrealised it, was desperate. She had incurred the feud of the Lennox\nStewarts, Lennox and Darnley, by her neglect of both, and by Darnley's\njealousy of Riccio. The chiefs of the Hamiltons, who could always be\ntrusted to counterbalance the Lennox faction, were in exile. Moray was\ndesperate. Lethington was secretly estranged. The Protestants were at\nonce angry and terrified: ready for extremes. Finally, Morton was\nthreatened with loss of the seals, and almost all the nobles loathed the\npower of the low-born foreign favourite, Riccio.\n\nEven now the exact nature of the intrigues which culminated in Riccio's\nmurder are obscure. We cannot entirely trust the well-known 'Relation'\nwhich, after the murder, on April 2, Morton and Ruthven sent to Cecil. He\nwas given leave to amend it, and it is, at best, a partisan report. Its\nobject was to throw the blame on Darnley, who had deserted the\nconspirators, and betrayed them. According to Ruthven, it was on February\n10 that Darnley sent to him George Douglas, a notorious assassin, akin\nboth to Darnley and Morton. Darnley, it is averred, had proof of Mary's\nguilt with Riccio, and desired to disgrace Mary by slaying Riccio in her\npresence. The negotiation, then, began with Darnley, on February 10.[45]\nBut on February 5 Randolph had written to Cecil that Mary 'hath said\nopenly that she will have mass free for all men that will hear it,' and\nthat Darnley, Lennox, and Atholl daily resort to it. 'The Protestants are\nin great fear and doubt what shall become of them. The wisest so much\ndislike this state and government, that they design nothing more than the\nreturn of the Lords, either to be put into their own rooms, or once again\nto put all in hazard.'[46] 'The wisest' is a phrase apt to mean\nLethington. Now, on February 9, before Darnley's motion to Ruthven,\nLethington wrote to Cecil: 'Mary! I see no certain way unless we chop at\nthe very root; you know where it lieth.'[47] When Mary, later, was a\nprisoner in England, Knox, writing to Cecil, used this very phrase, 'If ye\nstrike not at the root, the branches that appear to be broken will bud\nagain' (Jan. 2, 1570). When Lethington meant to 'chop at the very root,'\non February 9, 1566, he undoubtedly intended the death of Riccio, if not\nof Mary.\n\nIn four days (February 13) Randolph informed Leicester of Darnley's\njealousy, and adds, 'I know that there are practices in hand, contrived\nbetween the father and son' (Lennox and Darnley), 'to come by the crown\nagainst her will.' 'The crown' may only mean 'the Crown Matrimonial,'\nwhich would, apparently, give Darnley regal power for his lifetime. 'I\nknow that, if that take effect which is intended, David, with the consent\nof the King, shall have his throat cut within these ten days. Many things\ngrievouser and worse than these are brought to my ears: yea, of things\nintended against her own person....'[48]\n\nThe conspiracy seems to have been political and theological in its\nbeginnings. Mary was certainly making more open show of Catholicism: very\npossibly to impress the French envoys who had come to congratulate her on\nher marriage, and to strengthen her claim on the Pope for money. But\nLennox and Darnley were also parading Catholic devoutness: they had no\nquarrel with Mary on this head. The Protestants, however, took alarm.\nDarnley was, perhaps, induced to believe in Mary's misconduct with Riccio\nafter 'the wisest,' and Lethington, had decided 'to chop at the very\nroot.' Ruthven and Morton then won Darnley's aid: he consented to secure\nProtestantism, and, by a formal band, to restore Moray and the exiles:\nwho, in turn, recognised him as their sovereign. Randolph, banished by\nMary for aiding her rebels, conspired with Bedford at Berwick, and sent\ncopies to Cecil of the 'bands' between Darnley and the nobles (March\n6).[49]\n\nDarnley himself, said Randolph, was determined to be present at Riccio's\nslaying. Moray was to arrive in Edinburgh immediately after the deed.\nLethington, Argyll, Morton, Boyd, and Ruthven were privy to the murder,\nalso Moray, Rothes, Kirkcaldy, in England, with Randolph and Bedford. It\nis probable that others besides Riccio were threatened. There is a 'Band\nof Assurance for the Murder.'[50] Darnley says that he has enlisted\n'lords, barons, freeholders, gentlemen, merchants, and craftsmen to assist\nus in this enterprise, which cannot be finished without great hazard. And\nbecause it may chance that there be certain great personages present, who\nmay make them to withstand our enterprise, wherethrough certain of them\nmay be slain,' Darnley guarantees his allies against the blood feud of the\n'great persons.' These, doubtless, are Bothwell, Atholl, and Huntly. The\ndeed 'may chance to be done in presence of the Queen's Majesty, or within\nher palace of Holyrood House.' The band is dated March 1, in other texts,\nMarch 5. The indications point to a design of killing Mary's nobles, while\nshe, in her condition, might die of the shock. She was to be morally\ndisgraced. So unscrupulous were Mary's foes that Cecil told de Foix, the\nFrench Ambassador in London, how Riccio had been slain in Mary's arms,\n_reginam nefario stupro polluens_.[51] Cecil well knew that this was a\nlie: and it is natural to disbelieve every statement of a convicted liar\nand traitor like Darnley.\n\nJust before the explosion of the anti-Riccio conspiracy, Bothwell _se\nrangea_. Mary herself made a match for him (the contract is of February 9,\n1566) with Lady Jane Gordon, a Catholic, a sister of Huntly, and a\ndaughter of that Huntly who fell at Corrichie burn. The lady was only in\nher twentieth year. The parties being akin, a dispensation was necessary,\nand was granted by the Pope, and issued by the Archbishop of St.\nAndrews.[52] The marriage took place in the Protestant Kirk of the\nCanongate, though the bride was a Catholic, and Mary gave the wedding\ndress (February 24). The honeymoon was interrupted, on March 9, by the\nmurder of Riccio.\n\nThe conspirators made the fatal error of not securing Bothwell and Huntly\nbefore they broke into Mary's room and slew Riccio. While Bothwell,\nHuntly, and Atholl were at large, the forces of the Queen's party had\npowerful friends in the North and on the Border. When the tumult of the\nmurderers was heard, these nobles tried to fight their way to Mary's\nassistance, but were overpowered by numbers, and compelled to seek their\napartments. An attempt was made to reconcile them to the situation, but\nthey escaped under cloud of night. In her letter to the French Court (May\n1567) excusing her marriage with Bothwell, Mary speaks of his 'dexterity'\nin escaping, 'and how suddenly by his prudence not only were we delivered\nout of prison,' after Riccio's death, 'but also that whole company of\nconspirators dissolved....' 'We could never forget it,' Mary adds, and\nBothwell's favour had a natural and legitimate basis in the gratitude of\nthe Queen. Very soon after the outrage she had secretly communicated with\nBothwell and Huntly, 'who, taking no regard to hazard their lives,'\narranged a plan for her flight by means of ropes let down from the\nwindows.[53] Mary preferred the passage through the basement into the\nroyal tombs, and, by aid of Arthur Erskine and Stewart of Traquair, she\nmade her way to Dunbar. Here Huntly, Atholl, and Bothwell rallied to her\nstandard: Knox fled from Edinburgh, Morton and Ruthven with their allies\nfound refuge in England: the lately exiled Lords were allowed to remain in\nScotland: Darnley betrayed his accomplices, they communicated to Mary\ntheir treaties with him, and the Queen was left to reconcile Moray and\nArgyll to Huntly, Bothwell, and Atholl.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\n_BEFORE THE BAPTISM OF THE PRINCE_\n\n\nMary's task was 'to quieten the country,' a task perhaps impossible. Her\ndefenders might probably make a better case for her conduct and prudence,\nat this time, than they have usually presented. Her policy was, if\npossible, to return to the state of balance which existed before her\nmarriage. She must allay the Protestants' anxieties, and lean on their\ntrusted Moray and on the wisdom of Lethington. But gratitude for the\nhighest services compelled her to employ Huntly and Bothwell, who equally\ndetested Lethington and Moray. Darnley was an impossible and disturbing\nfactor in the problem. He had, publicly, on March 20, and privately,\ndeclared his innocence, which we find him still protesting in the Casket\nLetters. He had informed against his associates, and insisted on dragging\ninto the tale of conspirators, Lethington, who had retired to Atholl.\nMoreover Mary must have despised and hated the wretch. Perhaps her hatred\nhad already found expression.\n\nThe Lennox MSS. aver that Darnley secured Mary's escape to Dunbar 'with\ngreat hazard and danger of his life.' Claude Nau reports, on the other\nhand, that he fled at full speed, brutally taunting Mary, who, in her\ncondition, could not keep the pace with him. Nau tells us that, as the\npair escaped out of Holyrood, Darnley uttered remorseful words over\nRiccio's new-made grave. The Lennox MSS. aver that Mary, seeing the grave,\nsaid 'it should go very hard with her but a fatter than Riccio should lie\nanear him ere one twelvemonth was at an end.' In Edinburgh, on the return\nfrom Dunbar, Lennox accuses Mary of threatening to take revenge with her\nown hands. 'That innocent lamb' (Darnley) 'had but an unquiet life'\n(Lennox MSS.).\n\nOnce more, Mary had to meet, on many sides, the demand for the pardon of\nthe Lords who had just insulted and injured her by the murder of her\nservant. On April 2, from Berwick, Morton and Ruthven told Throckmorton\nthat they were in trouble 'for the relief of our brethren and the\nreligion,' and expected 'to be relieved by the help of our brethren, which\nwe hope in God shall be shortly.'[54] Moray was eager for their\nrestoration, which must be fatal to their betrayer, Darnley. On the other\nside, Bothwell and Darnley, we shall see, were presently intriguing for\nthe ruin of Moray, and of Lethington, who, still unpardoned, dared not\ntake to the seas lest Bothwell should intercept him.[55] Bothwell and\nDarnley had been on ill terms in April, according to Drury.[56] But\ncommon hatreds soon drew them together, as is to be shown.\n\nRandolph's desire was 'to have my Lord of Moray again in Court' (April 4),\nand to Court Moray came.\n\nOut of policy or affection, Mary certainly did protect and befriend Moray,\ndespite her alleged nascent passion for his enemy, Bothwell. By April 25,\nMoray with Argyll and Glencairn had been received by Mary, who had\nforbidden Darnley to meet them on their progress.[57] With a prudence\nwhich cannot be called unreasonable, Mary tried to keep the nobles apart\nfrom her husband. She suspected an intrigue whenever he conversed with\nthem, and she had abundant cause of suspicion. She herself had taken\nrefuge in the Castle, awaiting the birth of her child.\n\nMary and Moray now wished to pardon Lord Boyd, with whom Darnley had a\nprivate quarrel, and whom he accused of being a party to Riccio's\nmurder.[58] On May 13, Randolph tells Cecil that 'Moray and Argyll have\nsuch misliking of their King (Darnley) as never was more of man.'[59]\nMoray, at this date, was most anxious for the recall of Morton, who (May\n24) reports, as news from Scotland, that Darnley 'is minded to depart to\nFlanders,' or some other place, to complain of Mary's unkindness.[60]\nDarnley was an obstacle to Mary's efforts at general conciliation, apart\nfrom the horror of the man which she probably entertained. In England\nMorton and his gang had orders, never obeyed, to leave the country:\nRuthven had died, beholding a Choir of Angels, on May 16.\n\nAt this time, when Mary was within three weeks of her confinement, the\nLennox Papers tell a curious tale, adopted, with a bewildering confusion\nof dates, by Buchanan in his 'Detection.' Lennox represents Mary as trying\nto induce Darnley to make love to the wife of Moray, while 'Bothwell alone\nwas all in all.' This anecdote is told by Lennox himself, on Darnley's own\nauthority. The MS. is headed, 'Some part of the talk between the late King\nof Scotland and me, the Earl of Lennox, riding between Dundas and Lythkoo\n(Linlithgow) in a dark night, taking upon him to be the guide that night,\nthe rest of his company being in doubt of the highway.' Darnley said he\nhad often ridden that road, and Lennox replied that it was no wonder, he\nriding to meet his wife, 'a paragon and a Queen.' Darnley answered that\nthey were not happy. As an instance of Mary's ways, he reported that, just\nbefore their child's birth, Mary had advised him to take a mistress, and\nif possible 'to make my Lord ----' (Moray) 'wear horns, and I assure you I\nshall never love you the worse.' Lennox liked not the saying, but merely\nadvised Darnley never to be unfaithful to the Queen. Darnley replied, 'I\nnever offended the Queen, my wife, in meddling with any woman in thought,\nlet be in deed.' Darnley also told the story of 'horning' Moray to a\nservant of his, which Moray 'is privy unto.'\n\nThe tale of Darnley's then keeping a mistress arose, says Lennox, from the\nfact that one of two Englishmen in his service, brothers, each called\nAnthony Standen, brought a girl into the Castle. The sinner was, when\nLennox wrote, in France. Nearly forty years after James VI. imprisoned him\nin the Tower, and he wrote a romantic memoir of which there is a\nmanuscript copy at Hatfield.\n\nWhatever Mary's feelings towards Darnley, when making an inventory of her\njewels for bequests, in case she and her child both died, she left her\nhusband a number of beautiful objects, including the red enamel ring with\nwhich he wedded her.[61] Whatever her feelings towards Moray, she lodged\nhim and Argyll in the Castle during her labour: 'Huntly and Bothwell would\nalso have lodged there, but were refused.'[62] Sir James Melville (writing\nin old age) declares that Huntly and Lesley, Bishop of Ross, 'envied the\nfavour that the Queen showed unto the Earl of Moray,' and wished her to\n'put him in ward,' as dangerous. Melville dissuaded Mary from this course,\nand she admitted Moray to the Castle, while rejecting Huntly and\nBothwell.[63]\n\nJames VI. and I. was born on June 19. Killigrew carried Elizabeth's\ncongratulations, and found that Argyll, Moray, Mar, and Atholl were\n'linked together' at Court. Bothwell had tried to prejudice Mary against\nMoray, as likely to 'bring in Morton during her child-bed,' but Bothwell\nhad failed, and gone to the Border. 'He would not gladly be in the danger\nof the four that lie in the Castle.' Yet he was thought to be 'more in\ncredit' with Mary than all the rest. If so, Mary certainly 'dissembled her\nlove,' to the proverbial extent. Darnley was in the Castle, but little\nregarded.[64] Moray complained that his own 'credit was yet but small:' he\nwas with the Privy Council, Bothwell was not.[65] By July 11, Moray told\nCecil that his favour 'stands now in good case.'[66]\n\nHe had good reason to thank God, as he did. According to Nau, Huntly and\nBothwell had long been urging Darnley to ruin Moray and Lethington, and\nDarnley had a high regard for George Douglas, now in exile, his agent with\nRuthven for Riccio's murder.[67] This is confirmed by a letter from Morton\nin exile to Sir John Forster in July. Morton had heard from Scotland that\nBothwell and Darnley were urging Mary to recall the said George Douglas,\nwhom they expected to denounce Moray and Lethington as 'the devisers of\nthe slaughter of Davy.' 'I now find,' says Morton, 'that the King and\nBothwell are not likely to speed, as was written, for the Queen likes\nnothing of their desire.'[68]\n\nThus Mary was protecting Moray from the grotesque combination of Bothwell\nand Darnley. This is at a time when 'Bothwell was all in all,' according\nto Lennox, and when she had just tried to embroil Moray and her husband by\nbidding Darnley seduce Lady Moray. By Moray's and Morton's own showing,\nMoray's favour was 'in good case,' and he was guarded from Darnley's\nintrigues.\n\nHowever, Buchanan makes Mary try to drive Darnley and Moray to dagger\nstrokes after her 'deliverance.'[69] We need not credit his tale of Mary's\ninforming Darnley that the nobles meant to kill him, and then calling\nMoray out of bed, half-naked, to hear that he was to be killed by Darnley.\nAll that is known of this affair of the hurried Moray speeding through the\ncorridors in his dressing-gown, comes from certain notes of news sent by\nBedford to Cecil on August 15. 'The Queen declared to Moray that the King\nhad told her he was determined to kill him, finding fault that she bears\nhim so much company. The King confessed that reports were made to him that\nMoray was not his friend, which made him speak that of which he repented.\nThe Queen said that she could not be content that either he or any else\nshould be unfriend to Moray.' 'Any else' included Bothwell. 'Moray and\nBothwell have been at evil words for Lethington. The King has departed; he\ncannot bear that the Queen should use familiarity with man or woman.'[70]\nThis may be the basis of Buchanan's legend. Moray and Darnley hated each\nother. On the historical evidence of documents as against the partisan\nlegends of Lennox and Buchanan, Mary, before and after her delivery, was\nleaning on Moray, whatever may have been her private affection for\nBothwell. She even confided to him 'that money had been sent from the\nPope.' Moray was thus deep in her confidence. That she should distrust\nDarnley, ever weaving new intrigues, was no more than just. His wicked\nfolly was the chief obstacle to peace.\n\nPeace, while Darnley lived, there could not be. Morton was certain to be\npardoned, and of all feuds the deadliest was that between Morton and\nDarnley, who had betrayed him. Meanwhile Mary's dislike of Darnley must\nhave increased, after her fear of dying in child-birth had disappeared.\nWhen once the nobles' were knitted into a combination, with Lethington\nrestored to the Secretaryship (for which Moray laboured successfully\nagainst Bothwell), with Morton and the Douglases brought home, Darnley was\ncertain to perish. Lennox was disgraced, and his Stewarts were powerless,\nand Darnley's own Douglas kinsmen were, of all men, most likely to put\ntheir hands in his blood: as they did. Mary was his only possible shelter.\nNothing was more to be dreaded by the Lords than the reconciliation of the\nroyal pair; whom Darnley threatened with the vengeance he would take if\nonce his foot was on their necks. But of a sincere reconciliation there\nwas no danger.\n\nA difficult problem is to account for the rise of Mary's passion for\nBothwell. In February, she had given him into the arms of a beautiful\nbride. In March, he had won her sincerest gratitude and confidence. She\nhad, Lennox says, bestowed on him the command of her new Guard of\nharquebus men, a wild crew of mercenaries under dare-devil captains. But\nthough, according to her accusers, her gratitude and confidence turned to\nlove, and though that love, they say, was shameless and notorious, there\nare no contemporary hints of it in all the gossip of scandalous\ndiplomatists. We have to fall back on what Buchanan, inspired by Lennox,\nwrote after Darnley's murder, and on what Lennox wrote himself in language\nmore becoming a gentleman than that of Buchanan. If Lennox speaks truth,\nimproper relations between Mary and Bothwell began as soon as she\nrecovered from the birth of her child. He avers that Mary wrote a letter\nto Bothwell shortly after her recovery from child-bed, and just when she\nwas resisting Bothwell's and Darnley's plot against Moray and Lethington.\nBothwell, reading the letter among his friends, exclaimed, 'Gyf any faith\nmight be given to a princess, they' (Darnley and Mary) 'should never be\ntogidder in bed agane.' A version in English (the other paper is in Scots)\nmakes Mary promise this to Bothwell when he entered her room, and found\nher washing her hands. Buchanan's tales of Mary's secret flight to Alloa,\nshortly after James's birth, and her revels there in company with Bothwell\nand his crew of pirates, are well known. Lennox, however, represents her\nas departing to Stirling, 'before her month,' when even women of low\ndegree keep the house, and as 'taking her pleasure in most uncomely\nmanner, arraied in homely sort, dancing about the market cross of the\ntown.'\n\nAccording to Nau, Mary and her ladies really resided at Alloa as guests of\nLord Mar, one of the least treacherous and abandoned of her nobles.\nBedford, in a letter of August 3, 1566, mentions Mary's secret departure\nfrom Edinburgh, her intended meeting with Lethington (who had been exiled\nfrom Court since Riccio's death), at Alloa, on August 2, and her\ndisdainful words about Darnley. He adds that Bothwell is the most hated\nman in Scotland: 'his insolence is such that David [Riccio] was never more\nabhorred than he is now,' but Bedford says nothing of a love intrigue\nbetween Bothwell and Mary.[71] The visit to Alloa, with occasional returns\nto Edinburgh, is of July-August.\n\nIn August, Mary, Bothwell, Moray, and Darnley hunted in Meggatdale, the\nmoorland region between the stripling Yarrow and the Tweed. They had poor\nsport: poachers had been busy among the deer. Charles IX., in France, now\nlearned that the royal pair were on the best terms;[72] and Mary's\nInventories prove that, in August, she had presented Darnley with a\nmagnificent bed; by no means 'the second-best bed.' In September she also\ngave him a quantity of cloth of gold, to make a caparison for his\nhorse.[73] Claude Nau reports, however, various brutal remarks of Darnley\nto his wife while they were in Meggatdale. By September 20, Mary,\naccording to Lethington, reconciled Bothwell and himself. This was a very\nimportant event. The reconciliation, Lethington says, was quietly managed\nat the house of a friend of his own, Argyll, Moray, and Bothwell alone\nbeing present. Moray says: 'Lethington is restored to favour, wherein I\ntrust he shall increase.'[74] This step was hostile to Darnley's\ninterests, for he had attempted to ruin Lethington. It is certain, as we\nshall see, that all parties were now united in a band to resist Darnley's\nauthority, and maintain that of the Queen, though, probably, nothing was\nsaid about violence.\n\nAt this very point Buchanan, supported and probably inspired by Lennox,\nmakes the guilty intimacy of Mary and Bothwell begin in earnest. In\nSeptember, 1566, Mary certainly was in Edinburgh, reconciling Lethington\nto Bothwell, and also working at the budget and finance in the Exchequer\nHouse. It 'was large and had pleasant gardens to it, and next to the\ngardens, all along, a solitary vacant room,' says Buchanan. But the real\ncharm, he declares, was in the neighbourhood of the house of David\nChalmers, a man of learning, and a friend of Bothwell. The back door of\nChalmers's house opened on the garden of the Exchequer House, and\naccording to Buchanan, Bothwell thence passed, through the garden, to\nMary's chamber, where he overcame her virtue by force. She was betrayed\ninto his hands by Lady Reres.[75]\n\nThis lady, who has been mentioned already, was the wife of Arthur Forbes\nof Reres. His castle, on a hill above the north shore of the Firth of\nForth, is now but a grassy mound, near Lord Crawford's house of Balcarres.\nThe lady was a niece of Cardinal Beaton, a sister of the magic lady of\nBranksome, and aunt of one of the Four Maries, Mary Beaton. Buchanan\ndescribes her as an old love of Bothwell, 'a woman very heavy, both by\nunwieldy age and massy substance;' her gay days, then, must long have been\nover. She was also the mother of a fairly large family. Cecil absurdly\navers that Bothwell obtained his divorce by accusing himself of an amour\nwith this fat old lady.[76] Knox's silly secretary, Bannatyne, tells us\nthat the Reformer, dining at Falsyde, was regaled with a witch story by a\nMr. Lundie. He said that when Lady Atholl and Mary were both in labour, in\nEdinburgh Castle, he came there on business, and found Lady Reres lying\nabed. 'He asking her of her disease, she answered that she was never so\ntroubled with no bairn that ever she bare, for the Lady Atholl had cast\nall the pain of her child-birth upon her.'[77] It was a case of\nTelepathy. Lady Reres had been married long enough to have a grown-up son,\nthe young Laird of Reres, who was in Mary's service at Carberry Hill\n(June, 1567). According to Dr. Joseph Robertson, Lady Reres was wet-nurse\nto Mary's baby. But, if we trust Buchanan, she was always wandering about\nwith Mary, while the nurseling was elsewhere. The name of Lady Reres does\nnot occur among those of Mary's household in her _Etat_ of February 1567.\nWe only hear of her, then, from Buchanan, as a veteran procuress of vast\nbulk who, at some remote period, had herself been the mistress of\nBothwell.\n\nA few days after the treasonable and infamous action of Bothwell in\nviolating his Queen, we are to believe that Mary, still in the Exchequer\nHouse, sent Lady Reres for that hero. Though it would have been simple and\neasy to send a girl like Margaret Carwood, Mary and Margaret must needs\nlet old Lady Reres 'down by a string, over an old wall, into the next\ngarden.' Still easier would it have been for Lady Reres to use the key of\nthe back door, as when she first admitted Bothwell. But these methods were\nnot romantic enough: 'Behold, the string suddenly broke, and down with a\ngreat noise fell Lady Reres.' However, she returned with Bothwell, and so\nbegan these tragic loves.\n\nThis legend is backed, according to Buchanan, by the confession of\nBothwell's valet, George Dalgleish, 'which still remaineth upon record,'\nbut is nowhere to be found. In Dalgleish's confession, printed in the\n'Detection,' nothing of the kind occurs. But a passage in the Casket\nSonnet IX. is taken as referring to the condoned rape:\n\n Pour luy aussi j'ai jete mainte larme,\n Premier, quand il se fist de ce corps possesseur,\n Duquel alors il n'avoit pas le coeur.\n\nIn the Lennox MSS. Lennox himself dates the beginning of the intrigue with\nBothwell about September, 1566. But he and Buchanan are practically but\none witness. There is no other.\n\nAs regards this critical period, we have abundant contemporary\ninformation. The Privy Council, writing to Catherine de' Medici, from\nEdinburgh, on October 8, make Mary, ten or twelve days before (say\nSeptember 26), leave Stirling for Edinburgh, on affairs of the Exchequer.\nShe offered to bring Darnley, but he insisted on remaining at Stirling,\nwhere Lennox visited him for two or three days, returning to Glasgow.\nThence he wrote to Mary, warning her that Darnley had a vessel in\nreadiness, to fly the country. The letter reached Mary on September 29,\nand Darnley arrived on the same day. He rode to Mary, but refused to enter\nthe palace, because three or four of the Lords were in attendance. Mary\nactually went out to see her husband, apparently dismissed the Lords, and\nbrought him to her chamber, where he passed the night. On the following\nday, the Council, with du Croc, met Darnley. He was invited, by Mary and\nthe rest, to declare his grievances: his attention was directed to the\n'wise and virtuous' conduct of his wife. Nothing could be extracted from\nDarnley, who sulkily withdrew, warning Mary, by a letter, that he still\nthought of leaving the country. His letter hinted that he was deprived of\nregal authority, and was abandoned by the nobles. To this they reply that\nhe must be _aimable_ before he can be _aime_, and that they will never\nconsent to his having the disposal of affairs.[78]\n\nA similar account was given by du Croc to Archbishop Beaton, and, on\nOctober 17, to Catherine de' Medici, no friend of Mary, also by Mary to\nLennox.[79]\n\nWe have not Darnley's version of what occurred. He knew that all the\npowerful Lords were now united against him. Du Croc, however, had frequent\ninterviews with Darnley, who stated his grievance. It was not that\nBothwell injured his honour. Darnley kept spies on Mary, and had such a\nnoisy and burlesque set of incidents occurred in the garden of Exchequer\nHouse as Buchanan reports, Darnley should have had the news. But he merely\ncomplained to du Croc that he did not enjoy the same share of power and\ntrust as was his in the early weeks of his wedding. Du Croc replied that\nthis fortune could never again be his. The 'Book of Articles' entirely\nomits Darnley's offence in the slaying of Riccio. Du Croc was more\nexplicit. He told Darnley that the Queen had been personally offended, and\nwould never restore him to his authority. 'He ought to be well content\nwith the honour and good cheer which she gave him, honouring and treating\nhim as the King her husband, and supplying his household with all manner\nof good things.' This goes ill with Buchanan's story about Mary's\nstinginess to Darnley. It is admitted by the Lennox MSS. that she did not\nkeep her alleged promise to Bothwell, that she and Darnley should never\nmeet in the marriage bed.\n\nWhen Mary had gone to Jedburgh, to hold a court (about October 8), du Croc\nwas asked to meet Darnley at some place, apparently Dundas, 'three leagues\nfrom Edinburgh.' Du Croc thought that Darnley wished Mary to ask him to\nreturn. But Darnley, du Croc believed, intended to hang off till after the\nbaptism of James, and did not mean to be present on that occasion (_pour\nne s'y trouver point_). He had, in du Croc's opinion, but two causes of\nunhappiness: one, the reconciliation of the Lords with the Queen, and\ntheir favour; the other, a fear lest Elizabeth's envoy to the baptism\nmight decline to recognise him (_ne fera compte de luy_). The night-ride\nfrom Dundas to Linlithgow, in which (according to Lennox) Darnley told the\ntale of Mary's advice to him to seduce Lady Moray, must have occurred at\nthis very time, perhaps after the meeting with du Croc, three leagues from\nEdinburgh. In his paper about the night-ride, Lennox avers that Mary\nyielded to Bothwell's love, before this ride and conversation. But he does\nnot say that he himself was already aware of the amour, and his whole\nnarrative leaves the impression that he was not. We are to suppose that,\nif Buchanan's account is true, the adventures of the Exchequer House and\nof Lady Reres were only known to the world later. Certainly no suspicion\nof Mary had crossed the mind of du Croc, who says that he never saw her so\nmuch loved and respected; and, in short, there is no known contemporary\nhint of the beginning of the guilty amour, flagrant as were its alleged\ncircumstances. This point has, naturally, been much insisted upon by the\ndefenders of Mary.\n\nIt must not escape us that, about this time, almost every Lord, from Moray\ndownwards, was probably united in a signed 'band' against Darnley. The\nprecise nature of its stipulations is uncertain, but that a hostile band\nexisted, I think can be demonstrated. The Lords, in their letter of\nOctober 8 to Catherine, declare that they will never consent to let\nDarnley manage affairs. The evidence as to a band comes from four sources:\nRandolph, Archibald Douglas, a cousin and ally of Morton, Claude Nau,\nMary's secretary, and Moray himself.\n\nFirst, on October 15, 1570, Randolph, being in Edinburgh after the death\nof the Regent Moray, writes: 'Divers, since the Regent's death, either to\ncover their own doings or to advance their cause, have sought to make him\nodious to the world. The universal bruit runs upon three or four persons'\n(Bothwell, Lethington, Balfour(?), Huntly, and Argyll) 'who subscribed\nupon a bond promising to concur and assist one another in the late King's\ndeath. This bond was kept in the Castle, in a little coffer covered with\ngreen, and, after the apprehension of the Scottish Queen at Carberry Hill,\nwas taken out of the place where it lay by the Laird of Lethington, in\npresence of Mr. James Balfour.... This being a thing so notoriously known,\nas well by Mr. James Balfour's own report, as testimony of other who have\nseen the thing, is utterly denied to be true, _and another bond produced\nwhich they allege to be it, containing no such matter, at the which, with\ndivers other noblemen's hands, the Regent's was also made, a long time\nbefore the bond of the King's murder was made_, and now they say that if\nit can be proved by any bond that they consented to the King's death, the\nlate Regent is as guilty as they, and for testimony thereof (as Randolph\nis credibly informed) have sent a bond to be seen in England, which is\neither some new bond made among themselves, and the late Regent's hand\ncounterfeited at the same (which in some cases he knows has been done), or\nthe old bond at which his hand is, containing no such matter.' Randolph\nadds, as an example of forgery of Moray's hand, the order for Lethington's\nrelease by Kirkcaldy to whom Robert Melville attributed the forgery.[80]\nThus both sides could deal in charges of forging hands.\n\nBut what is 'the old band,' _signed by Moray_ 'a long time before the bond\nof the King's murder was made'? To this question we probably find a reply\nin the long letter written by Archibald Douglas to Mary, in April, 1583,\nwhen he (one of Darnley's murderers) was an exile, and was seeking, and\nwinning, Mary's favour. Douglas had fled to France after Riccio's murder,\nbut was allowed to return to Scotland, 'to deal with Earls Murray, Athol,\nBodvel, Arguile, and Secretary Ledington,' in the interests of a pardon\nfor Morton, Ruthven, and Lindsay. This must have been just after September\n20, when the return of Lethington to favour occurred. But Murray, Atholl,\nBothwell, Argyll, and Lethington told Douglas that they had made a band,\nwith other noblemen, to this effect: that they 'were resolved to obey your\nMajesty as their natural sovereign, _and have nothing to do with your\nhusband's command whatsoever_.' So the Lords also told Catherine de'\nMedici. They wished to know, before interfering in Morton's favour,\nwhether he would also sign this anti-Darnley band, which Morton and his\naccomplices did. Archibald Douglas then returned, with their signatures,\nto Stirling, at the time of James's baptism, in mid December, 1566. Morton\nand his friends were then pardoned on December 24.[81] This anti-Darnley\nband, which does not allude to _murder_, must be that produced in 1570,\naccording to Randolph, by 'divers, since Moray's death, either to cover\ntheir own doings, or to advance their own cause, seeking to make him\nodious to the world.' We thus find Moray, and all the most powerful\nnobles, banded against Darnley, some time between September and December\n1566.\n\nNow, Claude Nau, inspired by Mary, attributes Darnley's murder to a band\n'written by Alexander Hay, at that time one of the clerks of the Council,\nand signed by the Earls of Moray, Huntly, Bothwell, and Morton, by\nLethington, James Balfour, and others.' Moray certainly did not sign the\nmurderous band kept in the green-covered coffer, nor, as he alleged at his\ndeath, did Morton. But Nau seems to be confusing _that_ band with the band\nof older date, to which, as Randolph admits, and as Archibald Douglas\ninsists, Moray, Morton, and others put their hands, Morton signing as late\nas December 1566.\n\nNau says: 'They protested that they were acting for the public good of the\nrealm, pretending that they were freeing the Queen from the bondage and\nmisery into which she had been reduced by the King's behaviour. They\npromised to support each other, and to avouch that the act was done\njustly, licitly, and lawfully by the leading men of the Council. They had\ndone it in defence of their lives, which would be in danger, they said, if\nthe King should get the upper hand and secure the government of the realm,\nat which he was aiming.'[82] Randolph denies that there was any hint of\nmurder in the band signed by Moray. Archibald Douglas makes the gist of it\n'that they would have nothing to do with your husband's command\nwhatsoever.' Nau speaks of 'the act,' but does not name murder explicitly\nas part of the band. Almost certainly, then, there did exist, in autumn\n1566, a band hostile to Darnley, and signed by Moray and Morton. It seems\nhighly probable that the old band, made long before the King's murder, and\nof a character hostile to Darnley's influence, and menacing to him, is\nthat which Moray himself declares that he did sign, 'at the beginning of\nOctober,' 1566. When Moray, in London, on January 19, 1569, was replying\nto an account (the so-called 'Protestation of Argyll and Huntly') of the\nconference at Craigmillar, in November 1566, he denied (what was not\nalleged) that he signed any band _there_: at Craigmillar. 'This far the\nsubscriptioun of bandes be me is trew, that indeed I subscrivit ane band\nwith the Erlis of Huntlie, Ergile, and Boithvile in Edinburgh, at the\nbegynning of October the same yeir, 1566: quhilk was devisit in signe of\nour reconciliatioun, in respect of the former grudgis and displesouris\nthat had been amang us. Whereunto I wes constreinit to mak promis, before\nI culd be admittit to the Quenis presence or haif ony shew of hir\nfaveur....'[83]\n\nNow Moray had been admitted to Mary's presence two days after the death of\nRiccio, before her flight to Dunbar. On April 25, 1566, Randolph writes\nfrom Berwick to Cecil: 'Murray, Argyll, and Glencairn are come to Court. I\nhear his (Moray's) credit shall be good. The Queen wills that all\ncontroversies shall be taken up, in especial that between Murray and\nBothwell.'[84] On April 21, 1566, Moray, Argyll, Glencairn, and others\nwere received by Mary in the Castle, and a Proclamation was made to soothe\n'the enmity that was betwixt the Earls of Huntly, Bothwell, and\nMurray.'[85] Thenceforward, as we have proved in detail, Moray was\nostensibly in Mary's favour. Moray would have us believe that he only\nobtained this grace by virtue of his promise to sign a band with Huntly,\nBothwell, and Argyll: the last had been on his own side in his rebellion.\nBut the band, he alleges, was not signed till October, 1566, though the\npromise must have been given, at least his 'favour' with Mary was\nobtained, in April. And Moray signed the band precisely at the moment when\nDarnley was giving most notorious trouble, and had just been approached\nand implored by Mary, the Council, and the French ambassador. That was the\nmoment when the Privy Council assured Catherine that they 'would never\nconsent' to Darnley's sovereignty. Why was that moment selected by Moray\nto fulfil a promise more than four months old? Was the band not that\nmentioned by Randolph, Archibald Douglas, and Nau, and therefore, in some\nsense, an anti-Darnley band, not a mere 'sign of reconciliation'? The\ninference appears legitimate, and this old band signed by Moray seems to\nhave been confused, by his enemies, with a later band for Darnley's\nmurder, which we may be sure that he never signed. He only 'looked through\nhis fingers.'\n\nOn October 7, or 8, or 9, Mary left Edinburgh to hold a Border session at\nJedburgh. She appears to have been in Jedburgh by the 9th.[86] On October\n7, Bothwell was severely wounded, in Liddesdale, by a Border thief. On\nOctober 15, Mary rode to visit him at Hermitage.[87] Moray, says Sir John\nForster to Cecil (October 15), was with her, and other nobles. Yet\nBuchanan says that she rode 'with such a company as no man of any honest\ndegree would have adventured his life and his goods among them.' Life,\nindeed, was not safe with the nobles, but how Buchanan errs! Du Croc,\nwriting from Jedburgh on October 17, reports that Bothwell is out of\ndanger: 'the Queen is well pleased, his loss to her would have been\ngreat.'[88] Buchanan's account of this affair is, that Mary heard at\nBorthwick of Bothwell's wound, whereon 'she flingeth away like a mad\nwoman, by great journeys in post, in the sharp time of winter' (early\nOctober!), 'first to Melrose, then to Jedburgh. There, though she heard\nsure news of his life, yet her affection, impatient of delay, could not\ntemper itself; but needs she must bewray her outrageous lust, and in an\ninconvenient time of the year, despising all incommodities of the way and\nweather, and all dangers of thieves, she betook herself headlong to her\njourney.' The 'Book of Articles' merely says that, after hearing of\nBothwell's wound, she 'took na kindly rest' till she saw him--a prolonged\n_insomnia_. On returning to Jedburgh, she prepared for Bothwell's arrival,\nand, when he was once brought thither, then perhaps by their excessive\nindulgence in their passion, Buchanan avers, Mary nearly died.\n\nAll this is false. Mary stayed at least five days in Jedburgh before she\nrode to Hermitage, whither, says Nau, corroborated by Forster, Moray\naccompanied her. She fell ill on October 17, a week before Bothwell's\narrival at Jedburgh. On October 25, she was despaired of, and some thought\nshe had passed away. Bothwell arrived, in a litter, about October 25.\nForster says October 15, wrongly. These were no fit circumstances for\n'their old pastime,' which they took 'so openly, as they seemed to fear\nnothing more than lest their wickedness should be unknown.' 'I never saw\nher Majesty so much beloved, esteemed, and honoured,' du Croc had written\non October 17.\n\n[Illustration: House occupied by Queen Mary at Jedburgh.\n\nG. W. Wilson & Co. Aberdeen photo\n\nWalker & Cockerell. ph. sc.]\n\nBuchanan's tale is here so manifestly false, that it throws doubt on his\nscandal about the Exchequer House. That Mary abhorred Darnley, and was\nwretched, is certain. 'How to be free of him she sees no outgait,' writes\nLethington on October 24. He saw no chance of reconciliation.[89] That she\nand Bothwell acted profligately together while he was ill at Hermitage,\nand she almost dead at Jedburgh, is a grotesquely malevolent falsehood.\nDarnley now visited Jedburgh: it is uncertain whether or not he delayed\nhis visit long after he knew of Mary's illness. Buchanan says that he was\nreceived with cruel contempt.[90] In some pious remarks of hers when she\nexpected death, she only asks Heaven to 'mend' Darnley, whose misconduct\nis the cause of her malady.[91] On November 20, Mary arrived at\nCraigmillar Castle, hard by Edinburgh. Du Croc mentions her frequent\nexclamation, 'I could wish to be dead,' and, from Darnley, and his own\nobservation, gathered that Darnley would never humble himself, while Mary\nwas full of suspicions when she saw him converse with any noble. For\ndisbelieving that reconciliation was possible du Croc had several reasons,\nhe says; he may have detected the passion for Bothwell, but makes no\nallusion to that subject; and, when Darnley in December behaved sullenly,\nhis sympathy was with the Queen. In the 'Book of Articles' exhibited\nagainst Mary in 1568, it is alleged that, at Kelso, on her return from\nJedburgh, she received a letter from Darnley, wept, told Lethington and\nMoray that she could never have a happy day while united to her husband,\nand spoke of suicide. Possibly Darnley wrote about his letter against her\nto the Pope, and the Catholic Powers. But the anecdote is dubious. She\nproceeded to Craigmillar Castle.\n\nThen came the famous conference at Craigmillar. Buchanan says (in the\n'Detection') that, in presence of Moray, Huntly, Argyll, and Lethington,\nshe spoke of a divorce, on grounds of consanguinity, the Dispensation\n'being conveyed away.' One of the party said that her son's legitimacy\nwould be imperilled. So far the 'Book of Articles' agrees with the\n'Detection.' Not daring to 'disclose her purpose to make away her son'\n(the 'Book of Articles' omits this), she determined to murder her husband,\nand her son. A very different story is told in a document sent by Mary to\nHuntly and Argyll, for their signatures, on January 5, 1569. This purports\nto be a statement of what Huntly had told Bishop Lesley. He and Argyll\nwere asked to revise, omit, or add, as their recollection served, sign,\nand return, the paper which was to be part of Mary's counter-accusations\nagainst her accusers.[92] The document was intercepted, and was never seen\nnor signed by Huntly and Argyll. The statement, whatever its value (it is\nmerely Lesley's recollection of remarks by Huntly), declares that Moray\nand Lethington roused Argyll from bed, and suggested that, to induce Mary\nto recall Morton (banished for Riccio's murder), it would be advisable to\noblige Mary by ridding her of Darnley. Huntly was next brought in, and,\nlast, Bothwell. They went to Mary's rooms, and proposed a divorce. She\nobjected that this would, or might, invalidate her son's legitimacy, and\nproposed to retire to France. Lethington said that a way would be found,\nand that Moray would 'look through his fingers.' Mary replied that nothing\nmust be done which would stain her honour and conscience. Lethington\nanswered that, if they were allowed to guide the matter, 'Your Grace shall\nsee nothing but good, and approved by Parliament.'\n\nThough Huntly and Argyll never saw this piece, they signed, in September,\n1568, another, to like purpose. Starting from the same point, the desire\nto win Morton's pardon, they say that they promised to secure a divorce,\neither because the dispensation for Mary's marriage was not published\n(conceivably the marriage occurred before the dispensation was granted) or\nfor adultery: or to bring a charge of treason against Darnley, 'or quhat\nother wayis to dispeche him; quhilk altogidder hir Grace refusit, as is\nmanifestlie knawin.'[93] It is plain, therefore, that Huntly and Argyll\nwould have made no difficulty about signing the Protestation which never\nreached them.\n\nWhile Buchanan's tale yields no reason for Mary's consent to pardon the\nRiccio murderers (whom of all men she loathed), Huntly and Argyll supply a\npartial explanation. In Buchanan's History, it is casually mentioned,\nlater, that Mary wished to involve Moray and Morton in the guilt of\nDarnley's murder. But how had Morton returned to Scotland? Of _that_, not\na word.[94] In truth, both French and English influence had been used;\nBothwell, acting 'like a very friend,' says Bedford, and others had openly\nadded their intercessions. James's baptism was an occasion for an amnesty,\nand this was granted on Christmas Eve. The pardon might well have been\ngiven, even had no divorce or murder of Darnley been intended, but the\nstep was most threatening to Darnley's safety, as the exiles hated him\nwith a deadly hatred. On the whole, taking the unsigned 'Protestation' of\nHuntly and Argyll with the document which they did sign, it seems\nprobable, or certain, that a conference as to getting rid of Darnley, in\nsome way, was held at Craigmillar, where Moray certainly was.\n\nMoray, in London, was shown the intercepted 'Protestation,' and denied\nthat anything was said, at Craigmillar, in his hearing 'tending to ony\nunlawfull or dishonourable end.'[95] But, if the Protestation can be\ntrusted, nothing positively unlawful was proposed. Lethington promised\n'nothing but good, and approved by Parliament.' Moray also denied having\nsigned a 'band,' except that of October 1566, but about a 'band' the\nProtestation says nothing. Moray _may_ have referred to what (according to\nthe 'Diurnal,' pp. 127, 128) Hay of Talla said at his execution (January\n3, 1568). He had seen a 'band' signed by Bothwell, Huntly, Argyll,\nLethington, and Sir James Balfour. The first four, at least, were at\nCraigmillar. Buchanan, in the 'Detection,' gives Hay's confession, but not\nthis part of it. Much later, on December 13, 1573, Ormistoun confessed\nthat, about Easter, after the murder, Bothwell tried to reassure him by\nshowing him a 'contract subscryvit be four or fyve handwrittes, quhilk he\naffirmit to me was the subscription of the erle of Huntlie, Argyll, the\nSecretar Maitland, and Sir James Balfour.' The contract or band stated\nthat Darnley must be got rid off 'by ane way or uther,' and that all who\nsigned should defend any who did the deed. It was subscribed a quarter of\na year before the murder, that is, taking the phrase widely, after the\nCraigmillar conference.[96]\n\nWhat did Lethington mean, at Craigmillar, by speaking of a method of\ndealing with Darnley which Parliament would approve? He may have meant to\narrest him, for treason, and kill him if he resisted. That this was\ncontemplated, at Craigmillar, we proceed to adduce the evidence of Lennox.\n\nThis hitherto unknown testimony exists, in inconsistent forms, among the\nseveral indictments which Lennox, between July and December, 1568, drew up\nto show to the English Commissioners who, at York and Westminster,\nexamined the charges against Mary. In the evidence which we have hitherto\nseen, the plans of Mary's Council at Craigmillar are left vague, and\nMary's objections, as described by Huntly and Argyll, are spoken of as\nfinal. Mention is made of only one conference, without any sequel. But\nLennox asserts that there was at least one other meeting, at Craigmillar,\nbetween Mary and her advisers. His information is obviously vague, but he\nfirst makes the following assertions.\n\n'In this mean time' (namely in December 1566, when the Court was at\nStirling for James's baptism), 'his father, being advertised ['credibly\ninformed'][97] that at Craigmillar the Queen and certain of her Council\n_had concluded_ upon an enterprise to the great peril and danger of his\n['Majesty's'] person, which was that he should have been _apprehended and\nput in ward_, which rested' (was postponed) 'but only on the finishing of\nthe christening and the departure of the said ambassadors, which thing\nbeing not a little grievous unto his father's heart, did give him warning\nthereof; whereupon he, by the advice of sundry that loved him, departed\nfrom her shortly after the christening, and came to his father to Glasgow,\nbeing fully resolved with himself to have taken ship shortly after, and to\nhave passed beyond the seas, but that sickness prevented him, which was\nthe cause of his stay.'\n\nIn this version, Lennox is warned, by whom he does not say, of a plan,\nformed at Craigmillar, to arrest Darnley. The plan is not refused by the\nQueen, but is 'concluded upon,' yet postponed till the christening\nfestivities are over. _Nothing is said about the design to kill Darnley if\nhe resists._ The scheme is communicated to Darnley by Lennox himself.\n\nNext comes what seems to be the second of Lennox's attempts at producing a\n'discourse.' This can be dated. It ends with the remark that, after\nLangside fight, Mary spoke with Ormistoun and Hob Ormistoun, 'who were of\nthe chiefest murderers of the King, her husband.' These men now live with\nthe Laird of Whithaugh, in Liddesdale, 'who keepeth in his house a\nprisoner, one Andrew Carre, of Fawdonside, by her commandment.' This was\nAndrew Ker of Faldonside, the most brutal of the murderers of Riccio. Now\non October 4, 1568, in a list of 'offences committed by the Queen's\nparty,' a list perhaps in John Wood's hand, we read that Whithaugh, and\nother Elliots, 'took ane honest and trew gentleman, Ker of Faldonside, and\nkeep him prisoner by Mary's command;' while Whithaugh cherishes the two\nOrmistouns.[98] This discourse of Lennox, then, is of, or about, October\n4, 1568, and was prepared for the York Conference to inquire into Mary's\ncase, where it was not delivered.\n\nHe says: 'How she used him (Darnley) at Craigmillar, my said Lord Regent\n(Moray), who was there present, can witness. One thing I am constrainit to\ndeclare, which came to my knowledge by credible persons, which was that\ncertain of her familiar and privy counsellors, of her faction and\nBothwell's, should present her a letter at that house, subscribed with\ntheir hands, the effect of which letter was to apprehend the King my son's\nperson, and to put him in ward, and, _if he happened to resist them, to\nkill him_: she answered that the ambassadors were come,[99] and the\nchristening drew near, so that the time would not then serve well for that\npurpose, till the triumph was done, and the ambassadors departed to their\ncountry.... Also I, being at Glasgow about the same time, and having\nintelligence of the foresaid device for his apprehension at Craigmillar,\ndid give him warning thereof;' consequently, as he was also ill-treated at\nStirling, Darnley went to Glasgow, 'where he was not long till he fell\nsick.' Lennox here adds the plot to kill Darnley if he resisted arrest.\nHis reference to certain of Mary's Privy Council, who laid the plot,\ncannot have been grateful to Lethington, who was at York, where Lennox\nmeant to deliver his speech.\n\nThe final form taken by Lennox's account of what occurred at Craigmillar\nlooks as if it were a Scots draft for the 'Brief Discourse' which he\nactually put in, in English, at Westminster, on November 29, 1568. He\naddresses Norfolk and the rest in his opening sentences. The Privy Council\nwho made the plot are they '_of thay dayis_,' which included Moray,\nArgyll, Huntly, Lethington, and Bothwell. These Lords, or some of them,\neither subscribe 'a lettre' of warrant for Darnley's capture alive or\ndead, or ask Mary to sign one; Lennox is not certain which view is\ncorrect. She answered that they must delay till the ambassadors departed.\n'But seeing in the mean time this purpose divulgate,' she arrested the\n'reportaris,' namely Hiegait, Walker, the Laird of Minto (we do not\nelsewhere learn that he was examined), and Alexander Cauldwell. Perceiving\n'that the truth was like to come to light, she left off further\ninquisition.'\n\nThis version does not state that Lennox, or any one else, revealed the\nCraigmillar plot for his arrest to Darnley. It later describes a quarrel\nof his with Mary at Stirling, and adds, 'Being thus handled, at the end of\nthe christening he came to me to Glasgow.' This tale of a plot to arrest,\nand, if he resisted, to kill Darnley, corresponds with Paris's statement\nthat Bothwell told him, 'We were much inclined to do it lately, when we\nwere at Craigmillar.'\n\nThis evidence of Lennox, then, avers that, after the known conference at\nCraigmillar, which Lethington ended by saying that 'you shall see nothing\nbut good, and approved of by Parliament,' there was another conference. On\nthis second occasion some of the Privy Council suggested the arrest of\nDarnley, who, perhaps, was to be slain if he resisted. Parliament might\napprove of this measure, for there were reasons for charging Darnley with\nhigh treason. Mary, says Lennox, accepted the scheme, but postponed it\ntill after the Baptism. Within two or three weeks Lennox heard of the\nplan, and gave Darnley warning. But Lennox's three versions are hesitating\nand inconsistent: nor does he cite his authority for the conspiracy to\nkill Darnley.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\n_BETWEEN THE BAPTISM AND THE MURDER_\n\n\nMary passed from Craigmillar and Edinburgh to the baptism of her son James\nat Stirling. The 17th December, 1566, was the crowning triumph of her\nlife, and the last. To the cradle came the Ambassadors of France and\nEngland bearing gifts: Elizabeth, the child's godmother, sent a font of\nenamelled gold. There were pageants and triumphs, fireworks, festivals,\nand the chanting of George Buchanan's Latin elegiacs on Mary, the _Nympha\nCaledoniae_, with her crowns of Virtue and of Royalty. Above all, Mary had\nwon, or taken, permission to baptize the child by the Catholic rite, and\nScotland saw, for the last time, the ecclesiastics in their splendid\nvestments. Mary busied herself with hospitable kindnesses, a charming\nhostess in that dark hold where her remote ancestor had dirked his guest\nbetween the table and the hearth. But there was a strange gap in the\nthrong of nobles. The child's father, though in the Castle, did not attend\nthe baptism, was not among the guests, while the grandfather, Lennox,\nremained apart at his castle in Glasgow.\n\nAccording to du Croc, who was at Stirling, Darnley announced his intention\nto depart, two days before the christening, but remained and sulked.\n\nA month before the ceremony, du Croc had expected Darnley to sulk and stay\naway. At Stirling he declined to meet Darnley, so bad had his conduct\nbeen, and said that, if Darnley entered by one door of his house, he would\ngo out by the other. It has been averred by Camden, writing in the reign\nand under the influence of James I., when King of England, that the\nEnglish ambassador, Bedford, warned his suite not to acknowledge Darnley\nas King, and punished one of them, who, having known him in England,\nsaluted him. Nau says that Darnley refused to associate with the English,\nunless they would acknowledge his title of King, and to do this they had\nbeen forbidden by the Queen of England, their mistress,[100] who knew that\nDarnley kept up a more or less treasonable set of intrigues with the\nEnglish Catholics.[101] Bedford, a sturdy Protestant, could not be a\n_persona grata_ to Darnley: and, as to Darnley's kingship, his own father,\nin 1568, rather represented him as an English subject. On the other side\nwe have only the evidence of Sir James Melville, gossiping long after the\nevent, to the effect that Bedford, when leaving Stirling, charged him with\na message to Mary. He bade her 'entertain Darnley as she had done at the\nbeginning, for her own honour and advancement of her affairs,' which\nwarning Melville repeated to her.[102] But there was an awkwardness as\nbetween 'the King' and the English, nor do we hear that Bedford made any\nadvance to Darnley, whose natural sulkiness is vouched for by all\nwitnesses.\n\nAs to what occurred at Stirling in regard to Darnley's ill-treatment, the\nLennox MSS. are copious. Mary, 'after an amiable and gentle manner,'\ninduced him to go to Stirling before her, without seeing the ambassadors.\nAt Stirling, 'she feigned to be in a great choler against the King's\ntailors, that had not made such apparel as she had devised for him against\nthe triumph.' Darnley, to please her, kept out of the way of the\nambassadors. She dismissed his guards, Lennox sent men of his own, and\nthis caused a quarrel.[103] Darnley flushed with anger, and Mary said, 'If\nhe were a little daggered, and had bled as much as my Lord Bothwell had\nlately done, it would make him look the fairer.' This anecdote (about\nwhich, in June 1568, while getting up his case, Lennox made inquiries in\nScotland) is given both in English and Scots, in different versions. The\n'Book of Articles' avers that Bothwell himself was in fear, and was\nstrongly guarded.\n\nWhile all at Stirling seemed gay, while Mary played the hostess admirably,\ndu Croc found her once weeping and in pain, and warned his Government\nthat 'she would give them trouble yet' (December 23).[104] Mary had causes\nfor anxiety of which du Croc was not aware. Strange rumours filled Court\nand town. A man named Walker, a retainer of her ambassador at Paris,\nArchbishop Beaton, reported that the Town Clerk of Glasgow, William\nHiegait, was circulating a tale to the effect that Darnley meant to seize\nthe child prince, crown him, and rule in his name. Now for months Darnley\nhad been full of mad projects; to seize Scarborough, to seize the Scilly\nIslands, and the scheme for kidnapping James had precedents enough.\n\nDarnley was in frequent communication with the discontented Catholics of\nthe North and West of England, and his retainers, the Standens, were young\nmen yearning for adventures. 'Knowing I am an offender of the laws, they\nprofessed great friendship,' wrote William Rogers to Cecil, with some\nhumour.[105]\n\nA rumour of some attempt against Mary reached Archbishop Beaton, in Paris,\nat the end of 1566, through the Spanish Ambassador there, who may have\nheard of it from the Spanish Ambassador in London, with whom the English\nCatholics were perpetually intriguing. There is a good deal of evidence\nthat Darnley had been complaining of Mary to the Pope and the Catholic\nPowers, as insufficiently zealous for the Church. Darnley, not Mary, was\nthe Scottish royal person on whom the Church ought to rely,[106] and Mary,\nsays Knox's continuator, saw his letters, by treachery. Consumed with\nanger at his degraded position, so unlike the royalty for which he\nhungered, and addicted to day dreams about descents on Western England,\nand similar wild projects, Darnley may possibly, at this time, have\ncommunicated to the English Catholics a project for restoring himself to\npower by carrying off and crowning his child. This fantasy would drift\nthrough the secret channels of Catholic diplomacy to the Spanish\nAmbassador in Paris, who gave Beaton a hint, but declined to be explicit.\nMary thanked Beaton for his warning, from Seton, on February 18, nine days\nafter Darnley's death.[107] 'But alas! it came too late.' Mary added that\nthe Spanish ambassador in London had also given her warning.\n\nThere may, then, have been this amount of foundation for the report which,\naccording to Walker, at Stirling, Hiegait was circulating about\nmid-December 1566. Stirling was then full of 'honest men of the Lennox,'\nsent thither by Lennox himself (as he says in one of his manuscript\ndiscourses), because Darnley's usual guard had been withdrawn. Mary\nobjected to the presence of so many of Lennox's retainers, and there arose\nthat furious quarrel between her and her husband. Possibly Mary, having\nheard Walker's story of Darnley's project, thought that his Lennox men\nwere intended to bear a hand in it.\n\nIn any case Walker filled Mary's ears, at Stirling--as she wrote to\nArchbishop Beaton, her ambassador in France, on January 20, 1567--with\nrumours of 'utheris attemptatis and purposis tending to this fyne.' He\nnamed Hiegait 'for his chief author,' 'quha,' he said, 'had communicat the\nmater to hym, as apperyt, of mynd to gratify us; sayand to Walcar, \"gif I\nhad the moyen and crydet with the Quenis Majestie that ze have, I wald not\nomitt to mak hir previe of sic purpossis and bruitis that passes in the\ncuntrie.\"' Hiegait also said that Darnley could not endure some of the\nLords, but that he or they must leave the country. Mary then sent for\nHiegait, before the Council, and questioned _him_. He (probably in fear of\nLennox) denied that he had told Walker the story of Darnley's project, but\nhe had heard, from Cauldwell, a retainer of Eglintoun's, that Darnley\nhimself was to be 'put in ward.' Eglintoun, 'a rank ,' was described\nby Randolph as never a trustworthy Lennoxite, 'never good Levenax.' His\nretainer, Cauldwell, being summoned, expressly denied that he ever told\nthe rumour about the idea of imprisoning Darnley, to Hiegait. But Hiegait\ninformed the Laird of Minto (a Stewart and a Lennoxite), who again told\nLennox, who told Darnley, by whose desire Cauldwell again spoke to\nHiegait. The trail of the gossip runs from Cauldwell (the estate of that\nname is in Eglintoun's country, Ayrshire) to Hiegait, from him to Stewart\nof Minto, from him to Lennox, and from Lennox to Darnley. Possibly\nEglintoun (the cautious Lord who slipped away when Ainslie's band was\nbeing signed, and hid under straw, after the battle of Langside) was the\noriginal source of the rumour of Darnley's intended arrest. This is a mere\nguess. If there was a very secret plot, at Craigmillar, to arrest Darnley,\nwe cannot tell how it reached Hiegait. Mary 'found no manner of\nconcordance' in their answers, and she rebuked Walker and Hiegait in her\nown name, and that of their master, Beaton himself.[108] These men, with\nMinto, were allied with Lennox, and one of them may have been his\nauthority for the story of the second Craigmillar conference.\n\nWe now see why it was that, in the height of her final triumph, the\nchristening festival at Stirling Mary wept and was ill at ease. Her\nhusband's conduct was intolerable: now he threatened to leave before the\nceremony, next he stayed on, a dismal figure behind the scenes. His guard\nof Lennox men might aim at slaying Bothwell, or Mary might think, on\nWalker's evidence, that they intended to kidnap her child. Worse followed,\nwhen she and her Council examined Walker. Out came the tale of Hiegait,\nand Queen and Council, if they had really plotted to arrest Darnley, knew\nthat their scheme was discovered and was abortive. Finally, on December\n24, either in consequence of Lennox's warning, or because Morton, Lindsay,\nand the other Riccio conspirators whom he betrayed were pardoned, Darnley\nrode off to his father at Glasgow. There he fell ill, soon after his\narrival, but Lennox's MSS. never hint that he was poisoned at Stirling (as\nBuchanan declares), or that he fell sick when he had ridden but a mile\nfrom the town. That they deny.\n\nAfter Darnley's departure, Moray, with Bedford, the English Ambassador,\nwent to St. Andrews, and other places in Fife. Till January 2, 1567, when\nshe returned to Stirling, Mary was at Drummond Castle, and at\nTullibardine, where, says Buchanan, she and Bothwell made love in corners\n'so that all were highly offended.' After January 13, she visited Calendar\nHouse, and then went to Holyrood.\n\nIt is said that she never wrote to Darnley till after January 14, when she\ntook her child to Edinburgh, with the worst purposes, Buchanan declares.\nThen she wrote to Darnley, the Lennox Papers inform us, excusing herself,\nand offering to visit him in his sickness at Glasgow. Darnley told her\nmessenger verbally, say the Lennox MSS., that the Queen must judge herself\nas to the visit to him. 'But this much ye shall declare unto her, that I\nwish Stirling to be Jedburgh, and Glasgow to be the Hermitage, and I the\nEarl of Bothwell as I lie here, and then I doubt not but she would be\nquickly with me undesired.' This was a tactless verbal message, and, if\ngiven, must have proved to Mary that Darnley suspected her amour.\nMoreover, this Lennoxian story, that Mary offered the visit, and that\nDarnley replied with reserve, and with an insult to be verbally delivered,\nagrees ill with what is said in the deposition (December, 1568) of\nLennox's retainer, Thomas Crawford. According to Crawford, 'after theire\nmetinge and shorte spekinge together she asked hym of hys lettres, wherein\nhe complained of the crueletye of som.' 'He answered that he complained\nnot without cause....' 'Ye asked me what I ment bye the crueltye specified\nin my lettres, yt procedeth of you onelye that wille not accept mye\n_offres_ and repentance.' Now, in the Lennox Papers this 'innocent lamb'\nhas nothing to repent of, and has made no offers. These came from Mary's\nside.[109]\n\nThe Lennox account goes on to say that later Mary sent 'very loving\nmessages and letters unto him to drive all suspicions out of his mind,' a\npassage copied by Buchanan in his History. Darnley, therefore, after\nMary's visit to Glasgow, returned with her to Edinburgh, 'contrary to his\nfather's will and consent.' Lennox, however, here emphatically denies that\neither he or Darnley suspected any murderous design on the part of the\nQueen. Yet, in Letter II., she is made to say that he 'fearit his liff,'\nas the passage is quoted in the 'Book of Articles.'[110] As to the story\nthat Darnley's illness at Glasgow was caused by poison; poison, of course,\nwas suspected, but, if the Casket Letters are genuine, Mary therein calls\nhim 'this pocky man,' and Bedford says that he had small-pox: a disease\nfrom which Mary had suffered in early life.[111] He also reports that Mary\nsent to Darnley her own physician, though Buchanan says 'All this while\nthe Queen would not suffer so much as a physician to come at him.' In the\n'Book of Articles' she refuses to send her apothecary. Bedford never hints\nat scandalous doings of Mary and Bothwell at Stirling.\n\nOn January 20, from Edinburgh, Mary wrote that letter to Archbishop Beaton\nin Paris, as to the Hiegait and Walker affair, which we have already\ncited. She also expressed her desire that her son should receive the\ntitular captaincy of the Scots Guard in France, though, according to\nBuchanan, she determined at Craigmillar to 'make away with' her child.\nNothing in Mary's letter of January 20, to Beaton, hints at her desire of\na reconciliation with Darnley. Yet, on or about the very day when she\nwrote it, she set forth towards Glasgow.\n\nThe date was January 20, as given by the Diary of Birrel, and in the\n'Diurnal.' The undesigned coincidence of diaries kept by two Edinburgh\ncitizens is fairly good evidence.[112] Drury makes her arrive at Glasgow\non January 22. What occurred between Mary and her husband at Glasgow is\nsaid to be revealed in two of her Casket Letters written to Bothwell.\nTheir evidence, and authenticity, are to be discussed later: other\nevidence to the point we have none, and can only say, here, that, at the\nend of January, Mary brought Darnley, his face covered with taffeta, to\nthe house of Kirk o' Field, just beside the wall of Edinburgh, where the\nUniversity buildings now stand.\n\nHere he was in an insecure and dangerous house, close to a palace of his\nfeudal foes, the Hamiltons. The Lennox MSS. declare that 'the place was\nalready prepared with [undermining and] trains of powder therein.'[113] We\nreturn to this point, which was later abandoned by the prosecution.\n\nDarnley, say the Lennox MSS., wished to occupy the Hamilton House, near\nKirk o' Field, but Mary persuaded him that 'there passed a privy way [to]\nbetween the palace and it,' Kirk o' Field, 'which she could take without\ngoing through the streets.' The Lennox author adds that, on the night of\nthe murder, Bothwell and his gang 'came the secret way which she herself\nwas wont to come to the King her husband.' The story of the secret way\nrecurs in Lennox MSS., and, of course, is nonsense, and was dropped. There\nwas no subterranean passage from Holyrood to Kirk o' Field. Bothwell and\nthe murderers, in their attack on the Kirk o' Field, had no such\nconvenience for the carriage of themselves and their gunpowder. It is\nstrange that Lennox and his agents, having access to several of the\nservants of Darnley, including Nelson who survived the explosion, accepted\nat one time, or expected others to accept, this legend of a secret\npassage. Edinburgh tradition holds that there was such a tunnel between\nHolyrood and the Castle, which may be the basis of this fairy-tale.\n\nThe tale of the secret passage, then, is told, in the Lennox MSS., as the\nexcuse given by Mary to Darnley for lodging him in Kirk o' Field, not in\nthe neighbouring house of the Hamiltons. But, in the 'Book of Articles,'\nwe read that the Archbishop of St. Andrews was then living in the Hamilton\nHouse 'onely to debar the King fra it.' The fable of the secret way,\ntherefore, was dropped in the final version prepared by the accusers.\n\nMary, whether she wrote the Casket Letters or not, was, demonstrably,\naware that there was a plot against Darnley, before she brought him to a\nhouse accessible to his enemies. It is certain that, hating and desiring\nto be delivered from Darnley, she winked at a conspiracy of which she was\nconscious, and let events take their course. This was, to all appearance,\nthe policy of her brother James, 'the Good Regent Moray;' and one of\nMary's apologists, Sir John Skelton, is inclined to hold that this _was_\nMary's attitude. He states the hypothesis thus: 'that Mary was not\nentirely unaware of the measures which were being taken by the nobility to\nsecure in one way or other the removal of Darnley; that, if she did not\nexpressly sanction the enterprise, she failed, firmly and promptly, to\nforbid its execution.' Hence she was in 'an equivocal position,' could not\nact with firmness and dignity, and in accepting Bothwell could not be\naccounted a free agent, yielded to force, and, with a heavy heart,\n'submitted to the inevitable.'[114]\n\n[Illustration: THE OLD TOWER, WHITTINGHAM]\n\nThat Mary knew of the existence of a plot is proved by a letter to her\nfrom Morton's cousin, Archibald Douglas, whose character and career are\ndescribed in the second chapter, 'Minor Characters.' In a letter of 1583,\nwritten by Douglas to win (as he did win) favour and support from Mary,\nduring his exile in England, he says that, in January, 1567, about the\n18th or 19th, Bothwell and Lethington visited Morton at Whittingham, his\nown brother's place, now the seat of Mr. A. J. Balfour. The fact of the\nvisit is corroborated by Drury's contemporary letter of January 23,\n1567.[115] After they had conferred together, Morton sent Archibald\nDouglas with Bothwell and Lethington to Edinburgh, to learn what answer\nMary would make to a proposal of a nature unknown to Archibald, so he\nsays. 'Which' (answer) 'being given to me by the said persons, as God\nshall be my judge, was no other than these words, \"Schaw to the Earl\nMorton that the Queen will hear no speech of the matter appointed to\nhim,\"' _i.e._ arranged with him. Now Morton's confession, made before his\nexecution, was to the effect that Bothwell, at Whittingham, asked him to\njoin the conspiracy to kill Darnley, but that he refused, unless Bothwell\ncould procure for him a written warrant from the Queen. Obviously it was\nto get this warrant that Archibald Douglas accompanied Lethington and\nBothwell to Edinburgh. But Bothwell and Lethington (manifestly after\nconsulting Mary) told Douglas that 'the Queen will hear no speech of that\nmatter.' Douglas, though an infamous ruffian, could not have reported to\nMary, when attempting, successfully, to win her favour, a compromising\nfact which she, alone of living people, must have known to be false. Mary\nwas not offended.[116] Taking, then, Morton's statement that he asked\nBothwell, at Whittingham, for Mary's warrant, with Douglas's statement to\nMary herself, that he accompanied Lethington and Bothwell from Whittingham\nto Edinburgh, and was informed by them that the Queen 'would hear no\nspeech of the matter,' we cannot but believe that 'the matter' was mooted\nto her. Therefore, in January, 1567, she was well aware that\n_something_ was intended against Darnley by Bothwell, Lethington, and\nothers.[117]\n\n[Illustration: THE WHITTINGHAM TREE\n\n(_After a Drawing by Richard Doyle_)]\n\nYet her next step was to seek Darnley in Glasgow, where he was safe among\nthe retainers of Lennox, and thence to bring him back to Edinburgh, where\nhis deadly foes awaited him.\n\nNow this act of Mary's cannot be regarded as merely indiscreet, or as a\nhalf-measure, or as a measure of passive acquiescence. Had she not brought\nDarnley from Glasgow to Edinburgh, under a semblance of a cordial\nreconciliation, he might, in one way or another, have escaped from his\nenemies. The one measure which made his destruction certain was the\nmeasure that Mary executed, though she was well aware that a conspiracy\nhad been framed against the unhappy lad. Even if he wished to come to\nEdinburgh, uninvited by her, she ought to have refused to bring him.\n\nWe can only escape from these conclusions by supposing that Archibald\nDouglas, destitute and in exile, hoped to enter into Mary's good graces by\ntelling her what she well knew to be a lie; namely that Bothwell and her\nSecretary had declared that she would not hear of the matter proposed to\nher. Douglas tells us even more. While seeking to conciliate Mary, in his\nletter already cited, he speaks of 'the evil disposed minds of the most\npart of your nobility against your said husband ... which I am assured was\nsufficiently known to himself, _and to all that had judgment never so\nlittle in that realm_.' Mary had judgment enough, and, according to the\nsigned declaration of her friends, Huntly and Argyll (Sept. 12, 1568),\nknew that the scheme was, either to divorce Darnley, or convict him of\ntreason, 'or in what other ways to _dispatch him_.' These means, say\nHuntly and Argyll, she 'altogether refused.' Yet she brought Darnley to\nKirk o' Field!\n\nShall we argue that, pitying his illness, and returning to her old love,\nshe deemed him safest in her society? In that case she might have carried\nhim from Glasgow to Dumbarton Castle, or dwelt with him in the hold where\nshe gave birth to James VI.--in Edinburgh Castle. But she brought him to\nan insecure house, among his known foes.\n\nMary's conduct towards Darnley, after Craigmillar, and before his murder,\nand her behaviour later as regards Bothwell, are always capable of being\ncovered by one or other special and specious excuse. On this occasion she\nbrings Darnley to Edinburgh that a tender mother may be near her child;\nthat a loving wife may attend a repentant husband, who cannot be so safe\nanywhere as under the aegis of her royal presence. In each and every case\nthere is a special, and not an incredible explanation. But one cause, if\nit existed, would explain every item of her conduct throughout, from\nCraigmillar to Kirk o' Field: she hated Darnley. On the hypothesis of her\ninnocence, and accepting the special pleas for each act, Mary was a weak,\nailing, timid, and silly woman, with 'a heart of wax.' On the\nhypothesis of her guilt, though ailing, worn, wretched, she had 'a heart\nof diamond,' strong to scheme and act a Clytaemnestra's part, even _contre\nson naturel_. The _naturel_ of Clytaemnestra, too, was good, says Zeus in\nthe Odyssey. But in her case, 'Love was a great master.'\n\n[Illustration: THE WHITTINGHAM TREE\n\n(_External view_)]\n\nStill, we have seen no contemporary evidence, or hint of evidence, that\nlove for Bothwell was Mary's master. Her conduct, from her recovery of\npower, after Riccio's murder, to her reconciliation of Lethington with\nBothwell, is, on the face of it, in accordance with the interests and\nwishes of her brother, Moray, who hated Bothwell. As the English envoy,\nRandolph, had desired, she brought Moray to Court. She permitted him to\nattend in the Castle while she was in child-bed, and 'refused Bothwell.'\nShe protected Moray from Bothwell's and Darnley's intrigues. She took\nMoray's side, as to the readmission of Lethington to favour, though\nBothwell stormed. She even made Moray her confidant as to money received\nfrom the Pope: perhaps Moray had his share! Lethington and Moray, not\nBothwell, seem to have had her confidence. At Moray's request she annulled\nher restoration of consistorial jurisdiction to Archbishop Hamilton. Moray\nand Lethington, not Bothwell, opened the proposals at Craigmillar. Such is\nthe evidence of history. On the other side are the scandals reported by\nBuchanan, and, in details, Buchanan erred: for example, as to the ride to\nHermitage.\n\nIf Mary knew too much, how much was known by 'the noble, stainless Moray'?\n\nAs to Moray's foreknowledge of Darnley's murder, can it be denied? He did\nnot deny that he was at Craigmillar during the conference as to\n'dispatching' Darnley. If the news of the plan for arresting or killing\nhim reached underlings like Hiegait and Walker, could it be hidden from\nMoray, the man most in Mary's confidence, and likely to be best served by\nspies? He glosses over his signature to the band of early October,\n1566--the anti-Darnley band--as if it were a mere 'sign of reconciliation'\nwhich he promised to subscribe 'before I could be admitted to the Queen's\npresence, or have any show of her favour.' But, when he did sign, he had\npossessed Mary's favour for more than three months, and she had even saved\nhim from a joint intrigue of Bothwell and Darnley. In January, 1569, Moray\ndeclared that, except the band of early October, 1566, 'no other band was\nproposed to me in any wise,' either before or after Darnley's murder. And\nnext he says that he would never subscribe any band, 'howbeit I was\nearnestly urged and pressed thereto by the Queen's commandment.'[118] Does\nhe mean that no band was proposed to him, and yet that the Queen did press\nhim to sign a band? Or does he mean that he would never have signed, even\nif the Queen had asked him to do so? We can never see this man's face; the\nfingers through which he looks on at murder hide his shifty eyes.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\n_THE MURDER OF DARNLEY_\n\n\nIt is not easy for those who know modern Edinburgh to make a mental\npicture of the Kirk o' Field. To the site of that unhappy dwelling the\nProfessors now daily march, walking up beneath the frowning Castle, from\nmodern miles of stone and mortar which were green fields in Mary's day.\nThe students congregate from every side, the omnibuses and cabs roll by\nthrough smoky, crowded, and rather uninteresting streets of shops: the\nsolid murky buildings of the University look down on a thronged and busy\npopulace which at every step treads on history, as Cicero says men do at\nAthens. On every side are houses neither new enough to seem clean, nor old\nenough to be interesting: there is not within view a patch of grass, a\ngarden, or a green tree. The University buildings cover the site of Kirk\no' Field, but the ghosts of those who perished there would be sadly at a\nloss could they return to the scene.\n\nIn Mary's time whoever stood on the grassy crest of the Calton Hill,\ngazing on Edinburgh, beheld, as he still does, Holyrood at his feet, and,\ncrowning the highest point of the central part of the town, the tall\nsquare tower of the church of St. Mary in the Fields, on the limit of the\nlandscape. In going, as Mary often went, from Holyrood to Kirk o' Field,\nyou walked straight out of the palace, and up the Canongate, through\nstreets of Court suburb, with gardens behind the houses. You then reached\nthe gate of the town wall, called the Nether Port, and entered the street\nof the Nether Bow, which was a continuation of the High Street. By any one\nof the lanes, or wynds, which cut the Nether Bow at right angles on the\nleft, you reached the Cowgate (the street of palaces, as Alesius, the\nReformer, calls it), running from the Castle parallel to the High Street\nand its continuation, the Nether Bow. From the Cowgate, you struck into\none or other of the wynds which led to the grounds of what were, in Mary's\ntime, the ruined church and houses of the Dominican monastery, or Black\nFriars, and to Kirk o' Field.\n\nBeyond this, all is very difficult to explain and understand. The church\nof Kirk o' Field, and the quadrangle of houses tenanted, just as in Oxford\nor Cambridge, by the Prebendaries and Provost of that collegiate church,\nlay, at an early date, _outside_ of the walls of Edinburgh. This is proved\nby the very name of the collegiate church, 'St. Mary in the Fields.' But\nby 1531, a royal charter speaks of 'the College Church of the Blessed\nVirgin Mary in the Fields, _within the walls_ of the burgh of Edinburgh,'\nthe city wall having been recently extended in that direction.[119] The\nmonastery of the Black Friars, close to Kirk o' Field, was also included,\nby 1531, within the walls of the burgh. But the town wall which encircled\nKirk o' Field and the Black Friars on the south, was always in a ruinous\ncondition. In 1541, we find the Town Council demanding that 'ane honest\nsubstantious wall' shall be made in another quarter.[120] In 1554, the\nProvost and Prebendaries of Kirk o' Field granted part of their grounds to\nthe Duke of Chatelherault, because their own houses had been 'burned down\nand destroyed by their auld enemies of England,' in the invasions of\n1544-1547.[121] In 1544-1547, the town wall encircling Kirk o' Field on\nthe south must also have been partially ruined. Chatelherault built on the\nground thus acquired, quite close to Kirk o' Field, a large new house or\nchateau from which, according to George Buchanan, Archbishop Hamilton sent\nforth ruffians to aid in Darnley's murder.\n\nBy 1557, we find that the town wall, at the point where it encircled the\nBlack Friars, in the vicinity of Kirk o' Field, was 'fallen down,' and was\nto be 'reedified and mended.'[122] By August, 1559, the Town Council\nprotest against a common passage through the 'slap,' or 'slop,' the broken\ngap, in the Black Friars 'yard ' (garden wall) 'at the east end of the\nblock-house.' This gap, therefore, is to be built up again, 'conform in\nwork to the town wall next adjacent,' but it appears that this was never\ndone. When Bothwell went to the murder, he got into the Black Friars\ngrounds, whence he made his way into Darnley's garden, either by climbing\nthrough a 'slap' or gap in the wall, or by sending an accomplice through,\nwho opened the Black Friars gate. This ruinous condition of the town wall\nwas partly due to the habitual negligence of the citizens: partly to the\ndestruction which fell, in 1559-1560, on the religious houses and\ncollegiate churches. So, in February, 1560, we find the town treasurer\nordered to pull down the walls of the Black Friars, and use the stones to\n'build the town walls therewith.'[123] On August 11, 1564, we again hear\nof repairing slaps, or gaps, 'and in especial _the new wall at the\ncollege_, so that no part thereof be climable.' The college may be Kirk o'\nField, where the burgesses already desired to build a college, the parent\nof Edinburgh University. On the day after Darnley's murder (Feb. 11, 1567)\nthe treasurer was ordered 'to take away the hewen work of the back door of\nthe Provost's lodging of the Kirk o' Field, and to build up the same door\nwith lime and sand.' Conceivably this 'back door,' now to be built up and\nclosed, was that door in Darnley's house which opened through the town\nwall. Finally, on May 7, 1567, the Treasurer was bidden 'to build _the\nwall of the town decayed and fallen down on the south side_ of the Provost\nof the Kirk o' Field's lodging, to be built up of lime and stone,\nconform to the height and thickness of the _new wall_ elsewhere [ellis]\nbuilded, and to pass lineally with the same to the wall of the church yard\nof the said church, and to leave no door nor entry in the said new\nwall.'[124]\n\n[Illustration: KIRK O' FIELD SITE IN 1646\n\n25 is the Town Wall. _w_ indicates the University, including Hamilton\nHouse\n\n_y_ indicates a rectangular ruin, Darnley's house (?)]\n\nAll these facts prove that the old wall which enclosed Kirk o' Field and\nthe Black Friars on the south had fallen into disrepair, and that new\nwalls had for some time before the murder been in course of building. Now,\nin the map of 1647, we find a very neat and regular wall, to the south of\nthe site that had been occupied by Kirk o' Field. Whereas, in Darnley's\ntime, there had been a gate called Kirk o' Field Port to the left, or\nwest, of the Kirk o' Field, by 1647 there was no such name, but, instead,\nPotter Row Port, to the left, or west, of the University buildings; by\n1647 these included Hamilton House, and the ground covered by Kirk o'\nField. This wall, extant in 1647, I take to be 'the new wall,' passing\nlineally 'to the wall of the church yard' of Kirk o' Field. It supplied\nthe place of the wall which, in the chart of 1567 (p. 130), ran south and\nnorth past the gable of Kirk o' Field.\n\nThus Kirk o' Field, in February, 1567, had, to the south of it, an old\ndecayed town wall, much fallen down, and was thus _within_ that town wall.\nBut 'it is traditionally said,' writes the editor of Keith, Mr. Parker\nLawson, in 1845, 'that the house of the Provost of Kirk o' Field' (in\nwhich house, or the one next to it, Darnley was blown up) 'stood as near\nas possible _without_ the then city walls.'[125] Scott follows this\nopinion in 'The Abbot.' Yet certainly Kirk o' Field was not without, but\nwithin, the ruinous town wall mentioned in the Burgh Records of May 7,\n1567. How are we to understand this discrepancy?\n\nThe accompanying chart, drawn from a design sent to the English\nGovernment in February, 1567, ought to be _reversed_, as in a mirror. So\nregarded, we are facing Kirk o' Field, and are looking from south to\nnorth. At our left hand, or westward, is the gate or port in the town\nwall, called 'the Kirk o' Field Port.' If we pass through it, if the chart\nbe right we are in Potter Row. Just from the Port of Kirk o' Field, the\ntown wall runs due north, for a few yards: then runs due east, enclosing\nthe church yard of Kirk o' Field, on the north, and the church itself,\nshown in ruins, the church, as usual, running from east to west. After\nrunning west to east for some fifty yards, the town wall, battlemented and\nloopholed, turns at a right angle, and runs due south to north, being thus\ncontinued till it reaches the northern limit of the plan. Now this wall,\nhere running due south to north, is not the 'wall of the town decayed and\nfallen down on the south side of the Provost of Kirk o' Field's lodgings,'\nas described in the Burgh Records of May 7, 1567. This wall, on the other\nhand, leaves the collegiate quadrangle of Kirk o' Field inside it, on the\n_east_, and the ruined gable of Darnley's house, a gable running from east\nto west, abuts on this wall, having a door through the wall into the\nThieves' Row. It is true that one of Darnley's servants, Nelson, who\nescaped from the explosion, declared that the gallery of Darnley's house,\nand the gable which had a window 'through the town wall,' ran _south_.\n\nBut, by the contemporary chart, the only part of Darnley's house which was\nin contact with the town wall ran east to west, and impinged on the town\nwall, which here ran south to north. Again, in the map of 1647, the wall\nof that date no longer runs south to north, but is continued 'lineally'\nfrom that short part of the town wall, in the chart of 1567, which _did_\nrun west to east, forming there the northern wall of the church yard of\nKirk o' Field. This continuation was ordered to be made by the Town\nCouncil on May 7, 1567, three months after Darnley's murder. Further, in\n1646, Professor Crawford wrote that the lodgings of the Provost of Kirk o'\nField, in 1567, 'had a garden on the _south_, betwixt it and the _present_\ntown wall.'[126]\n\nNow the ruins of Darnley's house, in the map of 1647, have a space of\ngarden between them and 'the _present_ town wall,' the wall of 1647. But,\nin 1567, the gable of Darnley's house actually impinged on, and had a\nwindow and a door through the town wall on, the _west_ according to the\nchart.\n\nThe chart, then, _reversed_, shows the whole position thus. On our left,\nthe west, is the ruined Kirk o' Field church, the church yard being\nbordered, on the north, by the town wall, here running, for a short way,\neast and west. After the town wall turns at a right angle and runs south\nto north, it is continued west and east by a short prolongation of some\nten yards, having a gate in it. Next, running west to east, are two tall\nhouses, forming the south side of a quadrangle. These Crawford (1646)\nseems to have regarded as the Provost's lodgings. The east side of the\nquadrangle consists of four small houses, as does the north side. The west\nside of the quadrangle was Darnley's house. It was in the shape of an\ninverted L, thus [L]. The long limb faced the quadrangle, the short limb\ntouched the town wall, and had a door through it, into the Thieves' Row.\nBeyond the Thieves' Row were gardens, in one of which Darnley's body and\nthat of his servant, Taylor, were found after the explosion. Mary's room\nin the short limb of the [L] had a garden door, opening into Darnley's\ngarden. Behind Darnley's garden were the grounds of the Black Friars\nmonastery. On the night of the murder Bothwell conveyed the gunpowder into\nthe Black Friars grounds, entering by the gate or through the broken Black\nFriars wall to the north side of the quadrangle, and thence into Darnley's\ngarden, and so, by Mary's garden door, into Mary's chamber: as the\ndepositions of the accomplices declare.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n1. Kirk o' Field Port\n\n2. Church of St. Mary-in-the-Fields\n\n3. Thieves' Row\n\n4. Door from Darnley's House into Thieves' Row\n\n5. Ruins of Darnley's House\n\n6. Darnley's Body\n\n7. Darnley's Garden\n\n8. Grounds of the Black Friars\n\n9. Hamilton House\n\n10. Potter Row\n\n11. Town Wall]\n\nThe whole quadrangle lay amidst wide waste spaces of gardens and trees,\nwith scattered cottages, and with Hamilton House, a hostile house, hard\nby. Such was the situation of Kirk o' Field, Church and College\nquadrangle, as shown by the contemporary plan. The difficulties are caused\nby the wall, in the chart, running south to north, having Darnley's house\nabutting on it at right angles. The old ruined wall, on the other hand,\nwas to the south of the quadrangle, as was the wall of 1647. When or why\nthe wall running from south to north was built, I do not know, possibly\nafter 1559, out of the stones of the Black Friars.[127] The new work was\ndone under James Lindsay, treasurer in 1559, and Luke Wilson, treasurer in\n1560. Perhaps the wall running south to north was the work of these two\ntreasurers. At all events, there the wall was, or there it is in the\ncontemporary design, to the confusion of antiquaries, bewildered between\nthe south to north wall of the chart, as given, and the new wall seen in\nthe map of 1647, a wall which was to the south of Kirk o' Field, while, in\nthe map of 1647, there is no trace of the south to north wall of the chart\nof 1567.\n\nHaving located Darnley's house, as forming the west side of a small\ncollege quadrangle among gardens and trees, we now examine the interior\nof his far from palatial lodgings.\n\nThe two-storied house (the arched vaults on which it probably stood not\ncounting as a story?) was just large enough for the invalid, his servants,\nand his royal nurse. There was a 'hall,' probably long and not wide, there\nwas a lower chamber, used by Mary, which could be entered either from the\ngarden, or from the passage, opened into by the front door, from the\nquadrangle. Mary's room had two keys, and one must have locked the door\nfrom the passage; the other, the door into the garden. If the former was\nkept locked, so that no one could enter the room by the usual way, the\npowder could be introduced, without exciting much attention, by the door\nopening on the garden. In the chamber above Mary's, where Darnley lay,\nthere were also a cabinet and a garderobe. There was a cellar, probably\nthe kind of vaulted crypt on which houses of the period were built, like\nQueen Mary's House in St. Andrews. From the 'cellar' the door, which we\nhave mentioned, led through the town wall into the Thieves' Row. Whoever\nhas seen Queen Mary's House at Jedburgh (much larger than Kirk o' Field),\nor the Queen's room at St. Andrews, knows that royal persons, in Scotland,\nwere then content with very small apartments. A servant named Taylor used\nto share Darnley's sleeping-room, as was usual; three others, including\nNelson, slept in a 'little gallery,' which apparently ran at right angles\nfrom Darnley's chamber to the town wall. He had neither his own guard, nor\na guard of Lennox men, as at Stirling.\n\nIf the rooms were small, the tapestries and velvet were magnificent, and\nin odd contrast with Mary's alleged economic plan of taking a door from\nthe hinges and using it as a bath-cover. This last anecdote, by Nelson,\nappears to be contradicted by Hay of Tala. 'Paris locked the door that\npasses up the turnpike to the King's chamber.'[128] The keys appear to\nhave wandered into a bewildering variety of hands: a superfluous jugglery,\nif Bothwell, as was said, had duplicate keys.\n\nMary often visited Darnley, and the Lennox documents give us copious, if\nuntrustworthy, information as to his manner of life. They do not tell us,\nas Buchanan does, that Mary and the vast unwieldy Lady Reres used to play\nmusic and sing in the garden of Kirk o' Field, in the balmy nights of a\nScotch February! But they do contain a copy of a letter, referred to by\nBuchanan, which Darnley wrote to Lennox three days before his death.\n\n 'My Lord,--I have thought good to write to you by this bearer of my\n good health, I thank God, which is the sooner come through the good\n treatment of such as hath this good while concealed their good will; I\n mean of my love the Queen, which I assure you hath all this while, and\n yet doth, use herself like a natural and loving wife. I hope yet that\n God will lighten our hearts with joy that have so long been afflicted\n with trouble. As I in this letter do write unto your Lordship, so I\n trust this bearer can satisfy you the like. Thus thanking almighty God\n of our good hap, I commend your Lordship into his protection.\n\n 'From Edinburgh the vii of February,\n 'Your loving and obedient son,\n 'HENRY REX.'\n\nThe Queen, we are told, came in while Darnley was writing, read the\nletter, and 'kissed him as Judas did the Lord his Master.'\n\n'The day before his death she caused the rich bed to be taken down, and a\nmeaner set up in its place, saying unto him that that rich bed they should\nboth lie in the next night, but her meanings were to save the bed from the\nblowing up of the fire of powder.'[129] There has been a good deal of\ncontroversy about this odd piece of economy, reported also by Thomas\nNelson, Darnley's surviving servant. Where was the bed to be placed for\nthe marriage couch? Obviously not in Holyrood, and Mary's own bed in the\nroom below Darnley's is reported by Buchanan to have been removed.[130]\nThe lost bed which was blown up was of velvet, 'violet brown,' with gold,\nhad belonged to Mary of Guise, and had been given to Darnley, by Mary, in\nthe previous autumn.\n\nMary's enemies insist that, apparently on the night of Friday, February 7,\nshe wrote one of the Casket Letters to Bothwell. The Letter is obscure, as\nwe shall see, but is interpreted to mean that her brother, Lord Robert\nStuart, had warned Darnley of his danger, that Darnley had confided this\nto Mary, that Mary now asked Bothwell to bring Lord Robert to Kirk o'\nField, where she would confront him with Darnley. The pair might come to\nblows, Darnley might fall, and the gunpowder plot would be superfluous.\nThis tale, about which the evidence is inconsistent, is discussed\nelsewhere. But, in his MSS., Lennox tells the story, and adds, 'The Lord\nRegent' (Moray) 'can declare it, who was there present.' Buchanan avers\nthat Mary called in Moray to sever the pair, in hopes that he would be\nslain or compromised: not a plausible theory, and not put forward in the\n'Book of Articles.'\n\nMary twice slept in the room under Darnley's, probably on the 5th and 7th\nof February. In the Lennox MSS. the description of Darnley's last night\nvaries from the ordinary versions. 'The present night of his death she\ntarried with him till eleven of the clock, which night she gave him a\ngoodly ring,' the usual token of loyalty. This ring is mentioned in a\ncontemporary English ballad, and by Moray to de Silva (August 3, 1567),\nalso in the 'Book of Articles.' Mary is usually said to have urged, as a\nreason for not sleeping at Kirk o' Field on the fatal night, her sudden\nrecollection of a promise to be present at Holyrood, at the marriage of\nher servant, Sebastian. This, indeed, is her own story, or Lethington's,\nin a letter written in Scots to her ambassador in France, on February 10,\nor 11, 1567. But, in the Lennox MSS., it is asserted that Bothwell and\nothers reminded her of her intention to ride to Seton, early next morning.\nDarnley then 'commanded that his great horses should have been in a\nreadiness by 5 o'clock in the morning, for that he minded to ride them at\nthe same hour.' After Mary had gone, he remembered, says Lennox, a word\nshe had dropped to the effect that nearly a year had passed since the\nmurder of Riccio, a theme on which she had long been silent. She was\nkeeping her promise, given over Riccio's newly dug grave, that 'a fatter\nthan he should lie anear him 'ere the twelvemonth was out.' His servant\ncomforted him, and here the narrator regrets that Darnley did not\n'consider and mark such cruel and strange words as she had said unto him,'\nfor example, at Riccio's grave. He also gives a _precis_ of 'her letter\nwritten to Bothwell from Glasgow before her departure thence.' This is the\nmysterious letter which was never produced or published: it will be\nconsidered under 'External Evidence as to the Casket Letters.'\n\nAfter singing, with his servants, Psalm V., Darnley drank to them, and\nwent to bed. Fifty men, says the Lennox author, now environed the house,\nsixteen, under Bothwell, 'came the secret way by which she herself was\nwont to come to the King her husband' (a mere fairy tale), used the\nduplicate keys, 'opened the doors of the garden and house,' and so entered\nhis chamber, and suffocated him 'with a wet napkin stipt in vinegar.' They\nhandled Taylor, a servant, in the same way, and laid Darnley in a garden\nat some distance with 'his night gown of purple velvet furred with\nsables.' None of the captured murderers, in their confessions, knew\nanything of the strangling, which was universally believed in, but cannot\neasily be reconciled with the narratives of the assassins. But had they\nconfessed to the strangling, others besides Bothwell would have been\nimplicated, and the confessions are not worthy of entire confidence.[131]\n\nThe following curious anecdote is given by the Lennox MSS. After Mary's\nvisit to Bothwell at Hermitage (October, 1566) her servants were wondering\nat her energy. She replied: 'Troth it was she was a woman, but yet was she\nmore than a woman, in that she could find in her heart to see and behold\nthat which any man durst do, and also could find in her heart to do\nanything that a man durst do, if her strength would serve her thereto.\nWhich appeared to be true, for that some say she was present at the murder\nof the King, her husband, in man's apparel, which apparel she loved\noftentimes to be in, in dancing secretly with the King her husband, and\ngoing in masks by night through the streets.' These are examples of the\nsayings and reports of her servants, which, on June 11, 1568, Lennox urged\nhis friends to collect. This romantic tale proved too great for the belief\nof Buchanan, if he knew it. But Lethington told Throckmorton in July,\n1567, that the Lords had proof against Mary not only in her handwriting,\nbut by 'sufficient witnesses.' Doubtless they saw her on the scene in male\ncostume! Naturally they were never produced.\n\nIf an historical event could be discredited, like a ghost story, by\ndiscrepancies in the evidence, we might maintain that Darnley never was\nmurdered at all. The chief varieties of statement are concerned (1) with\nthe nature of his death. Was he (_a_) taken out of the house and\nstrangled, or (_b_) strangled in trying to escape from the house, or (_c_)\nstrangled in the house, and carried outside, or (_d_) destroyed by the\nexplosion and the fall? Next (2), accepting any of the statements which\nrepresent Darnley as being strangled (and they are, so far, unanimous at\nthe time of the event), who were the stranglers? Were they (_a_) some of\nBothwell's men, (_b_) men of Balfour's or Huntly's, or (_c_) servants of\nArchbishop Hamilton, as the Lennox faction aver, or (_d_) Douglases under\nArchibald Douglas? Finally (3) was Kirk o' Field (_a_) undermined by the\nmurderers, in readiness for the deed, before Darnley's arrival from\nGlasgow, or (_b_) was the powder placed in the Queen's bedroom, under\nDarnley's, on the night of the crime; or (_c_) was it then placed in the\nvaults under the room on the first floor which was occupied by the Queen?\n\nThe reader will find that each of these theories was in turn adopted by\nthe accusers, and that selections were made, later, by the accusers of\nMorton, and Archibald Douglas, and Archbishop Hamilton, just as happened\nto suit the purpose of the several prosecutors at the moment. Moreover it\nis not certain that the miscreants who blew up the house themselves knew\nthe whole details of the crime.\n\nOur plan must be, first, to compare the contemporary descriptions of the\nincident. Taking, first, the 'Diurnal of Occurrents,' we find that the\nexplosion took place at 'two hours before none;' which at that time meant\n2 A.M. The murderers opened the door with false keys, and strangled\nDarnley, and his servant, Taylor, 'in their naked beds,' then threw the\nbodies into a garden, 'beyond the Thief Row' (see the sketch, p. 131),\nreturned, and blew up the house, 'so that there remained not one stone\nupon another undestroyed.' The names of the miscreants are given, 'as\nalleged,' Bothwell, Ormistoun of that ilk; Hob Ormistoun his uncle;\nHepburn of Bowton, and young Hay of Tala. All these underlings were later\ntaken, confessed, and were executed. The part of the entry in the\n'Diurnal' which deals with them, at least, is probably not contemporary.\nThe men named professed to know nothing of the strangling. For what it is\nworth the entry corroborates the entire destruction of the house, which\nwould imply a mine, or powder in the vaulted cellars. The contemporary\ndrawing shows the whole house utterly levelled with the ground.[132]\n\nBirrel, in his Diary, says, 'The house was raised from the ground with\npowder, and the King, if he had not been cruelly strangled, after he fell\nout of the air, with his garters, he had lived.' An official account says,\n'Of the whole lodging, walls and other, there is nothing remaining, no,\nnot one stone above another, but all either carried far away, or dung in\ndross to the very groundstone.'[133] This could only be done by a mine,\nbut the escape of Nelson proves exaggeration. This version is also in\nMary's letter to Archbishop Beaton (February 10, or 11), written in Scots,\nprobably by Lethington, and he, of course, may have exaggerated, as may\nthe Privy Council in their report to the same effect.[134] Clernault, a\nFrenchman who carried the news, averred that a mine was employed. Sir\nJames Melville says that Bothwell 'made a train of powder, or had one made\nbefore, which came under the house,' but Darnley was first strangled 'in a\nlow stable,' by a napkin thrust into his mouth.[135] The Lennox MSS. say\nthat Darnley was suffocated 'with a wet napkin steeped in vinegar.' The\nSavoyard Ambassador, Moretta, on returning to France, expressed the\nopinion that Darnley fled from the house, when he heard the key of the\nmurderers grate in the keyhole, that he was in his shirt, carrying his\ndressing gown, that he was followed, dragged into a little garden outside\nhis own garden wall (the garden across the Thieves' Row), and there\nstrangled. Some women heard him exclaim, 'Pity me, kinsmen, for the love\nof him who pitied all the world.'[136] His kinsmen were Archibald and\nother Douglases. Buchanan, in his 'Detection,' speaks of 'the King's\nlodging, _even from the very foundation_, blown up.' In the 'Actio,' or\nOration, printed with the 'Detection,' the writer, whoever he was, says,\n'they had _undermined the wall_,' and that Mary slept under Darnley's\nroom, lest the servants should hear 'the noise of the underminers\nworking.'\n\nThe 'Detection' and 'Actio' were published to discredit Mary, long after\nthe murderers had confessed that there was no mine at all, that the powder\nwas laid in Mary's room. In the 'Book of Articles,' the powder is placed\n'in the laich house,' whether that means the arched ground floor, or\nMary's chamber; apparently the latter, as we read, 'she lay in the house\nunder the King, where also thereafter the powder was placed.'[137] This is\nmade into conformity with the confessions of Bothwell's men, according to\nwhom but nine or ten were concerned in the deed. But Moray himself, two\nmonths after the murder, told de Silva that 'it is undoubted that over\nthirty or forty persons were concerned' (the fifty of the Lennox Paper)\n'and _the house ... was entirely undermined_.'[138] When Morton, long\nafterwards, was accused of and executed for the deed, the dittay ran that\nthe powder was under the 'angular stones and within the vaults.' In the\nmysterious letter, attributed to Mary, and cited by Moray and the Lennox\nPapers, the 'preparation' of the Kirk o' Field is at least hinted at. The\n'Book of Articles' avers that, 'from Glasgow, by her letters and\notherwise,' Mary 'held him' (Bothwell) 'continually in remembrance of the\nsaid house,' which she _did_, in the letter never produced, but not in any\nof the Casket Letters, unless it be in a note, among other suspicious\nnotes, 'Of the ludgeing in Edinburgh.'[139] The Lennox MSS., as we saw,\nsay 'the place was already prepared with \"undermining and\" trains of\npowder therein.' The whole of the narratives, confirmed by Moray, and by\nthe descriptions of the ruin of the house, prove that the theory of a\nprepared mine was entertained, till Powrie, Tala, and Bowton made their\ndepositions, and, in the 'Actio,' an appendix to Buchanan's 'Detection,'\nand the indictment of Morton, even after that. But when the accusers, of\nwhom some were guilty themselves, came to plead against Mary, they\nnaturally wished to restrict the conspiracy to Bothwell and Mary. The\nstrangling disappears. The murderers are no longer thirty, or forty, or\nfifty. The powder is placed in Mary's own room, not in a mine. All this\naltered theory rests on examinations of prisoners.\n\nWhat are they worth? They were taken in the following order: Powrie, June\n23, Dalgleish, June 26, before the Privy Council. Powrie was again\nexamined in July before the Privy Council, and Hay of Tala on September\n13. A note of news says that Tala was taken in Fife on September 6, 1567\n(annotated) '7th (Nicolas and Bond).'[140] Tala 'can _bleke_ [blacken]\nsome great men with it'--the murder. But as Mr. Hosack cites Bedford to\nCecil, September 5, 1567, Hay of Tala 'opened the whole device of the\nmurder, ... and went so far as to touch a great many not of the smallest,'\nsuch as Huntly, Argyll, Lethington, and others, no doubt.[141] Even Laing,\nhowever, admits that 'the evidence against Huntly was suppressed carefully\nin Hay's deposition.'[142] In Dec.-Jan. 1567-68, anonymous writings say\nthat, if the Lords keep Tala and Bowton alive, they could tell them who\nsubscribed the murder bond, and pray the Lords not to seem to lay all the\nweight on Mary's back. A paper of Questions to the Lords of the Articles\nasks why Tala and Bowton 'are not compelled openly to declare the manner\nof the King's slaughter, and who consented thereunto.'[143]\n\nThe authors of these Questions had absolute right on their side. Moray no\nmore prosecuted the quest for all murderers of Darnley than Mary had done.\nTo prove this we need no anonymous pamphlets or placards, no contradictory\ntattle about secret examinations and dying confessions. When Mary's case\nwas inquired into at Westminster (December, 1568), Moray put in as\nevidence the deposition of Bowton, made in December, 1567. Bothwell, said\nBowton, had assured him that the crime was devised 'by some of the\nnoblemen,' 'other noblemen had entrance as far as he in that matter.'[144]\nThis was declared by Bowton in Moray's own presence. The noble and\nstainless Moray is not said to ask 'What noblemen do you mean?' No torture\nwould have been needed to extract their names from Bowton, and Moray\nshould at once have arrested the sinners. But some were his own allies,\nunited with him in accusing his sister. So no questions were asked. The\npapers which, between Dec.-Jan. 1567-68, did ask disagreeable questions\nmust have been prior to January 3, 1568, when Tala, Bowton, Dalgleish, and\nPowrie, after being 'put to the knowledge of an assize,' were executed;\ntheir legs and arms were carried about the country by boys in baskets!\nAccording to the 'Diurnal,' Tala incriminated, before the whole people\nround the scaffold, Bothwell, Huntly, Argyll, Lethington, and Balfour,\nwith divers other nobles, and the Queen. On January 7, Drury gave the same\nnews to Cecil, making Bowton the confessor, and omitting the charge\nagainst Mary. The incriminated noblemen at once left Edinburgh, 'which,'\nsays the 'Diurnal,' 'makes the matter ... the more probable.'[145]\nMeanwhile Moray 'looked through his fingers,' and carried the incriminated\nLethington with him, later, as one of Mary's accusers, while he purchased\nSir James Balfour!\n\nWhat, we ask once more, in these circumstances, are the examinations of\nthe murderers worth, after passing through the hands of the accomplices?\nOn December 8, 1568, Moray gave in the written records of the examinations\nto the English Commissioners. We have, first, Bothwell's servant, Powrie,\nexamined before the Lords of the Secret Council (June 23, July 3, 1567).\nHe helped to carry the powder to Kirk o' Field on February 9, but did not\nsee what was done with it. Dalgleish, examined at Edinburgh on June 26,\n1567, before Morton, Atholl, the Provost of Dundee, and Kirkcaldy, said\nnothing about the powder. Tala was examined, on September 13, at\nEdinburgh, before Moray, Morton, Atholl, the Lairds of Loch Leven and\nPitarro, James Makgill, and the Justice Clerk, Bellenden. No man\nimplicated, except Morton, was present. Tala said that Bothwell arranged\nto lay the powder in Mary's room, under Darnley's. This was done; the\npowder was placed in 'the nether house, under the King's chamber,' the\nplotters entering by the back door, from the garden, of which Paris had\nthe key. Thus there would be no show at the front door, in the\nquadrangle, of men coming and going: they were in Mary's room, but did not\nenter by the front door. Next, on December 8, Bowton was examined at\nEdinburgh before Moray, Atholl, Lindsay, Kirkcaldy of Grange, and\nBellenden. He implicated Morton, Lethington, and Balfour, but, at\nWestminster, Moray suppressed the evidence utterly. (See Introduction, pp.\nxiii-xviii, for the suppressions). Next we have the trial of Bowton, Tala,\nPowrie, and Dalgleish, on January 3, 1568, before Sir Thomas Craig and a\njury of burgesses and gentlemen. The accused confessed to their previous\ndepositions. The jury found them guilty on the depositions alone, found\nthat 'the whole lodging was raised and blown in the air, and his Grace\n[Darnley] was murdered treasonably, and most cruelly slain and destroyed\nby them therein.' When Mr. Hosack asserts that these depositions 'were\ntaken before the Lords of the Secret Council, namely Morton, Huntly,\nArgyll, Maitland, and Balfour,' he errs, according to the documents cited.\nOnly Powrie is described as having been examined 'before the Lords of the\nSecret Council.' Mr. Hosack must have known that Huntly and Argyll were\nnot in Edinburgh on June 23, when Powrie was examined.[146] We can only\nsay that Powrie's depositions, made before the Lords of the Secret\nCouncil, struck the keynote, to which all later confessions, including\nthat of Bothwell's valet, Paris, correspond.[147] Thus vanish, for the\nmoment, the mine and the strangling, while the deed is done by powder in\nMary's own chamber. Nobody is now left in the actual crime save Bothwell,\nBowton, Tala, Powrie, Dalgleish, Wilson, Paris, Ormistoun, and Hob\nOrmistoun. They knew of no strangling.[148]\n\nBut on February 11, 1567, two women, examined by a number of persons,\nincluding Huntly, stated thus: Barbara Mertine _heard_ thirteen men, and\n_saw_ eleven, pass up the Cowgate, and _saw_ eleven pass down the Black\nFriars wynd, after the explosion. She called them traitors. May Crokat (by\nmarriage Mrs. Stirling), in the service of the Archbishop of St. Andrews\n(whose house was adjacent to Kirk o' Field), heard the explosion, thought\nit was in 'the house above,' ran out, saw eleven men, caught one by his\nsilk coat, and 'asked where the crack was.' They fled.[149] The avenging\nghost of Darnley pursued his murderers for twenty years, and, in their\ncases, we have later depositions, and letters. Thus, as to the men\nemployed, Archibald Douglas, that reverend parson and learned Lord of\nSession, informed Morton that he himself 'was at the deed doing, and came\nto the Kirk o' Field yard with the Earls of Bothwell _and Huntly_.'\nDouglas, at this time (June, 1581), had fled from justice to England:\nMorton was underlying the law. Morton's confession was made, in 1581, on\nthe day of his execution, to the Rev. John Durie and the Rev. Walter\nBalcanquell, who wrote down and made known the declaration. On June 3,\n1581, Archibald Douglas's servant, Binning, was also executed. He\nconfessed that Archibald lost one of his velvet mules (dress shoes) on the\nscene, or on the way from the murder. Powrie had 'deponed' that three of\nBothwell's company wore 'mulis,' whether for quiet in walking, or because\nthey were in evening dress, having been at Bastian's wedding masque and\ndance. Douglas, in a collusive trial before a jury of his kinsmen, in\n1586, was acquitted, and showed a great deal of forensic ability.[150]\n\nIt is thus abundantly evident that the depositions of the murderers put in\nby Mary's accusers did not tell the whole truth, whatever amount of truth\nthey may have told. We cannot, therefore, perhaps accept their story of\nplacing the powder in Mary's room, where it could hardly have caused the\namount of damage described: but that point may be left open. We know that\nBothwell's men were not alone in the affair, and the strangling of\nDarnley, and the removal of his body, with his purple velvet sable-lined\ndressing gown (attested by the Lennox MSS.), may have been done by the men\nof Douglas and Huntly.\n\nThe treatment of the whole topic by George Buchanan is remarkable. In the\n'Book of Articles,' levelled at Mary, in 1568, Darnley is blown up by\npowder placed in Mary's room. In the 'Detection,' of which the first draft\n(in the Lennox MSS.) is of 1568, reference for the method of the deed is\nmade to the depositions of Powrie and the others. In the 'History,' there\nare _three_ gangs, those with Bothwell, and two others, advancing by\nseparate routes. They strangle Darnley and Taylor, and carry their bodies\ninto an adjacent garden; the house is then blown up 'from the very\nfoundations.' Buchanan thus returns to the strangling, omitted, for\nreasons, in the 'Detection.' Darnley's body is unbruised, and his\ndressing-gown, lying near him, is neither scorched nor smirched with dust.\nA light burned, Buchanan says, in the Hamilton House till the explosion,\nand was then extinguished; the Archbishop, contrary to custom, was lodging\nthere, with 'Gloade,' says a Lennox MS. 'Gloade' is--Lord Claude\nHamilton![151] While Buchanan was helping to prosecute Mary, he had not a\nword to say about the strangling of Darnley, and about the dressing-gown\nand slippers laid beside the corpse, though all this was in the papers of\nLennox, his chief. Not a word had he to say about the three bands of men\nwho moved on Kirk o' Field, or the fifty men of the Lennox MS. The crime\nwas to be limited to Bothwell, his gang, and the Queen, as was convenient\nto the accusers. Later Buchanan brought into his 'History' what he kept\nout of the 'Detection' and 'Book of Articles,' adding a slur on\nArchbishop Hamilton.\n\nFinally, when telling, in his 'History,' how the Archbishop was caught at\nDumbarton, and hanged by Lennox, without trial, Buchanan has quite a fresh\nversion. The Archbishop sent six or eight of his bravoes, with false keys\nof the doors (what becomes of Bothwell's false keys?) to Kirk o' Field.\nThey strangle Darnley, and lay him in a garden, and then, on a given\nsignal, other conspirators blow up the house. Where is Bothwell? The\nleader of the Archbishop's gang told this, under seal of confession, to a\npriest, a very respectable man (_viro minime malo_). This respectable\npriest first blabbed in conversation, and then, when the Archbishop was\narrested, gave evidence derived from the disclosure of a Hamilton under\nseal of confession. The Archbishop mildly remarked that such conduct was\ncondemned by the Church. Later, the priest was executed for celebrating\nthe Mass (this being his third conviction), and he repeated the story\nopenly and fully. The tale of the priest was of rather old standing. When\ncollecting his evidence for the York Commission of October, 1568, Lennox\nwrote to his retainers to ask, among other things, for the deposition of\nthe priest of Paisley, 'that heard and testified the last exclamation of\none Hamilton, which the Laird of Minto showed to Mr. John Wood,' who was\nthen helping Lennox to get up his case (June 11, 1568).[152] Buchanan has\nyet another version, in his 'Admonition to the Trew Lordis:' here the\nArchbishop sends only four of his rogues to the murder.\n\nBuchanan's plan clearly was to accuse the persons whom it was convenient\nto accuse, at any given time; and to alter his account of the method of\nthe murder so as to suit each new accusation. Probably he was not\ndishonest. The facts 'were to him ministered,' by the Lords, in 1568, and\nalso by Lennox. Later, different sets of facts were 'ministered' to him,\nas occasion served, and he published them without heeding his\ninconsistencies. He was old, was a Lennox man, and an advanced Liberal.\n\nOf one examination, which ought to have been important, we have found no\nrecord. There was a certain Captain James Cullen, who wrote letters in\nJuly 13 to July 18, 1560, from Edinburgh Castle, to the Cardinal of\nLorraine. He was then an officer of Mary of Guise, during the siege of\nLeith.[153] In the end of 1565, and the beginning of 1566, Captain Cullen\nwas in the service of Frederic II. of Denmark, and was trying to enlist\nEnglish sailors for him.[154] Elizabeth refused to permit this, and\nCaptain Cullen appears to have returned to his native Scotland, where he\nbecame, under Bothwell, an officer of the Guard put about Mary's person,\nafter Riccio's murder. On February 28, 1567, eighteen days after Darnley's\nmurder, Scrope writes that 'Captain Cullen with his company have the\ncredit nearest her' (Mary's) 'person.' On May 13, Drury remarks, 'It was\nCaptain Cullen's persuasion, for more surety, to have the King strangled,\nand not only to trust to the powder,' the Captain having observed, in his\nmilitary experience, that the effects of explosions were not always\nsatisfactory. 'The King was long of dying, and to his strength made debate\nfor his life.'[155]\n\nTo return to honest Captain Cullen: after Bothwell was acquitted, and had\nissued a cartel offering Trial by Combat to any impugner of his honour,\nsome anonymous champion promised, under certain conditions, to fight. This\nhero placarded the names of three Balfours, black John Spens, and others,\nas conspirators; as 'doers' he mentioned, with some companions, Tala,\nBowton, Pat Wilson, and James Cullen. On April 25, the Captain was named\nas a murderer in Elizabeth's Instructions to Lord Grey.[156] On May 8,\nKirkcaldy told Bedford that Tullibardine had offered, with five others, to\nfight Ormistoun, 'Beynston,' Bowton, Tala, Captain Cullen, and James\nEdmonstone, who, says Tullibardine, were at the murder. On June 16, 1567,\nthe day after Mary's capture at Carberry, Scrope writes, 'The Lords have\ntaken Captain Cullen, who, after some strict dealing [torture], has\nrevealed the King's murder with the whole matter thereof.'[157] Scrope was\nmistaken. He had probably heard of the capture of Blackader, who was\nhanged on June 24, denying his guilt. He had no more chance than had James\nStewart of the Glens with a Campbell jury. His jury was composed of Lennox\nmen, Darnley's clansmen. Our Captain had not been taken, but on September\n15 Moray told Throckmorton that Kirkcaldy, in Shetland, had captured\nCullen, 'one of the very executors, he may clear the whole action.'[158]\n\nDid Captain Cullen clear the whole action? We hear no more of his\nembarrassing revelations. But we do know that he was released and returned\nto the crimping trade: he fought for the Castle in 1571, was taken in a\ncupboard and executed. He had a pretty wife, the poor Captain, coveted and\nsecured by Morton.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\n_THE CONFESSIONS OF PARIS_\n\n\nFatal depositions, if trustworthy, are those of the valet lent by Bothwell\nto Mary, on her road to Glasgow, in January, 1567. The case of Paris is\npeculiar. He had escaped with Bothwell, in autumn, 1567, to Denmark, and,\non October 30, 1568, he was extradited to a Captain Clark, a notorious\ncharacter. On July 16, 1567, the Captain had killed one Wilson, a seaman\n'much esteemed by the Lords,' of Moray's faction. They had quarrelled\nabout a ship that was ordered to pursue Bothwell.[159] Nevertheless, in\nJuly, 1568, Clark was Captain of the Scots in Danish service, and was\ncorresponding with Moray.[160] Clark could easily have sent Paris to\nEngland in time for the meetings of Commissioners to judge on Mary's case,\nin December-January, 1568-1569. But Paris was not wanted: he might have\nproved an awkward witness. About August 30, 1569, Elizabeth wrote to Moray\nasking that Paris might be spared till his evidence could be taken. To\nspare him was now impossible: Paris was no more. He had arrived from\nDenmark in June, 1569, when Moray was in the North. Why had he not arrived\nin December, 1568, when Mary's case was being heard at Westminster? He had\nbeen examined on August 9, 10, 1569, and was executed on August 15 at St.\nAndrews. A copy of his deposition was sent to Cecil, and Moray hoped it\nwould be satisfactory to Elizabeth and to Lennox.[161]\n\nIn plain truth, the deposition of Paris was not wanted, when it might have\nbeen given, at the end of 1568, while Moray and Lethington and Morton were\nall working against Mary, before the same Commission. Later, differences\namong themselves had grown marked. Moray and Lethington had taken opposed\nlines as to Mary's marriage with Norfolk in 1569, and the terms of an\nhonourable settlement of her affairs. Lethington desired; Moray, in his\nown interest as Regent, opposed the marriage. A charge of guilt in\nDarnley's murder was now hanging over Lethington, based on Paris's\ndeposition. The cloud broke in storm, he was accused by the useful\nCrawford, Lennox's man, in the first week of September, 1569. Three weeks\nearlier, Moray had conveniently strengthened himself by taking the so long\ndeferred evidence of Paris. Throughout the whole affair the witnesses were\nvery well managed, so as to produce just what was needed, and no more.\nWhile Lethington and other sinners were working with Moray, then only\nevidence to the guilt of Bothwell and Mary was available. When Lethington\nbecame inconvenient, witness against him was produced. When Morton, much\nlater (1581), was 'put at,' new evidence of _his_ guilt was not lacking.\nCaptain Cullen's tale did not fit into the political combinations of\nSeptember, 1567, when the poor Captain was taken. It therefore was not\nadduced at Westminster or Hampton Court. It was judiciously burked.\n\nMoray did not send the 'authentick' record of Paris's deposition to Cecil\ntill October, 1569, though it was taken at St. Andrews on August 9 and\n10.[162] When Moray at last sent it, he had found that Lethington\ndefinitely refused to aid him in betraying Norfolk. The day of\nreconciliation was ended. So Moray sent the 'authentick' deposition of\nParis, which he had kept back for two months, in hopes that Lethington\n(whom it implicated) might join him in denouncing Norfolk after all.\n\nParis, we said, was examined (there is no record showing that he ever was\ntried) at St. Andrews. On the day of his death, Moray caused Sir William\nStewart, Lyon King at Arms, by his own appointment, to be burned for\nsorcery. Of _his_ trial no record exists. He had been accused of a\nconspiracy against Moray, whom he certainly did not admire, no proof had\nbeen found, and he was burned as a wizard, or consulter of wizards.[163]\nThe deposition of Paris on August 10 is in the Record Office, and is\nsigned at the end of each page with his mark. _We are not told who heard\nthe depositions made._ We are only told that when it was read to him\nbefore George Buchanan, John Wood (Moray's man), and Robert Ramsay, he\nacknowledged its truth: Ramsay being the writer of 'this declaration,'\nthat is of the deposition. He wrote French very well, and was a servant of\nMoray. There is another copy with a docquet asserting its authenticity,\nwitnessed by Alexander Hay, Clerk of the Privy Council, who, according to\nNau, wrote the old band against Darnley (October, 1566), and who was a\ncorrespondent of Knox.[164] Hay does not seem to mean that the deposition\nof Paris was taken in his presence, but that II. is a correct copy of\nNumber I. If so, he is not 'guilty of a double fraud,' as Mr. Hosack\ndeclares. Though he omits the names of the witnesses, Wood, Ramsay, and\nBuchanan, he does not represent himself as the sole witness to the\ndeclaration. He only attests the accuracy of the copy of Number I. Whether\nRamsay, Wood, and Buchanan examined Paris, we can only infer: whether they\nalone did so, we know not: that he was hanged and quartered merely on the\nstrength of his own deposition, we think highly probable. It was a great\nday for St. Andrews: a herald was burned, a Frenchman was hanged, and a\nfourth of his mortal remains was fixed on a spike in a public place.\n\nParis said, when examined in August, 1569, that on Wednesday or Thursday\nof the week of Darnley's death, Bothwell told him in Mary's room at Kirk\no' Field, Mary being in Darnley's, that '_we Lords_' mean to blow up the\nKing and this house with powder. But Bowton says, that till the Friday,\nBothwell meant to kill Darnley 'in the fields.'[165] Bothwell took Paris\naside for a particular purpose: he was suffering from dysentery, and said,\n'Ne scais-tu point quelque lieu la ou je pouray aller...?' 'I never was\nhere in my life before,' said Paris.\n\nNow as Bothwell, by Paris's own account (derived from Bothwell himself),\nhad passed an entire night in examining the little house of Kirk o' Field,\nhow could he fail to know his way about in so tiny a dwelling? Finally,\nParis found _ung coing ou trou entre deux portes_, whither he conducted\nBothwell, who revealed his whole design.\n\nRobertson, cited by Laing, remarks that the narrative of Paris 'abounds\nwith a number of minute facts and particularities which the most dexterous\nforger could not have easily assembled and connected together with any\nappearance of probability.' The most bungling witness who ever perjured\nhimself could not have brought more impossible inconsistencies than Paris\nbrings into a few sentences, and he was just as rich in new details, when,\nin a second confession, he contradicted his first. In the insanitary, and,\nas far as listeners were concerned, insecure retreat 'between two doors,'\nBothwell bluntly told Paris that Darnley was to be blown up, because, if\never he got his feet on the Lords' necks, he would be tyrannical. The\nmotive was political. Paris pointed out the moral and social\ninconveniences of Bothwell's idea. 'You fool!' Bothwell answered, 'do you\nthink I am alone in this affair? I have Lethington, who is reckoned one of\nour finest wits, and is the chief undertaker in this business; I have\nArgyll, Huntly, Morton, Ruthven, and Lindsay. These three last will never\nfail me, for I spoke in favour of their pardon, and I have the signatures\nof all those whom I have mentioned, and we were inclined to do it lately\nwhen we were at Craigmillar; but you are a dullard, not fit to hear a\nmatter of weight.' If Bothwell said that Morton, Ruthven, and Lindsay\nsigned the band, he, in all probability, lied. But does any one believe\nthat the untrussed Bothwell, between two doors, held all this talk with a\nwretched valet, arguing with him seriously, counting his allies, real or\nnot, and so forth? Paris next (obviously enlightened by later events)\nobserved that the Lords would make Bothwell manage the affair, 'but, when\nit is once done, they may lay the whole weight of it on you' (which, when\nmaking his deposition, he knew they had done), 'and will be the first to\ncry _Haro!_ on you, and pursue you to death.' Prophetic Paris! He next\nasked, What about a man dearly beloved by the populace, and the French?\n'No troubles in the country when _he_ governed for two or three years, all\nwas well, money was cheap; look at the difference now,' and so forth.\n'Who is the man?' asked Bothwell. 'Monsieur de Moray; pray what side does\nhe take?'\n\n'He won't meddle.'\n\n'Sir, he is wise.'\n\n'Monsieur de Moray, Monsieur de Moray! He will neither help nor hinder,\nbut it is all one.'\n\nBothwell, by a series of arguments, then tried to make Paris steal the key\nof Mary's room. He declined, and Bothwell left the appropriate scene of\nthis prolonged political conversation. It occupies more than three closely\nprinted pages of small type.\n\nParis then devotes a page and a half to an account of a walk, and of his\nreflections. On Friday, Bothwell met him, asked him for the key, and said\nthat _Sunday_ was the day for the explosion. Now, in fact, _Saturday_ had\nbeen fixed upon, as Tala declared.[166] Paris took another walk, thought\nof looking for a ship to escape in, but compromised matters by saying his\nprayers. On Saturday, after dinner, Bothwell again asked for the key:\nadding that Balfour had already given him a complete set of false keys,\nand that they two had passed a whole night in examining the house. So\nParis stole the key, though Bothwell had told him that he need not, if he\nhad not the heart for it. After he gave it to Bothwell, Marguerite\n(Carwood?) sent him back for a coverlet of fur: Sandy Durham asked him for\nthe key, and he referred Sandy to the _huissier_, Archibald Beaton. This\nSandy is said in the Lennox MSS. to have been warned by Mary to leave the\nhouse. He was later arrested, but does not seem to have been punished.\n\nOn Sunday morning, Paris heard that Moray had left Edinburgh, and said\nwithin himself, 'O Monsieur de Moray, you are indeed a worthy man!' The\nwretch wished, of course, to ingratiate himself with Moray, but his want\nof tact must have made that worthy man wince. Indeed Paris's tactless\ndisclosures about Moray, who 'would neither help nor hinder,' and did\nsneak off, may be one of the excellent reasons which prevented Cecil from\nadding Paris's deposition, when he was asked for it, to the English\nedition of Buchanan's 'Detection.'[167] When the Queen was at supper, on\nthe night of the crime, with Argyll (it really was with the Bishop of\nArgyll) and was washing her hands after supper, Paris came in. She asked\nParis whether he had brought the fur coverlet from Kirk o' Field. Bothwell\nthen took Paris out, and they acted as in the depositions of Powrie and\nthe rest, introducing the powder. Bothwell rebuked Tala and Bowton for\nmaking so much noise, which was heard above, as they stored the powder in\nMary's room. Paris next accompanied Bothwell to Darnley's room, and\nArgyll, silently, gave him a caressing dig in the ribs. After some loose\nbabble, Paris ends, 'And that is all I know about the matter.'\n\nThis deposition was made 'without constraint or interrogation.' But it was\nnecessary that he should know more about the matter. Next day he was\n_interrogue_, doubtless in the boot or the pilniewinks, or under threat of\nthese. He _must_ incriminate the Queen. He gave evidence now as to\ncarrying a letter (probably Letter II. is intended) to Bothwell, from Mary\nat Glasgow, in January, 1567. His story may be true, as we shall see, if\nthe dates put in by the accusers are incorrect: and if another set of\ndates, which we shall suggest, are correct.\n\nAsked as to familiarities between Bothwell and Mary, he said, on\nBothwell's information, that Lady Reres used to bring him, late at night,\nto Mary's room; and that Bothwell bade him never let Mary know that Lady\nBothwell was with him in Holyrood! Paris now remembered that, in the long\nconversation in the hole between two doors, Bothwell had told him not to\nput Mary's bed beneath Darnley's, 'for that is where I mean to put the\npowder.' He disobeyed. Mary made him move her bed, and he saw that she was\nin the plot. Thereon he said to her, 'Madame, Monsieur de Boiduel told me\nto bring him the keys of your door, and that he has an inclination to do\nsomething, namely to blow the King into the air with powder, which he will\nplace here.'\n\nThis piece of evidence has, by some, been received with scepticism, which\nis hardly surprising. Paris places the carrying of a letter (about the\nplot to make Lord Robert kill Darnley?) on Thursday night. It ought to be\nFriday, if it is to agree with Cecil's Journal: 'Fryday. She ludged and\nlay all nycht agane in the foresaid chalmer, and frome thence wrayt, that\nsame nycht, the letter concerning the purpose of the abbott of\nHalyrudhouse.' On the same night, Bothwell told Paris to inform Mary that\nhe would not sleep till he achieved his purpose, 'were I to trail a pike\nall my life for love of her.' This means that the murder was to be on\nFriday, which is absurd, unless Bothwell means to wake for several nights.\nLet us examine the stories told by Paris about the key, or keys, of Mary's\nroom. In the first statement, Paris was asked by Bothwell at the\nConference between Two Doors, for the _key_ of Mary's room. This was on\nWednesday or Thursday. On Friday, Bothwell asked again for the _key_, and\nsaid the murder was fixed for Sunday, which it was not, but for Saturday.\nOn Saturday, Bothwell again demands _that key_, after dinner. He says that\nhe has duplicates, from James Balfour, of all the keys. Paris takes the\n_key_, remaining last in Mary's room at Kirk o' Field, as she leaves it to\ngo to Holyrood. Paris keeps the _key_, and returns to Kirk o' Field. Sandy\nDurham, Darnley's servant, asks for the key. Paris replies that keys are\nthe affair of the Usher. 'Well,' says Durham, 'since you don't want to\ngive it to me!' So, clearly, Paris kept it. On Sunday night, Bothwell bade\nParis go to the Queen's room in Kirk o' Field, 'and when Bowton, Tala, and\nOrmistoun shall have entered, and done what they want to do, you are to\nleave the room, and come to the King's room and thence go where you\nlike.... The rest can do without you' (in answer to a remonstrance), 'for\nthey have keys enough.' Paris then went into the kitchen of Kirk o' Field,\nand borrowed and lit a candle: meanwhile Bowton and Tala entered the\nQueen's room, and deposited the powder. Paris does not _say_ that he let\nthem in with the _key_, which he had kept all the time; at least he never\nmentions making any use of it, though of course he did.\n\nIn the second statement, Paris avers that he took the _keys_ (the number\nbecomes plural, or dual) on Friday, not on Saturday, as in the first\nstatement, and _not_ after the Queen had left the room (as in the first\nstatement), but while she was dressing. He carried them to Bothwell, who\ncompared them with other, new, false keys, examined them, and said 'They\nare all right! take back these others.' During the absence of Paris, the\nkeys were missed by the Usher, Archibald Beaton, who wanted to let Mary\nout into the garden, and Mary questioned Paris _aloud_, on his return.\nThis is not probable, as, by his own second statement, he had already told\nher, on Wednesday or Thursday, that Bothwell had asked him for the keys,\nas he wanted to blow Darnley sky high. She would, therefore, know why\nParis had the keys of her room, and would ask no questions.[168] On\nSaturday, after dinner, Bothwell bade him take the _key_ of Mary's room,\nand Mary also told him to do so. He took it. Thus, in statement II., he\nhas his usual De Foe-like details, different from those equally minute in\nstatement I. He takes the keys, or key, at a different time, goes back\nwith them in different circumstances, is asked for them by different\npersons, and takes a key _twice_, once on Friday, once on Saturday, though\nBothwell, having duplicates that were 'all right' (_elles sont bien_), did\nnot need the originals. As to these duplicates, Bowton declared that,\nafter the murder, he threw them all into a quarry hole between Holyrood\nand Leith.[169] Tala declared that Paris had a key of the back door.[170]\nNelson says that Beaton, Mary's usher, kept the keys: he and Paris.[171]\n\nParis, of course under torture or fear of torture, said whatever might\nimplicate Mary. On Friday night, in the second statement, Paris again\ncarried letters to Bothwell; if he carried them both on Thursday and\nFriday, are both notes in the Casket Letters? The Letter of Friday was\nsupposed to be that about the affair of Lord Robert and Darnley. On\nSaturday Mary told Paris to bid Bothwell send Lord Robert and William\nBlackadder to Darnley's chamber 'to do what Bothwell knows, and to speak\nto Lord Robert about it, for it is better thus than otherwise, and he will\nonly have a few days' prison in the Castle for the same.' Bothwell replied\nto Paris that he would speak to Lord Robert, and visit the Queen. This was\non Saturday _evening_ (_au soyr_), after the scene, whatever it was or was\nnot, between Darnley and Lord Robert on Saturday _morning_.[172] As to\n_that_, Mary 'told her people in her chamber that Lord Robert had enjoyed\na good chance to kill the King, because there was only herself to part\nthem.' Lennox in his MSS. avers that Moray was present, and 'can declare\nit.' Buchanan says that Mary called in Moray to separate her wrangling\nhusband and brother, hoping that Moray too would be slain! Though the\nexplosion was for Sunday night, Mary, according to Paris, was still urging\nthe plan of murder by Lord Robert on Saturday night, and Bothwell was\nacquiescing.\n\nThe absurd contradictions which pervade the statements of Paris are\nconspicuous. Hume says: 'It is in vain at present to seek improbabilities\nin Nicholas Hubert's dying confession, and to magnify the smallest\ndifficulty into a contradiction. It was certainly a regular judicial\npaper, given in regularly and judicially, and ought to have been canvassed\nat the time, if the persons whom it concerned had been assured of their\nown innocence.' They never saw it: it was authenticated by no judicial\nauthority: it was not 'given in regularly and judicially,' but was first\nheld back, and then sent by Moray, when it suited his policy, out of\nrevenge on Lethington. Finally, it was not 'a dying confession.' Dying\nconfessions are made in prison, or on the scaffold, on the day of death.\nThat of Paris 'took God to record, at the time of his death' (August 15),\n'that this murder was by your' (the Lords') 'counsel, invention, and\ndrift committed,' and also declared that he 'never knew the Queen to be\nparticipant or ware thereof.' So says Lesley, but we have slight faith in\nhim.[173] He speaks in the same sentence of similar dying confessions by\nTala, Powrie, and Dalgleish.\n\nI omit the many discrepant accounts of dying confessions accusing or\nabsolving the Queen. Buchanan says that Dalgleish, in the Tolbooth,\nconfessed the Exchequer House _fabliau_, and that this is duly recorded,\nbut it does not appear in his Dying Confession printed in the 'Detection.'\nIn his, Bowton says that 'the Queen's mind was acknowledged thereto.' The\nJesuits, in 1568, were informed that Bowton, at his trial, impeached\nMorton and Balfour, and told Moray that he spared to accuse him, 'because\nof your dignity.'[174] These statements about dying confessions were\nbandied, in contradictory sort, by both sides. The confession of Morton,\nattested, and certainly not exaggerated, by two sympathetic Protestant\nministers, is of another species, and, as far as it goes, is evidence,\nthough Morton obviously does not tell all he knew. The part of Paris's\nstatement about the crime ends by saying that Huntly came to Bothwell at\nHolyrood, late on the fatal night, and whispered with him, as Bothwell\nchanged his evening dress, after the dance at Holyrood, for a cavalry\ncloak and other clothes. Bothwell told Paris that Huntly had offered to\naccompany him, but that he would not take him. Morton, in his dying\nconfession, declared that Archibald Douglas confessed that he and Huntly\nwere both present: contradicting Paris as to Huntly.\n\nThe declarations of Paris were never published at the time. On November 8,\n1571, Dr. Wilson, who was apparently translating something--the\n'Detection' of Buchanan, or the accompanying Oration ('Actio'), into sham\nScots--wrote to Cecil, 'desiring you to send unto me \"Paris\" closely\nsealed, and it shall not be known from whence it cometh.' Cecil was\nsecretly circulating libels on Mary, but 'Paris' was not used. His\ndeclarations would have clashed with the 'Detection' as written when only\nBothwell and Mary were to be implicated. The truth, that there was a great\n_political_ conspiracy, including some of Mary's accusers, and perhaps\nMorton, Lindsay, and Ruthven (for so Paris makes Bothwell say), would have\ncome out. The fact that Moray 'would neither help nor hinder,' and sneaked\noff, would have been uttered to the world. The glaring discrepancies would\nhave been patent to criticism. So Cecil withheld documents unsuited to his\npurpose of discrediting Mary.[175]\n\nThe one valuable part of Paris's declarations concerns the carrying of a\nGlasgow letter. And that is only valuable if we supply the accusers with\npossible dates, in place of their own impossible chronology, and if we\ntreat as false their tale[176] that Bothwell 'lodged in the town' when he\nreturned from Calendar to Edinburgh. The earlier confessions, especially\nthose of Tala, were certainly mutilated, as we have seen, and only what\nsuited the Lords came out. That of Paris was a tool to use against\nLethington, but, as it also implicated Morton, Lindsay, and Ruthven, with\nArgyll and Huntly, who might become friends of Morton and Moray, Paris's\ndeclaration was a two-edged sword, and, probably, was little known in\nScotland. In England it was judiciously withheld from the public eye.\nGoodall writes (1754): 'I well remember that one of our late criminal\njudges, of high character for knowledge and integrity, was, by reading it\n[Paris's statement], induced to believe every scandal that had been thrown\nout against the Queen.' A criminal judge ought to be a good judge of\nevidence, yet the statements of Paris rather fail, when closely inspected,\nto carry conviction.\n\nDarnley, in fact, was probably strangled by murderers of the Douglas and\nLethington branches of the conspiracy. On the whole, it seems more\nprobable that the powder was placed in Mary's room than not, though all\ncontemporary accounts of its effects make against this theory. As touching\nMary, the confessions are of the very slightest value. The published\nstatements, under examination, of Powrie, Dalgleish, Tala, and Bowton do\nnot implicate her. That of Bowton rather clears her than otherwise. Thus:\nthe theory of the accusers, supported by the declaration of Paris, was\nthat, when the powder was 'fair in field,' properly lodged in Mary's room,\nunder that of Darnley, Paris was to enter Darnley's room as a signal that\nall was prepared. Mary then left the room, in the time required 'to say a\npaternoster.' But Bowton affirmed that, as he and his fellows stored the\npowder, Bothwell 'bade them make haste, before the Queen came forth of the\nKing's house, for if she came forth before they were ready, they would not\nfind such commodity.' This, for what it is worth, implies that no signal,\nsuch as the entrance of Paris, had been arranged for the Queen's\ndeparture. The self-contradictory statements of Paris can be torn to\nshreds in cross-examination, whatever element of truth they may contain.\nThe 'dying confessions' are contradictorily reported, and all the reports\nare worthless. The guilt of some Lords, and their alliance with the other\naccusers, made it impossible for the Prosecution to produce a sound case.\nAs their case stands, as it is presented by them, a jury, however\nconvinced, on other grounds, of Mary's guilt, would feel constrained to\nacquit the Queen of Scots.\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\n_MARY'S CONDUCT AFTER THE MURDER_\n\n\nNothing has damaged Mary's reputation more than her conduct after the\nmurder of Darnley. Her first apologist, Queen Elizabeth, adopted the line\nof argument which her defenders have ever since pursued. On March 24,\n1567, Elizabeth discussed the matter with de Silva. Her emissary to spy\ninto the problem, Killigrew, had dined in Edinburgh at Moray's house with\nBothwell, Lethington, Huntly, and Argyll. All, except Moray, were\nconcerned in the crime, and this circumstance certainly gave force to\nElizabeth's reasoning. She told de Silva, on Killigrew's report, that\ngrave suspicions existed 'against Bothwell, and others who are with the\nQueen,' the members, in fact, of Moray's little dinner party to Killigrew.\nMary, said Elizabeth, 'did not dare to proceed against them, in\nconsequence of the influence and strength of Bothwell,' who was Admiral,\nand Captain of the Guard of 500 Musketeers. Elizabeth added that, after\nKilligrew left Scotland, Mary had attempted to take refuge in the Castle,\nbut had been refused entry by the Keeper, who feared that Bothwell would\naccompany Mary and take possession. This anecdote is the more improbable\nas Killigrew was in London by March 24, and the Earl of Mar was deprived\nof the command of the Castle on March 19.[177] To have retired to the\nCastle, as on other occasions of danger, and to have remained there, would\nhave been Mary's natural conduct, had the slaying of Darnley alarmed and\ndistressed her. Those who defend her, however, can always fall back, like\nElizabeth, on the theory that Bothwell, Argyll, Huntly, and Lethington\noverawed her; that she could not urge the finding of the murderers, or\neven avoid their familiar society, any more than Moray could rescue or\navenge Darnley, or abstain from sharing his salt with Bothwell.[178] De\nSilva inferred from Moray's talk, that he believed Bothwell to be\nguilty.[179]\n\nThe first efforts of Mary and the Council were to throw dust in the eyes\nof France and Europe. The Council met on the day of Darnley's death. There\nwere present Hamilton, Archbishop of St. Andrews, Atholl, Caithness,\nLivingstone, Cassilis, Sutherland, the Bishop of Galloway (Protestant),\nthe Bishop of Ross, the treasurer, Flemyng, Bellenden, Bothwell, Argyll,\nHuntly, and Lethington. Of these the last four were far the most powerful,\nand were in the plot. They must have dictated the note sent by express to\nFrance with the news. The line of defence was that the authors of the\nexplosion had just failed to destroy 'the Queen and most of the nobles and\nlords in her suite, who were with the King till near midnight.' This was\nsaid though confessedly the explosion did not occur till about two in the\nmorning. The Council add that Mary escaped by not staying all night at\nKirk o' Field. God preserved her to take revenge. Yet all the Court knew\nthat Mary had promised to be at Holyrood for the night, and the\nconspirators must have seen her escort returning thither with torches\nburning.[180] The Lennox MSS., in a set of memoranda, insist that Mary\ncaused a hagbut to be fired, as she went down the Canongate, for a signal\nto Bothwell and his gang. They knew that she was safe from any explosion\nat Kirk o' Field.\n\nOn the same day, February 10 (11?), Mary, or rather Lethington for Mary,\nwrote, in Scots, the same tale as that of her Council, to Beaton, her\nambassador in Paris. She had just received his letter of January 27,\ncontaining a vague warning of rumoured dangers to herself. The warning she\nfound 'over true' (it probably arose from the rumour that Darnley and\nLennox meant to seize the infant Prince). The explosion had been aimed at\nher destruction; so the letter said. 'It wes dressit alsweill for us as\nfor the King:' she only escaped by chance, or rather because 'God put it\nin our hede' to go to the masque. Now all the world concerned knew that\nMary was not in Kirk o' Field at two in the morning, and Mary knew that\nall the world knew.[181] To be sure she did not actually write this\nletter. Who had an interest in this supposed plot of general destruction\nby gunpowder? Not Lennox and Darnley, of course; not the Hamiltons, not\nMary and the Lords who were to be exploded. Only the extreme Protestants,\nwhose leader, Moray, left on the morning of the affair, could have\nbenefited by the gunpowder plot. In Paris, on February 21, the deed was\ncommonly regarded as the work of 'the heretics, who desire to do the same\nby the Queen.'[182]\n\nThis was the inference--namely, that the Protestants were guilty--which\nthe letters of Mary and the Council were meant to suggest. To defend Mary\nwe must suppose that she, and the innocent members of Council, were\nconstrained by the guilty members to approve of what was written, or were\nwholly without guile. The secret was open enough. According to Nau, Mary's\nsecretary, she had remarked, as she left Kirk o' Field at midnight, 'Jesu,\nParis, how begrimed you are!' The story was current. Blackwood makes Mary\nask 'why Paris smelled so of gunpowder.' Had Mary wished to find the\nguilty, the begrimed Paris would have been put to the torture at once. The\nsentinels at the palace would have been asked who went in and out after\nmidnight. Conceivably, Mary was unable to act, but, if her secretary tells\ntruth as to the begrimed Paris, she could have no shadow of doubt as to\nBothwell's guilt. A few women were interrogated, as was Nelson, Darnley's\nservant, but the inquiry was stopped when Nelson said that Mary's servants\nhad the keys. Rewards were offered for the discovery of the guilty, but\nproduced only anonymous placards, denouncing some who were guilty, as\nBothwell, and others, like 'Black Mr. James Spens,' against whom nothing\nwas ever proved.\n\n[Illustration: PLACARD OF MARCH 1567. MARY AS A MERMAID]\n\nIt were tedious and bewildering to examine the gossip as to Mary's private\ndemeanour. If she had Darnley buried beside Riccio, she fulfilled the\nprophecy which, Lennox tells us, she made over Riccio's new-made grave,\nwhen she fled from Holyrood after the murder of the Italian: 'ere a\ntwelvemonth was over, a fatter than he should lie beside him.' What she\ndid at Seton and when (Lennox says that, at Seton, she called for the tune\n_Well is me Since I am free_), whether she prosecuted her amour with\nBothwell, played golf, indulged in the unseasonable sport of archery or\nnot, is matter of gossip. Nor need we ask how long she sat under\ncandle-light, in darkened, black-hung chambers.[183] She assuredly made no\neffort to avenge her husband. Neither the strong and faithful\nremonstrances of her ambassador in France, nor the menace of Catherine de\nMedicis, nor the plain speaking of Elizabeth, nor a petition of the godly,\nwho put this claim for justice last in a list of their own demands, and\nlate (April 18), could move Mary. Bothwell 'ruled all:' Lethington,\naccording to Sir James Melville, fell into the background of the Court. He\nhad taken nothing by the crime, for which he had signed the band, and it\nis quite conceivable that Bothwell, who hated him, had bullied him into\nsigning. He may even have had no more direct knowledge of what was\nintended, or when, than Moray himself. He can never have approved of the\nQueen's marriage with Bothwell, which was fatal to his interests. He was\nnewly married, and was still, at least, on terms with Mary which warranted\nhim in urging her to establish Protestantism--or so he told Cecil. But to\nBothwell, Mary was making grants in money, in privileges, and in beautiful\nold ecclesiastical fripperies: chasubles and tunicles all of cloth of\ngold, figured with white, and red, and yellow.[184] Lennox avers, in the\nLennox Papers, that the armour, horses, and other effects of Darnley were\npresented by Mary to Bothwell. Late in March Drury reported that, in the\npopular belief, Mary was likely to marry him.\n\nFrom the first Lennox had pleaded for the arrest and trial of Bothwell and\nothers whom he named, but who never were tried. Writers like Goodall have\ndefended, Laing and Hill Burton have attacked, the manner of Bothwell's\nTrial (April 12). Neither for Lennox nor for Elizabeth, would Mary delay\nthe process. As usual in Scotland, as when Bothwell himself, years before,\nor when John Knox still earlier, or when, later, Lethington, was tried,\neither the accused or the accuser made an overwhelming show of armed\nforce. It was 'the custom of the country,' and Bothwell, looking dejected\nand wretched, says his friend, Ormistoun, was 'cleansed' in the promptest\nmanner, Lennox merely entering a protest. The Parliament on April 19\nrestored Huntly and others to forfeited lands, ratified the tenures of\nMoray, and offended Mary's Catholic friends by practically establishing\nthe Kirk. On the same night, apparently after a supper at Ainslie's\ntavern, many nobles and ecclesiastics signed a band ('Ainslie's band'). It\nran thus: Bothwell is, and has been judicially found, innocent of\nDarnley's death. The signers therefore bind themselves, 'as they will\nanswer to God,' to defend Bothwell to the uttermost, and to advance his\nmarriage with Mary. If they fail, may they lose every shred of honour, and\n'be accounted unworthy and faithless Traytors.'\n\nA copy of the names of the signatories, as given to Cecil by John Read,\nGeorge Buchanan's secretary, 'so far as John Read might remember,' exists.\nThe names are Murray (who was not in Scotland), Argyll, Huntly, Cassilis,\nMorton, Sutherland, Rothes, Glencairn, Caithness, Boyd, Seton, Sinclair,\nSemple, Oliphant, Ogilvy, Ross-Halkett, Carlyle, Herries, Home,\nInvermeath. 'Eglintoun subscribed not, but slipped away.'[185] Names of\necclesiastics, as Lesley, Bishop of Ross, appear in copies where Moray's\nname does not.[186] It is argued that Moray may have signed before leaving\nScotland, that this may have been a condition of his license to depart.\nMary's confessor told de Silva that Moray did not sign.[187] That the\nLords received a warrant for their signatures from Mary, they asserted at\nYork (October, 1568), but was the document mentioned later at Westminster?\nThat they were coerced by armed force, was averred later, but not in\nKirkcaldy's account of the affair, written on the day following. No\nHamilton signs, at least if we except the Archbishop; and Lethington, with\nhis friend Atholl, seems not even to have been present at the Parliament.\n\nOn April 21 (Monday), Mary went to Stirling to see her son, and try to\npoison him, according to a Lennox memorandum. On the 23rd, she went to\nLinlithgow; on the 24th, Bothwell, with a large force, seized her, Huntly,\nand Lethington, at a disputed place not far from Edinburgh. He then\ncarried her to his stronghold of Dunbar. Was Mary playing a collusive\npart? had she arranged with Bothwell to carry her off? The Casket Letters\nwere adduced by her enemies to prove that she was a party to the plot. As\nwe shall see when examining the Letters if we accept them they leave no\ndoubt on this point. But precisely here the darkness is yet more obscured\nby the enigmatic nature of Mary's relations with Lethington, who, as\nSecretary, was in attendance on her at Stirling and Linlithgow. It will\npresently be shown that, as to Lethington's policy at this moment, and for\ntwo years later, two contradictory accounts are given, and on the view we\ntake of his actions turns our interpretation of the whole web of intrigue.\n\nWhether Mary did or did not know that she was to be carried off, did\nLethington know? If he did, it was his interest to ride from Stirling, by\nnight, through the pass of Killiecrankie, to his usual refuge, the safe\nand hospitable house of Atholl, before the abduction was consummated.\nBothwell's success in wedding Mary would mean ruin to Lethington's\nfavourite project of uniting the crowns on the head of Mary or her child.\nIt would also mean Lethington's own destruction, for Bothwell loathed him.\nTo this point was he brought by his accession to the band for Darnley's\nmurder. His natural action, then, if he knew of the intended abduction,\nwas to take refuge with Atholl, who, like himself, had not signed\nAinslie's band. If Lethington was ignorant, others were not. Bothwell had\nchosen his opportunity with skill. He had an excellent excuse for\ncollecting his forces. The Liddesdale reivers had just spoiled the town of\nBiggar, 'and got much substance of coin (corn?), silks, and horses,' so\nwrote Sir John Forster to Cecil on April 24.[188] On the pretext of\npunishing this outrage, Bothwell mustered his forces; but politicians less\nwary than Lethington, and more remote from the capital, were not deceived.\nThey knew what Bothwell intended. Lennox was flying for his life, and was\naboard ship on the west coast, but, as early as April 23, he wrote to tell\nhis wife that Bothwell was to seize Mary. A spy in Edinburgh (Kirkcaldy,\nby the handwriting), and Drury in Berwick, knew of the scheme on April 24,\nthe day of the abduction. If Mary did not suspect what Lennox knew before\nthe event, she was curiously ignorant, but, if Lethington was ignorant, so\nmay she have been.[189]\n\nWhat were the exact place and circumstances of Mary's arrest by Bothwell,\nwhether he did or did not offer violence to her at Dunbar, whether she\nasked succour from Edinburgh, we know not precisely. At all events, she\nwas so far compromised, actually violated, says Melville,[190] that, not\nbeing a Clarissa Harlowe, she might represent herself as bound to marry\nBothwell. Meanwhile Lethington was at Dunbar with her, a prisoner 'under\nguard,' so Drury reports (May 2). By that date, many of the nobles,\nincluding Atholl, had met at Stirling, and, despite their agreement to\ndefend Bothwell, in Ainslie's band, Argyll and Morton, as well as Atholl\nand Mar, had confederated against him, Atholl probably acting under advice\nsecretly sent by Lethington. 'The Earl Bothwell thought to have slain him\nin the Queen's chamber, had not her Majesty come between and saved him,'\nsays Sir James Melville, who had been released on the day after his\ncapture between Linlithgow and Edinburgh.[191] Different rumours prevailed\nas to Lethington's own intentions. He was sometimes thought to be no\nunwilling prisoner, and even to have warned Atholl not to head the\nconfederacy against Bothwell (May 4).[192] Mary wrote to quiet the banded\nLords at Stirling (about May 3), and Lethington succeeded in getting a\nletter delivered in which he expressed his desire to speak with Cecil,\ndeclaring that Mary meant to marry Bothwell. He had only been rescued from\nassassination by Mary, who said that, 'if a hair of Lethington's head\nperished, she would cause Huntly to forfeit lands, goods, and life.'[193]\nCould the Queen who protected Lethington be in love with Bothwell?\n\nMary, then, was, in one respect at least, no passive victim, at Dunbar,\nand Lethington owed his life to her. He explained that his letters,\napparently in Bothwell's interest, were extorted from him, 'but\nimmediately by a trusty messenger he advertised not to give credit to\nthem.'[194] Meantime he had arranged to escape, as he did, later. 'He will\ncome out to shoot with others, and between the marks he will ride upon a\ngood nag to a place where both a fresh horse and company tarries for\nhim.'[195] Lethington made his escape, but not till weeks later, when he\nfled first to Callendar, then to the protection of Atholl; he joined the\nLords, and from this moment the question is, was he, under a pretext of\nsecret friendship, Mary's most deadly foe (as she herself, Morton, and\nRandolph declared) or her loyal servant, working cautiously in her\ninterests, as he persuaded Throckmorton and Sir James Melville to believe?\n\nMy own impression is that Mary, Morton, and Randolph were right in their\nopinion. Lethington, under a mask of gratitude and loyalty, was urging,\nafter his escape, the strongest measures against Mary, till circumstances\nled him to advise 'a dulce manner,' because (as he later confessed to\nMorton)[196] Mary was likely to be restored, and to avenge herself on him.\nMary, he knew, could ruin him by proving his accession to Darnley's\nmurder. His hold over her would be gone, as soon as the Casket Letters\nwere produced before the English nobles: he had then no more that he could\ndo, but she kept her reserve of strength, her proof against him. His bolt\nwas shot, hers was in her quiver. This view of the relations (later to be\nproved) between Lethington and the woman whose courage saved his life,\nexplains the later mysteries of Mary's career, and part of the problem of\nthe Casket Letters.\n\nMeanwhile, in the first days of May, the Queen rushed on her doom. Despite\nthe protestations of her confessor, who urged that a marriage with\nBothwell was illegal: despite the remonstrances of du Croc, who had been\nsent from France to advise and threaten, despite the courageous\ndenunciation of Craig, the Protestant preacher, Mary hurried through a\ncollusive double process of divorce, proclaimed herself a free agent,\ncreated Bothwell Duke of Orkney, and, on May 15, 1567, wedded him by\nProtestant rites, the treacherous Bishop of Orkney, later one of her\nofficial prosecutors, performing the ceremony.[197] To her or to\nLethington's own letter of excuse to the French Court, we return later.\n\nMary, even on the wedding-day, was miserable. Du Croc, James Melville, and\nLethington, who had not yet escaped, were witnesses of her wretchedness.\nShe called out for a knife to slay herself.[198] Mary was 'the most\nchanged woman of face that in so little time without extremity of sickness\nthey have seen.' A Highland second-sighted woman prophesied that she\nshould have five husbands. 'In the fifth husband's time _she shall be\nburned_, which death divers speak of to happen to her, and it is said she\nfears the same.' This dreadful death was the legal punishment of women who\nkilled their husbands. The fires of the stake shone through Mary's dreams\nwhen a prisoner in Loch Leven. Even Lady Reres, now supplanted by a sister\nof Bothwell's, and the Lady of Branxholme, 'both in their speech and\nwriting marvellously rail, both of the Queen and Bothwell.'[199]\n\nA merry bridal!\n\nMary's defenders have attributed her sorrow to the gloom of a captive,\nforced into a hated wedlock. De Silva assigned her misery to a galling\nconscience. We see the real reasons of her wretchedness, and to these we\nmust add the most poignant, Bothwell's continued relations with his wife,\nwho remained in his Castle of Crichton. He, too, was 'beastly suspicious\nand jealous.' No wonder that she called for a knife to end her days, and\ntold du Croc that she never could be happy again.\n\nMeanwhile the Lords, from the first urged on by Kirkcaldy, who said (April\n26) that he must avenge Darnley or leave the country, were banded, and\nwere appealing to Elizabeth for help, which she, a Queen, hesitated to\nlend to subjects confederated against a sister Queen. Kirkcaldy was the\ndealer with Bedford, who encouraged him, but desired that the Prince\nshould be brought to England. Robert Melville dealt with Killigrew (May\n27). Bothwell, to soothe the preachers, attended sermons, Mary invited\nherself to dinner with her reluctant subjects; the golden font, the\nchristening gift of Elizabeth, was melted down and coined for pay to the\nguard of musketeers (May 31). Huntly asked for leave to go to the north.\nMary replied bitterly that he meant to turn traitor, like his father. This\ndistrust of Huntly is clearly expressed in the Casket Letters.[200] On May\n30, Mary summoned an armed muster of her subjects. On June 6, Lethington\ncarried out his deferred scheme, and fled to the Lords. On the 7th, Mary\nand Bothwell retired to Borthwick Castle. On June 11, the Lords advanced\nto Borthwick. Bothwell fled to Dunbar.[201] The Lords then retired to\nDalkeith, and thence, on the same night, to Edinburgh. Thither Mary had\nsent a proclamation, which is still extant, bidding the citizens to arm\nand free her, not from Bothwell, but from the Lords. An unwilling captive\nwould have hurried to their protection. The burgesses permitted the Lords\nto enter the town. Mary at once, on hearing of this, sent the son of Lady\nReres to the commander of Edinburgh Castle, bidding him fire his guns on\nthe Lords. He disobeyed. She then fled in male apparel to Dunbar,\nBothwell meeting her a mile from Borthwick (June 11). On June 12, the\nLords seized the remains of the golden font, and the coin already struck.\nOn the 13th, James Beaton joined Mary and Bothwell at Dunbar, and found\nthem mustering their forces. He returned, with orders to encourage the\nCaptain of the Castle, but was stopped.\n\nNext day (14th) the Lords made a reconnaissance towards Haddington, and\nAtholl, with Lethington, rode into Edinburgh, at the head of 200 horse.\nLethington then for three hours dealt with the Keeper of the Castle, Sir\nJames Balfour, his associate in the band for Darnley's murder. Later,\naccording to Randolph, they opened a little coffer of Bothwell's which had\na covering of green cloth, and was deposited in the Castle, and took out\nthe band. Was this coffer the Casket? Such coffers had usually velvet\ncovers, embroidered. Lethington won over Balfour, who surrendered the\nCastle presently. This was the deadliest stroke at Mary, and it was dealt\nby him whose life she had just preserved.\n\nNext day the Lords marched to encounter Bothwell, met him posted on\nCarberry Hill, and, after many hours of manoeuvres and negotiations, very\nvariously reported, the Lords allowed Bothwell to slip away to Dunbar (he\nwas a compromising captive), and took Mary, clad unqueenly in a 'red\npetticoat, sleeves tied with points, a velvet hat and muffler.' She\nsurrendered to Kirkcaldy of Grange: on what terms, if on any, is not to\nbe ascertained. She herself in Nau's MS. maintains that she promised to\njoin in pursuing Darnley's murderers, and 'claimed that justice should be\ndone upon certain persons of their party now present, who were guilty of\nthe said murder, and were much astonished to find themselves discovered.'\nBut, by Nau's own arrangement of his matter, Mary can only have thus\naccused the Lords (there is other evidence that she did so) _after_\nBothwell, at parting from her, denounced to her Morton, Balfour, and\nLethington, giving her a copy of the murder band, signed by them, and\nbidding her 'take good care of that paper.' She did 'take good care' of\nsome paper, as we shall see, though almost certainly not the band, and not\nobtained at Carberry Hill.[202] She asked for an interview with Lethington\nand Atholl, both of whom, though present, denied that they were of the\nLords' party. Finally, after parting from Bothwell, assuring him that, if\nfound innocent in the coming Parliament, she would remain his loyal wife,\nshe surrendered to Kirkcaldy, 'relying upon his word and assurance, which\nthe Lords, in full Council, as he said, had solemnly warranted him to\nmake.' So writes Nau. James Beaton (whose narrative we have followed)\nmerely says that she made terms, which were granted, that none of her\nparty should be 'invaded or pursued.'[203] Sir James Melville makes the\nLords' promise depend on her abandonment of Bothwell.[204]\n\nWhatever be the truth as to Mary's surrender, the Lords later excused\ntheir treatment of her not on the ground that they had given no pledge,\nbut on that of her adhesion to the man they had asked her to marry.\nAccording to Nau, Lethington persuaded the Lords to place her in the house\nthen occupied by Preston, the Laird of Craigmillar, Provost of Edinburgh.\nShe asked, at night, for an interview with Lethington, but she received no\nanswer. Next morning she called piteously to Lethington, as he passed the\nwindow of her room: he crushed his hat over his face, and did not even\nlook up. The mob were angry with Lethington, and Mary's guards dragged her\nfrom the window. On the other hand, du Croc says that Lethington, on\nhearing her cries, entered her room, and spoke with her, while the mob was\nmade to move on.[205] Lethington told du Croc that, when Mary called to\nhim, and he went to her, she complained of being parted from Bothwell. He,\nwith little tact, told her that Bothwell much preferred his wife. She\nclamoured to be placed in a ship with Bothwell, and allowed to drift at\nthe wind's will.[206] Du Croc said to Lethington that he hoped the pair\nwould drift to France, 'where the king would judge righteously, for the\nunhappy facts are only too well proved.' This is a very strong opinion\nagainst Mary. Years later, when Lethington was holding Edinburgh Castle\nfor Mary, he told Craig that, after Carberry 'I myself made the offer to\nher that, if she would abandon my Lord Bothwell, she should have as\nthankful obedience as ever she had since she came to Scotland. But no ways\nwould she consent to leave my Lord Bothwell.'[207] Lethington's word is of\nslight value.\n\nTo return to Nau, or to Mary speaking through Nau, on June 16 Lethington\ndid go to see her: 'but in such shame and fear that he never dared to lift\nhis eyes to her face while he spoke with her.' He showed great hatred of\nBothwell, and said that she could not be allowed to return to him: Mary,\nmarvelling at his 'impudence,' replied that she was ready to join in the\npursuit of Darnley's murderers: who had acted chiefly on Lethington's\nadvice. She then told him plainly that he, Morton, and Balfour had chiefly\nprevented inquiry into the murder. _They_ were the culprits, as Bothwell\nhad told her, showing her the signatures to the murder band, when parting\nfrom her at Carberry. She reminded Lethington that she had saved his life.\nIf Lethington persecuted her, she would tell what she knew of him. He\nreplied, angrily, that she would drive him to extremities to save his own\nlife, whereas, if matters were allowed to grow quiet, he might one day be\nof service to her. If he were kept talking, and so incurred the suspicion\nof the Lords, her life would be in peril. To 'hedge,' Lethington used to\nencourage Mary, when she was in Loch Leven. But he had, then, no\n'assurance' from her, and, on a false alarm of her escape, mounted his\nhorse to fly from Edinburgh.[208] Thus greatly do the stories of Mary and\nof Lethington differ, concerning their interview after Carberry. Perhaps\nMary is the more trustworthy.\n\nOn June 17, 1567, John Beaton wrote to his brother, Mary's ambassador in\nParis. He says that no man was allowed to speak to Mary on June 16, but\nthat, in the evening, she asked a girl to speak to Lethington, and pray\nhim to have compassion on her, 'and not to show himself so extremely\nopposed to her as he does.'[209] Beaton's evidence, being written the day\nafter the occurrences, is excellent, and leaves us to believe that, in the\ndarkest of her dark hours in Scotland, insulted by the populace, with\nguards placed in her chamber, destitute of all earthly aid, Mary found in\nextreme opposition to her the man who owed to her his lands and his life.\n\nAnd why was Lethington thus 'extremely opposed'? First, Mary, if free,\nwould join Bothwell, his deadly foe. Secondly, he knew from her own lips\nthat Mary knew his share in Darnley's murder, and had proof. While she\nlived, the sword hung over Lethington. He, therefore, insisted on her\nimprisonment in a place whence escape should have been impossible. He is\neven said to have advised that she should be secretly strangled. Years\nlater, when time had brought in his revenges, and Lethington and Kirkcaldy\nwere holding the Castle for Mary, her last hope, Lethington explained his\nchange of sides in a letter to his opponent, Morton. Does Morton hate him\nbecause he has returned to the party of the Queen? He had advised Morton\nto take the same course, 'being assured that, with time, she would recover\nher liberty (as yet I have no doubt but she will). I deemed it neither\nwisdom for him nor me to deserve particular ill will at her hands.' This\nwas a frank enough explanation of his own change of factions. If ever Mary\ncame to her own, Lethington dreaded her feud. We shall see that as soon as\nshe was imprisoned, Lethington affected to be her secret ally. Morton\nreplied that 'it was vain in Lethington to think that he could deserve\nmore particular evil will at Mary's hands than he had deserved\nalready.'[210]\n\nLethington could not be deeper in guilt towards Mary than he was, despite\nhis appearance of friendship. The 'evil will' which he had incurred was\n'particular,' and could not be made worse. In the same revolution of\nfactions (1570-73) Randolph also wrote to Lethington and Kirkcaldy asking\nthem why they had deserted their old allies, Morton and the rest, for the\nQueen's party. 'You yourselves wrote against her, and were the chiefest\ncauses of her apprehension, and imprisonment' (at Loch Leven), 'and\ndimission of her crown.... So that you two were her chiefest occasion of\nall the calamities, _as she hath said_, that she is fallen into. You, Lord\nof Lethington, _by your persuasion and counsel to apprehend her, to\nimprison her, yea, to have taken presently the life from her_.'[211] To\nthis we shall return.\n\nWhen we add to this testimony Mary's hatred of Lethington, revealed in\nNau's MS., a hatred which his death could not abate, though he died in her\nservice, we begin to understand. Sir James Melville and Throckmorton were\n(as we shall see) deluded by the 'dulce manner' of Lethington. But, in\ntruth, he was Mary's worst enemy, till his bolt was shot, while hers\nremained in her hands. Then Lethington, in 1569, went over to her party,\nas a charge of Darnley's murder, urged by his old partisans, was hanging\nover his head.\n\nMeanwhile, after Mary's surrender at Carberry, the counsel of Lethington\nprevailed. She was hurried to Loch Leven, after two dreadful days of tears\nand frenzied threats and entreaties, and was locked up in the Castle on\nthe little isle, the Castle of her ancestral enemies, the Douglases. There\nshe awaited her doom, 'the fiery death.'\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\n_THE EMERGENCE OF THE CASKET LETTERS_\n\n\nI. First hints of the existence of the letters\n\nThe Lords, as we have seen, nominally rose in arms to punish Bothwell\n(whom they had acquitted), to protect their infant Prince, and to rescue\nMary, whom they represented as Bothwell's reluctant captive. Yet their\nfirst success, at Carberry Hill, induced them, not to make Bothwell\nprisoner, but to give him facilities of escape. Their second proceeding\nwas, not to release Mary, but to expose her to the insults of the\npopulace, and then to immure her, destitute and desperate, in the island\nfortress of the Douglases.\n\nThese contradictions between their conduct and their avowed intentions\nneeded excuse. They could not say, 'We let Bothwell escape because he knew\ntoo much about ourselves: we imprisoned the Queen for the same good\nreason.' They had to protect themselves, first against Elizabeth, who\nbitterly resented the idea that subjects might judge princes: next,\nagainst the possible anger of the rulers of France and Spain; next,\nagainst the pity of the mobile populace. There was also a chance that\nMoray, who was hastening home from France, might espouse his sister's\ncause, as, indeed, at this moment he professed to do. Finally, in the\nchanges of things, Mary, or her son, might recover power, and exact\nvengeance for the treasonable imprisonment of a Queen.\n\nThe Lords, therefore, first excused themselves (as in Lethington's\ndiscourses with du Croc) by alleging that Mary refused to abandon\nBothwell. This was, no doubt, true, though we cannot accept Lethington's\nword for the details of her passionate behaviour. Her defenders can fall\nback on the report of Drury, that she was at this time with child, as she\nherself informed Throckmorton, while Nau declares that, in Loch Leven, she\nprematurely gave birth to twins. Mary always had a plausible and possible\nexcuse: in this case she could not dissolve her marriage with Bothwell\nwithout destroying the legitimacy of her expected offspring. Later, in\n1569, when she wished her marriage with Bothwell to be annulled, the Lords\nrefused assent. In the present juncture, of June, 1567, with their Queen a\ncaptive in their hands, the Lords needed some better excuse than her\nobstinate adherence to the husband whom they had selected for her. They\nneeded a reason for their conduct that would have a retro-active effect:\nnamely, positive proof of her guilt of murder.\n\nNo sooner was the proof wanted than it was found. Mary was imprisoned on\nJune 16: her guilty letters to Bothwell, the Casket Letters, with their\ninstigations to Darnley's murder and her own abduction, were secured on\nJune 20, and were inspected, and entrusted to Morton's keeping, on June\n21. To Morton's declaration about the discovery and inspection of the\nCasket and Letters, we return in chronological order: it was made in\nDecember, 1568, before the English Commissioners who examined Mary's case.\n\nThe Lords were now, with these letters to justify them, in a relatively\nsecure position. They could, and did, play off France against England:\nboth of these countries were anxious to secure the person of the baby\nPrince, both were obliged to treat with the Lords who had the alliance of\nScotland to bestow. Elizabeth wavered between her desire, as a Queen, to\nhelp a sister Queen, and her anxiety not to break with the dominant\nScottish party. The Lords had hanged a retainer of Bothwell, Blackader,\ntaken after Carberry, who denied his guilt, and against whom nothing was\nproved: but he had a Lennox jury. Two other underlings of Bothwell, his\nporter Powrie and his 'chamber-child' Dalgleish, were taken and examined,\nbut their depositions, as reported by the Lords themselves, neither\nimplicated Mary, nor threw any light on the date at which the idea of an\nexplosion was conceived. It was then believed to have been projected\nbefore Mary went to bring Darnley from Glasgow. This opinion reflected\nitself in what was conceivably the earlier forged draft, never publicly\nproduced, of the long 'Glasgow Letter' (II.) Later information may have\ncaused that long letter to be modified into its present shape, or, as\nprobably, induced the Lords to fall back on a partly genuine letter, our\nLetter II.\n\nThe Lords did by no means make public use, at first, of the Letters which\nthey had found, and were possibly garbling. We shall later make it clear,\nit is a new point, that, on the very day of the reading, the Lords sent\nRobert Melville post haste to Elizabeth, doubtless with verbal information\nabout their discovery. Leaving Edinburgh on June 21, the day of the\ndiscovery, Melville was in London on June 23 or 24, dispatched his\nbusiness, and was in Berwick again on June 28. He carried letters for\nMoray in France, but, for some reason, perhaps because the letters were\ndelayed or intercepted, Moray had to be summoned again. Meanwhile the\nLords, otherwise, kept their own counsel.[212] For reasons of policy they\nlet their good fortune ooze out by degrees.\n\nOn June 25, Drury, writing from Berwick, reports that 'the Queen has had a\n_box_,' containing papers about her intrigues with France. 'It is\npromised Drury to have his part of it.' This rumour of a 'box' _may_ refer\nto the capture of the Casket.[213] On June 29, Drury again wrote about the\n'box,' and the MSS. in it, 'part in cipher deciphered.' Whether this 'box'\nwas the Casket, a false account of its contents being given to Drury, is\nuncertain. We hear no more of it, nor of any of Mary's own papers and\nletters to her: no letters to her from Bothwell are reported.\n\nThe earliest known decided reference to the Letters is that of the Spanish\nAmbassador, de Silva, writing from London on July 12, 1567. He says that\ndu Croc, the French Ambassador to Mary, has passed through town on his\nreturn from Scotland. The French Ambassador in London, La Forest, reports\nto de Silva that Mary's 'adversaries assert positively that they know she\nhad been concerned in the murder of her husband, which was proved by\nletters under her own hand, copies of which were in his [whose?]\npossession.'[214] Major Martin Hume writes, in his Preface to the\nCalendar, 'The many arguments against their genuineness, founded upon the\nlong delay in their production, thus disappear.'\n\nIt does not necessarily follow, however, that the letters of which du Croc\nprobably carried copies (unless La Forest merely bragged falsely, to vex\nhis Spanish fellow diplomatist) were either wholly genuine, or were\nidentical with the letters later produced. It is by no means certain that\nLethington and Sir James Balfour had not access, before June 21, to the\nCasket, which was in Balfour's keeping, within Edinburgh Castle. Randolph\nlater wrote (as we have already seen) that the pair had opened a little\n'coffer,' with a green cloth cover, and taken out the band (which the pair\nhad signed) for Darnley's murder.[215] Whether the Casket was thus early\ntampered with is uncertain. But, as to du Croc's copies of the Letters,\nthe strong point, for the accusers, is, that, when the Letters were\npublished, in Scots, Latin, and French, four years later, we do not hear\nthat any holders of du Croc's copies made any stir, or alleged that the\ncopies did not tally with those now printed, in 1571-1573, by Mary's\nenemies. This point must be kept steadily in mind, as it is perhaps the\nchief objection to the theory which we are about to offer. But, on\nNovember 29, 1568, when Mary's accusers were gathered in London to attack\nher at the Westminster Conference, La Forest's successor, La Mothe\nFenelon, writes to Charles IX. that they pretend to possess incriminating\nletters '_escriptes et signees de sa main_;' written and _signed_ by her\nhand. Our _copies_ are certainly not signed, which, in itself, proves\nlittle or nothing, but Mary's contemporary defenders, Lesley and\nBlackwood, urge that there was not even a pretence that the Letters were\nsigned, and this plea of theirs was not answered.\n\nMy point, however, is that though La Forest, according to de Silva, had\ncopies in July 1567, his successor at the English Court, doubtless well\ninstructed, knows nothing about them, as far as his despatch shows. But he\ndoes say that the accusers are in search of evidence to prove the Letters\nauthentic, not forged.[216] He says (November 28) to Catherine de' Medici,\nthat he thinks the proofs of Mary's accusers 'very slender and extremely\nimpertinent,' and he has been consulted by Mary's Commissioners.[217]\n\nOf course it is possible that La Mothe Fenelon was not made acquainted\nwith what his predecessor, La Forest, knew: but this course of\nsecretiveness would not have been judicious. For the rest, the Court of\nFrance was not in the habit of replying to pamphlets, like that which\ncontained copies of the Letters. It is unlikely that the copies given to\nLa Forest were destroyed, but we have no hint or trace of them in France.\nConceivably even if they differed (as we are to argue that they perhaps\ndid) from the Letters later produced, the differences, though proof of\ntampering, did not redound to Mary's glory. At the time when France was\nnegotiating Alencon's marriage with Elizabeth, and a Franco-English\nalliance (January-July, 1572), in a wild maze of international, personal,\nand religious intrigue, while Catherine de' Medici was wavering between\nmassacre of the Huguenots and alliance with them, it is far from\ninconceivable that La Forest's copies of the Letters were either\noverlooked, or not critically and studiously compared with the copies now\npublished. To vex Elizabeth by criticism of two sets of copies of Letters\nwas certainly not then the obvious policy of France: though the published\nLetters were thrust on the French statesmen.\n\nThe letters of La Mothe Fenelon, and of Charles IX., on the subject of\nBuchanan's 'Detection,' contain no hint that they thought the Letters,\ntherein published, spurious. They only resent their publication against a\ncrowned Queen.[218] The reader, then, must decide for himself whether La\nForest's copies, if extant, were likely to be critically scanned and\ncompared with the published Letters, in 1571, or in the imbroglio of 1572;\nand whether it is likely that, if this was done, and if the two copies did\nnot tally, French statesmen thought that, in the circumstances, when\nElizabeth was to be propitiated, and the Huguenots were not to be\noffended, it was worth while to raise a critical question. If any one\nthinks that this course of conduct--the critical comparison of La Forest's\ncopies with the published copies, and the remonstrance founded on any\ndiscrepancies detected--was the natural inevitable course of French\nstatecraft, at the juncture--then he must discredit my hypothesis. For my\nhypothesis is, that the Letters extant in June and July, 1567, were not\nwholly identical with the Letters produced in December, 1568, and later\npublished. It is hazarded without much confidence, but certain\ncircumstances suggest that it may possibly be correct.\n\nTo return to the management of the Letters in June-July, 1567. The Lords,\nMary's enemies, while perpetually protesting their extreme reluctance to\npublish Letters to Mary's discredit, had now sent the rumour of them all\nthrough Europe. Spain, and de Silva, were at that time far from friendly\nto Mary. On July 21, 1567, de Silva writes: 'I mentioned to the Queen\n[Elizabeth] that I had been told that the Lords held certain letters\nproving that the Queen [Mary] had been cognisant of the murder of her\nhusband.' (The Letters, if they prove anything, prove more than that.)\n'She told me it was not true, _although Lethington had acted badly in the\nmatter_, and if she saw him she would say something that would not be at\nall to his taste.' Thus Elizabeth had heard the story about Letters (from\nRobert Melville, as we indicate later?) and--what had she heard about\nLethington?[219] On June 21, the very day of the first inspection of the\nLetters, Lethington had written to Cecil.[220] On June 28, Lethington\ntells Cecil that, by Robert Melville's letters, he understands Cecil's\n'good acceptance of these noblemen's quarrel' for punishment of Darnley's\nmurder and preservation of the Prince, 'and her Majesty's' (Elizabeth's)\n'gentle answer by Cecil's furtherance.'[221] Yet, to de Silva, Elizabeth\npresently denounced the ill behaviour of Lethington in the matter, and,\nappearing to desire Mary's safety, she sent Throckmorton to act in her\ncause. To the Lords and Lethington, by Robert Melville, she sent a gentle\nanswer: Melville acting for the Lords. To Mary she averred (June 30) that\nMelville 'used much earnest speech on your behalf' (probably accusing\nLethington of fraud as to the Letters), 'yet such is the general report of\nyou to the contrary ... that we could not be satisfied by him.'[222]\nMelville, we must remember, was acting for the Lords, but he is described\nas 'heart and soul Mary's.' He carried the Lords' verbal report of the\nLetters--but he also discredited it, blaming Lethington. Why did he not do\nso publicly? At the time it was unsafe: later he and Lethington were\nallies in the last stand of Mary's party.\n\nWe do not know how much Elizabeth knew, or had been told; or how much she\nbelieved, or what she meant, by her denunciation of Lethington, as regards\nhis conduct in the affair of the Letters. But we do know that, on June 30,\nthe Lords gave the lie, as in later proclamations they repeatedly did, to\ntheir own story that they had learned the whole secret of Mary's guilt on\nJune 21. On June 30, they issued, under Mary's name, and under her signet,\na summons against Bothwell, for Darnley's murder, and 'for taking the\nQueen's most noble person by force to her Castle of Dunbar, detaining her,\n_and for fear of her life making her promise to marry him_.'[223] The\nLords of Council in Edinburgh, at this time, were Morton (confessedly\nprivy to the murder, and confessedly banded with Bothwell to enable him to\nmarry Mary), Lethington, a signer of the band for Darnley's murder;\nBalfour, who knew all; Atholl, Home, James Makgill, and the Justice Clerk,\nBellenden--who had been in trouble for Riccio's murder.[224] The same men,\nseveral guilty, were spreading _privately_ the rumour of Mary's wicked\nLetters: and, at the same hour, were _publicly_ absolving her, in their\nsummons to Bothwell. As late as July 14, they spoke to Throckmorton of\nMary, 'with respect and reverence,' while alleging that 'for the Lord\nBothwell she would leave her kingdom and dignity to live as a simple\ndamsel with him.' Who can believe one word that such men spoke?\n\nThey assured Throckmorton that du Croc 'carried with him matter little to\nthe Queen's' (Mary's) 'advantage:' possibly, though not certainly, an\nallusion to his copies of the Letters of her whom they spoke of 'with\nrespect and reverence,' and promised 'to restore to her estate'--if she\nwould abandon Bothwell.[225]\n\n'I never saw greater confusion among men,' says Throckmorton, 'for often\nthey change their opinions.' They were engaged in 'continual preaching and\ncommon prayer.' On July 21, they assured Elizabeth that Mary was forced to\nbe Bothwell's wife 'by fear and other unlawful means,' and that he kept\nhis former wife in his house, and would not have allowed Mary to live with\nhim for half a year. Yet Mary was so infatuated that, after her surrender,\n'he offered to give up realm and all, so she might enjoy him.' This\nformula, we shall see later, the Lords placed thrice in Mary's mouth,\nfirst in a reported letter of January, 1567 (never produced), next in a\nletter of Kirkcaldy to Cecil (April 20), and now (July 21).[226]\n\nAt this time of Throckmorton's mission, Lethington posed to him thus. 'Do\nyou not see that it does not lie in my power to do that I would fainest\ndo, which is to save the Queen, my mistress, in estate, person, and in\nhonour?' He declared that the preachers, the populace, and the chief\nnobles wished to take Mary's life.[227] Lethington thus drove his bargain\nwith Throckmorton. 'If Elizabeth interferes,' he said in sum, 'Mary dies,\ndespite my poor efforts, and Elizabeth loses the Scottish Alliance.' But\nThrockmorton believed that Lethington really laboured to secure Mary's\nlife and honour. His true object was to keep her immured. Randolph, as we\nsaw, accuses him to his face of advising Mary's execution, or\nassassination. By his present course with Throckmorton he kept Elizabeth's\nfavour: he gave himself out as Mary's friend.\n\nThe Lords at last made up their minds. On July 25, Lindsay was sent to\nLoch Leven to extort Mary's abdication, consent to the coronation of her\nson, and appointment of Moray, or failing him, other nobles, to the\nRegency. 'If they cannot by fair means induce the Queen to their purpose,\nthey mean to charge her with tyranny for breach of those statutes which\nwere enacted in her absence. Secondly they mean to charge her with\nincontinence with Bothwell, and others. Thirdly, they mean to charge her\nwith the murder of her husband, _whereof they say they have proof by the\ntestimony of her own handwriting_, which they have recovered, as also by\nsufficient _witnesses_.' The witnesses were dropped. Probably they were\nready to swear that Mary was at the murder in male costume, as in a legend\nof the Lennox Papers! Lethington brought this news to Throckmorton between\nten and eleven at night.[228] It was the friendly Lethington who told\nThrockmorton about the guilty Letters.\n\nThe Lords had, at last, decided to make use of the Letters attributed to\nMary, and of the 'witnesses,' and by these, or other modes of coercion,\nthey extorted her assent (valueless, so Throckmorton and Robert Melville\nlet her know, because she was a prisoner) to their proposals.[229] Despite\ntheir knowledge of the Letters, the Lords, in proclamations, continued to\naver that Bothwell had ravished her by fear, force, and other unlawful\nmeans, the very means of coercing Mary which they themselves were\nemploying. The brutality, hypocrisy, and low vacillating cunning of the\nLords, must not blind us to the fact that they certainly, since late in\nJune, held new cards, genuine or packed.\n\nIt is undeniable that the first notices of the Letters, by de Silva, prove\nthat the Lords, about the date assigned by Morton, did actually possess\nthemselves of useful documents. Their vacillations as to how and when they\nwould play these cards are easily explained. Their first care was to\nprejudice the Courts of France, Spain, and Elizabeth against Mary by\ncirculating the tale of their discovery. If they had published the papers\nat once, they might then have proceeded to try and to execute, perhaps (as\nthe Highland seeress predicted) to _burn_ Mary. The preachers urged them\nto severity, but some of them were too politic to proceed to extremes,\nwhich might bring in Elizabeth and France as avengers. But, if Mary was to\nbe spared in life, to publish the Letters at once would ruin their value\nas an 'awe-bond.' They could only be used as a means of coercing Mary,\nwhile they were unknown to the world at large. If the worst was known,\nMary would face it boldly. Only while the worst was not generally known\ncould the Letters be used to 'blackmail' her. Whether the Letters were, in\nfact, employed to extort Mary's abdication is uncertain. She was advised,\nas we said, by Throckmorton and Robert Melville, that her signature, while\na captive, was legally invalid, so she signed the deeds of abdication,\nregency, and permission to crown her son. For the moment, till Moray\narrived, and a Parliament was held, the Lords needed no more. Throckmorton\nbelieved that he had saved Mary's life: and Robert Melville plainly told\nElizabeth so.[230]\n\nThus it is clear that the Lords held documents, genuine, or forged, or in\npart authentic, in part falsified. Their evasive use of the papers, their\nself-contradictions in their proclamations, do not disprove this fact. But\nwere the documents those which they finally published? This question, on\nwhich we may have new light to throw, demands a separate investigation.\n\n\n\n\nX\n\n_THE CASKET LETTERS_\n\n\nII. A POSSIBLY FORGED LETTER\n\nWere the documents in the possession of the Lords, after June 21, those\nwhich they later exhibited before Elizabeth's Commissioners at Westminster\n(December, 1568)? Here we reach perhaps the most critical point in the\nwhole inquiry. A Letter to Bothwell, attributed to Mary, was apparently in\nthe hands of the Lords (1567-1568), a Letter which was highly\ncompromising, _but never was publicly produced_. We first hear of this\nLetter by a report of Moray to de Silva, repeated by de Silva to Philip of\nSpain (July, 1567).\n\nBefore going further we must examine Moray's probable sources of\ninformation as to Mary's correspondence. From April 7, to the beginning of\nJuly, he had been out of Scotland: first in England; later on the\nContinent. As early as May 8, Kirkcaldy desired Bedford to forward a\nletter to Moray, bidding him come to Normandy, in readiness to return,\n(and aid the Lords,) now banding against Bothwell.[231] 'He will haste\nhim after he has seen it.' Moray did not 'haste him,' his hour had not\ncome. He was, however, in touch with his party. On July 8, a fortnight\nafter the discovery of the Casket, Robert Melville, at 'Kernye' in Fife,\nsends 'Jhone a Forret' to Cecil. John is to go on to Moray, and\n(Lethington adds, on July 9) a packet of letters for Moray is to be\nforwarded 'with the greatest diligence that may be.' Melville says, as to\n'Jhone a Forret' (whom Cecil, in his endorsement, calls 'Jhon of\nForrest'), 'Credit the bearer, who knows all occurrents.' Can 'Jhone a\nForret' be a cant punning name for John Wood, sometimes called 'John a\nWood,' by the English, a man whom Cecil knew as Moray's secretary? John\nWood was a Fifeshire man, a son of Sir Andrew Wood of Largo, and from Fife\nMelville was writing. Jhone a Forret is, at all events, a bearer whom, as\nhe 'knows all occurents,' Cecil is to credit.[232] This Wood is the very\ncentre of the secret dealings of Mary's enemies, of the Lords, and Lennox.\nCecil, Elizabeth, and Leicester are asked to 'credit' him, later, as Cecil\n'credited' 'Jhone a Forret.'\n\nUp to this date (July 8) when letters were sent by the Lords to Moray, he\nwas, or feigned to be, friendly to his sister. On that day a messenger of\nhis, from France, was with Elizabeth, who told Cecil that Moray was vexed\nby Mary's captivity in Loch Leven, and that he would be 'her true servant\nin all fortunes.' He was sending letters to Mary, which the Lords were\nnot to see.[233] His messenger was Nicholas Elphinstone, who was not\nallowed to give Mary his letters.[234] After receiving the letters sent to\nhim from Scotland on July 8, Moray turned his back on his promises of\nservice to Mary. But, before he received these letters, Archbishop Beaton\nhad told Alava that Moray was his sister's mortal enemy and by him\nmistrusted.[235] Moray's professions to Elizabeth may have been a blind,\nbut his letters for Mary's private eye have a more genuine air.\n\nMoray arrived in England on July 23.\n\nAbout July 22, Mary's confessor, Roche Mameret, a Dominican, had come to\nLondon. He was much grieved, he said to de Silva, by Mary's marriage with\nBothwell, which, as he had told her, was illegal. 'He swore to me solemnly\nthat, till the question of the marriage with Bothwell was raised, he never\nsaw a woman of greater virtue, courage, and uprightness....' Apparently he\nknew nothing of the guilty loves, and the Exchequer House scandal. 'She\nswore to him that she had contracted the marriage' with the object of\nsettling religion by that means, though Bothwell was so stout a Protestant\nthat he had twice married Catholic brides by Protestant rites! 'As\nregarded the King's murder, her confessor has told me' (de Silva) 'that\nshe had no knowledge whatever of it.' Now de Silva imparted this fact to\nMoray, when he visited London, as we saw, in the end of July, 1567, and\nafter Moray had seen Elizabeth. He gave de Silva the impression that\n'although he always returned to his desire to help the Queen, this is not\naltogether his intention.' Finally, Moray told de Silva 'something that he\nhad not even told this Queen, although she had given him many remote hints\nupon the subject.' The secret was that Mary had been cognisant of\nDarnley's murder. 'This had been proved beyond doubt by a letter which the\nQueen had written to Bothwell, containing more than three double sheets\n(_pliegos_) of paper, written with her own hand and _signed_ with her\nname; in which she says in substance that he is not to delay putting into\nexecution that which he had been ordered (_tenia ordenado_), because her\nhusband used such fair words to deceive her, and bring her to his will,\nthat she might be moved by them if the other thing were not done quickly.\nShe said that she herself would go and fetch him [Darnley], and would stop\nat a house on the road where she would try to give him a draught; but if\nthis could not be done, she would put him in the house _where the\nexplosion was arranged for the night upon which one of her servants was to\nbe married_. He, Bothwell, was to try to get rid of his wife either by\nputting her away or poisoning her, since he knew that she, the Queen, had\nrisked all for him, her honour, her kingdom, her wealth, _which she had in\nFrance_, and her God; contenting herself with his person alone.... Moray\nsaid he had heard of this letter from a man who had read it....'[236]\n\nAs to 'hearing of' this epistle, the reader may judge whether, when the\nLords sent 'Jhone a Forret' (probably John Wood) to Moray, and also sent a\npacket of letters, they did not enclose copies of the Casket Letters as\nthey then existed. Is it probable that they put Moray off with the mere\nhearsay of Jhone a Forret, who 'knows all occurrents'? If so, Jhone, and\nMoray, and de Silva, as we shall prove, had wonderfully good verbal\nmemories, like Chicot when he carried in his head the Latin letter of\nHenri III. to Henri of Navarre.\n\nMr. Froude first quoted de Silva's report of Moray's report of this\nbloodthirsty letter of Mary's: and declared that Moray described\naccurately the long Glasgow Letter (Letter II.).[237] But Moray, as Mr.\nHosack proved, described a letter totally and essentially different from\nLetter II. That epistle, unlike the one described by Moray, is _not_\nsigned. We could not with certainty infer this from the want of signatures\nto our copies; their absence might be due to a common custom by which\ncopyists did not add the writer's signature, when the letter was otherwise\ndescribed. But Mary's defenders, Lesley and Blackwood, publicly complained\nof the absence of signatures, and were not answered. This point is not\nvery important, but in the actual Casket Letter II. Mary does not say, as\nin Moray's account, that there is danger of Darnley's 'bringing her round\nto his will.' She says the reverse, 'The place will hold,' and, therefore,\nshe does not, as in Moray's report, indicate the consequent need of hurry.\nShe does not say that 'she herself will go and fetch him;' she was there\nalready: this must be an error of reporting. She does not speak of 'giving\nhim a draught' in a house on the road. She says nothing of a house where\n'the explosion was arranged.' No explosion had been arranged, though some\nof the earlier indictments drawn up by Lennox for the prosecution declare\nthat this was the case: 'The place was already prepared with [undermining\nand] trains of powder therein.'[238] This, however, was the early theory,\nlater abandoned, and it occurs in a Lennox document which contains a\nletter of Darnley to the Queen, written three days before his death. The\nCasket Letter II. says nothing about poisoning or divorcing Lady Bothwell,\nnor much, in detail, about Mary's abandonment of her God, her wealth _in\nFrance_, and her realm, for her lover. On the other hand she regards God\nas on her side. In short, the letter described by Moray to de Silva agrees\nin no one point with any of the Letters later produced and published:\nexcept in certain points provocative of suspicion. Mr. Froude thought that\nit did harmonise, but the opinion is untenable.\n\nDe Silva's account, however, is only at third hand. He merely reports what\nMoray told him that _he_ had heard, from 'a man who had read the letter.'\nWe might therefore argue that the whole reference is to the long Casket\nLetter II., but is distorted out of all knowledge by passing through three\nmouths. This natural theory is no longer tenable.\n\nIn the Lennox Papers the writer, Lennox, breaks off in his account of\nDarnley's murder to say, 'And before we proceed any further, I cannot omit\nto declare and call to remembrance her Letter written to Bothwell from\nGlasgow before her departure thence, together with such cruel and strange\nwords \"unto\" him, which he her husband should have better considered and\nmarked, but that \"the\" hope \"he\" had to win her \"love\" now did blind him;\ntogether that it lieth not in the power of man to prevent that which the\nsuffering will of God determineth. The contents of her letter to the said\nBothwell was to let him understand that, although the flattering and sweet\nwords of him with whom she was then presently, the King her husband, has\nalmost overcome her, yet the remembering the great affection which she\nbore unto him [Bothwell] there should no such sweet baits dissuade her, or\ncool her said affection from him, but would continue therein, yea though\nshe should thereby abandon her God, put in adventure the loss of her dowry\nin France, \"hazard\" such titles as she had to the crown of England, as\nheir apparent thereof, and also the crown of the realm; wishing him then\npresent in her arms; therefore bid him go forward with all things,\naccording to their enterprize, and that the place and everything might be\nfinished as they had devised, against her coming to Edinburgh, which\nshould be shortly. And for the time of execution thereof she thought it\nbest to be the time of Bastian's marriage, which indeed was the night of\nthe King her husband's murder. She wrote also in her letter that the said\nBothwell should \"in no wise fail\" in the meantime to dispatch his wife,\nand to give her the drink as they had devised before.'[239]\n\nExcept as regards the draught to be given to Darnley, in a house by the\nway, and Mary's promise 'to go herself and fetch him,' this report of the\nletter closely tallies, not with Casket Letter II., but with what the man\nwho had read it told Moray, and with what Moray told de Silva. Did there\nexist, then, such a compromising letter accepted by Moray's informant, the\n'man who read the letter,' and recorded by Lennox in a document containing\ncopy of a letter from Darnley to himself?\n\nThis appears a natural inference, but it is suggested to me that the brief\nreports by Moray and Lennox are 'after all not so very different' from\nLetter II. 'If we postulate a Scots translation' (used by Moray and\nLennox) '_with the allusions explained by a hostile hand in the margin_,\nthen those who professed to give a summary of its \"more than three double\npages\" in half a dozen lines' (there are thirty-seven lines of Lennox's\nversion in my hand, and Mary wrote large) 'would easily take the striking\npoints, not from the Letter, though it was before their eyes, but from the\nexplanations; which were, of course, much more impressive than that\nextraordinary congeries of inconsequences,' our Letter II.\n\nTo this we reply that, in Moray's and Lennox's versions, we have\nexpansions and additions to the materials of Letter II. All the tale about\npoisoning Darnley in a house on the way is not a hostile 'explanation,'\nbut an addition. All the matter about poisoning or divorcing Lady Bothwell\nis not an explanation, but an addition. Marginal notes are brief\nsummaries, but if Moray and Lennox quoted marginal notes, these were so\nexpansive that they may have been longer than the Letter itself.\n\nTake the case of what Mary, as described in the Letter, is to forfeit for\nBothwell's sake. Lennox is in his catalogue of these goods more copious\nthan Moray: and Letter II., in place of these catalogues, merely says\n'honour, conscience, hazard, nor greatness.' Could a marginal annotator\nexpand this into the talk about God, her French dowry, her various titles\nand pretensions? Marginal notes always abbreviate: Moray and Lennox\nexpand; and they clearly, to my mind, cite a common text. Lennox has in\nhis autograph corrected this passage and others.\n\nMoray's and Lennox's statements about the poisoning, about the divorce or\npoisoning for Lady Bothwell, about Bastian (whose marriage Letter II.\nmentions as a proof of Darnley's knowledge of Mary's affairs), about the\n'finishing and preparing of the place' (Kirk o' Field), about 'the house\non the way,'--can all these be taken from marginal glosses, containing\nmere gossip certainly erroneous? If so, never did men display greater\nstupidity than Lennox and Moray. Where it was important to quote a letter,\nboth (according to the theory which has been suggested) neglect the Letter\nand cite, not marginal abbreviations, but marginal _scholia_ containing\nmere tattle. If Moray truly said that he had only 'heard of the Letter\nfrom a \"man who had read it,\"' is it conceivable that the man merely cited\nthe marginal glosses to Moray, while Lennox also selected almost nothing\nbut the same glosses? But, of all impossibilities, the greatest is that\nthe author of the glosses expanded 'honour, conscience, hazard, and\ngreatness' (as in Letter II.) into the catalogue beginning with God, in\nwhich Moray and Lennox abound. 'Honour, conscience, hazard, and\ngreatness,' explain themselves. They need no such long elaborate\nexplanation as the supposed scholiast adds on the margin. Where we do find\nsuch contemporary marginal notes, as on the Lennox manuscript copy of the\nCasket Sonnets, they are brief and simply explain allusions. Thus Sonnet\nIV. has, in the Lennox MSS.,\n\n 'un fascheux sot qu'elle aymoit cherement:'\n\n_elle_ being Lady Bothwell.\n\nThe marginal note is 'This is written of the Lord of Boyn, who was alleged\nto be the first lover of the Earl of Bothwell's wife.'[240] We must\nremember that Lennox was preparing a formal indictment, when he reported\nthe same Letter as Moray talked of to de Silva; and that, when the Casket\nLetters were produced, his discrepancies from Letter II. might perhaps be\nnoticed even in an uncritical age. He would not, therefore, quote the\n_scholia_ and neglect the Letter.\n\nThe passage about Lady Bothwell's poison or divorce is perhaps mirrored\nin, or perhaps originated, Lesley's legend that she was offered a writing\nof divorce to sign, with a bowl of poison to drink if she refused. In\nfact, she received a valuable consideration in land, which she held for\nsome forty years, as Countess of Sutherland.[241] Suppose that the\nannotator recorded this gossip about the poisoning of Lady Bothwell on the\nmargin. Could a man like Moray be so foolish as to recite it _viva voce_\nas part of the text of a letter?\n\nOnce more, the hypothetical marginal notes of explanation explain\nnothing--to Moray and Lennox. They knew from the first about Bastian's\nmarriage, and the explosion. The passage about poisoning Darnley 'in a\nhouse by the way' does not explain, but contradicts, the passage in Letter\nII., where Mary does not say that she is poisoning Darnley, but suggests\nthat Bothwell should find 'a more secret way by medicine,' later. Lennox\nand Moray, again, of all people, did not need to be told, by an annotator,\nwhat Mary's possessions and pretensions were. Finally, the lines about\npoisoning or divorcing Lady Bothwell are not a note explanatory of\nanything that occurs in Letter II., nor even an annotator's added piece of\ninformation; for Lennox cites them, perhaps, from the Letter before him,\n'_She wrote also in her letter_, that the said Bothwell should in no wise\nfail to give his wife the drink as they had devised'--The Mixture as\nBefore! Thus there seems no basis for the ingenious theory of\n_marginalia_, supposed to have been cited, instead of the Letter, by\nLennox and Moray.\n\nIt has again been suggested to me, by a friend interested in the problem\nof the Casket Letters, that Moray and Lennox are both reporting mere\ngossip, reverberated rumours, in their descriptions of the mysterious\nLetter. It is hinted that Lennox heard of the Letters, perhaps from\nBuchanan, before Lennox left Scotland. In that case Lennox heard of the\nLetters just two months before they were discovered. He left Scotland on\nApril 23, the Casket was opened on June 21. Buchanan certainly was not\nMoray's informant: Jhone a Forret carried the news.\n\nAs to the idea that Moray and Lennox both report a fortuitous congeries of\natoms of gossip, Moray and Lennox both (1) begin their description with\nMary's warning that Darnley's flatteries had almost overcome her.\n\n(2) Both speak to the desirability of speedy performance, but Lennox does\nnot, like Moray, assign this need to the danger of Mary's being won over.\n\n(3) Moray does, and Lennox does not, say that Mary 'will go and fetch'\nDarnley, which cannot have been part of a letter purporting to be written\nat Glasgow.\n\n(4) Moray does, and Lennox does not, speak of poisoning Darnley on the\nroad. From a letter of three sheets no two persons will select absolutely\nthe same details.\n\n(5) Moray and Lennox both give the same catalogue, Lennox at more length,\nof all that Mary sacrifices for Bothwell.\n\n(6) Both Moray and Lennox make Mary talk of the house where the explosion\nis already arranged: at least Lennox talks of its being 'prepared,' which\nmay merely mean made inhabitable.\n\n(7) Both make her say that the night of Bastian's marriage will be a good\nopportunity.\n\n(8) Both make Mary advise Bothwell to poison his wife, Moray adding the\nalternative that he may divorce her.\n\n(9) Lennox does, and Moray does not, mention the phrase 'wishing him then\nin her arms,' which occurs in Casket Letter II. The fact does not\nstrengthen the case for the authenticity of Letter II.\n\nAs to order of sequence in these nine items, they run,\n\n 1. Moray 1. Lennox 1.\n 2. Moray 2. Lennox 2.\n 3. Moray 3. (an error) Lennox 0.\n 4. Moray 4. Lennox 0.\n 5. Moray 8. = = Lennox 5.\n 6. Moray 6. Lennox 6.\n 7. Moray 7. Lennox 7.\n 8. Moray 5. = = Lennox 8.\n 9. Moray 0. Lennox 9.\n\nThus, in four out of nine items (Moray 3 being a mere error in reporting),\nthe sequence in Moray's description is the same as the sequence in that of\nLennox. In one item Moray gives a fact not in Lennox. In one Lennox gives\na fact not in Moray. In the remaining items, Moray and Lennox give the\nsame facts, but that which is fifth in order with Lennox is eighth in\norder with Moray.\n\nMathematicians may compute whether these coincidences are due to a mere\nfortuitous concurrence of atoms of gossip, possessing a common basis in\nthe long Glasgow Letter II., and in the facts of the murder, and\naccidentally shaken into the same form, and almost the same sequence, in\nthe minds of two different men, _at two different times_.\n\nMy faith in fortuitous coincidence is not so strong. Is it possible that\nthe report of Lennox and the report of Moray, both of them false, as far\nas regards Letter II., or any letter ever produced, have a common source\nin a letter at one time held by the Lords, but dropped by them?\n\nThe sceptic, however, will doubtless argue, 'We do not know the date of\nthis discourse, in which Lennox describes a letter to very much the same\neffect as Moray does. May not Lennox have met Moray, in or near London,\nwhen Moray was there in July, 1567? May not Moray have told Lennox what he\ntold de Silva, and even more copiously? What he told was (by his account)\nmere third-hand gossip, but perhaps Lennox received it from him as gospel,\nand sat down at once, and elaborated a long \"discourse,\" in which he\nrecorded as fact Moray's tattle. By this means de Silva and Lennox would\noffer practically identical accounts of the long letter; accounts which,\nindeed, correspond to no known Casket Letter, but err merely because\nMoray's information was hearsay, casual, and unevidential.' 'Why,' my\ninquirer goes on, 'do you speak of Lennox and Moray giving their\ndescriptions of the Letter _at two different times_?'\n\nThe answer to the last question may partly be put in the form of another\nquestion. Why should Lennox be making a long indictment, of seven folio\npages, against Mary, in July, 1567, when Moray was passing through town on\nhis way from France to Scotland? Mary was then a prisoner in Loch Leven.\nLennox, though in poverty, was, on July 16, 1567, accepted as a\nJoint-Regent by Mary, if Moray did not become Regent, alone.[242] On July\n29, 1567, James VI. was crowned, a yearling King, and it was decided that\nif Moray, who had not yet arrived in Scotland, refused to be Regent alone,\nLennox should be joined with him and others on a Commission of\nRegency.[243] Moray, of course, did not refuse power, nor did Lennox go to\nScotland. But, even if Lennox had really been made a co-Regent when Moray\nheld his conversation about the Letter with de Silva, he would have had,\nat that moment, no need to draw up his 'discourse' against Mary. The Lords\nhad subdued her, had extorted her abdication, and did not proceed to\naccuse their prisoner. Again, even if they had meant to try her at this\ntime, that would not explain Lennox's supposed conduct in then drawing up\nagainst her an indictment, including the gossip about her Letter, which\n(on the hypothesis) he had, at that hour, obtained from Moray, in London.\nThis can easily be proved: thus. The document in which Lennox describes\nthe Letter was never meant for a _Scottish_ court of justice. It is\ncarefully made out _in English_, by an English scribe, and is elaborately\ncorrected in Lennox's hand, as a man corrects a proof-sheet. Consequently,\nthis early 'discourse' of Lennox's, with its description of the murderous\nletter, never produced, was meant, not for a Scottish, but for an English\nCourt, or meeting of Commissioners. None such could be held while Mary was\na prisoner in Scotland: and no English indictment could then be made by\nLennox. He must have expected the letter he quoted to be produced: which\nnever was done.\n\nTherefore Lennox did not weave this discourse, and describe the mysterious\nLetter, while Moray was giving de Silva a similar description, at London,\nin July, 1567. Not till Mary fled into England, nearly a year later, May\n15, 1568, not till it was determined to hold an inquiry in England (about\nJune 30, 1568), could Lennox construct an indictment in English, to go\nbefore English Commissioners. Consequently his description of the letter\nwas not written at the same time (July, 1567) as Moray described the\nepistle to de Silva. The exact date when Lennox drew up his first\nIndictment, including his description of the Letter described by Moray, is\nunknown. But it contains curious examples of 'the sayings and reports' of\nMary's own _suite_, as to words spoken by her in their own ears. Therefore\nit would seem to have been written _after_ June 11, 1568, when Lennox\nwrote to Scotland, asking his chief clansmen to collect 'the sayings of\nher servants and their reports.'[244] Again, as late as August 25, 1568,\nLennox had not yet received permission from Elizabeth to go to the meeting\nof the Commission of Inquiry which it was then intended to hold at\nRichmond. Elizabeth 'flatly denied him,' though later she assented.[245]\nThus Lennox's composition of this indictment with its account of the\nmysterious epistle, may be provisionally dated between, say, July 1 (when\nhe might have got a letter of information from Scotland in answer to his\nrequest for information) and August 25, 1568.\n\nBut an opponent, anxious to make the date of Lennox's knowledge of the\npoisonous letter seem early, may say, 'Probably Lennox, in July, 1567,\nwhen Moray was in London, met him. Probably Moray told Lennox what he\nwould not tell Elizabeth. Probably Lennox then wrote down Moray's\nsecondhand hearsay gossip about the letter, kept it, and, later, in 1568,\ncopied it into his discourse to go before English Commissioners. Moray's\nverbal report is his only source, and Moray's was hearsay gossip. We have,\nso far, no proof that the letter described by Lennox and Moray ever\nexisted.\n\nTo this I reply that we know nothing of communication between Lennox and\nMoray in July, 1567, but we do know when Lennox began to collect evidence\nfor the 'discourse,' in which this mysterious letter is cited. In June,\n1568, Mary complained to Elizabeth that Lady Lennox was hounding Lennox on\nto prosecute her. Mary had somehow got hold of letters of Wood and of Lady\nLennox.[246] We also infer that, when Lennox first took up his task, he\nmay have already seen Scots translations of the Casket Letters as they\nthen existed. We know too that he had now an adviser who should not have\nallowed him to make a damaging error in his indictment, such as quoting a\nnon-existent letter. This adviser was John Wood. After Mary's flight into\nEngland (May 16, 1568) Moray had sent, on May 21, his agent, John Wood\n('Jhone a Forret'?), to London, where he was dealing with Cecil on June 5,\n1568.[247] Now Wood carried with him Scots translations of the Casket\nLetters, as they then existed. This is certain, for, on June 22, Moray\nsent to the English Council the information that Wood held these\ntranslations, and Moray made the request that the 'judges' in the case\nmight see the Scots versions, and say whether, if the French originals\ncorresponded, they would be reckoned adequate proof of Mary's guilt.[248]\n\nThe judges, that is the Commissioners who sat at York in October,\napparently did not, in June, see Wood's copies: their amazement on seeing\nthem later, at York, is evidence to that. But Lennox, perhaps, did see the\nScots versions in Wood's hands. On June 11, from Chiswick, as has been\nsaid, Lennox wrote three letters to Scotland; one to Moray, one to his\nretainers, the Lairds of Houstoun and Minto, men of his own clan; and one\nto other retainers, Thomas Crawford, Robert Cunningham, and Stewart of\nPeriven. To Moray he said that of evidence against Mary 'there is\nsufficiency in her own hand-writ, _by the faith of her letters_, to\ncondemn her.' But he also wanted to collect extraneous evidence, in\nScotland.\n\nHere Lennox writes as one who has seen, or been told the contents of, the\nCasket Letters on which he remarks. And well might he have seen them, for\nhis three despatches of June 11 are 'all written on the same sheets, _and\nin the same hand_,' as two letters written and sent, on the following day,\nby John Wood, from Greenwich, to Moray and Lethington. Thus Wood, or his\nsecretary, wrote out all five epistles.[249] Consequently Wood, who had\ntranslations of the Casket Letters, was then with Lennox, and was likely\nto be now and then with him, till the Conference at York in October. On\nOctober 3, just before the Conference at York, Lady Lennox tells Cecil\nthat she means to speak to Mr. John Wood, if he is at Court, for he knows\nwho the murderers are.[250] And Wood carried to Lennox, at York, Lady\nLennox's despatches.[251] Being allied with Wood, as the Chiswick and\nGreenwich letters of June 11, 12, prove, and writing to Wood's master,\nMoray, about Mary's Casket Letters, it is hardly probable that Lennox had\nnot been shown by Wood the Scots versions of the Casket Letters, then in\nWood's custody. And when, about this date or later, Lennox composed the\nlong indictment against Mary, and quoted the letter already cited by\nMoray, it is hardly credible that he described the long poisonous document\nfrom mere hearsay, caught from Moray in the previous year. It is at least\nas likely, if not much more so, that his description of the long letter\nwas derived from a translation of the letter itself, as it then existed in\nthe hands of Wood. Is it probable that Wood (who was known to have in his\ncustody the Letters to which Lennox refers, in his epistle to Moray of\nJune 11) could withhold them from the father of the murdered Darnley, a\nnoble who had been selected by the Lords as a co-Regent with Moray, and\nwho was, like himself, a correspondent of Moray and an eager prosecutor of\nthe Queen? If then Wood did in June, 1568, show to Lennox the Casket\nLetters as they then existed, when Lennox presently described the long\nmurderous letter, he described what he had seen, namely a _piece de\nconviction_ which was finally suppressed. And that it was later than his\nmeeting with Wood, on June 11, 1568, that Lennox prepared his elaborate\ndiscourse, is obvious, for what reason had he to compose an indictment\nbefore, in June or later, it became clear that Mary's case would be tried\nin England?\n\nNot till June 8 did Elizabeth send to Moray, bidding him 'impart to her\nplainly all that which shall be meet to inform her of the truth for their\ndefence in such weighty crimes' as their rebellion against Mary.[252]\nMary, Elizabeth declared, 'is content to commit the ordering of our case\nto her,' and Moray has consented, through Wood, 'to declare to us your\nwhole doings.' Elizabeth therefore asks for Moray's evidence against Mary.\nFrom that date, June 8, the negotiations for some kind of trial of Mary\nwent on till October, 1568. In that period, Lennox must have written the\ndiscourse in which he cites the false letter, and in that period he had\nthe aid of Wood, in whose hands the Scots translations were.\n\nThe inference that Lennox borrowed his description of a long poisonous\nepistle from a forged letter, a very long letter, then in Wood's custody\nwith the rest, and occupying the place later taken by Letter II., is\nnatural, and not illogical, but rather is in congruence with the relations\nbetween Wood and Lennox. The letter described had points in common with\nLetter II. (as when Mary wishes Bothwell in her arms) and with the Casket\nSonnets. It certainly was not a genuine document, and certainly raises a\nstrong presumption that fraud was being attempted by Mary's enemies. But\nwe need not, for that reason, infer that Letter II. is a forgery. It may\nbe genuine, and may have been in the hands of Mary's enemies. Yet they may\nhave tried to improve upon it and make it more explicit, putting forward\nto that end the epistle quoted by Lennox and Moray. If so they later fell\nback on Letter II., possibly garbled it, and suppressed their first\nversion.\n\nLennox, as we shall see, did not rest on his earlier form of the\nindictment, with its description of Mary's letter about poisoning Darnley\nand Lady Bothwell, which he originally drew up, say in July-August, 1568.\nIn his letters from Chiswick he asked for all sorts of evidence from\nScotland. He got it, and, then, dropping his first indictment (which\ncontained only parts of such matter), he composed a second. That second\ndocument was perhaps still unfinished, or imperfect, just before the\nmeeting of Commissioners at York (October 6, 1568).\n\nThat the second indictment, about October 1, 1568, was still in the\nmaking, I at first inferred from the following passage which occurs in a\nset of pieces of evidence collected for Lennox, but without date. 'Ferder\nyour h. sall have advertisement of, as I can find, but it is gude that\nthis mater' (Lennox's construction of a new indictment) 'be not endit\nquile' (until) 'your h. _may haif copie of the letter_, quhilk I sall haif\nat _York_, so sone as I may haif a traist berar' (a trusty bearer to carry\nthe copy to Lennox). So I read the letter, but Father Pollen, no doubt\ncorrectly, in place of 'York' reads 'your h.;' that is, 'Your Honour,' a\ncommon phrase. The date yielded by 'York' therefore vanishes. We can,\ntherefore, only infer that this correspondent, writing not to Lennox, it\nappears, but to some one, Wood perhaps, engaged in getting up the case,\nwhile sending him information for his indictment, advises that it be not\nfinished till receipt of a copy of a certain letter, which is to be sent\nby a trusty bearer. It may be our Letter II. We can have no certainty. In\nhis new indictment, substituted for his former discourse, Letter II. is\nthe only one to which Lennox makes distinct allusion.\n\nHe now omits the useful citations of the mysterious epistle which he had\npreviously used; and, instead, quotes Letter II. The old passages cited\nwere more than good enough for Lennox's purpose, but they are no longer\nemployed by him. There can be no doubt as to which of his discourses is\nthe earlier and which the later. That containing the report of Mary's\nletter which agrees with Moray's report to de Silva, lacks the numerous\ndetails about Hiegait, Crawford, Mary's taunts to Darnley, their quarrel\nat Stirling, and so forth, and we know that, on June 11, 1568, Lennox had\nsent to Scotland asking for all these particulars. They all duly appear in\nthe second discourse which contains reference to Letter II. They are all\nabsent from the discourse which contains the letter about the scheme for\npoisoning Darnley and Lady Bothwell. Therefore that indictment is the\nearlier: written on evidence of Darnley's servants, and from 'the sayings\nand reports' of Mary's servants.\n\nFor what reason should Lennox drop the citations from the poisonous\nletter, which he quoted in his earlier discourse, if such a letter was to\nbe produced by the Lords? The words were of high value to his argument.\nBut drop them he did in his later discourse, and, in place of them, quoted\nmuch less telling lines from Letter II.\n\nAll this is explained, if Letter II. was a revised and less explicit\nedition of the letter first reported on by Lennox; or if the letter first\nquoted was an improved and more vigorous version of a genuine Letter II.\nMr. Hosack, when he had only Moray's account of the mysterious letter\nbefore him, considered it fatal to the authenticity of Letter II., which\nhe thought a cleverly watered-down version of the mysterious letter, and,\nlike it, a forgery. Mr. Hosack's theory is reinforced by Lennox's longer\naccount of the mysterious epistle. But he overlooked the possibility that\nLetter II. may not be a diluted copy of the forgery, but a genuine\noriginal on which the forgery was based. It may be asked, if the Letter\ntouched on by Lennox and Moray was a forged letter, why was it dropped,\nand why was another substituted before the meeting of Commissioners at\nYork? As we have only brief condensed reports of the Letter which never\nwas produced, our answer must be incomplete. But Moray's description of\nthe document speaks of 'the house where the explosion was arranged,'\nbefore Mary left Edinburgh for Glasgow. Now, according to one confession,\ntaken after the finding of the Casket, namely on December 8, 1567, the\nexplosion was not dreamed of 'till within two days before the\nmurder.'[253] Therefore Mary could not, on reflection, be made to write\nthat the gunpowder plot was arranged before January 21, 1567, for that\ncontradicted the confession, and the confession was put in as evidence.\n\nThe proceedings of Mary's accusers, therefore, may have taken the\nfollowing line. First, having certainly got hold of a silver casket of\nMary's, about June 21, 1567, they either added a forgery, or, perhaps,\ninterpolated, as her Lords said, 'the most principal and substantious'\nclauses. They probably gave copies to du Croc: and they told Throckmorton\nthat they had not only letters, but _witnesses_ of Mary's guilt. These\nwitnesses doubtless saw Mary at the murder 'in male apparel,' as Lennox\nsays some declared that she was. But these witnesses were never produced.\nThey sent, probably, by 'Jhone a Forret,' copies to Moray, one of which,\nthe mysterious letter, in July, 1567, he partly described to de Silva. In\nJune, 1568, they sent translated copies into England with Wood. These were\nnot seen by Sussex, Norfolk, and Sadleyr (the men who, later, sat as\nCommissioners at York), but Wood, perhaps, showed them, or parts of them,\nto Lennox, who cited portions of the mysterious Letter in his first\nindictment. But, when Moray, Morton, Lethington, and the other\nCommissioners of the Lords were bound for the Inquiry at York, they looked\nover their hand of cards, re-examined their evidence. They found that the\n'long letter' cited by Moray and Lennox contradicted the confession of\nBowton, and was altogether too large and mythical. They therefore\nmanufactured a subtler new edition, or fell back upon a genuine Letter II.\nIf so, they would warn Lennox, or some one with Lennox, in framing his new\nindictment, to wait for their final choice as to this letter. He did\nwait, received a copy of it, dropped the first edition of the letter, and\ninterwove the second edition, which may be partly genuine, with his\n'discourse.'\n\nThis is, at least, a coherent hypothesis. There is, however, another\npossible hypothesis: admirers of the Regent Moray may declare. Though\ncapable of using his sister's accomplices to accuse his sister, 'the noble\nand stainless Moray' was not capable of employing a forged document. On\nreturning to Scotland he found that, in addition to the falsified Letter,\nthere existed the genuine Letter II., really by Mary. Like a conscientious\nman, he insisted that the falsified Letter should be suppressed, and\nLetter II. produced.\n\nThis amiable theory may be correct. It is ruined, however, if we are right\nin guessing that, when Moray sent Wood into England with Scots versions of\nthe Letters (May, 1568), he may have included among these a copy of the\nfalsified Letter, which was therefore cited by Lennox.\n\nThere is another point of suspicion, suggested by the Lennox Papers. In\nGlasgow Letter II., Mary, writing late at night, is made to say, 'I cannot\nsleep as thay do, and as I wald desyre, _that is in zour armes_, my deir\nlufe.' In the Lennox account of the letter quoted by Moray to de Silva,\nshe '_wishes him then present in her arms_.' In the Lennox Paper she\nspeaks of Darnley's 'sweet baits,' '_flattering_ and sweet words,' which\nhave 'almost overcome her.' In the English text of Letter II., Darnley\n'used so many kinds of _flatteries_ so coldly and wisely as you would\nmarvel at.' His speeches 'would make me but to have pity on him.' Finally,\nin the Lennox version of the unproduced Letter, Mary represents herself as\nready to 'abandon her God, put in adventure the loss of her dowry in\nFrance, hazard such titles as she had to the crown of England, as heir\napparent thereof, and also to the crown of the realm.' Nothing of this\ndetailed kind occurs, we have seen, in the Letters, as produced. Similar\nsentiments are found, however, in the first and second Casket Sonnets. 'Is\nhe not in possession of my body, of my heart which recoils neither from\npain, nor dishonour, nor uncertainty of life, nor offence of kindred, nor\nworse woe? For him I esteem all my friends less than nothing.... I have\nhazarded for him name and conscience; for him I desire to renounce the\nworld ... in his hands and in his power I place my son' (which she did not\ndo), 'my honour, my life, my realm, my subjects, my own subject soul.'\n\nIt is certainly open, then, to a defender of Mary to argue that the\nLetters and Sonnets, as produced and published, show traces of the ideas\nand expressions employed in the letter described by Moray, and by Lennox.\nNow that letter, certainly, was never written by Mary. It had to be\ndropped, for it was inconsistent with a statement as to the murder put\nforward by the prosecution; Bowton's examination.\n\nIn short, the letter cited by Moray, and by Lennox, the long letter from\nGlasgow, looks like a sketch, later modified, for Letter II., or a forgery\nbased on Letter II., and suggests that forgeries were, at some period,\nbeing attempted. As the Glasgow Letter (II.), actually produced, also\ncontains (see 'The Internal Evidence') the highly suspicious passage\ntallying verbally with Crawford's deposition, there is no exaggeration in\nsaying that the document would now carry little weight with a jury.\nAgainst all this we must not omit to set the failure to discredit the\nLetters, when published later, by producing the contemporary copies\nreported by de Silva to be in the hands of La Forest, or du Croc, as early\nas July, 1567. But the French Government (if ever it had the copies) was\nnot, as we have said, when Buchanan's 'Detection' was thrust on the\ncourtiers, either certain to compare La Forest's copies and the published\nLetters critically, or to raise a question over discrepancies, if they\nexisted. In any case neither Charles IX., nor La Mothe Fenelon, in 1571,\nwrote a word to suggest that they thought the Casket Papers an imposture.\n\n\n\n\nXI\n\n_THE LETTERS AT THE CONFERENCE OF YORK_\n\n\nIn tracing the history of the mysterious letter cited by Moray in July,\n1567, and by Lennox about July, 1568, we have been obliged to diverge from\nthe chronological order of events. We must return to what occurred\npublicly, as regards the Letters, after Throckmorton was told of their\nexistence, by Lethington in Scotland in July, 1567. Till May, 1568, Mary\nremained a prisoner in Loch Leven. For some time after July, 1567, we hear\nnothing more of the Letters. Elizabeth (August 29) bade Throckmorton tell\nMary's party, the Hamiltons, that 'she well allows their proceedings as\nfar as they concern the relief of the Queen.' On August 30, Moray asked\nCecil to move Elizabeth 'to continue in her good will of him and his\nproceedings!'[254] Elizabeth, then, was of both parties: but rather more\ninclined to that of Mary, despite Throckmorton's report as to Mary's\nLetters. They are next alluded to by Drury, writing from Berwick on\nOctober 28, 1567. 'The writings which comprehended the names and consents\nof the chief for the murdering of the King is turned into ashes, the same\nnot unknown to the Queen (Mary) and the same which concerns her part kept\nto be shown.'[255]\n\nOn December 4, the Lords of the Privy Council, 'and other barons and men\nof judgement,' met in Edinburgh. They were mainly members of the\nProtestant Left.[256] Their Declaration (to be reported presently) was the\nresult, they tell us, of several days of reasoning and debate. Nor is it\nsurprising that they found themselves in a delicate posture. Some of them\nhad been in the conspiracy; others had signed the request to Bothwell that\nhe would marry the Queen, and had solemnly vowed to defend his quarrel,\nand maintain his innocence. Yet if they would gain a paper and\nParliamentary security for their lives and estates (subject to be\nattainted and forfeited if ever Mary or her son came to power, and wished\nto avenge Darnley's murder and the Queen's imprisonment), they must prove\nthat, in imprisoning Mary, they had acted lawfully. This they\ndemonstrated, though 'most loth to do so,' by asking Parliament to approve\nof all their doings since Darnley's death (which included their promise to\ndefend Bothwell, and their advice to Mary to marry him). And Parliament\nwas to approve, because their hostile acts 'was in the said Queen's own\ndefault, in as far as by divers her private letters, written and\nsubscribed with her own hand, and sent by her to James, Earl Bothwell,\nchief executor of the said horrible murder, as well before the committing\nthereof as thereafter, and by her ungodly and dishonourable proceeding in\na private marriage with him; ... it is most certain that she was privy,\nart and part, and of the actual device and deed of the forementioned\nmurder, ... and therefore justly deserves whatsoever has been attempted or\nshall be used toward her for the said cause....'\n\nFrom the first, it seems, 'all men in their hearts were fully persuaded of\nthe authors' of the crime. Bothwell, to be sure, had been acquitted, both\npublicly and privately, by his peers and allies. Moray had invited an\nEnglish envoy to meet him, at a dinner where all the other guests were\nmurderers. People, however, only 'awaited until God should move the hearts\nof some to enter in the quarrel of avenging the same'--which they did by\nletting Bothwell go free, and entrapping Mary! The godly assemblage then\nexplains how 'God moved the hearts of some.' The nobles were 'in just\nfear' of being 'handled' like Darnley, 'perceiving the Queen so thrall and\nbloody' (_sic_: probably a miswriting for 'blindly') 'affectionate to the\nprivate appetite of that tyrant,' Bothwell.\n\nThe Council thus gave the lie to their own repeated averments, that\nBothwell caused Mary to wed him by fear and force. Now she is gracefully\nspoken of as 'bloody affectionate.'\n\nIt will be observed that, like Moray earlier, they here describe Mary's\nLetters as 'signed.' The Casket Letters (in our copies) are unsigned. The\noriginals may have been signed, they were reported to La Forest to be\nsigned as late as December, 1568.\n\nOn December 15, a Parliament met in Edinburgh. According to Nau, Mary's\nsecretary, inspired by her, she had already written from prison a long\nletter to Moray. 'She demanded permission to be heard in this Parliament,\neither in person or by deputy, thereby to answer the false calumnies which\nhad been _published_ about her since her imprisonment.' Mary offered to\nlay down her crown 'of free will,' and to 'submit to all the rigour of the\nlaws' which she desired to be enforced against Darnley's murderers. None\nshould be condemned unheard. If not heard, she protested against all the\nproceedings of the Parliament.[257]\n\nThis may be true: this was Mary's very attitude when accused at\nWestminster. Mary made the same assertion as to this demand of hers to be\nheard, in her 'Appeal to Christian Princes,' in June, 1568.[258] Not only\nhad she demanded leave to be present, and act as her own advocate, but\nAtholl and Tullibardine, she said, had admitted the justice of her\nclaim--and just it was. But neither then, nor at Westminster in December,\n1568, was Mary allowed to appear and defend herself. She knew too much,\ncould have proved the guilt of some of her accusers, and would have broken\nup their party. A Scots Parliament always voted with the dominant faction.\nThe Parliament passed an Act in the sense of the resolution of the Council\nand assessors. The Letters, however, are now described, in this Act, not\nas 'signed' or 'subscribed,' but as 'written wholly with her own\nhand.'[259] No valuable inference can be drawn from the discrepancy.\n\nNau says not a word about the Letters, but avers that Herries protested\nthat Mary might not have signed her abdication by free will: her signature\nmight even have been forged. He asked leave, with others, to visit her at\nLoch Leven, but this was refused. 'Following his example, many of the\nLords refused to sign the Acts of this Parliament.'[260] It appears that\nthe Letters really were 'produced' in this Parliament, for Mary's Lords\nsay so in their Declaration of September 12, 1568, just before the\nCommissioners met at York. They add that 'there is in no place' (of 'her\nMajesty's writing') 'mention made, by which her highness might be convict,\nalbeit it were her own handwriting, as it is not.' The Lords add, 'and\nalso the same' (Mary's 'writing') 'is devysit by themselves in some\nprincipal and substantious clauses.'[261] This appears to mean that, while\nthe handwriting of the Letters is not Mary's, parts of the substance were\nreally hers, 'principal and substantious clauses'[262] being introduced by\nthe accusers.\n\nThis theory is upheld by Gerdes, and Dr. Sepp, with his hypothesis that\nthe Casket Letters consist of a Diary of Mary's, mingled with letters of\nDarnley's, and interpolated with 'substantious clauses.'[263] When the\noriginals were produced in England, none of Mary's party were present to\ncompare them with the Letters shown in the Scottish Parliament.\n\nThe Letters are not remarked on again till after Mary's escape from Loch\nLeven, and flight into England (May 16, 1568), when Moray writes about\nthem on June 22, 1568.\n\nWood, in May, as we saw, had carried with him into England copies of the\nLetters translated into our language: so says the instruction given by\nElizabeth's Government to Middlemore. Moray understood that Elizabeth\nintended to 'take trial' of Mary's case, 'with great ceremony and\nsolemnities.' He is 'most loth' to accuse Mary, though, privately or\npublicly, his party had done so incessantly, for a whole year. Now he asks\nthat those who are to judge the case shall read the Scots translations of\nthe Letters in Wood's possession (why in Scots, not in the original\nFrench?), and shall say whether, if the French originals coincide, the\nevidence will be deemed sufficient.\n\nWhatever we may think of the fairness of this proposal, it is clear that\nthe French texts, genuine or forged, as they then stood, were already in\naccordance with the Scots texts, to be displayed by Wood. If the\nmysterious letter was in Wood's hands in Scots, doubtless Moray had a\nforged French version of it. Any important difference in the French texts,\nwhen they came to be shown, would have been fatal. But, apparently, they\nwere not shown at this time to Elizabeth.\n\nIt is unnecessary to enter on the complicated negotiations which preceded\nthe meeting of Elizabeth's Commissioners, at York (October, 1568), with\nMary's representatives, and with Moray (who carried the Casket with him)\nand his allies, Buchanan, Wood, Makgill, Lethington, and others. Mary had\nthe best promises from Elizabeth. She claimed the right of confronting her\naccusers, from the first. If the worst came to the worst, if the Letters\nwere produced, she believed that she had valid evidence of the guilt of\nMorton and Lethington, at least. In a Lennox Paper, of 1569, we read:\n'Whereas the Queen said, when she was in Loch Leven, that she had that in\nblack and white that would cause Lethington to hang by the neck, which\nLetter, if it be possible, it were very needful to be had.' Nau says that\nBothwell, on leaving Mary at Carberry, gave her a band for Darnley's\nmurder, signed by Morton, Lethington, Balfour, and others, 'and told her\nto take good care of that paper.' Some such document, implicating\nLethington at least, Mary probably possessed 'in black and white.' The\nfact was known to her accusers, she had warned Lethington as we saw (p.\n189), and their knowledge influenced their policy. When Wood wrote to\nMoray, from Greenwich, on June 12, 1568, as to Scottish Commissioners to\nmeet Elizabeth's, and discuss Mary's case, he said that it was much\ndoubted, in England, whether Lethington should be one of them. To\nLethington he said that he had expected Mary to approve of his coming,\n'but was then surely informed she had not only written and accused him,\nand my Lord of Morton as privy to the King's murder, but affirmed she had\nboth their handwritings to testify the same, which I am willed to signify\nto you, that you may consider thereof. You know her goodwill towards you,\nand how prompt of spirit she is to invent anything that might tend to your\nhurt. The rest I remit to your wisdom.... Mr. Secretary' (Cecil) 'and Sir\nNicholas' (Throckmorton) 'are both direct against your coming here to this\ntrial.'[264] But it was less unsafe for Lethington to come, and perhaps\ntry to make his peace with Mary, than to stay in Scotland. Mary also, in\nher appeal to all Christian Princes, declares that the handwriting of\nseveral of her accusers proves that they are guilty of the crime they lay\nto her charge.[265] It is fairly certain that she had not the murder band,\nbut something she probably did possess. And Nau says that she had told\nLethington what she knew on June 16, 1567.\n\nIf the Casket Letters were now produced, and if Mary were allowed to\ndefend herself, backed by her own charms of voice and tears, then some, at\nleast, of her accusers would not be listened to by that assemblage of\nPeers and Ambassadors before which she constantly asked leave to plead,\n'in Westminster Hall.' The Casket Letters, produced by men themselves\nguilty, would in these circumstances be slurred as probable forgeries.\nMary would prefer not to come to extremities, but if she did, as Sussex,\none of Elizabeth's Commissioners, declared, in the opinion of some 'her\nproofs would fall out the better.'\n\nThis I take to have been Mary's attitude towards the Letters, this was her\nlast line of defence. Indeed the opinion is corroborated by her letter\nfrom Bolton to Lesley (October 5, 1568). She says that Knollys has been\ntrying _tirer les vers du nez_ ('to extract her secret plans'), a phrase\nused in Casket Letter II. 'My answer is that I would oppose the truth to\ntheir false charges, _and something which they perchance have not yet\nheard_.'[266] Mr. Froude thinks that Mary trusted to a mere theatrical\ndenial, on the word of a Queen. But I conceive that she had a better\npolicy; and so thought Sussex.\n\nMuch earlier, on June 14, 1568, soon after her flight into England, Mary\nhad said to Middlemore, 'If they' (her accusers) 'will needs come, desire\nmy good sister, the Queen, to write that Lethington and Morton (who be\ntwo of the wisest and most able of them to say most against me) may come,\nand then let me be there in her presence, face to face, to hear their\naccusations, and to be heard how I can make my own purgation, but I think\nLethington would be very loath of that commission.'[267]\n\nLethington knew Mary's determination. Wood gave him warning, and his\nknowledge would explain his extraordinary conduct throughout the\nConference at York, and later. As has been said, Mary and he were equally\nable to 'blackmail' each other. Any quarrel with Moray might, and a\nquarrel finally did, bring on Lethington the charge of guilt as to\nDarnley's murder. Once accused (1569), he was driven into Mary's party,\nfor Mary could probably have sealed his doom.\n\nAs to what occurred, when, in October, the Commission of Inquiry met at\nYork, we have the evidence of the letters of Elizabeth's Commissioners,\nNorfolk, Sussex, and Sadleyr. We have also the evidence of one of Mary's\nCommissioners, Lesley, Bishop of Ross, given on November 6, 1571, when he\nwas prisoner of Elizabeth, in the Tower, for his share in the schemes of\nthe Duke of Norfolk. All confessions are suspicious, and Lesley's alleged\ngossip against Mary (she poisoned her first husband, murdered Darnley, led\nBothwell to Carberry that he might be slain, and would have done for\nNorfolk!) is reported by Dr. Wilson, who heard it![268] 'Lord, what a\npeople are these, what a Queen, and what an ambassador!' cries Wilson, in\nhis letter to Burghley. If Lesley spoke the words attributed to him by\nWilson, we can assign scant value to any statement of his whatever: and we\nassign little or none to Wilson's.\n\nIn his confession (1571) he says that, when he visited Mary, at Bolton,\nabout September 18, 1568, she told him that the York Conference was to end\nin the pardon, by herself, of her accusers: her own restoration being\nimplied. Lesley answered that he was sorry that she had consented to a\nconference, for her enemies 'would utter all that they could,' rather than\napologise. He therefore suggested that she should not accuse them at all,\nbut work for a compromise. Mary said that, from messages of Norfolk to his\nsister, Lady Scrope, then at Bolton, she deemed him favourable to her, and\nlikely to guide his fellow-commissioners: there was even a rumour of a\nmarriage between Norfolk and herself. Presently, says Lesley, came Robert\nMelville, '_before our passing to York_,' bearing letters from Lethington,\nthen at Fast Castle. Lethington hereby (according to Lesley) informed Mary\nthat Moray was determined to speak out, and was bringing the letters,\n'whereof he' (Lethington) 'had recovered the copy, and had caused his\nwife' (Mary Fleming) 'write them, which he sent to the Queen.' He added\nthat he himself was coming merely to serve Mary: _how_ she must inform\nhim by Robert Melville. This is Lesley's revelation. The statements are\nquite in accordance with our theory, that Lethington, now when there was\ndire risk that the Letters might come out publicly, and that Mary would\nruin him in her own defence, did try to curry favour with the Queen: did\nsend her copies of the Letters.\n\nFor what it is worth, Lesley's tale to this effect has some shadowy\ncorroboration. At Norfolk's Trial for Treason (1571), Serjeant Barham\nalleged that Lethington 'stole away the Letters, and kept them one night,\nand caused his wife to write them out.' _That_ story Barham took from\nLesley's confession. But he added, from what source we know not, 'Howbeit\nthe same were but copies, translated out of French into Scots: which, when\nLethington's wife had written them out, he caused to be sent to the\nScottish Queen. She laboured to translate them again into French, as near\nas she could to the originals wherein she wrote them, but that was not\npossible to do, but there was some variance in the phrase, by which\nvariance, as God would, the subtlety of that practice came to light.'\n'What if all this be true? What is this to the matter?' asked the\nDuke.[269]\n\nWhat indeed? Mary had not kept copies of her letters to Bothwell, if she\nwrote them. She was short of paper when she wrote Letter II., if she wrote\nit, and certainly could make no copy: the idea is grotesque. What\n'subtlety of practice' could she intend?[270] Conceivably, if Lethington\nsent her copies of both French and Scots (which is denied), she may have\ntried whether she could do the Scots into the French idioms attributed to\nher, and, if she could not, might advance the argument that the French was\nnone of hers. Barham avers that she received no French copies. But did\nLesley say, with truth, that she received any copies? Here, confession for\nconfession, that of Robert Melville gives the lie to Lesley's. Melville\n(who, years later, had been captured with Lethington and Kirkcaldy of\nGrange in the Castle) was examined at Holyrood, on October 19, 1573.[271]\nAccording to Lesley, Melville rode to Bolton with Lethington's letters\nfrom Fast Castle, _before_ the meeting of Commissioners at York. But\nMelville denies this: his account runs thus:\n\n'Inquirit quhat moved him to ryde to the quene in England the tyme that\nthe erll of morey Regent was thair, he not being privie therto? Answeris\nit wes to get a discharge of sic thingis as she had gotten from him. And\nthat the Regent wes privie to the same and grantit him licence to follow\nefter. Bot wald not let him pas in company wt him. _And denys that he past\nfirst to bolton bot come first to York._'\n\nIf Melville told truth, then he did not secretly visit Mary before the\nConference, and she did not deal then with Lethington, or receive copies\nof the Casket Letters, or bid any one 'stay these rigorous accusations and\ntravail with the Duke of Norfolk in her favour,' as Lesley confessed.[272]\nThe persons who examined Melville, in 1573, were acquainted with Lesley's\nconfession of 1571, and Melville is deliberately and consciously\ncontradicting the evidence of Lesley. Both confessed when in perilous\ncircumstances. Which of the two can we believe?\n\nOn Saturday, October 2, Mary's Commissioners arrived in York, but Wood did\nnot ride in from London till October 8.[273] Moray and the other\nCommissioners of the Lords came in on Sunday, followed, an hour later, by\nthe English negotiators: 'mediators,' Mary calls them. Then began a\ncontest of intrigue and infamy. If we believe Melville, he no sooner\narrived in York than Moray sent him to Bolton, 'to deal with the Queen as\nof his awin heid,'--that is, as if the proposal were an unofficial\nsuggestion of his own. He was to propose a compromise: the Lords were not\nto accuse her, and she was to stay in England with a large allowance,\nMoray still acting as Regent. 'The Quene did take it verie hardlie at the\nbegyning ... bot in the end condescendit to it, swa that it come of [part\nobliterated] the Quene of England's sute.' Melville was then kept going to\nand from Bolton, till the Commissioners departed to London. On this\nstatement Moray, apparently as soon as the Commissioners met at York,\ntreated with Mary for a compromise in his favour, and Mary assented,\nthough reluctantly.[274]\n\nTurning to the reports of Elizabeth's Commissioners, we find that, on\nOctober 4, they met Mary's Commissioners, and deemed their instructions\ntoo limited. Mary's men proposed to ask for larger license, and,\nmeanwhile, to proceed. But Herries (Oct. 6) declared that he would 'in no\nways say all in this matter that he knew to be true.'[275] Moray and\nLethington, already 'though most sorry that it is now come to that point,'\nsaid that they must disclose what they knew. Lethington by no means tried\nto 'mitigate these rigours intended,' as in the letter which Lesley says\nthat he sent to Mary by Melville. He already boasted of what 'they could\nan' they would.' Probably Lethington, to use a modern phrase, was\n'bluffing.' Nothing could suit him worse than a public disclosure of the\nletters, laying him open to a _riposte_ from Mary if she were allowed to\nbe present, and speak for herself. His game was to threaten disclosure,\nand even to make it unofficially, so as to frighten Mary into silence, and\nresidence in England, while he kept secretly working for another\narrangement with Norfolk, behind the backs of the other English\nCommissioners.\n\nThis was a finesse in which Lethington delighted, but it was a most\ndifficult game to play. His fellows, except Morton, not a nervous man,\nwere less compromised than he, or not compromised at all, and they might\nbreak away from him, and offer in spite of him (as they finally did) a\npublic disclosure of the Letters. The other English Commissioners, again,\nmight not take their cue from Norfolk. Above all, Norfolk himself must be\nallowed to see the Letters, and yet must be induced to overlook or\ndiscredit the tale of the guilt of Mary, which they revealed. This was the\nonly part of Lethington's arduous task in which he succeeded, and here he\nsucceeded too well.[276]\n\nOn October 6, Norfolk, writing for himself, told Cecil that, from the talk\nof Mary's enemies, 'the matter I feare wyll fall owte very fowle.'[277] On\nOctober 8, Mary's men produced their charges against the Lords. The\nsigners were Lesley, Lord Livingstone (who certainly knew whether the\nanecdote about himself, in the Glasgow Letter II., was true or not),\nHerries (who, in June, had asked Elizabeth what she intended to do if Mary\nwas proved guilty), Cockburn of Skirling, a Hamilton, commendator or lay\nabbot of Kilwinning, and Lord Boyd.\n\nLennox, who was present at York,[278] burning for leave to produce his\nindictment, had asked his retainers to collect evidence against Herries,\nFleming, Lord Livingstone, 'and all these then in England,' with Mary. On\nthis head Lennox got no help, except so far as an anecdote, in the Casket\nLetter II., implied Livingstone's knowledge of Mary's amour with Bothwell.\nHe, therefore, in a paper which we can date about October 4, 1568,[279]\nsuggests 'that the Lord Livingstone may be examined upon his oath of the\nwords between his mistress and him at Glasgow, mentioned in her own\nletter.' But this very proper step was never taken: nor was Lennox then\nheard. The words might have been used, but that would not prove Mary's\nauthorship of the letter containing them. They might have been supplied by\nLady Reres, after her quarrel with Mary in April-May, 1567. Moray next\ndesired to know--\n\n1. Whether the English Commissioners had authority to pronounce Mary\nguilty or not guilty. (She had protested (Oct. 7) that she 'was not\nsubject to any judge on earth.')\n\n2. Whether the Commissioners will promise to give verdict instantly.\n\n3. Whether, if the verdict was 'guilty,' Mary would be handed over to\nthem, or kept prisoner in England.\n\n4. Whether, in that case, Elizabeth would recognise Moray as Regent.\n\nTill these questions were answered (they were sent on to Elizabeth), Moray\ncould not 'enter to the accusation.'[280] Hitherto they had been 'content\nrather to hide and conceal than to publish and manifest to the world'\nMary's dishonour. They had only told all Europe--in an unofficial way. The\nEnglish Commissioners waited for Elizabeth's reply. On the 11th October,\nMoray replied to the charges of Mary, without accusing her of the murder.\nHe also 'privately,' and unofficially, showed to the English Commissioners\nsome of the Casket Papers. Lethington, Wood (?), Makgill, and Buchanan (in\na new suit of black velvet) displayed and interpreted the documents. They\nincluded a warrant of April 19, signed by Mary, authorising the Lords to\nsign the Ainslie band, advising Bothwell to marry her.[281] Of this\nwarrant we hear nothing, as far as I have observed, at Westminster.[282]\nCalderwood, speaking of Morton's trial in 1581, says that 'he had,' for\nsigning Ainslie's band, 'a warrant from the Queen, which none of the rest\nhad.'[283] At York, the Lords said that all of them had this warrant.\n'Before they had this warrant, there was none of them that did, or would,\nset to their hands, saving only the Earl of Huntly.' Yet they also alleged\nthat they signed 'more for fear than any liking they had of the same.'\nThey alleged that they were coerced by 200 musketeers.[284] Now Kirkcaldy,\non April 20, 1567, reports the signing of the Band on the previous day, to\nBedford, but says not a word of the harquebus men. They are not mentioned\ntill ten days later.\n\nLethington kindly explained the reason for Mary's abduction, which\ncertainly needs explanation. A pardon for that, he told the English Lords,\nwould be 'sufficient also for the murder.' The same story is given in the\n'Book of Articles,' the formal impeachment of Mary.[285] Presently the\nEnglish Commissioners were shown 'one horrible and long letter of her own\nhand, containing foul matter and abominable ... with divers fond ballads\nof her own hand, which letters, ballads, and other writings before\nspecified, were closed in a little coffer of silver and gilt, heretofore\ngiven by her to Bothwell.'\n\nAfter expressing abhorrence, the three Commissioners enclose extracts,\npartly in Scots.[286] The Commissioners, after seeing the papers\nunofficially, go on to ask how they are to proceed. Their letter has been\na good deal modified, by the authors, in a rather less positive and more\nsceptical sense than the original, which has been deciphered.[287]\n\nOn the same day, Norfolk wrote separately to Pembroke, Leicester, and\nCecil. He excused the delays of the Scots: 'they stand for their lives,\nlands, goods, and they are not ignorant, if they would, for it is every\nday told them, that, as long as they abstain from touching their Queen's\nhonour, she will make with them what reasonable end they can devise....'\nIn fact, as Melville has told us, he himself was their go-between for the\ncompromise. Norfolk adds that there are two ways, by justice public and\ncondign, 'if the fact shall be thought as detestable and manifest to you,\nas, for aught we can perceive, it seemeth here to us,' or, if Elizabeth\nprefer it, 'to make such composition as in so broken a cause may be.'\n\nNorfolk seems in exactly the mind of an honourable man, horrified by\nMary's guilt, and anxious for her punishment. He either dissembled, or was\na mere weathercock of sentiment, or, presently, he found reason to doubt\nthe authenticity of what he had been shown. Lethington, we saw, showed the\nletters, unofficially, on October 11. On October 12, Knollys had a talk\nwith Mary. 'When,' asked she, 'will they proceed to their odious\naccusations, or will they stay and be reconciled to me, or what will my\ngood sister do for me?' Surely an innocent lady would have said, 'Let them\ndo their worst: I shall answer them. A reconciliation with dastardly\nrebels I refuse.' That was not Mary's posture: 'But,' she said, 'if they\nwill fall to extremities they shall be answered roundly, and at the full,\nand then are we past all reconciliations.' So wrote Knollys to Norfolk, on\nOctober 14.[288] Mary would fall back on her 'something in black and\nwhite.'\n\nOn October 13, Lesley and Boyd rode to Bolton, says Knollys, and told Mary\nwhat Lethington had done: his privy disclosure of her Letters. He himself\nwas doubtless their informant, his plan being to coerce her into a\ncompromise.\n\nOf all things, it now seemed most unlikely that Norfolk would veer round\nto Mary's side, and desire to marry her. But this instantly occurred, and\nthe question is, had he seen reason to doubt the authenticity of the\nletter which so horrified him? Had Lethington told him something on that\nlong ride which they took together, on Saturday, October 16?[289] As shall\nbe shown, in our chapter on the Possible Forgers, this may be what\nLethington had done, and over-done. He had shaken Norfolk's belief in the\nLetter, so much that Norfolk presently forbade Mary to accept a\ncompromise!\n\nThe evidence of Lesley is here, as usual, at cross purposes. In his\nconfession (November 6, 1571) he says that Robert Melville took him to\nLethington's lodgings, _after_ Lethington had secretly shown the Letters.\n'We talked almost a whole night.' Lethington said that Norfolk favoured\nMary, and wished Moray to drop the charges and arrange a compromise.\n\nMeanwhile in a letter to Mary (after October 16)[290] Lesley first, as in\nhis confession, says that he has conferred with Lethington 'great part of\na night.' Lethington had ridden out with Norfolk, on October 16, and\nlearned from him that Elizabeth aimed at delay, and at driving Moray to do\nhis very worst. When they had produced 'all they can against you,'\nElizabeth would hold Mary prisoner, till she could 'show you favour.'\nNorfolk therefore now advised Mary to feign submission to Elizabeth, who\nwould probably be more kind in two or three months.[291] If so,\nLethington's words had not yet their full effect, or Norfolk dissembled.\n\nIf we are to believe Sir James Melville, who was at York, Norfolk also\nconferred with Moray himself, who consulted Lethington and Sir James; but\nnot the other Commissioners, his allies. His friends advised him to listen\nto Norfolk. We have Moray's own account of the transaction. In October,\n1569, when Norfolk was under the suspicion of Elizabeth, Moray wrote to\nher with his version of the affair.[292] 'When first in York I was moved\nto sue familiar conference with the Duke as a mean to procure us\nexpedition.' He found the Duke 'careful to have her schame coverit, hir\nhonour repairit, schew(ed) hir interest to the title of the crown of\nEngland.... It was convenient she had \"ma\" (more) children,' who would be\nfriends of Moray, and so on. The guileless Regent dreamed 'of nothing less\nthan that Norfolk had in any way pretended to the said marriage.' But\n_now_ (1569) Moray sees that Norfolk's idea was to make him seem the\noriginator of the marriage.\n\nMeanwhile Robert Melville was still (he says) negotiating between Mary and\nMoray, on the basis of Mary's abdication and receipt of a large pension\nfrom Scotland. Melville rode to London to act for Mary on October 25.[293]\nBut, before that date, on October 16, Elizabeth wrote to Norfolk as to the\ndemands of Moray made on October 11, and under the influence of what she\nhad now learned from her Commissioners as to the Casket Letters, and,\nperhaps, of suspicions of Norfolk. Practically, she removed the Conference\nto London, ordering Norfolk so to manage that Mary should think her\nrestoration was to be arranged.[294] Mary weakly consented to the change\nof _venue_ (October 22). She sent Lesley and Herries to represent her in\nLondon.\n\nAt this moment, namely (October 22) when Mary consented to the London\nConference, it seems that she expected a compromise on the lines discussed\nbetween Moray and herself. She would resign the crown, and live affluently\nin England, while Moray would not produce his accusations, and would\nexercise the Regency. This course would be fatal to Mary's honour, in the\neyes of history, but contemporaries would soon forget all, except that\nthere had been gossip about compromising letters. The arrangement proposed\nwas, then, reluctantly submitted to by Mary, according to Robert Melville.\nBut it occurred to Norfolk that he could hardly marry a woman on whom such\na blot rested, or, more probably, that his ambition would gain little by\nwedding a Queen retired, under a cloud, from her realm. If I am right, he\nhad now come, under Lethington's influence, to doubt the authenticity of\nthe Casket Letters.\n\nThat Norfolk opposed compromise appears from Robert Melville's deposition.\nOn arriving in London, he met Herries, who, rather to his surprise, knew\nthe instructions of Mary to Robert himself. 'The Lord Herries sayand to\nthis deponair that he' (Melville) 'was cum thither with sic commission to\ndeale privelie with the Quene of England, howbeit thair wes mair honest\nmen thair' (than Melville). 'The men that had bene the caus of hir\ntrouble' (Morton and the rest) 'wald be prefarit in credit to thame. This\nberair (Melville) be the contraire affirmit that the caus of his cumming\nthair wes to be a witness in caise he should be called upon,' namely to\nthe fact that Mary did not sign her abdication (at Loch Leven) as a free\nagent. Melville goes on to say that, 'in the tyme quhan it was thocht that\ncourse' (the compromise with Murray) 'should have past furthair, thair com\na writing from the quene to the Bishop of Ross that the Scotch partie\nheard the Bishop reid, and partly red himself, bearing amangis uther\npurposis that the Duke of Norfolk had send liggynnis' (Liggens, or Lygons\nhis messenger) 'to hir and forbid hir to dimitt hir crown. And sa the\nBishop willit the Secretair' (Lethington) 'to lief of that course' (the\ncompromise) 'as a thing the Quene (Mary) was not willing to, without the\nDuke' (Norfolk) 'gaif hir counsail thairto.'[295]\n\nThus it appears that Norfolk prevented Mary from pursuing her compromise\n(which Lethington was favouring in his own interest) and from abdicating,\nleaving the Letters unproduced. Lethington had shaken his faith in the\nauthenticity of the Casket Letters. That Mary should have acquiesced in a\ncompromise demonstrates that she dreaded Moray's accusations. That, at a\nword from Norfolk, she reconsidered and altered her plan, proves that she\ncould, in her opinion, outface her accusers, and indicates that Norfolk\nnow distrusted the genuine character of the Letters. She knew, if not by\nthe copies of her Letters which Lethington did (or did not) send her, at\nleast by Lesley's report of that which Lethington showed the English\nCommissioners, what her enemies could do. She would carry the war into\nAfrica, accuse her accusers, and, in a dramatic scene in Westminster Hall,\nbefore the Peers and the foreign Ambassadors, would rout her enemies.\nThat, if accused, she would not be allowed to be present, and to reply,\ndid not occur to her. Such injustice was previously unknown. That she\nwould be submitting to a judge, or judges, she could overlook, or would,\nlater, protest that she had never done. According to Nau, she had made the\nsame offer to defend herself (as we have seen) to Moray, before the Scots\nParliament of December, 1567.\n\nMary's plan was magnificent. Sussex himself, writing from York, on October\n22, saw the force of her tactics.[296] He speaks, as well he might, of\n'the inconstancy and subtleness of the people with whom we deal.' Mary\nmust be found guilty, or the matter must be huddled up 'with a show of\nsaving her honour.' 'The first, I think, will hardly be attempted, for two\ncauses: the one for that if her adverse party accuse her of the murder by\nproducing of her letters, she will deny them, and accuse the most of them\nof manifest consent to the murder, _hardly to be denied_; so as, upon the\ntrial on both sides, _her proofs will judicially fall out best_, as it is\nthought.' The other reason for not finding Mary guilty was that, if little\nJames died, the Hamiltons were next heirs. This would not suit Moray, he\n(like Norfolk) would now wish for more children of Mary's, to keep the\nHamiltons out, but, if she were now defamed, there would be a difficulty\nas to their succession to the crown. So Sussex believed (rightly) that a\ncompromise was intended, for which Lethington, as he says, had been\nworking at York, while Robert Melville was also engaged. Sussex then\nstates the compromise in the same terms as Robert Melville did, adding\nthat Moray would probably hand his proofs over to Mary, and clear her by a\nParliamentary decree. The Hamiltons had other ideas. 'You will find\nLethington wholly bent to composition.' A general routing out of evidence\ndid not suit Lethington.\n\nTo Sussex, the one object was to keep Mary in England; a thing easy if\nMoray produced his proofs, and if Elizabeth, 'by virtue of her\nsuperiority over Scotland,' gave a verdict against Mary. But Sussex\nthought that the proofs of Moray 'will not fall out sufficiently to\ndetermine judicially, if she denies her letters.'\n\nThis was the opinion of a cool, unprejudiced, and well-informed observer.\nMary's guilt could not, he doubted, be judicially proved. Moray's party,\nhe might have added, would have been ruined by an acknowledgment of\nEnglish suzerainty. The one thing was to prevent the Scots from patching a\npeace with Mary. And, to that end, though Sussex does not say so, Mary\nmust not be allowed to appear in her own defence.\n\nOn October 30, Elizabeth held a great Council at Hampton Court. Mary's\nCommissioners, and then those of the Lords, were to have audience of her.\nMary's men were to be told that Elizabeth wished 'certain difficulties\nresolved.' To the Lords, she would say that they should produce their\ncharges: if they were valid, Elizabeth would protect them, and detain Mary\nduring their pleasure. As Mary was sure to hear of this plan, she was to\nbe removed from Bolton to Tutbury, which was not done till later. Various\npeers were to be added to the English Commission, but not the foreign\nAmbassadors; though, on June 20, the Council reckoned it fair to admit\nthem.[297]\n\nMary heard of all this, and of Moray's admission to Elizabeth's presence,\nfrom Hepburn of Riccartoun, Bothwell's friend and kinsman (November\n21).[298] On November 22, therefore, she wrote to bid her Commissioners\nbreak up the Conference, if she, the accused, was denied the freedom to be\npresent, conceded to Moray, the accuser. Nothing could be more correct,\nbut, at the same time, in 'a missive letter' Mary suggested to her\nCommissioners that they should again try to compromise, saving her crown\nand honour.[299] These would not have been saved by the compromise which,\naccording to Robert Melville, Norfolk forbade her to make.\n\n\n\n\nXII\n\n_THE LETTERS AT WESTMINSTER AND HAMPTON COURT_\n\n\nThe Commission opened on November 25 at Westminster, after Elizabeth had\nprotested that she would not 'take upon her to be judge.'[300]\n\nOn the 26th Moray put in a written Protestation, as to their reluctance in\naccusing Mary. They then put in an 'Eik,' or addition, with the formal\ncharge.[301] On the 29th November, the Lords said that this charge might\nbe handed to Mary's Commissioners. Lennox appeared as an accuser, and put\nin 'A Discourse of the Usage' of Darnley by Mary: the last of his\nIndictments. It covered three sheets of paper. Mary's men now entered,\nreceived Moray's accusation, retired, discussed it, and asked for a delay\nfor consideration. On December 1, they returned. Moray's 'Eik' of\naccusation had been presented to Mary's Commissioners on November 29.\nJames Melville says that Lethington was not present, had 'a sore heart,'\nand whispered to Moray that he had shamed himself for ever. The Letters\nwould come out. Mary would retort. Lethington would be undone. Mary's men\nmight have been expected, as they asked for a delay, to protract it till\nthey could consult their mistress. The wintry weather was evil, the roads\nwere foul, communication was slow, and the injustice to Mary of keeping\nher at four or five days' distance from her representatives was\ndisgraceful. Instead of consulting her, the Commissioners for Mary met the\nEnglish on December 1.\n\nThey had none of her courage, and Herries had plainly shown to Elizabeth\nhis want of confidence in Mary's innocence. In June he had asked Elizabeth\nwhat she meant to do if appearances proved against Mary. And he told Mary\nthat he had done so.[302] He now read a tame speech, inveighing against\nthe accusers, and declaring that, when the cause should be further tried,\nsome of them would be proved guilty of entering into bands for Darnley's\nmurder. Lesley followed, stating that he and his fellows must see\nElizabeth, and communicate to her Mary's demand to be heard in person,\nbefore Elizabeth, the Peers, and the Ambassadors; while the accusers must\nbe detained till the end of the cause.[303] On December 3, Lesley and the\nrest presented these demands to Elizabeth at Hampton Court. The Council\nlater put the request before legal advisers, who replied at length. They\nanswered that even God (though He was fully acquainted with all the\ncircumstances) did not condemn Adam and Eve unheard. But as to Mary's\nnon-recognition of a mortal judge, that was absurd. If she meant to be\nheard, she tacitly acknowledged the jurisdiction: which is perfectly true.\nA door must be open or shut. Thirdly, it was ridiculous to ask Elizabeth\nto be present, but only as a spectator. Fourthly, it was no less absurd to\nask all the nobles to attend a trial which might be long, but they might\nchoose representatives, if Mary desired it, to appear when convenient.\nFifthly, it was ridiculous to demand the presence of ambassadors, who\nwould be neither prosecutors, defenders, judges, clerks, nor witnesses:\nthey could only be lookers-on, like other people. That the scene should be\nLondon was reasonable, but it might be elsewhere.\n\nThere was this addition (_puis est adjouxte_), 'We think this voluntary\noffer' (of Mary) 'so important that, in our opinion, all her demands\nshould be granted, without prejudice or contravention to the Queen of\nEngland, so that none may be able to say a word against the manner of\nprocedure.'[304]\n\nTo myself it appears that the majority of the civilians consulted returned\nthe reply which insists that Mary must be tried with acknowledgment of\njurisdiction, if she is to be heard at all, and that the addition,\ndeclaring her demands just, is the conclusion of a minority. Mary wanted\nthe pomp and publicity of a great trial, which, after all, was to be a\nmere appeal to public opinion. As Queen of Scots, she could not destroy\nthe fruits of Bannockburn and the wars of Independence, by acknowledging\nan English sovereign as her Judge and Superior. She could not return to\nthe position of John Balliol under Edward I. She had been beguiled into\nconfiding her cause to Elizabeth, and this was the result.\n\nOn December 4, Mary's men, without consulting her, made a fatal error.\nBefore seeing Elizabeth they met Leicester and Cecil, in a room apart, and\nasked that Elizabeth should be informed of their readiness, even now, to\nmake a compromise, with surety to Moray and his party. Now Mary had\ndeclared to Knollys that, if once Moray accused her publicly, they were\n'past all reconciliation.' That was the only defensible position, yet her\nCommissioners, perhaps with her approval, receded from it. Elizabeth\nseized the opportunity. It was better, she said, and rightly, for her\nsister's honour, that Mary's accusers should be charged with their\naudacious defaming of their Queen, and punished for the same, unless they\ncould show 'apparent just causes of such an attempt.' In fact, Elizabeth\nmust see the Letters, or cause them to be seen by her nobles. She could\nnot admit Mary in person while, as at present, there seemed so little to\njustify the need of her appearance--for the Letters had not yet been\nshown. When they were shown, it would probably turn out, she said, that\nMary need not appear at all.\n\nThe unhappy Scottish Commissioners tried to repair a blunder, which\nclearly arose from their undeniable want of confidence in their cause. The\nproposal for a compromise, they said, was entirely their own. We remember\nthat, by Norfolk's desire, Mary had already refused a compromise to which\nshe had once consented. She would probably, in the now existing\ncircumstances, have adhered to her resolution.[305]\n\nOn December 6, Moray and his party were at Westminster to produce their\nproofs. But Lesley put in a protest that he must, in that case, withdraw.\nThe English Commissioners declared that, in this protest, Elizabeth's\nwords of December 4 were misrepresented: her words (as to seeing Moray's\nproofs) having, in fact, been utterly ambiguous. She had first averred\nthat Moray must be punished if he should be unable to show some apparent\njust causes 'of such an attempt,' and then, at a later stage of the\nconversation, had 'answered that she meant not to require any proofs.' So\nruns the report, annotated and endorsed by Cecil.[306] But now the Council\nwere sitting to receive the proofs which Elizabeth had first declared that\nshe would, and then that she would not ask for, while, after vowing that\nshe would not ask for them, she had said that she 'would receive them for\nher own satisfaction'!\n\nThe words of the protest by Mary's Commissioners described all this, and\nthe production of proofs in Mary's absence, as 'a preposterous\norder.'[307] No more preposterous proceedings were ever heard of in\nhistory. The English Commissioners, seizing on the words 'a preposterous\norder,' declined to receive the protest till it should be amended, and at\nonce called on Moray to produce his proofs. Moray then put in the 'Book of\nArticles,' 'containing certain conjectures,' a long arraignment of Mary.\nIn the Lennox Papers is a shorter collection of 'Probable and Infallyable\nConjectures,' an early form of Buchanan's 'Detection.' The 'Book of\nArticles' occupies twenty-six closely printed pages, in Hosack, who first\npublished it, and is written in Scots.[308] The band for Bothwell's\nmarriage is said to have been made at Holyrood, and Mary's signature is\ndeclared to have been appended later. This mysterious band seems to have\nreached Cecil _unofficially_, and is marked 'To this the Queen gave\nconsent the night before the marriage,' May 14 (cf. p. 254). Nothing is\nnoted as to Darnley's conduct in seeking to flee the realm in September,\n1566, and this account is given of the well-known scene in which Mary, the\nCouncil, and du Croc attempted to extract from him his grievances. 'He was\nrejected and rebuked opinlie in presence of diverse Lords then of her\nprevie counsale, quhill he was constrenit to return to Streviling.'\nThough less inaccurate than the 'Detection,' the 'Book of Articles' is a\nviolent _ex parte_ harangue.\n\nMoray also put in the Act of Parliament of December, 1567. The English\nheard the 'Book of Articles' and the Act read aloud, on the night of\nDecember 6. On the 7th,[309] Moray hoped that they were satisfied. They\ndeclined to express an opinion. Moray retired with his company, and\nreturned bearing, at last, The Casket. Morton, on oath, declared that his\naccount of the finding of the Casket was true, and that the contents had\nbeen kept unaltered. Then a contract of marriage, said to be in Mary's\nhand, and signed, but without date, was produced. The contract speaks of\nDarnley's death as a past event, but they 'did suppose' that the deed was\nmade _before_ the murder. They may have based this suspicion on Casket\nLetter III. (or VIII.) which, as we shall show, fits into no _known_ part\nof Mary's relations with Bothwell. Another contract, said to be in\nHuntly's hand, and dated April 5, was next exhibited. Papers as to\nBothwell's Trial were shown, and those for his divorce. The Glasgow Letter\nI. (which in sequence of time ought to be II.) was displayed in French,\nand then Letter II.[310] _Neither letter is stated to have been copied in\nFrench from the French original_, and we have no copies of the original\nFrench, which, however, certainly existed. Next day (December 8) Moray\nproduced seven other French writings 'in the lyk Romain hand,' which seven\nwritings, '_being copied_, weare red in Frenche, and a due collation made\nthereof as neare as could be by reading and inspection, and made to accord\nwith the originals, which the said Erle of Murray required to be\nredelivered, and did thereupon deliver the copies being collationd, the\ntenours of which vii wrytinges hereafter follow in ordre, _the first being\nin manner of a sonnett_, \"O Dieux ayez de moy etc.\"' Apparently all the\nsonnets here count as one piece, the other six papers being the Casket\nLetters III.-VIII.\n\nNo French contemporary copies of Letters I. II. have been discovered, as\nin the cases of III. IV. V. VI. It is notable that while the sonnets, and\nLetters III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. are said to have been copied from the\nFrench, this is not said of Letters I. and II. The English versions of I.\nand II. have been collated with the French, whether in copies or the\noriginals. Perhaps no French copies of these have been found, because no\ncopies were ever made: the absence of the copies in French is deplorable.\n\nThe next things were the depositions (not the dying confessions, which\nimplicated some of the Lords) of Tala, Bowton, Powrie, and Dalgleish, and\nother legal documents. It does not appear that Mary's warrant for the\nsigning of the Ainslie band, though exhibited at York, was again\nproduced.[311] On the 9th the Commissioners read the Casket Papers 'duly\ntranslated into English.' They had been translated throughout the night,\nprobably, and very ill translated they were, to judge by the extant\ncopies.[312] Several of the copies are endorsed _in Scots_. Lesley now put\nin a revised and amended copy of his Protest of December 6. Morton put in\na written copy of his Declaration as to the finding of the Casket, and\nswore to its truth.[313]\n\nMorton's tale is that, as he was dining with Lethington in Edinburgh, on\nJune 19, 1567, four days after Mary's surrender at Carberry, 'a certain\nman' secretly informed him that Hepburn, Parson of Auldhamstokes, John\nCockburn, brother of Mary's adherent, Cockburn of Skirling, and George\nDalgleish, a valet of Bothwell's (and witness, at his divorce, to his\nadultery), had entered the Castle, then held by Sir James Balfour, who\nprobably betrayed them. Morton sent Archibald Douglas (the blackest\ntraitor of the age) and two other retainers to seize the men. Robert\nDouglas, brother of Archibald, caught Dalgleish in the Potter Row, not far\nfrom the Kirk o' Field Gate, with charters of Bothwell's lands. Being\ncarried before Morton, Dalgleish denied that he had any other charge: he\nwas detained, and, on June 20, placed in the Tolbooth. Being put into some\ntorture engine, he asked leave to go with Robert Douglas to the Potter\nRow, where he revealed the Casket. It was carried to Morton at 8 o'clock\nat night, and, next day, June 21, was broken open, 'in presence of Atholl,\nMar, Glencairn, Morton, Home, Semple, Sanquhar, the Master of Graham,\nLethington, Tullibardine, and Archibald Douglas.' The Letters were\ninspected (_sichtit_) and delivered over to Morton, who had in no respect\naltered, added to, or subtracted from them.\n\nTrue or false, and it is probably true, the list of persons present adds\nnothing to the credibility of Morton's account. The Commissioners of Mary\nhad withdrawn; there could not be, and there was not, any\ncross-examination of the men named in Morton's list, as witnesses of the\nopening of the Casket. Lethington alone, of these, was now present, if\nindeed he appeared at this sitting, and _his_ emotions may be imagined!\nThe rest might learn, later, that they had been named, from Lethington,\nafter he joined Mary's cause, but it is highly improbable that Lethington\nwanted to stir this matter again, or gave any information to Home (who was\nwith him in the long siege of the Castle). Sanquhar and Tullibardine,\ncited by Morton, signed the band for delivering Mary from Loch Leven; so\nmuch effect had the 'sichting' of the Casket Letters on _them_. The story\nof Morton is probably true, so far: certainly the Lords, about June 21,\ngot the Casket, whatever its contents then were. But that the contents\nremained unadded to and unimpaired, and unaltered, is only attested by\nMorton's oath, and by the necessary silence of Lethington, who, of all\nthose at Westminster, alone was present at the 'sichting,' on June 21,\n1567. But Lethington dared not speak, even if he dared to be present. If\nany minute was made of the meeting of June 21, if any inventory of the\ndocuments in the Casket was then compiled, Morton produced neither of\nthese indispensable corroborations at Westminster. His peril was perhaps\nas great as Lethington's, but he was of a different temperament.\n\nThe case of the Prosecution is full of examples of such unscientific\nhandling by the cautious Scots, as the omission of minutes of June 21.\n\nNext, on December 9, a written statement by Darnley's servant, Nelson, who\nsurvived the explosion, was sworn to by the man himself. His evidence\nchiefly bore on the possession of the Keys of Kirk o' Field by Mary's\nservants, and her economy in using a door for a cover of the 'bath-vat,'\nand in removing a black velvet bed. We have dealt with it already (p.\n133).\n\nNext was put in Crawford's deposition as to his conversations with Darnley\nat Glasgow. This was intended to corroborate Letter II., but, as shall\nlater be shown, it produces the opposite effect.[314] At an unknown date,\nCecil received the Itinerary of Mary during the period under examination,\nwhich is called 'Cecil's Journal,' and is so drawn up as to destroy\nMoray's case, if we accept its chronology. We know not on what authority\nit was compiled, but Lennox, on June 11, had asked his retainers to\nascertain some of the dates contained in this 'Journal.'\n\nOn December 14[315] Elizabeth added Northumberland and Westmorland to her\nCommissioners. They not long after rose in arms for Mary's cause.\nShrewsbury, Huntingdon, Worcester, and Warwick also met, at Hampton Court.\nThey were to be made to understand the case, and were told to keep it\nsecret. Among the other documents, on December 14, the _originals_ of the\nCasket Letters 'being redd, were duly conferred and compared for the\nmanner of writing and fashion of orthography, with sundry other letters,\nlong time heretofore written and sent by the said Quene of Scots to the\nQuene's majesty. And next after, there was produced and redd a declaration\nof the Erle of Morton of the manner of the finding of the said lettres, as\nthe same was exhibited upon his othe, the ix of December. In collation\nwhereof' (of _what_?) 'no difference was found. Of all which letters and\nwritings, the true copies are contained in the memorialls of the actes of\nthe sessions of the 7 and 8 of December.' Apparently the 'collation' is\nintended to refer to the comparison of the Casket Letters with those of\nMary to Elizabeth. Mr. Froude runs the collation into the sentence\npreceding that about Morton, in one quotation.\n\nThe confessions of Tala, Bowton, and Dalgleish were also read, and, 'as\nnight approached' (about 3.30 P.M.), the proceedings ended.[316]\n\nThe whole voluminous proceedings at York and Westminster were read\nthrough: the 'Book of Articles' seems to have been read, _after_ the\nCasket Letters were read, but this was not the case. On a brief December\nday, the Council had work enough, and yet Mr. Froude writes that the\nCasket Letters 'were examined long and minutely by each and every of the\nLords who were present.'[317] We hear of no other examination of the\nhandwriting than this: which, as every one can see, from the amount of\nother work, and the brevity of daylight, must have been very rapid and\nperfunctory.\n\nThere happens to be a recent case in which the reputation of a celebrated\nlady depended on a question of handwriting. Madame Blavatsky was accused\nof having forged the letters, from a mysterious being named Koot Hoomi,\nwhich were wont to drift out of metetherial space into the common\natmosphere of drawing-rooms. A number of Koot Hoomi's _later_ epistles,\nwith others by Madame Blavatsky, were submitted to Mr. Netherclift, the\nexpert, and to Mr. Sims of the British Museum. Neither expert thought that\nMadame Blavatsky had written the letters attributed to Koot Hoomi. But Dr.\nRichard Hodgson and Mrs. Sidgwick procured earlier letters by Koot Hoomi\nand Madame Blavatsky. They found that, in 1878, and 1879, the letter _d_,\nas written in English, occurred 210 times as against the German _d_, 805\ntimes. But in Madame Blavatsky's earlier hand the English _d_ occurred but\n15 times, to 2,200 of the German _d_. The lady had, in this and other\nrespects, altered her writing, which therefore varied more and more from\nthe hand of Koot Hoomi. Mr. Netherclift and Mr. Sims yielded to this and\nother proofs: and a cold world is fairly well convinced that Koot Hoomi\ndid not write his letters. They were written by Madame Blavatsky.[318]\n\nThe process of counting thousands of isolated characters, and comparing\nthem, was decidedly not undertaken in the hurried assembly on that short\nwinter day at Hampton Court, when the letters 'were long and minutely\nexamined by each and every of the Lords who were present,' as Mr. Froude\nsays. On the following day (December 15) the 'Book of Articles' was read\naloud; though the minute of December 14 would lead us to infer that it was\nread on that day. The minute states that 'there was produced a writing in\nmanner of Articles ... but, before these were read,' the Casket Letters\nwere studied. One would imagine that the 'Book of Articles' was read on\nthe same day, after the Casket Letters had been perused. The deposition of\nPowrie, the Casket contracts, and other papers followed, and then another\ndeposition of Crawford, which had been put in on December 13.\n\nThis deposition is in the Lennox MSS. in the long paper containing the\ndescription of the mysterious impossible Letter, which Moray also\ndescribed, to de Silva. Crawford now swore that Bowton and Tala, 'at the\nhour of their death,' confessed, to him, that Mary would never let\nBothwell rest till he slew Darnley. Oddly enough, even Buchanan, or\nwhoever gives the dying confessions of these men, in the 'Detection,' says\nnothing about their special confession to Crawford.[319] The object of\nCrawford's account appears clearly from what the contemporaries, for\ninstance the 'Diurnal,' tell us about the public belief that the\nconfession 'fell out in Mary's favour.'\n\n Hepburne, Daglace, Peuory, to John Hey, mad up the nesse,\n Which fowre when they weare put to death the treason did confesse;\n And sayd that Murray, Moreton to, with others of ther rowte\n Were guyltie of the murder vyl though nowe they loke full stowte.\n Yet some perchaunce doo thinke that I speake for affection heare,\n Though I would so, thre thousan can hearin trew witness beare\n Who present weare as well as I at thexecution tyme\n & hard how these in conscience pricte confessed who did the cryme.[320]\n\nA number of Acts and other public papers were then read; 'the whole lying\naltogether on the council table, were one after another showed, rather \"by\nhap\" as they lay on the table than by any choice of their natures, as it\nmight had there been time.' Mr. Henderson argues, as against Hosack,\nSchiern, and Skelton, that this phrase applies only to the proceedings of\nDecember 15, not to the examination of the Casket Letters. This seems more\nprobable, though it might be argued, from the prolepsis about reading the\n'Book of Articles' on the 14th, that the minutes of both days were written\ntogether, on the second day, and that the hugger-mugger described applies\nto the work of both days. This is unimportant; every one must see that the\nexamination of handwriting was too hasty to be critical.\n\nThe assembled nobles were then told that Elizabeth did not think she\n_could_ let Mary 'come into her presence,' while unpurged of all these\nhorrible crimes. The Earls all agreed that her Majesty's delicacy of\nfeeling, 'as the case now did stand,' was worthy of her, and so ended the\nfarce.[321]\n\nMr. Froude, on the authority (apparently) of a Simancas MS., tells us that\n'at first only four--Cecil, Sadleyr, Leicester, and Bacon--declared\nthemselves convinced.'[322] Lingard quotes a Simancas MS. saying that the\nnobles 'showed some heart, and checked a little the terrible fury with\nwhich Cecil sought to ruin' Mary.[323] Camden (writing under James VI.)\nsays that Sussex, Arundel, Clinton, and Norfolk thought that Mary had a\nright to be heard in person. But Elizabeth held this advantage: Mary would\nnot acknowledge her as a judge: she must therefore admit Mary to her\npresence, if she admitted her at all, _not_ as a culprit. Elizabeth (who\nprobably forgot Amy Robsart's affair) deemed herself too good and pure to\nsee, not as a prisoner at the Bar, a lady of dubious character. Thus all\nwas well. Mary was firmly discredited (though after all most of the nobles\npresently approved of her marriage to Norfolk), yet she could not plead\nher cause in person.\n\n\n\n\nXIII\n\n_MARY'S ATTITUDE AFTER THE CONFERENCE_\n\n\nThe haggling was not ended. On December 16, 1568, Elizabeth offered three\nchoices to Lesley: Mary might send a trusty person with orders to make a\ndirect answer; or answer herself to nobles sent by Elizabeth; or appoint\nher Commissioners, or any others, to answer before Elizabeth's\nCommissioners.[324] Lesley fell back on Elizabeth's promises: and an\nanecdote about Trajan. On December 23 or 24, Mary's Commissioners received\na letter by her written at Bolton on December 19.[325] Mr. Hosack says\nthat 'she commanded them forthwith to charge the Earl of Moray and his\naccomplices' with Darnley's murder.[326] But that was just what Mary did\nnot do as far as her letter goes, though on December 24, Herries declared\nthat she did.[327] Friends and foes of Mary alike pervert the facts. Mary\nfirst said that she had received the 'Eik' in which her accusers lied,\nattributing to her the crimes of which they are guilty. She glanced\nscornfully at the charge that _she_ meant to murder her child, whom _they_\nhad striven to destroy in her womb, at Riccio's murder: 'intending to have\nslane him and us both.' She then, before she answers, asks to see the\ncopies and originals of the Casket Letters, 'the principal writings, if\nthey have any produced,' which she as yet knew not. And then, if she may\nsee Elizabeth, she will prove her own innocence and her adversaries'\nguilt.\n\nThus she does not by any means bid her friends _forthwith_ to accuse her\nfoes. That would have been absurd, till she had seen the documents brought\nagainst her as proofs. But, to shorten a long story, neither at the\nrepeated request of her Commissioners, nor of La Mothe, who demanded this\nact of common justice, would Elizabeth permit Mary to see either the\noriginals, or even copies, of the Casket Letters. She promised, and broke\nher promise.[328]\n\nThis incident left Mary with the advantage. How can an accused person\nanswer, if not allowed to see the documents in the case? We may argue that\nElizabeth refused, because politics drifted into new directions, and\ninspired new designs. But Mary's defenders can always maintain that she\nnever was allowed to see the evidence on which she was accused. From\nMary's letter of December 19, or rather from Lesley's precis of it\n('Extract of the principall heidis') it is plain that she does not bid her\nCommissioners accuse anybody, _at the moment_. But, on December 22,\nLindsay challenged Herries to battle for having said that Moray, and 'his\ncompany here present,' were guilty of Darnley's death. Herries admitted\nhaving said that _some_ of them were guilty. Lindsay lies in his throat if\nhe avers that Herries spoke of him specially: and, on that quarrel,\nHerries will fight. And he will fight any of the principals of them if\nthey sign Lindsay's challenge, 'and I shall point them forth and fight\nwith some of the traitors therein.' He communicated the challenge and\nreply to Leicester.[329] Herries probably hoped to fight Morton and\nLethington.\n\nOn the 24th, Moray having complained that he and his company were\nslandered by Mary's Commissioners, Lesley and Herries answered 'that they\nhad special command sent to them from the Queen their Mistress, to lay the\nsaid crime to their charge,' and would accuse them. They were appointed to\ndo this on Christmas Day, but only put in an argumentative answer to\nMoray's 'Eik.' But on January 11, when Elizabeth had absolved both Moray\nand Mary (a ludicrous conclusion) and was allowing Moray and his company\nto go home, Cecil said that Moray wished to know whether Herries and\nLesley would openly accuse him and his friends, or not. They declared that\nMary had bidden them make the charge, and that they had done so, _on the\ncondition_ that Mary first received copies of the Casket documents. As\nsoon as Mary received these, they would name, accuse, and prove the case,\nagainst the guilty. They themselves, as private persons, had only hearsay\nevidence, and would accuse no man. Moray and his party offered to go to\nBolton, and be accused. But Mary (as her Commissioners at last understood)\nwould not play her card, her evidence in black and white, till she saw the\nhand of her adversaries, as was fair, and she was never allowed to see the\nCasket documents.[330] Mary's Commissioners appear to have blundered as\nusual. They gave an impression, first that they would accuse\nunconditionally, next that they sneaked out of the challenge.[331] But, in\nfact, Mary had definitely made the delivery to her of the Casket Letters,\noriginals or even copies, and her own presence to plead her own cause, the\nnecessary preliminary conditions of producing her own charges and proofs.\n\nMary's attitude as regards the Casket Papers is now, I think,\nintelligible. There was a moment, as we have seen, during the intrigues at\nYork, when she consented to resign her crown, and let the matter be hushed\nup. From that position she receded, at Norfolk's desire. The Letters were\nproduced by her adversaries, at Westminster and at Hampton Court. She then\noccupied at once her last line of defence, as she had originally planned\nit. If allowed to see the documents put in against her, and to confront\nher accusers, she would produce evidence in black and white, which would\nso damage her opponents that her denial of the Letters would be accepted\nby the foreign ambassadors and the peers of England. 'Her proofs will\njudicially fall out best as is thought,' Sussex wrote, and he may have\nknown what 'her proofs' were.\n\nIf we accept this as Mary's line, we can account, as has already been\nhinted, for the extraordinary wrigglings of Lethington. At York, as\nalways, he was foremost to show, or talk of the Casket Papers, _in\nprivate_, as a means of extorting a compromise, and hushing up the affair:\n_publicly_, he was most averse to their production. Whether he had a hand\nin falsifying the papers we may guess; but he knew that their public\nexhibition would make Mary desperate, and drive her to exhibit _her_\n'proofs.' These would be fatal to himself.\n\nWe have said that Mary never forgave Lethington: who had been the best\nliked of her advisers, and, in his own interests, had ever pretended to\nwish to proceed against her 'in dulse manner.' Why did she so detest the\nman who, at least, died in her service?\n\nThe proofs of her detestation are found all through the MS. of her\nsecretary, Claude Nau, written after Lethington's death. They cannot be\nexplained away, as Sir John Skelton tries to do, by a theory that the\nunderlings about Mary were jealous of Lethington. Nau had not known him,\nand his narrative came direct from Mary herself. It is, of course,\nworthless as evidence in her favour, but it is highly valuable as an index\nof Mary's own mind, and of her line of apology _pro vita sua_.\n\nNau, then, declares (we have told all this, but may recapitulate it) that\nthe Lords, in the spring of 1567, sent Lethington, and two others, to ask\nher to marry Bothwell. Twice she refused them, objecting the rumours about\nBothwell's guilt. Twice she refused, but Lethington pointed out that\nBothwell had been legally cleared, and, after the Parliament of April,\n1567, they signed Ainslie's band. Yet no list of the signers contains the\nname of Lethington, though, according to Nau, he urged the marriage. After\nthe marriage, it was Lethington who induced the Lords to rise against\nBothwell, with whom he was (as we elsewhere learn) on the worst terms.\nLethington it was who brought his friend and kinsman, Atholl, into the\nrising. At Carberry Hill, Mary wished to parley with Lethington and\nAtholl, who both excused themselves, as not being in full agreement with\nthe Lords. She therefore yielded to Kirkcaldy; and Bothwell, ere she rode\naway, gave her the murder band (this can hardly be true), signed by\nMorton, Lethington, Balfour, and others, bidding her keep it carefully.\nEntrapped by the Lords, Mary, by Lethington's advice, was imprisoned in\nthe house of the Provost of Edinburgh. Lethington was 'extremely opposed'\nto her, in her dreadful distress; he advised imprisonment in Loch Leven;\nhe even, Randolph says, counselled the Lords to slay her, some said to\nstrangle her, while persuading Throckmorton that he was her best friend.\nLethington tried to win her favour in her prison, but, having 'no\nassurance from her,' fled on a false report of her escape. Lethington\nfought against her at Langside, and Mary knew very well why, though he\nprivately displayed the Casket Letters, he secretly intrigued for her at\nYork. Even his final accession (1569) to her party, and his death in her\ncause, did not win her forgiveness.\n\nShe dated from Carberry Hill her certain knowledge of his guilt in the\nmurder, which she always held in reserve for a favourable opportunity.\nBut, as she neither was allowed to see the Casket Letters, nor to appear\nin person before the Peers, that opportunity never came.\n\nTo conclude this part of the inquiry: Mary's attitude, as regards the\nLetters, was less that of conscious innocence, than of a player who has\nstrong cards in her hand and awaits the chance of bringing out her\ntrumps.\n\n\n\n\nXIV\n\n_INTERNAL EVIDENCE OF THE LETTERS_\n\n\nLETTER I\n\nThis Letter, usually printed as Letter I., was the first of the Casket\nLetters which Mary's accusers laid before the Commission of Inquiry at\nWestminster (December 7, 1568).[332] It does not follow that the accusers\nregarded this Letter as first in order of composition. There exists a\ncontemporary copy of an English translation, hurriedly made from the\nFrench; the handwriting is that of Cecil's clerk. The endorsing is, as\nusual, by a Scot, and runs, 'Ane short Lettre from Glasco to the Erle\nBothwell. Prufes her disdaign against her husband.' Possibly this Letter,\nthen, was put in _first_, to prove Mary's hatred of Darnley, and so to\nlead up to Letter II., which distinctly means murder. If the accusers,\nhowever, regarded this piece (Letter I.) as first in order of composition,\nthey did not understand the meaning and drift of the papers which they had\nseized.[333]\n\nLetter I., so called, must be, in order of composition, a sequel to Letter\nII. The sequence of events would run as follows: if we reject the\nchronology as given in 'Cecil's Journal,' a chronological summary handed\nto Cecil, we know not by whom, and supply the prosecution with a feasible\nscheme of time. 'Cecil's Journal' makes Mary leave Edinburgh on January\n21, stay at Lord Livingstone's house of Callendar (not Callander in\nPerthshire) till January 23, and then enter Glasgow. If this is right,\nLetters I. and II. are forgeries, for II. could not, by internal evidence,\nhave been finished before Mary's second night, at least, in Glasgow,\nwhich, if she arrived on January 23, would be January 24. Consequently it\ncould not (as in the statement of Paris, the alleged bearer) reach\nBothwell the day before his departure for Liddesdale, which 'Cecil's\nJournal' dates on January 24. Moreover, on the scheme of dates presented\nin 'Cecil's Journal,' Mary must have written and dispatched Letter I. on\nthe morning of January 25 to Bothwell, whom it could not reach (for he was\nthen making a raid on the Elliots, in Liddesdale), and Mary must, at the\nsame time, have been labouring at the long Letter II. All this, with other\nnecessary inferences from the scheme of dates, is frankly absurd.[334]\n\nThe defenders of Mary, like Mr. Hosack, meet the Lords on the field of\nwhat they regard as the Lords' own scheme of dates, and easily rout them.\nIn a court of law this is fair procedure; in history we must assume that\nthe Lords, if the Journal represents their ideas, may have erred in their\ndates. Now two contemporary townsmen of Edinburgh, Birrel, and the author\nof the 'Diurnal of Occurrents,' coincide in making Mary leave Edinburgh on\nJanuary 20. Their notes were separately written, without any possible idea\nthat they might be appealed to by posterity as evidence in a State\ncriminal case. The value of their testimony is discussed in Appendix C,\n'The date of Mary's Visit to Glasgow.'\n\nProvisionally accepting the date of the two diarists, we find that the\nQueen left Edinburgh on January 20, slept at Callendar, and possibly\nentered Glasgow on January 21. Drury from Berwick said that she entered on\nJanuary 22, which, again, makes the letter impossible. Let us, however,\nsuppose her to begin her long epistle, Letter II., at Glasgow on the night\nof January 21, finish it in the midnight hours of January 22, and send it\nto Bothwell by Paris (his valet, who had just entered _her_ service) on\nJanuary 23. Paris, in his declaration of August 10, 1569, avers that he\nmet Bothwell, gave him the letter, stayed in Edinburgh till next day,\nagain met Bothwell returning from Kirk o' Field, then received from him\nfor Mary a letter, a diamond (ring?), and a loving message; he received\nalso a letter from Lethington, and from both a verbal report that Kirk o'\nField was to be Darnley's home. Paris then returned to Glasgow. If Paris,\nleaving Edinburgh 'after dinner,' say three o'clock, on the 24th, did not\nreach Glasgow till the following noon, then the whole scheme of time\nstands out clearly. He left Glasgow on January 23, with the long Letter\n(II.) which Mary wrote on January 21 and 22. He gave it to Bothwell on the\n23rd, received replies 'after dinner' on the 24th, slept at Callendar or\nelsewhere on the way, and reached Glasgow about noon on January 25. If,\nhowever, Paris reached Glasgow on the day he left Edinburgh (January 24),\nthe scheme breaks down.\n\nIf he did not arrive till noon on the 25th, all is clear, and Letter I.\nfalls into its proper place as really Letter II., and is easily\nintelligible. Its contents run thus: Mary, who left Bothwell on January\n21, upbraids him for neglect of herself. She expected news, and an answer\nto her earlier Letter (II.) dispatched on the 23rd, and has received none.\nThe news she looked for was to tell her what she ought to do. If no news\ncomes, she will, 'according to her commission,' take Darnley to\nCraigmillar on Monday: she actually did take him on Monday, as far as\nCallendar. But she is clearly uncertain, when she writes on January 25, as\nto whether Craigmillar has been finally decided upon. A possible\nalternative was present to her mind. After describing the amorous Darnley,\nand her own old complaint, a pain in the side, she says, 'If Paris doth\nbring back unto me that for which I have sent, it should much amend me.'\nNews of Bothwell, brought by Paris, will help to cure her. She had\nexpected news on the day before, January 24.\n\nNothing could be more natural. Mary and Bothwell had parted on January 21.\nShe should have heard from him, if he were a punctual and considerate\nlover, on the 23rd; at latest Paris should have brought back on the 24th\nhis reply to her long letter, numbered II. but really I. But the morning\nof 'this Saturday' (the 25th) has dawned, and brought no news, no answer,\nno Paris. (That is, if Paris either slept in Edinburgh on the night of the\n24th, or somewhere on the long dark moorland road.) Impatient of three\ndays' retarded news, ignorant as to whether Craigmillar is fixed on for\nDarnley, or not, without a reply to the letter carried to Bothwell by\nParis (Letter II.), Mary writes Letter I. on January 25. It is borne by\nher chamberlain, Beaton, who is going on legal business to Edinburgh.\nNothing can be simpler or more easily intelligible.\n\nThere remains a point of which much has been made. In the English, but not\nin the Scots translation, Mary says, '_I send this present to Lethington_,\nto be delivered to you by Beaton.' The Scots is 'I send this be Betoun,\nquha gais' to his legal business. Nothing about Lethington. On first\nobserving this, I inferred--(_a_) that Lethington had the reference to\nhimself cut out of the Scots version, as connecting him with the affair.\n(_b_) I inferred that Lethington could have had no hand in forging the\noriginal French (if forging there was), because he never would have\nallowed his name to appear in such a connection. Later I observed that\nseveral Continental critics had made similar inferences.[335] But all this\nis merely one of the many mare's-nests of criticism. For proof of the\nfutility of such deductions see Appendix E, 'The Translation of the Casket\nLetters.'\n\nOn the whole, I am constrained to regard Letter I. as possibly authentic\nin itself, and as affording a strong presumption that there was an\nauthentic Letter II. Letter I. was written, and sent on a chance\nopportunity, just because no answer had been received to the Letter\nwrongly numbered II. This was a circumstance not likely to be invented.\n\n\nLETTER II\n\nRound this long Letter, of more than 3,000 words, the Marian controversy\nhas raged most fiercely. Believing that they had demonstrated its lack of\nauthenticity, the Queen's defenders have argued that the charges against\nher must be false. A criminal charge, supported by evidence deliberately\ncontaminated, falls to the ground. But we cannot really argue thus: the\nQueen may have been guilty, even if her foes perjured themselves on\ncertain points, in their desire to fortify their case. Yet the objections\nto Letter II. are certainly many and plausible.\n\n1. While the chronology of 'Cecil's Journal' was accepted, the Letter\ncould not be regarded as genuine. We have shown, however, that by\nrectifying the dates of the accusers, the external chronology of the\nLetter can be made to harmonise with real time.\n\n2. The existence of another long letter, never produced (the letter cited\nby Moray and Lennox) was another source of suspicion. While we had only\nMoray's account of the letter in July 1567, and while Lennox's version of\nabout the same date in 1568 was still unknown, Mr. Hosack argued thus:\n'What is the obvious and necessary inference? Is it not that the forgers,\nin the first instance, drew up a letter couched in far stronger terms than\nthat which they eventually produced?' 'Whenever,' says Robertson, 'a paper\nis forged with a particular intention, the eagerness of the forger to\nestablish the point in view, his solicitude to cut off all doubts and\ncavils, and to avoid any appearance of uncertainty, seldom fail of\nprompting him to use expressions the most explicit and full to his\npurpose.' 'In writing this passage, we could well imagine,' says Mr.\nHosack, 'that the historian had his eye on the Simancas' (Moray's)\n'description of the Glasgow Letter (II.), but he never saw it.... We must\nassume that, upon consideration, the letter described by Moray, which\nseems to have been the first draft of the forgery, was withdrawn, and\nanother substituted in its place.'[336] This reasoning, of course, is\nreinforced by the discovery of Lennox's account of the Letter. But Mr.\nHosack overlooked a possibility. The Lords may have, originally, after\nthey captured the Casket, forged the Letter spoken of by Moray and Lennox.\nBut they may actually have discovered Letter II., and, on reflection, may\nhave produced _that_, or a garbled form of that, and suppressed the\nforgery. To Letter II. they _may_ have added 'substantious clauses,' but\nif any of it is genuine, it is compromising.\n\n3. One of the internal difficulties is more apparent than real. It turns\non the internal chronology, which seems quite impossible and absurd, and\nmust, it is urged, be the result of treacherous dovetailing. The\ncircumstance that Crawford, a retainer of Lennox, was put forward at the\nWestminster Commission, in December, 1568, to corroborate part of the\nLetter makes a real difficulty. He declared that Darnley had reported to\nhim the conversations between himself and the Queen, described by Mary, in\nLetter II., and that he wrote down Darnley's words 'immediately, at the\ntime,' for the use of Lennox. But Crawford proved too much. His report\nwas, partly, an English translation of the Scots translation of the French\nof the Letter. Therefore he either took his corroborative evidence from\nthe Letter, or the Letter was in part based on Crawford's report, and\ntherefore was forged. Bresslau, Cardauns, Philippson, Mr. Hosack, and Sir\nJohn Skelton adopted the latter alternative. The Letter, they say, was\nforged, in part, on Crawford's report.\n\n4. The contents of the Letter are alien to Mary's character and style:\nincoherent, chaotic, out of keeping.\n\nWe take these objections in the order indicated. First, as to the internal\ndates of the Letter. These are certainly impossible. Is this the result of\nclumsy dovetailing by a forger?\n\nThere is no date of day of the month or week, but the Letter was clearly\nbegun on the night of Mary's arrival in Glasgow (by our theory, January\n21). Unless it was finished in the night of January 22, and sent off on\nJanuary 23, it cannot be genuine: cannot have reached Bothwell in time. We\nare to suppose that, on sitting down to write, Mary made, first, a list of\ntwelve heads of her discourse, on a separate sheet of paper, and then\nbegan her epistle on another sheet. Through paragraphs 1, 2, 3,[337] she\nfollowed the sequence of her notes of heads, and began paragraph 4, 'The\nKing sent for Joachim' (one of her servants) 'yesternicht, and asked why I\nlodged not beside him.'[338]\n\nIf this means that Mary was in Glasgow on the day before she began\nwriting, the dates cannot be made to harmonise with facts. For her first\nnight of writing must then be January 22, her second January 23; Bothwell,\ntherefore, cannot receive the letter till January 24, on which day he went\nto Liddesdale, and Paris, the bearer, declared that he gave the letter to\nBothwell the day _before_ he rode to Liddesdale.\n\nThe answer is obvious. Joachim probably reached Glasgow on the day before\nMary's arrival, namely on January 20. It was usual to send the royal beds,\ncarpets, tapestries, and 'cloth of State' in front of the travelling\nprince, to make the rooms ready before he came. Joachim would arrive with\nthe upholstery a day in advance of Mary. Therefore, on her first night,\nJanuary 21, she can speak of what the King said to Joachim 'yesterday.'\n\nThe next indication of date is in paragraphs 7, 8. Paragraph 7 ends: 'The\nmorne I wil speik to him upon this point' (part of the affair of Hiegait);\nparagraph 8 is written on the following day: 'As to the rest of Willie\nHiegait's, he' (Darnley) 'confessit it, bot it was the morne efter my\ncumming or he did it.' The English is, 'The rest as [to?] Wille Hiegait\n[he?] hath confessed, but it was the next day that he' (Darnley) 'came\nhither,' that is, came so far on in his confession. Paragraph 8,\ntherefore, tells the results of that examination of Darnley, which Mary\npromised at the end of paragraph 7 to make 'to-morrow.' We are now in a\nnew day, January 22, at night.\n\nBut, while paragraphs 9, 10, 11 (about 500 words) intervene, paragraph 12\nopens thus, '_This is my first journey_' (day's work); '_I will end\nto-morrow_. I write all, of how little consequence so ever it be, to the\nend you may take of the whole that shall be best for your purpose. I do\nhere a work that I hate much, _but I had begun it this morning_.'[339]\n\nHere, then, after 500 words confessedly written on her _second_ night,\nMary says that this is her _first_ day's work. The natural theory is that\nhere we detect clumsy dovetailing by a forger, who has cut a genuine\nletter into pieces, and inserted false matter. But another explanation may\nbe suggested. Mary, on her first night, did not really stop at paragraph\n7: 'I will talk to him to-morrow on that point.' _These words happened to\ncome at the foot of her sheet of paper._ She took up another fresh page,\nand wrote on, 'This is my first journey ...' down to 'I had begun it this\nmorning.' Then she stopped and went to bed. Next night (January 22) she\ntook up the same sheet or page as she had written three sentences on, the\nevening before, but _she took it up on the clean side_, and did not\nobserve her words 'This is my first journey.... I had begun it this\nmorning' till she finished, and turned over the clean side. She then\nprobably ran her pen lightly across the now inappropriate words, written\non the previous night, 'This is my first journey,' as she erased lines in\nher draft for a sonnet in the Bodleian Library.[340] The words, as in the\ncase of the sonnet in the Bodleian, remained perfectly legible, and the\ntranslators--not intelligent men--included them in their versions.\n\nThe letter should run from paragraph 7, 'I will talk to him to-morrow upon\nthat point' to paragraph 12, 'This is my first journey.... I had begun it\nthis morning.' Then back to paragraph 8, 'As to the rest of Willie\nHiegait's,' and so straight on, merely omitting the words written on the\nprevious night, 'This is my first journey, ... but I had begun it this\nmorning.'\n\nMary's mistake in taking for virgin a piece of paper which really had\nwriting on the verso, must have occurred to most people: certainly it has\noften occurred to myself.\n\nThere is one objection to this theory. In paragraph 25, at the end of the\nletter, Mary apologises for having written part of a letter on a sheet\ncontaining the memoranda, or list of topics, which, as we saw, she began\nby writing. She says, in Scots, 'Excuse that thing that is scriblit' (MS.\nC,[341] '_barbulzeit_') 'for I had na paper _yesterday_ quhan I _wrait_\nthat of ye memoriall.' The English runs, 'Excuse also that I scribbled,\nfor I had yesternight no paper _when I took the paper of a memorial_.'\n\nNow the part of Mary's letter which is on the same paper as the\n'memorial,' or scribbled list of topics, must have been written, _not_\n'yesternight,' but 'to-night' (on the night of January 22), unless she is\nconsciously writing in the early morning, after 12 P.M., January 22; in\nthe 'wee sma' hours ayont the twal',' of January 23: which does not seem\nprobable.\n\nIf this however meets the objection indicated, the chronology of the\nletter is consistent; it is of the night of January 21, and the night of\nJanuary 22, including some time past midnight. The apparent breaks or\n'faults,' then, are not the result of clumsy dovetailing by a forger, but\nare the consequence of a mere ordinary accident in Mary's selection of\nsheets of paper.\n\nWe now come to the objections based on Crawford's Deposition. Of Letter\nII., as we have it, paragraph 2, in some degree, and paragraphs 6 (from\n'Ye ask me quhat I mene be the crueltie'), 7, 9, 10, and parts of 21 also\nexist, with, in many places, verbal correspondence in phrase, _in another\nshape_. The correspondence of phrase, above all in 6, is usually with the\n_Scots_ translation, sometimes, on the other hand, with the _English_.\nConsequently, as will be seen on comparison of the Scots Letter II. with\nthis other form of part of its contents, these two texts have a common\nsource and cannot be independent.[342] This new form is contained in a\nDeposition, made on oath by a gentleman, a retainer of Lennox, named\nThomas Crawford, the very man who met Mary outside Glasgow (Letter II. 2).\nHe had attended Darnley in Glasgow, and had received from Darnley, and\nwritten, a verbatim report of his discussions with Mary. Crawford was\ntherefore brought forward, by the accusers, on December 9, 1568, before\nthe Commission of Inquiry at Westminster. The object was to prove that no\none alive but Mary could have written Letter II., because she, and she\nonly, could know the nature of her private talk with her husband, as\nreported in Letter II., and, therefore, no one could have forged the\nLetter in which that talk was recorded. Providentially, however, Darnley\nhad informed Crawford about those private talks, and here was Crawford, to\ncorroborate Letter II.\n\nBut it escaped the notice of the accusers that all the world, or all whom\nCrawford chose to inform as to what Darnley told him about these\nconversations, might know the details of the talk even better than Mary\nherself. For the precise words would fade from Mary's memory, whereas\nCrawford, as he swore, had written them down at once, as reported to him\nby Darnley, probably as soon as Mary left his sick-room. The written copy\nby Crawford must have preserved the words with fidelity beyond that of\nhuman memory, and the written words were in the custody of Crawford, or of\nLennox, so long as they chose to keep the manuscript. This fact is proved\non Crawford's oath. On December 9, 1568, before the Commissioners, he\nswore that, when with Darnley, in Glasgow, in January, 1567, 'he was\nsecretly informed by the King of all things which had passed betwixt the\nsaid Queen and the King, ... to the intent that he should report the same\nto the Earl of Lennox, his Master, and that he did, _immediately at the\nsame time, write the same word by word_ as near as he could possibly carry\nthe same away.' He was certain that his report of Mary's words to himself,\n'the words now reported in his writing,' 'are the very same words, on his\nconscience, that were spoken,' while Darnley's reports of Mary's talk\n(also contained in Crawford's written deposition) are the same in effect,\n'though not percase in all parts the very words themselves.'[343]\n\nWe do not know whether what Crawford now handed in on December 9, 1568,\nwas an English version of his own written verbatim Scots report done in\nJanuary, 1567; or a copy of it; or whether he copied it from Letter II.,\nor whether he rewrote it from memory after nearly two years. The last\nalternative may be dismissed as impossible, owing to the verbal identity\nof Crawford's report with that in the Scots version of the French Letter\nattributed to Mary. Another thing is doubtful: whether Lennox, at\nChiswick, on June 11, 1568, did or did not possess the report which\nCrawford wrote for him in January, 1567. Lennox, on June 11, as we saw,\nwrote to Crawford asking 'what purpose Crawford held with her' (Mary) 'at\nher coming to the town' of Glasgow. He did not ask what conversation Mary\nthen held with Darnley. Either he had that principal part of Crawford's\nreport, in writing, in his possession, or he knew nothing about it (which,\nif Crawford told truth, is impossible), or he forgot it, which is next to\nimpossible. All he asked for on June 11 was Crawford's recollection about\nwhat passed between himself and Mary ere she entered Glasgow, concerning\nwhich Crawford nowhere says that he made any written memorandum. Lennox,\nthen, on June 11, 1568, wanted Crawford's recollections of his own\ninterview with the Queen, either to corroborate Letter II., if it then\nexisted; or for secret purposes of Wood's, who was with him.\n\nIt will be observed that Crawford's account of this interview of his with\nMary presents some verbal identities with Letter II. And this is notable,\nfor these identities occur where neither Crawford nor the Letter is\nreporting the speeches on either side. _These_ might easily be remembered,\nfor a while, by both parties. But both parties could not be expected to\ncoincide verbally in phrases descriptive of their meeting, and its\ndetails. Thus, Crawford, 'I _made my Lord, my Master's humble\ncommendations, with the excuse that he came not to meet her_.' In Letter\nII. we read '_He made his_' (Lennox's) '_commendations, and excuses unto\nme, that he came not to meet me_.'\n\nThe excuses, in Crawford, are first of Lennox's bad health (_not_ in the\nLetter); next, that he was anxious 'because of _the sharp words that she\nhad spoken of him to Robert Cunningham_, his servant,' &c.\n\nIn Letter II. this runs: 'considering _the sharp words that I had spoken\nto Cunningham_.' Crawford next introduces praises of Lennox which are not\nin the Letter, but, where a speech is reported, he uses the very words of\nthe Scots translation of Letter II., which vary from the words in the\nEnglish translation.\n\nIt follows that, even here, the Letter, in the Scots version, and\nCrawford's Deposition, have one source. Either Crawford took the Scots\ntranslation, and (while keeping certain passages) modified it: or the\nmaker of the Letter borrowed from Crawford's Deposition. In the former\ncase, the sworn corroboration is a perjury: in the latter, the Letter is a\nforgery.\n\nCrawford has passages which the Letter has not: they are his own\nreflections. Thus, after reporting Darnley's remark about the English\nsailors, with whom he denied that he meant to go away (Letter II. 19),\nCrawford has, what the Letter has not: 'And if he had' (gone away) 'it had\nnot been without cause, seeing how he was used. For he had neither to\nsustain himself nor his servants, and needed not make further rehearsal\nthereof, seeing she knew it as well as he.' Is this Crawford's addition or\nDarnley's speech? Then there is Crawford's statement that Mary never\nstayed more than two hours, at a time, with Darnley--long enough, in an\ninfected room of which the windows were never opened. It is here, after\nthe grumble about Mary's brief stay, that Crawford adds, 'She was very\npensive, whereat he found fault.'\n\nNow Darnley may have told Crawford (though Crawford does not give this as\npart of the conversation), 'I was vexed by the Queen's moodiness,' or the\nlike. But it is incredible that Mary herself should also say, in the\nLetter, just before she mentions going to supper after her first brief\ninterview (_Scots_) 'he fand greit fault that I was pensive' (Letter II.\n5[344]). To Mary's defenders this phrase appears to be borrowed by the\nforger of the Letter from Crawford's Deposition; not borrowed by Crawford,\nout of place and at random (with a skip from Letter II. 5 to Letter II.\n19), and then thrust in after his own reflections on the brevity of Mary's\nvisits to Darnley. For Crawford is saying that her visits were not only\nshort, but sulky. On the other hand, in the Letter the writer is made to\ncontrast Darnley's blitheness with her gloom.\n\nCrawford does not report, what the Letter makes Mary report, Darnley's\nunconcealed knowledge of her relations with Bothwell, at least in the\npassage, 'It is thocht, and he belevis it to be trew, that I have not the\npower of myself unto myself, and that because of the refuse I maid of his\nofferis.'\n\nCrawford ends with his own reply to Darnley, as to Mary's probable\nintentions: 'I answered I liked it not, because she took him to\nCraigmillar,' not to Holyrood. The 'Book of Articles,' we know, declares\nthat Mary 'from Glasgow, be hir _letteris_ and utherwise, held Bothwell\n_continewally_ in rememberance of _the said house_,' that is, Kirk o'\nField. But the Letters produced do nothing of the kind. Craigmillar, as we\nhave seen, is dwelt on. In the Deposition the idea of Darnley's being\ncarried away as a prisoner is introduced as an original opinion of\nCrawford's, expressed privately to Darnley, and necessarily unknown to\nMary when she wrote Letter II. But it occurs thus, in Letter II. 9, after\nmention of a litter which Mary had brought for his conveyance, and to\nwhich Darnley, who loved riding of all things, made objection. 'I trow he\nbelevit that I wald have send him away Presoner'--a passage _not_ in the\nEnglish translation. Darnley replied to Crawford's remark about his being\ntaken as 'a prisoner' that 'he thought little else himself.' It is\nreckoned odd that Mary in the Letter makes him 'think little else\nhimself.' 'I trow he belevit that I wald have send him away Presoner.'\n\nFor these reasons some German defenders of Mary have decided that the\nparts of Letter II. which correspond with Crawford's Deposition must have\nbeen borrowed from that Deposition by a forger of the Letter. About June,\n1568, Lennox, on this theory, would lend a copy of Crawford's report (made\nin January, 1567, at Glasgow) to Wood, and, on returning to Scotland, Wood\nmight have the matter of Crawford's report worked into Letter II.\n\nI had myself been partly convinced that this was the correct view. But the\nexistence of Mary's memoranda, and the way in which they influence Letter\nII., seem to me an almost insuperable proof that part, at least, of Letter\nII. is genuine. It may, however, be said that the memoranda were genuine,\nbut not compromising, and that the Letter was based, by forgers, on the\nmemoranda (accidentally left lying in her Glasgow room, by Mary) and on\nCrawford's report, obtained from Lennox. This is not impossible. But the\ncraft of the forger in making Mary, on her second night of writing, find\nher forgotten memoranda (II. 15), be reminded by them of her last\nneglected item ('Of Monsieur de Levingstoun'), and then go on (II. 16) to\ntell the anecdote of Livingstone, never publicly contradicted by him,\nseems superhuman. I scarcely feel able to believe in a forger so clever.\nYet I hesitate to infer that Crawford, when asked to corroborate the\nstatements in the Letter, took his report from the Letter itself, and\nperjured himself when he said, on oath, that his Deposition was derived\nfrom a writing taken down from Darnley's lips 'immediately at the time.'\n\nI should come to this conclusion with regret and with hesitation. It is\ndisagreeable to feel more or less in doubt as to Crawford's honour. We\nknow nothing against Crawford's honour, unless it be that he was cruel to\nthe Hamilton tenantry, and that he deposed to having received confessions\non the scaffold, from Bothwell's accomplices, implicating Mary.[345] These\ndo not occur in the dying confessions printed with Buchanan's 'Detection,'\nthough Bowton hinted something against Mary, when he was in prison; so\nthat trustworthy work informs us. Thus Crawford's second Deposition, as to\nthe dying confessions, is certainly rather suspicious. We know nothing\nelse against the man. He lived to be a trusted servant of James VI. (but\nso did the infamous Archibald Douglas); he denounced Lethington of guilt\nin the murder; he won fame by the capture of Dumbarton Castle. Yet some\nare led to suspect that, when asked to corroborate a passage in a letter,\nhe simply took the corroboration, _textually_, from the letter itself. If\nnot the Letter is a forgery.\n\nMr. Henderson (who does not admit the verbal correspondence of Letter and\nDeposition) clearly sees no harm in this course. 'It is by no means\nimprobable that Crawford refreshed his recollection by the aid of the\nLetter, which, in any case, he may have seen before he prepared his\nstatement.' But he swore that he wrote a statement, from Darnley's lips,\n'immediately at the time.'[346] He said nothing about losing the paper,\nwhich he wrote in January, 1567. (Mr. Henderson says it 'had apparently\nbeen destroyed'--why 'apparently'?) But, according to Mr. Henderson, 'he\nmay have seen the letter before he prepared his statement. Probably he\nwould have been ready to have admitted this.' He would have had an evil\nencounter with any judge to whom he admitted that, being called to\ncorroborate part of a letter, written in French, he copied his\ncorroborating statement, verbally on the whole, from a Scots translation\nof the letter itself! I do not think that Crawford would have been 'ready\nto admit' this unconscionable villainy. Yet we must either believe that he\nwas guilty of it, or that the Letter was forged.\n\nThere is one indication which, for what it is worth, corroborates the\ntruth of Crawford's oath. He swore that he had written down Darnley's\nreport of conversations with Mary 'immediately at the time,' in order that\nhe, in turn, might report them to Lennox, 'because the said Earl durst not\nthen, for displeasure of the Queen, come abroad,' and speak to Darnley\nhimself. But Crawford never swore, or said, that he wrote down his own\nconversation with Mary. Now, on June 11, 1568, Lennox does not ask for\nwhat Crawford swore that he _wrote_, much the most important part of his\nevidence, the account of Darnley's talks with Mary. Lennox does not ask\nfor _that_, for what Crawford swore that he wrote 'immediately at the\ntime.' He merely asks 'what purpois' (talk) 'Thomas Crawford held with the\nQueen at her coming to the town.' This may be understood to mean that\nLennox already held, and so did not need, Crawford's written account,\ndictated by Darnley to him, of the conversations between Mary and Darnley.\nFor that document, if he had it not, Lennox would most certainly ask, but\nask he did not. Therefore, it may be argued, Lennox had it all the while\nin his portfolio, and therefore, again, parts of Letter II. are borrowed\nfrom Crawford's written paper of January, 1567.[347]\n\nIn that case, we clear Crawford's character for probity, but we destroy\nthe authenticity of Letter II.[348] I confess that this last argument,\nwith the fact that we have no evidence against the character of Crawford,\na soldier of extraordinary daring and resource, and a country gentleman,\nnot a politician, rather disturbs the balance of probabilities in favour\nof the theory that he borrowed his Deposition textually from the Letter,\nand increases the probability that the Letter is a forgery based on the\nDeposition.[349]\n\n5. The contents of the Letter are said to be incoherent and inconsistent\nwith Mary's style and character. The last objection is worthless. In the\nLetter she says that she acts 'against her natural'--_contre son\nnaturel_--out of character. As for incoherence, the items of her memoranda\nare closely followed in sequence, up to paragraph 8, and the interloping\npart in paragraph 12. The rest, the work of the second night, _is_\nincoherent, as Mary's moods, if she was guilty, must have been.\nInformation, hatred, remorse, jealousy, and passion are the broken and\nblended strata of a mind rent by volcanic affections. The results in the\nLetter are necessarily unlike the style and sentiment of Mary's authentic\nletters, except in certain very remarkable features.\n\nEither Mary wrote the Letter or a forger wished to give the impression\nthat this occurred. He wanted the world to believe that the Queen, her\nconscience tortured and her passion overmastering her conscience, could\nnot cease to converse with her lover while paper served her turn. Her\nmoods alternate: now she is resolved and cruel, now sick with horror, but\nstill, sleepless as she is, she must be writing. Assuredly if this Letter\nbe, in part at least, a forgery, it is a forgery by a master in the\nscience of human nature. We seem to be admitted within the room where\nalone a light burns through the darkling hours, and to see the tormented\nQueen who fears her pillow. She writes, 'I would have almaist had pitie of\nhim.... He salutes everybody, yea unto the least, and makes pitious\ncaressing unto them, to make them have pitie on hym,' a touching picture.\nThere is a pendant to this picture of Darnley, in Buchanan's 'History.' He\nis speaking of Mary's studied neglect of Darnley at the time of his son's\nchristening (December, 1566). Darnley, he says, endured all 'not only with\npatience; he was seen trying to propitiate her unjust anger in every way,\n_that humbly, and almost in servile fashion_, he might keep some share in\nher good graces.'[350] What an etching is this of the man, a little while\nsince so haughty and tyrannous, 'dealing blows where he knew that they\nwould be taken'! Again the passage (Letter II. 11) about Mary's heart\nwherein only Bothwell's 'shot' can make a breach, does certainly seem (as\nLaing notes) to refer to a sonnet of Mary's favourite poet, Ronsard.\n\n Depuis le jour que la premiere fleche\n De ton bel oeil m'avanca la douleur,\n Et que sa blanche et sa noire couleur,\n Forcant ma force, _au coeur me firent breche_.\n\nAs in later letters, the writer now shows jealousy of Bothwell's wife.\n\nThe writer again and again recurs to her remorse. 'Remember how, gyf it\nwere not to obey you, I had rather be deid or I dyd it, my heart bleides\nat it.... Alas, I nevir deceivit anybody; but I remit me altogidder to\nyour will.' The voice of conscience 'deepens with the deepening of the\nnight,' a very natural circumstance showing the almost inhuman art of the\nsupposed forger. What ensues is even more remarkable. Throughout, Mary\nprofesses absolute submission to Bothwell; she is here, as Sir John\nSkelton remarks, 'the bond slave and humble minister of Bothwell's\nambition.' He argues that she was really 'the last woman in the world who\nwould have prostrated herself in abject submission at the feet of a\nlover.'[351] But, in a later letter to Norfolk, when she regarded herself\nas affianced to him, Mary says 'as you please command me, for I will, for\nall the world, follow your commands....' She promises, in so many words,\n'humble submission'--though, conceivably, she may here mean submission to\nElizabeth.[352] Again, 'I will be true and obedient to you, as I have\npromised.'[353] There are other similar passages in the letters to\nNorfolk, indicating Mary's idea of submission to a future husband, an\nattitude which, according to Randolph, she originally held towards\nDarnley. These letters to Norfolk, of course, were not dictated by\npassion. Therefore, under stress of passion or of a passionate caprice,\nMary might naturally assume a humility otherwise foreign to her nature. It\nwould be a joy to her to lay herself at her lover's feet: the argument _a\npriori_, from character, is no disproof of the authenticity of this part\nof the Letter.\n\nOn the whole, these reasons are the strongest for thinking the Letter, in\nparts, probably genuine. The Lords _may_, conceivably, have added 'some\nprincipal and substantious clauses,' such as the advice to Bothwell 'to\nfind out some more secret invention by medicine' (paragraph 20), and they\n_may_ have added the words 'of the ludgeing in Edinburgh' (Kirk o' Field)\nto the dubious list of directions which we find at the end of the Scots,\nbut not in the English, version. There is no other reference to Kirk o'\nField, though the 'Book of Articles' says that there were many. And there\nwere many, in the forged letter! Paris, indeed, confessed that Mary told\nhim that Letter II. was to ask where Darnley should be placed, at\nCraigmillar or Kirk o' Field. But the evidence of Paris is dubious.\n\nLennox was very anxious, as was the author of the 'Book of Articles,' to\nprove that the Kirk o' Field plan was arranged between Bothwell and Mary,\nbefore she went to meet Darnley at Glasgow in January, 1567. We have\nalready seen that the 'Book of Articles' makes Mary and Bothwell 'devise'\nthis house 'before she raid to Glasgow,' and 'from Glasgow by her letters\nand otherwise she held him continually in remembrance of the said house.'\n\nThe 'Book of Articles' also declares that she 'wrote to Bothwell to see if\nhe might find out _a more secret way by medicine to cut him off_' than the\nKirk o' Field plan. Now this phrase, 'a more secret invention by\nmedicine,' occurs in Letter II. 20, but is instantly followed by 'for he\nshould take medicine and the bath at _Craigmillar_:' not a word of the\nhouse in Edinburgh.\n\nNext, we find Lennox, like the author of the 'Book of Articles,' hankering\nafter, and insisting on, a mention of the 'house in Edinburgh' in Mary's\nLetters. There exists an indictment by Lennox in Scots, no doubt intended\nto be, as it partly was, later done into English. The piece describes\nMoray as present with the English Commissioners, doubtless at York, in\nOctober, 1568. This indictment in Scots is by one who has seen Letter II.,\nor parts of it, for we read 'Of quhilk purpos reported to Heigat she makes\nmention in hir lettre sent to Boithuile from Glasgow, meaning sen that\npurpose' (the plan of arresting Darnley) 'wes reveled that he suld invent\n_a mare secrete way be medecine to cutt him of_' (the very phrase used in\nthe 'Book of Articles') 'as alsua puttes the said Boithuil in mynde of the\nhouse in Edinburgh, divisit betwix thame for the King hir husband's\ndistructioune, termand thair ungodlie conspiracy \"thair affaire.\"'\n\nNow Mary, in Letter II., does not 'put Bothwell in mind of the house in\nEdinburgh,' nor does she here use the expression 'their affair,' though in\nLetter III. she says 'your affair.' In Buchanan's mind (if he was, as I\nfeel convinced, the author of the 'Book of Articles') the forged letter\ndescribed by Moray and Lennox, with its insistence on Kirk o' Field, was\nconfused with Letter II., in which there is nothing of the sort. The same\nconfusion pervades Lennox's indictment in Scots, perhaps followed by\nBuchanan. When parts of the Scots indictment are translated into Lennox's\nlast extant English indictment, we no longer hear that Kirk o' Field is\nmentioned in the Letters, but we _do_ read of 'such a house in Edinburgh\nas she had prepared for him to finish his days in'--which Mary had not\ndone when she wrote Letter II. Consequently the memorandum at the end of\nLetter II., 'remember zow of the ludgeing in Edinburgh,' a memorandum\n_not_ in the English translation, may have been added fraudulently to\nprove the point that Kirk o' Field was, from the first, devised for\nDarnley's destruction.[354] These passages, in any case, prove that the\nfalse letter reported by Moray and Lennox haunted the minds of Lennox and\nBuchanan to the last.\n\nThe evidence of Nelson, Darnley's servant,[355] later with Lady Lennox, to\nthe effect that Craigmillar was proposed, but that Darnley rejected it,\nmay be taken either as corroboration of the intention to lodge Darnley at\nCraigmillar (as is insisted on in Letters I. and II.) or as one of the\nsources whence Letter II. was fraudulently composed. On the whole,\nhowever, the Craigmillar references in the Letters have an air of\nauthenticity. They were not what the accusers wanted; they wanted\nreferences to Kirk o' Field, and these they amply provided in the Letter\nabout poisoning Lady Bothwell, echoes of which are heard in the 'Book of\nArticles,' and in Lennox's indictment in Scots.\n\nThe letter described by Moray and Lennox, when both, at different dates,\nwere in contact with Wood, was full of references to Kirk o' Field, which\nare wholly absent in Letters I. and II. The letter known to Moray and\nLennox was probably forged in the interval between June 21 and July 8,\n1567, when (July 8) the Lords sent 'Jhone a Forret' to Moray. As I shall\nmake it evident that Robert Melville was sent to inform Elizabeth about\nthe capture of the Casket on the very day of the event, the pause of\nseventeen days before the sending of 'Jhone a Forret' to Moray is very\ncurious. In that time the letter noticed by Moray and Lennox may have been\nforged to improve the evidence against Mary. At all events its details\nwere orally circulated. But I think that, finding this letter\ninconsistent, and overcharged, the Lords, in December, 1568, fell back on\nthe authentic, or partially authentic, Letter II., and produced that. My\nscheme of dates for that Letter need not necessarily be accepted. My\ntheory that Mary made a mistake as to her sheets of paper which caused the\nconfusion of the internal chronology is but a conjecture, and the\nobjection to it I have stated. The question is one of the most delicately\nbalanced probabilities. Either Lennox, from January 1567 onwards,\npossessed the notes which Crawford swore that he wrote concerning\nDarnley's conversation (in which case much of Letter II. is a forgery\nbased on Crawford), or Crawford, in December 1568, deliberately perjured\nhimself. The middle course involves the unlikely hypothesis that Crawford\ndid take notes 'immediately at the time;' but that they were lost or\ndestroyed; and that he, with dishonest stupidity, copied his deposition\nfrom Letter II. There appears to me to be no hint of the loss or\ndisappearance of the only notes which Crawford swore that he made.\nConsequently, on either alternative, the conduct of the prosecutors is\ndishonest. Dishonesty is again suggested by the mysterious letter which\nMoray and Lennox cite, and which colours both Lennox's MS. discourses and\nthe 'Book of Articles.' But, on the other hand, parts of Letter II. seem\nbeyond the power of the Genius of Forgery to produce. Perhaps the least\ndifficult theory is that Letter II. is in part authentic, in part\ngarbled.[356]\n\n\n\n\nXV\n\n_THE SIX MINOR CASKET LETTERS_\n\n\nIf the accusers had authentic evidence in Letters I. and II., they needed\nno more to prove Mary's guilt. But the remaining six Letters bear on\npoints which they wished to establish, such as Mary's attempt to make her\nbrother, Lord Robert, assassinate her husband, and her insistence on her\nown abduction. There are some difficulties attendant on these Letters. We\ntake them in order. First Letter III. (or VIII.). This Letter, the third\nin Mr. Henderson's edition, is the eighth and last in that of Laing. As\nthe Letter, forged or genuine, is probably one of the last in the series,\nit shall be discussed in its possible historical place.\n\n\nLETTER III (IV)\n\nOf this Letter, fortunately, we possess a copy of the French\noriginal.[357] The accusers connected the letter with an obscure intrigue\nwoven while Darnley was at Kirk o' Field. Lord Robert Stuart, Mary's\nhalf-brother, commendator of Holyrood, is said by Sir James Melville to\nhave warned Darnley of his danger. Darnley repeated this to Mary, but Lord\nRobert denied the story. The 'Book of Articles' alleges that Mary then\ntried to provoke a fight between her husband and her brother on this\npoint. Buchanan adds that, when Darnley and Lord Robert had their hands on\ntheir swords, Mary called in Moray to part them. She hoped that he would\n'get the redder's stroke,' and be killed, or, if Darnley fell, that Moray\nwould incur suspicion. As usual Buchanan spoils his own case. If Mary did\ncall in Moray to separate the brawlers, she was obviously innocent, or\nrepented at the last moment. Buchanan's theory is absurd, but his\nanecdote, of course, may be false. Lennox, in his MSS., says that Moray\nwas present at the quarrel.[358]\n\nThe indications of the plot, in the Letter, are so scanty, that the\npurpose has to be read into them from the alleged facts which the Letter\nis intended to prove.[359] I translate the copy of the French original.\n\n'I watched later up there' (at Kirk o' Field?) 'than I would have done,\nhad it not been to draw out ['of him,' in Scots] what this bearer will\ntell you: that I find the best matter to excuse your affair that could be\noffered. I have promised him' (Darnley?) 'to bring him' (Lord Robert?) 'to\nhim' (Darnley?) 'to-morrow: if you find it good, put order to it. Now,\nSir, I have broken my promise, for you have commanded me not to send or\nwrite. Yet I do it not to offend you, and if you knew my dread of giving\noffence you would not have so many suspicions against me, which, none the\nless, I cherish, as coming from the thing in the world which I most desire\nand seek, namely your good grace. Of that my conduct shall assure me, nor\nshall I ever despair thereof, so long as, according to your promise, you\nlay bare your heart to me. Otherwise I shall think that my misfortune, and\nthe fair attitude[360] of those' (Lady Bothwell) 'who have not the third\npart of the loyalty and willing obedience that I bear to you, have gained\nover me the advantage won by the second love of Jason [Creusa or Glauce?]\nNot that I compare you _a un si malheureuse_' (_sic_) 'nor myself to one\nso pitiless [as Medea] however much you make me a little like her in what\nconcerns you; or [but?] to preserve and guard you for her to whom alone\nyou belong, if one can appropriate what one gains by honourably, and\nloyally, and absolutely loving, as I do and will do all my life, come what\npain and misery there may. In memory whereof and of all the ills that you\nhave caused me, be mindful of the place near here' (Darnley's chamber?).\n'I do not ask you to keep promise with me to-morrow' (the Scots has,\nwrongly, 'I crave with that ye keepe promise with me the morne,' which\nLaing justifies by a false conjectural restoration of the French), 'but\nthat we meet' (_que nous truvions = que nous nous trouvions ensemble_?),\n'and that you do not listen to any suspicion you may have without letting\nme know. And I ask no more of God than that you may know what is in my\nheart which is yours, and that He preserve you at least during my life,\nwhich shall be dear to me only while my life and I are dear to you. I am\ngoing to bed, and wish you good night. Let me know early to-morrow how you\nfare, for I shall be anxious. And keep good watch if the bird leave his\ncage, or without his mate. Like the turtle I shall abide alone, to lament\nthe absence, however short it may be. What I cannot do, my letter [would\ndo?] heartily, if it were not that I fear you are asleep. For I did not\ndare to write before Joseph' (Joseph Riccio) 'and bastienne (_sic_) and\nJoachim, who only went away when I began.'\n\nThis Letter is, in most parts, entirely unlike the two Glasgow letters in\nstyle. They are simple and direct: this is obscure and affected. As Laing\nhad not the transcript of the original French (a transcript probably\nerroneous in places) before him, his attempts to reconstruct the French\nare unsuccessful. He is more happy in noting that the phrase _vous m'en\ndischargeres votre coeur_, occurs twice in Mary's letters to\nElizabeth[361] (_e.g._ August 13, 1568). But to 'unpack the heart' is, of\ncourse, a natural and usual expression. If Darnley is meant by the bird in\nthe cage, the metaphor is oddly combined with the comparison (a stock one)\nof Mary to a turtle dove. Possibly the phrase 'I do _not_ ask that you\nkeep promise with me to-morrow,' is meant to be understood 'I do not ask\nyou to keep promise except that we may meet,' as Laing supposes. But (1)\nthe sense cannot be got out of the French, (2) it does not help the\ninterpretation of the accusers if, after all, Mary is only contriving an\nexcuse for a meeting between herself and Bothwell. The obscure passage\nabout the turtle dove need not be borrowed from Ronsard, as Laing thinks:\nit is a commonplace. The phrase which I render 'what I cannot do, my\nletter [would do] heartily, if it were not that I fear you are asleep,'\nthe Scots translates 'This letter will do with ane gude hart, that thing\nquhilk I cannot do myself gif it be not that I have feir that ze ar in\nsleiping.' The French is 'ce que je ne puis faire ma lettre de bon coeur\nsi ce nestoit que je ay peur que soyes endormy.' Laing, reconstructing the\nFrench, says, 'Ce que je ne saurois faire moi-meme; that is, instigate\nLord Robert to commit the murder.' The end of the phrase he takes 'in its\nfigurative sense, _d'un homme endormi_; slow, or negligent.' Thus we are\nto understand 'what I cannot do, my letter would do heartily--that is\nexcite you to instigate my brother to kill my husband, if I were not\nafraid that you were slow or negligent.' This is mere nonsense. The writer\nmeans, apparently, 'what I cannot do, my letter would gladly do--that is\nsalute you--if I were not afraid that you are already asleep, the night\nbeing so far advanced.' She is sorry if her letter arrives to disturb his\nsleep.\n\nIt needs much good will, or rather needs much ill will, to regard this\nLetter as an inducement to Bothwell to make Lord Robert draw on Darnley.\nMary, without Bothwell's help, could have summoned Lord Robert on any\npretext, and then set him and Darnley by the ears. The date of Mary's\nattempt to end Darnley by her brother's sword, Buchanan places 'about\nthree days before the King was slain.' 'Cecil's Journal,' as we saw,\nplaces it on February 8. Darnley was murdered after midnight of February\n9. Paris said that, to the best of his memory, he carried letters on the\nFriday night, the 7th, from Mary, at Kirk o' Field, to Bothwell. On\nSaturday, Mary told her attendants of the quarrel between Darnley and Lord\nRobert. 'Lord Robert,' she said, 'had good means of killing the King at\nthat moment, for there was then nobody in the chamber to part them but\nherself.' These are rather suspicious confessions.[362] Moreover, Lennox,\nin his MSS., says that Moray was present at the incident, and could bear\nwitness at Westminster. The statement of Paris is confused: he carried\nletters both on Thursday and Friday nights (February 6 and 7), and his\ndeclaration about all this affair is involved in contradictions.\n\nAccording to the confession of Hay of Tala, it was on February 7 that\nBothwell arranged the method by gunpowder. When he had just settled that,\nMary, _ex hypothesi_, disturbed him with the letter on the scheme of using\nLord Robert and a chance scuffle: an idea suggested to her by what she had\nextracted, that very night, from Darnley--namely, the warning whispered to\nhim by Lord Robert. She thinks that, if confronted, they will fight,\nDarnley will fall, and this will serve 'pour excuser votre affaire,' as\nthe Letter says. Buchanan adds in his 'History,' that Bothwell was present\nto kill anybody convenient (fol. 350). It was a wildly improbable scheme,\nespecially if Mary, as Buchanan says, called in Moray to stop the quarrel,\nor share the blame, or be killed by Bothwell.\n\nThat the Letter, with some others of the set, is written in an odd,\naffected style, does not yield an argument either to the attack or the\ndefence. If it is unlikely that Mary practised two opposite kinds of\nstyle, it is also unlikely that a forger, or forgers, would venture on\nattributing to her the practice. To this topic there will be opportunities\nof returning.\n\n\nLETTER IV\n\nThis Letter merely concerns somebody's distrust of a maid of Mary's. The\nmaid is about to be married, perhaps to Bastian, but there is nothing\nsaid that identifies either the girl, or the recipient of the letter. Its\ntone, however, is that of almost abjectly affectionate submission, and\nthere is a note of a common end, to which the writer and the recipient are\nworking, _ce a quoy nous tandons tous deux_. If Mary dismisses the maid,\nshe, in revenge, may reveal her scheme. The writer deprecates the\nsuspicions of her correspondent, and all these things mark the epistle as\none in this series. As it proves nothing against Mary, beyond affection\nfor somebody, a common aim with him, and fear that the maid may spoil the\nproject, there could be no reason for forging the Letter. A transcript of\nthe original French is in the Record Office.[363] The translators have\nblundered over an important phrase from ignorance of French.[364]\n\n\nLETTER V\n\nOn the night of April 19, 1567, Bothwell obtained the signatures of many\nnobles to 'Ainslie's Band,' as it is called, a document urging Mary to\nmarry Bothwell.[365] On Monday, April 21, Mary went to Stirling, to see\nher child. She was suspected of intending to hand him over to Bothwell. If\nshe meant to do this, her purpose was frustrated. On Wednesday, April 23,\nshe went to Linlithgow, and on Thursday, April 24, was seized by Bothwell,\nnear Edinburgh, and carried to Dunbar. This Letter, if genuine, proves her\ncomplicity; and is intended to prove it, if forged. On the face of it, the\nLetter was written at Stirling. Mary regrets Bothwell's confidence in an\nunworthy person, Huntly, the brother of his wife. Huntly has visited her,\nand, instead of bringing news as to how and when the abduction is to\nmanaged, has thrown cold water on the plot. He has said that Mary can\nnever marry a married man who abducts her, and that the Lords _se\ndediroient_, which the Scots translator renders 'the Lordis wald unsay\nthemselves, and wald deny that they had said.' The reference is to their\nacquiescence in the Ainslie band of April 19. Mary, as usual, displays\njealousy of Bothwell, who has 'two strings to his bow,' herself and his\nwedded wife. The Letter implies that, for some reason, Mary and Bothwell\nhad not arranged the details of the abduction before they separated. A\ntranscript of the original French is at Hatfield; the English translation,\nalso at Hatfield, is not from the French, but is a mere Anglicising of the\nScots version. Oddly enough the French copy at Hatfield, unlike the rest,\nis in a Roman hand, such as Mary wrote. The hand resembles that of the\ncopyist of the Casket Sonnets in the Cambridge (Lennox) MSS., and that of\nMary Beaton, but it is not Mary Beaton's hand.\n\n\nLETTER VI\n\nThis Letter still deals with the manner of the _enlevement_. Mary is now\nreconciled to the idea of trusting Huntly.\n\nShe advises Bothwell as to his relations with the Lords. The passage\nfollows:--\n\n'Methinkis that zour services, and the lang amitie, having ye gude will of\nye Lordis, do weill deserve ane pardoun, gif above the dewtie of ane\nsubject yow advance yourself, not to constrane me, bot to assure yourself\nof sic place neir unto me, that uther admonitiounis or forane [foreign]\nperswasiounis may not let [hinder] me from consenting to that, that ye\nhope your service sall mak yow ane day to attene; and to be schort, to mak\nyourself sure of the Lordis and fre to mary; and that ye are constraint\nfor your suretie, and to be abill to serve me faithfully, to use are\nhumbil requeist, joynit to ane importune actioun.\n\n'And to be schort, excuse yourself, and perswade thame the maist ye can,\nyat ye ar constranit to mak persute aganis zour enemies.'\n\nNow compare Mary's excuses for her marriage, and for Bothwell's conduct,\nas written in Scots by Lethington, her secretary, in May, 1567, for the\nBishop of Dunblane to present to the Court of France.[366] First she tells\nat much length the tale of Bothwell's 'services, and the lang amitie,' as\nbriefly stated in Letter VI. Later she mentions his ambition, and\n'practising with ye nobillmen secretly to make yame his friendis.' This\nanswers to 'having ye gude will of ye Lordis,' in the Letter. In the\ndocument for the French Court, Mary suggests, as one of Bothwell's motives\nfor her abduction, 'incidentis quhilk mycht occur to frustrat him of his\nexpectatioun.' In the Letter he is 'constrainit for his suretie, to carry\nher off. Finally, in the Memorial for the French Court, it is said that\nBothwell '_ceased never till be persuasionis and importune sute\naccumpaneit not the less with force_,' he won Mary's assent. In Letter VI.\nshe advises him to allege that he is obliged '_to use ane humble requeist\njoynit to ane importune action_.' Letter VI., in fact, is almost a\nsuccinct _precis_, before the abduction, of the pleas and excuses which\nMary made to the French Court after her marriage. Could a forger have\naccidentally produced this coincidence? One could: according to Sir John\nSkelton the letter to her ambassador 'is understood to have been drawn by\nMaitland.'[367] The letter of excuses to France is a mere expansion of the\nexcuses that, in the Casket Letter which we are considering, Mary advises\nBothwell to make to the Lords. Either, then, this Letter is genuine, or\nthe hypothetical forger had seen, and borrowed from, the Memorial\naddressed in May to the Court of France. This alternative is not really\ndifficult; for Lethington, as secretary, must have seen, and may even (as\nSkelton suggests) have composed, the Scots letter of excuses carried to\nFrance by the Bishop of Dunblane, and Lethington had joined Mary's enemies\nbefore they got possession of the Casket and Letters. Oddly enough, the\nletter to the ambassador contains a phrase in Scots which Lethington had\nused in writing to Beaton earlier, Mary 'could not find ane outgait.'[368]\nNo transcript of the original French, and no English translation, have\nbeen found.\n\n\nLETTER VII\n\nThis Letter purports to follow on another, 'sen my letter writtin,' and\nmay be of Tuesday, April 22, as Mary reports that Huntly is anxious about\nwhat he is to do 'after to-morrow.' She speaks of Huntly as 'your\nbrother-in-law that _was_,' whereas Huntly, Bothwell not being divorced,\nwas still his brother-in-law. Huntly is afraid that Mary's people, and\nespecially the Earl of Sutherland, will die rather than let her be carried\noff. We do not know, from other sources, that Sutherland was present. Mary\nimplores Bothwell to bring an overpowering force. No transcript of the\noriginal French, nor any English translation, is known. Mary must have\nwritten two of these letters (and apparently eleven sonnets also) while\nill, anxious, and busy, on the 22nd, at Stirling, with the third on the\n23rd, either at Stirling or Linlithgow. She could hardly get answers to\nanything written as late as the 22nd, before Bothwell arrived at Haltoun,\nnear Linlithgow, on the night of April 23.\n\n\nLETTER VIII (III IN HENDERSON)\n\nThere are differences of opinion as to the date of this curious Letter,\nand as to its place in the series. The contemporary transcript, made\nprobably for the Commissioners on December 9, 1568, is in the Record\nOffice. I translate the Letter afresh, since it must be read before any\ninference as to its date and importance can be drawn.\n\n'Sir,--If regret for your absence, the pain caused by your forgetfulness,\nand by fear of the danger which every one predicts to your beloved person,\ncan console me, I leave it to you to judge; considering the ill fortune\nwhich my cruel fate and constant trouble have promised me, in the sequel\nof sorrows and terrors recent and long passed; all which you well know.\nBut, in spite of all, I will not accuse you either of your scant\nremembrance or scant care, and still less of your broken promise, or of\nthe coldness of your letters, I being so much your own that what pleases\nyou pleases me. And my thoughts are so eagerly subject to yours that I am\nfain to suppose that whatsoever comes from you arises not from any of the\naforesaid causes, but from such as are just and reasonable, and desired by\nmyself. Which is the final order that you have promised me to take for the\nsafety[369] and honourable service of the sole support of my life, for\nwhom alone I wish to preserve it, and without which I desire only instant\ndeath. And to show you how humbly I submit me to your commands, I send\nyou, by Paris, in sign of homage, the ornament' (her hair) 'of the head,\nthe guide of the other members, thereby signifying that, in investing you\nwith the spoil of what is principal, the rest must be subject to you with\nthe heart's consent. In place of which heart, since I have already\nabandoned it to you, I send you a sepulchre, of hard stone, painted black,\n_seme_ with tears and bones.[370] I compare it to my heart, which, like\nit, is graven into a secure tomb or receptacle of your commands, and\nspecially of your name and memory, which are therein enclosed, like my\nhair in the ring. Never shall they issue forth till death lets you make a\ntrophy of my bones, even as the ring is full of them' (_i.e._ in enamel),\n'in proof that you have made entire conquest of me, and of my heart, to\nsuch a point that I leave you my bones in memory of your victory, and of\nmy happy and willing defeat, to be better employed than I deserve. The\nenamel round the ring is black, to symbolise the constancy of her who\nsends it. The tears are numberless as are my fears of your displeasure, my\ntears for your absence, and for my regret not to be yours, to outward\nview, as I am, without weakness of heart or soul.\n\n'And reasonably so, were my merits greater than those of the most perfect\nof women, and such as I desire to be. And I shall take pains to imitate\nsuch merits, to be worthily employed under your dominion. Receive this\nthen, my only good, in as kind part as with extreme joy I have received\nyour marriage' (apparently, from what follows, a contract of marriage or a\nring of betrothal), 'which never shall leave my bosom till our bodies are\npublicly wedded, as a token of all that I hope or desire of happiness in\nthis world. Now fearing, my heart, to weary you as much in the reading as\nI take pleasure in the writing, I shall end, after kissing your hands,\nwith as great love as I pray God (O thou, the only prop of my life!) to\nmake your life long and happy, and to give me your good grace, the only\ngood thing which I desire, and to which I tend. I have shown what I have\nlearned to this bearer, to whom I remit myself, knowing the credit that\nyou give him, as does she who wishes to be ever your humble and obedient\nloyal wife, and only lover, who for ever vows wholly to you her heart and\nbody changelessly, as to him whom I make possessor of my heart which, you\nmay be assured, will never change till death, for never shall weal or woe\nestrange it.'\n\nThe absurd affectation of style in this Letter, so different from the\nplain manner of Letters I. and II., may be a poetical effort by Mary, or\nmay be a forger's idea of how a queen in love ought to write. In the\nlatter case, to vary the manner so much from that of the earlier Letters,\nwas a bold experiment and a needless.\n\nMary, to be brief, sends to Bothwell a symbolic mourning ring, enclosing\nher hair. It is enamelled in black, with tears and bones. Such a ring is\ngiven by a girl to her lover, as a parting token, in the _Cent Nouvelles\nNouvelles_ (xxvi.), a ring _d'or, esmailee de larmes noires_.[371] She\npromises always to keep the 'marriage' (that is the contract of marriage,\nor can it be a ring typical of marriage?) in her bosom, till the actual\nwedding in public. Now she had a sentimental habit of wearing love tokens\n'in her bosom.' She writes to Norfolk from Coventry (December, 1569), 'I\ntook the diamant from my Lord Boyd, which I shall keep unseene about my\nneck till I give it agayn to the owner of it and of me both.'[372]\n\nAs to the Contract of Marriage (if Mary wore that in her bosom[373]), two\nalleged contracts were produced for the prosecution. One was a 'contract\nor promise of marriage' by Mary to Bothwell, in the Italic hand, and in\nFrench; the hand was said to be Mary's own. It was undated, and a\nmemorandum in the 'Detection' says, 'Though some words therein seme to the\ncontrary, yet is on credible groundes supposed to have been made and\nwritten by her befoir the death of her husband.' The document explicitly\nmentions that 'God has taken' Darnley. The document, or jewel, treasured\nby Mary would, of course, be Bothwell's solemn promise, or token of\npromise, the counterpart of hers to him, published in Buchanan.[374]\n\nNow there also existed a contract, said to be in Huntly's hand, and signed\nby Mary and Bothwell, of date April 5 (at Seton), 1567. But this contract\nspeaks of the process of divorce 'intentit' between Bothwell and his\n'pretensit spouse.' Now that suit, on April 5, was not yet before the\nCourt (though some documents had been put in), nor did Lady Bothwell move\nin the case till after Mary's abduction.\n\nIf Mary kept _this_ contract, and if it be correctly dated, then Letter\nVIII. is not of January-February, but of April, 1567.\n\nIf Mary regarded herself as now privately married, this pose would explain\nthe phrase 'your brother-in-law _that was_,' in Letter VIII. But this is\nstretching possibilities.\n\nMr. Hosack has argued that the Letter just translated was really written\nto Darnley, between whom and Mary some private preliminary ceremony of\nmarriage was said to have passed. In that case the words _par Paris_, 'I\nsend you by Paris, &c.,' are a forged interpolation, as Paris was not in\nMary's service till January, 1567. The opening sentence about the danger\nwhich, as every one thinks, menaces her correspondent, might refer to\nDarnley. But the tone of remonstrance against indifference, suspicion, and\nviolated promises, is the tone of almost all the Casket Letters, and does\nnot apply to Darnley--before his public marriage.\n\nAs to the 'heart in a ring,' Mary, as Laing notes, had written to\nElizabeth 'Je vous envoye mon coeur en bague.' The phrase in the Letter,\n_seul soutien de ma vie_, also occurs in one of the Casket Sonnets.\n\nTo what known or alleged circumstances in Mary's relations with Bothwell\ncan this Letter refer? The alternatives are (1) either to her receipt of\nBothwell's answer to Letter II., which Paris (on our scheme of dates) gave\nto Mary on January 25, at Glasgow; (2) to the moment of her stay at\nCallendar, where she arrived, with Darnley, on January 27, taking him on\nJanuary 28 to Linlithgow, whence, on January 29, 'she wraytt to Bothwell.'\nShe had learned at Linlithgow, on January 28, by Hob Ormistoun, that\nBothwell was on his way from Liddesdale.[375] Or (3) does the letter refer\nto Monday, April 21, when she was at Stirling till Wednesday, April 23,\nwhen she went to Linlithgow, Bothwell being 'at Haltoun hard by,' and\ncarrying her off on April 24?[376]\n\nTaking first (1)--we find Mary acknowledging in this letter the receipt of\nBothwell's 'marriage.' If this is a contract, did Bothwell send it in the\nletter which, according to Paris, he wrote on January 24, accompanying it\nwith a diamond? 'Tell the Queen,' said Bothwell, 'that I send her this\ndiamond, which you are to carry, and that if I had my heart I would send\nit willingly, but I have it not.' The diamond, a ring probably, might be\nreferred to in Bothwell's letter as a marriage or betrothal ring (French,\n_union_). In return Mary would send her mourning ring; 'the stone I\ncompare to my heart.'\n\nThis looks well, but how could Mary, who, _ex hypothesi_, had just\nreceived a ring, a promise or contract of marriage, and a loving message,\ncomplain, as she does, of 'the coldness of your letters,' 'your violated\npromise,' 'your forgetfulness,' 'your want of care for me'? Danger to\nBothwell, in Liddesdale, she might fear, but these other complaints are\nabsolutely inconsistent with the theory that Bothwell had just sent a\nletter, a ring, a promise of marriage, and a loving verbal message. We\nmust therefore dismiss hypothesis 1.\n\n(2) Did Mary send this Letter on January 29 from Linlithgow? She had no\nneglect to complain of _there_; for, according to her accusers, she was\nmet by Hob Ormistoun, with a letter or message. Paris says this was at\nCallendar, where she slept on January 27.[377] In that case Bothwell was\nyet more prompt. Again, Mary had now no fear of danger to Bothwell's\nperson, as she had just learned that Bothwell had left perilous\nLiddesdale. Here, once more, there is no room, reason, or ground for her\ncomplaints. Again, in the Letter she says that she sends the mourning ring\n'by Paris.' But, if we are to believe Paris, she did not do so. He gave\nher Bothwell's letter, received from Bothwell's messenger, at Callendar,\nJanuary 27. She answered it at bedtime, gave it to Paris to be given to\nBothwell's messenger, enclosing a ring, and the messenger carried ring and\nletter to Bothwell. She could not write, 'I have sent you by Paris' the\nring, if she did nothing of the sort. Later, according to Paris, she did\nsend him, with the bracelets, from Linlithgow to Edinburgh, where he met\nBothwell, just mounting to ride and join Mary and Darnley on their return.\nThe Letter, then, does not fit the circumstances of one written either at\nCallendar, January 27 (Paris), or at Linlithgow, January 29 ('Cecil's\nJournal').\n\n(3) That the ring, and the lamentations, were carried, by Paris, from\nLinlithgow to the neighbouring house of Haltoun, where Bothwell lay, on\nthe night of April 23, the night before he bore Mary off to Dunbar, is not\ncredible. Nothing indicates her receipt of token or contract of marriage\nat that date. The danger to Bothwell was infinitesimal. He was not\nneglecting Mary, he was close to her, and only waiting for daylight to\ncarry her off. He wrote in reply, Paris says, and verbally promised to\nmeet her, 'on the road, at the bridge.'[378]\n\nTo a man who was thus doing his best to please her, a man whom she was to\nmeet next day, Mary could not be writing long, affected complaints and\nlamentations. She would write, if at all, on details of the business on\nhand. No ring was carried by Paris, according to his own deposition.\n\nThus the contents of the Letter do not fit into any recorded or alleged\njuncture in Mary's relations with Bothwell, after January 21, 1567, when\nParis (whom the Letter mentions) first entered her service. Laing places\nthe Letter last in the series, and supposes that the ring and letter were\nsent from Linlithgow, to Bothwell hard by (at Haltoun), the night before\nthe 'ravishment.' But he does not make it plain that the contents of the\nLetter are really consistent with its supposed occasion.[379] When was\nBothwell absent from Mary, cold, forgetful, and in danger, between the\nreturn from Glasgow, and the abduction? The Letter does not help the case\nof the prosecution.\n\nWe have exhausted the three conceivable alternatives as to the date,\noccasion, and circumstances of this Letter. Its contents fit none of\nthese dates and occasions. Mr. Froude adds a fourth alternative. This\nLetter 'was written just before the marriage'[380] when Bothwell (whose\nabsence is complained of) was never out of Mary's company.\n\nThere is not, in short, an obvious place for this Letter in the recorded\ncircumstances of Mary's history, though the lack of obviousness may arise\nfrom our ignorance of facts.\n\n\n\n\nXVI\n\n_THE CASKET SONNETS_\n\n\nWhen the 'Detection' of Buchanan was first published, La Mothe Fenelon,\nFrench ambassador in England, writing to Charles IX., described the\nSonnets as the worst, or most compromising, of all the evidence. They\nnever allude to Darnley, and must have been written after his death. As is\nwell known, Brantome says that such of Mary's verses as he had seen were\nentirely unlike the Casket Sonnets, which are 'too rude and unpolished to\nbe hers.' Ronsard, he adds, was of the same opinion. Both men had seen\nverses written hastily by Mary, and still 'unpolished,' whether by her, or\nby Ronsard, who may have aided her, as Voltaire aided Frederick the Great.\nBoth critics were, of course, prejudiced in favour of the beautiful Queen.\nBoth were good judges, but neither had ever seen 160 lines of sonnet\nsequence written by her under the stress of a great passion, and amidst\nthe toils of travel, of business, of intense anxiety, all in the space of\ntwo days, April 21 to April 23.\n\n[Illustration: PLATE A\n\nTWO SONNETS FROM THE CAMBRIDGE MS.\n\nThe hand somewhat resembles that of Mary in early youth, and that of Mary\nBeaton\n\nThe copyist is unknown]\n\nThat the most fervent and hurried sonneteer should write eleven sonnets in\nsuch time and circumstances is hard to believe, but we must allow for\nMary's sleepless nights, which she may have beguiled by versifying. It\nis known that a distinguished historian is occupied with a critical\nedition of these Sonnets. We may await his decision as to their relations\nwith the few surviving poems of the Queen. My own comparison of these does\nnot convince me that the favoured rhymes are especially characteristic of\nMary. The topics of the Casket Sonnets, the author's inability to remove\nthe suspicions of the jealous Bothwell; her protestations of submission;\nher record of her sacrifices for him; her rather mean jealousy of Lady\nBothwell, are also the frequent topics of the Casket Letters. The very\nphrases are occasionally the same: so much so as to suggest the suspicion\nthat the Letters may have been modelled on the Sonnets, or the Sonnets on\nthe Letters. If there be anything in this, the Sonnets are probably the\nreal originals. Nothing is less likely than that a forger would think of\nsuch a task as forging verses by Mary: nor do we know any one among her\nenemies who could have produced the verses even if he had the will. To\nsuspect Buchanan is grotesque. On the theory of a literary contest between\nMary and Lady Bothwell for Bothwell's affections, something is to be said\nin the following chapter. Meanwhile, I am obliged to share the opinion of\nLa Mothe Fenelon, that, as proof of Mary's passion for Bothwell, the\nSonnets are stronger evidence than the Letters, and much less open to\nsuspicion than some parts of the Letters.\n\n\n\n\nXVII\n\n_CONCLUSIONS AS TO THE LETTERS AND THE POSSIBLE FORGERS_\n\n\nA few words must be said as to a now obsolete difficulty, the question as\nto the language in which the Letters were originally written. That\nquestion need not be mooted: it is settled by Mr. Henderson's 'Casket\nLetters.' The original language of the epistles was French.\n\nI. The epistles shown at Westminster were certainly in French, which was\nnot (except in the first one or two sentences) the French later published\nby the Huguenots. _That_ French was translated from the Latin, which was\ntranslated from the Scots, which was translated from the original French.\nVoluminous linguistic criticisms by Goodall, Hosack, Skelton, and others\nhave ceased, therefore, to be in point.\n\nII. Many phrases, whether as mirrored in the Scots and English\ntranslations, or as extant in contemporary copies of the original French,\ncan be paralleled from authentic letters of Mary's. Bresslau proved this\neasily, but it was no less easily proved that many of the phrases were\nconventional, and could be paralleled from the correspondence of Catherine\nde' Medici and other contemporary ladies. A forger would have ample\nopportunities of knowing Mary's phrasing and orthography. It would be easy\nfor me to write a letter reproducing the phrasing and orthography, which\nis very distinctive, of Pickle the Spy. No argument against forgery can be\nbased on imitations of peculiarities of phrase and spelling which the\nhypothetical forger was sure to know and reproduce.\n\nBut phrasing and spelling are not to be confounded with tone and style.\nNow the Letters, in tone, show considerable unity, except at one point.\nThroughout Mary is urging and spurring an indifferent half-hearted wooer\nto commit an abominable crime, and another treasonable act, her abduction.\nReally, to judge from the Letters, we might suppose Bothwell to be almost\nas indifferent and reluctant as Field-Marshal Keith was, when the Czarina\nElizabeth offered him her hand. Keith put his foot down firmly, and\nrefused, but the Bothwell who hesitated was lost. It is Mary who gives him\nno rest till he carries her off: we must blame Bothwell for not arranging\nthe scheme before parting from Mary in Edinburgh; to be sure, Buchanan\ndeclares in his History that the scheme _was_ arranged. In short, we\nbecome almost sorry for Bothwell, who had a lovely royal bride thrust on\nhim against his will, and only ruined himself out of reluctance to\ndisoblige a lady. It is the old Irish tale of Diarmaid and Grainne over\nagain.\n\nBut, on the other hand, Letter II. represents Mary as tortured by remorse\nand regret. Only to please Bothwell would she act as she does. Her heart\nbleeds at it. We must suppose that she not only grew accustomed to the\nsituation, but revelled in it, and insisted on an abduction, which even\nLethington could only explain by her knowledge of the _apices juris_, the\nsublimities of Scots law. A pardon for the abduction would, in Scots law,\ncover the murder.\n\nSuch is the chief difference in tone. In style, though the fact seems to\nhave been little if at all noticed, there are two distinct species. There\nis the simple natural style of Letters I., II., and the rest, and there is\nthe alembicated, tormented, precious, and affected style of Letters VIII.\n(III.) and IV. Have we any other examples, from Mary's hand, of the\nobscure affectations of VIII. (III.) and IV.? Letter VIII., while it\ncontains phrases which recur in the Casket 'Sonnets,' is really more\ncontorted and _symboliste_ in manner than the verses. These 'fond ballads'\ncontain, not infrequently, the same sentiments as the Letters, whether the\nLetters be in the direct or in the affected style. Thus, in Letter II.,\nwhere Lady Bothwell and Mary's jealousy of her are the theme, we read 'Se\nnot hir' (Lady Bothwell) 'quhais feinzeit teiris should not be sa mekle\npraisit or estemit as the trew and faithful travellis quhilk I sustene\nfor to merite her place.' Compare Sonnets ii. iii.:\n\n Brief je feray de ma foy telle preuve,\n Qu'il cognoistra sans faulte ma constance,\n Non par mes pleurs ou fainte obeyssance\n Comme autres font, mais par divers espreuve.\n\nIn both passages the writer contrasts the 'feigned tears,' 'feigned\nobedience' of Bothwell's wife with her own practical proofs of devotion:\nin the Sonnet using 'them' for 'her' as in Letter IV.\n\nA possible, but unexpected explanation of the extraordinary diversity of\nthe two styles, I proceed to give. We have briefly discussed the Sonnets,\nwhich (despite the opinion of Ronsard) carry a strong appearance of\nauthenticity, though whether their repetitions of the matter and phrasing\nof the Letters be in favour of the hypothesis that _both_ are authentic\nmight be argued variously. Now from the Sonnets it appears that Lady\nBothwell was endeavouring to secure her bridegroom's heart in a rather\nunlooked-for manner: namely, by writing to him elaborately literary love\nletters in the artificial style of the age of the Pleiad. As the Sonnets\nsay, she wooes him 'par les escriptz tout fardez de scavoir.' But Mary\nmaintains that Lady Bothwell is a mere plagiarist. Her ingenious letters,\ntreasured by Bothwell, and the cause of his preference for her, are\n\n empruntes de quelque autheur luisant!\n\nWe have already tried to show that Bothwell was not the mere 'brave stupid\nstrong-handed Border noble,' 'the rough ignorant moss-trooper,' but a man\nof taste and culture. If the Sonnets be genuine, there was actually a\ncontest in literary excellence between Bothwell's wife and his royal\nmistress. This queer rivalry would account for the style of Letter VIII.,\nin which Mary labours to prove to Bothwell, as it were, that she is as\ncapable as his wife of writing a fashionable, contorted, literary style,\nif she chooses: in poetry, too, if she likes. We naturally feel sorry for\na man of action who received, at a moment when decisive action was\nneedful, such an epistle as Letter VIII., and we naturally suppose that he\nnever read it, but tossed it into the Casket with an explosion of profane\nwords. But it is just conceivable that Bothwell had a taste for the\n'precious,' and that, to gratify this taste, and eclipse Lady Bothwell,\nMary occasionally wrote in the manner of Letter VIII. or quoted Jason,\nMedea, and Creusa.\n\nThis hypothesis, far-fetched as it may seem, at all events is naturally\nsuggested by Sonnet VI. On the other hand, it is difficult to imagine that\na dexterous forger would sit down to elaborate, whether from genuine\nmaterials or not, anything so much out of keeping with his Letter II. as\nis his Letter VIII. Yet Letter VIII., as we saw, cannot be connected with\nany known moment of the intrigue.\n\nWhile the Letters thus vary in style, in tone of sentiment they are all\nuniform, except Letter II. We are to believe that the forger deliberately\nlaid down a theory of this strange wooing. The Queen throughout is much\nmore the pursuer than the pursued. Bothwell is cold, careless, breaks\npromises, is contemptuously negligent, does not write, is suspicious,\nprefers his wedded wife to his mistress. Contemporary gossip averred that\nthis, in fact, was his attitude. Thus, after Mary had been sent to Loch\nLeven, Lethington told du Croc that 'Bothwell had written several times to\nhis first wife, Lady Bothwell, since he lay with the Queen, and in his\nletters assured Lady Bothwell that he regarded her as his wife, and the\nQueen as his concubine.' Lethington reported this to Mary herself, who\ndiscredited the fact, but Lethington relied on the evidence of Bothwell's\nletters.[381] How could he know anything about them? The belief in\nBothwell's preference of his wife was general, and, doubtless, it may be\nurged that this explains the line taken by the forger.\n\nThe passion, in the Letters, is all on the side of Mary. By her eternal\nprotests of entire submission she recalls to us at once her eager service\nto Darnley in the first days of their marriage, and her constant promises\nof implicit obedience to Norfolk. To Norfolk, as to Bothwell (we have\nalready shown), she expresses her hope that 'you will mistrust me no\nmore.'[382] 'If you be in the wrong I will submit me to you for so\nwriting, and ax your pardon thereof.' She will beg pardon, even if Norfolk\nis in the wrong! Precisely in the same tone does Mary (in Letter VIII.),\nafter complaining of Bothwell's forgetfulness, say, 'But in spite of all I\nwill not accuse you, either of your scant remembrance or scant care, and\nstill less of your broken promise, seeing that what pleases you pleases\nme.'\n\nThis woman, whose pride is said to be in contradiction with her\nsubmission, as expressed in the Casket Letters, writes even to Elizabeth,\n'Je me sousmetray a vos commandemants.'[383] In Letter VIII. Bothwell is\ncongratulated on 'votre victoire et mon agreable perte.' To Elizabeth Mary\nwrites 'Vous aures fayt une profitable conqueste de moy.'\n\nThat any forger should have known Mary so well as to place her,\nimaginatively, as regarded Bothwell, in the very attitude which we see\nthat, on occasion, she chose later to adopt in fact, as regarded Norfolk,\nis perhaps beyond belief. It may be urged that she probably, in early\ndays, wrote to Darnley in this very tone, that Darnley's papers would fall\ninto his father's hands, and that Lennox would hand them over as materials\nto the forger. But 'it is to consider too curiously to consider thus.'\n\nSuch are the arguments, for the defence and the attack, which may be drawn\nfrom internal evidence of style. To myself this testimony seems rather in\nfavour of the authenticity of considerable and compromising portions of\nthe papers.\n\nLetter VIII. (intended to prove a contract of marriage with Bothwell)\nremains an enigma to me: the three Letters proving Mary's eagerness for\nthe abduction are not without suspicious traits. The epistle about\nbringing Lord Robert to kill Darnley in a quarrel is involved in the\ninconsistencies which we have shown to beset that affair. The note about\nthe waiting-woman was hardly worth forging, compromising as it is. Letter\nI. seems to me certainly authentic, if we adopt the scheme of dates\nsuggested, and reject that of 'Cecil's Journal,' which appears to be\nofficial, and answers to Lennox's demands for dates. It may be merely\nLennoxian, but no other scheme of chronology is known to have been put in\nby the accusers. Letter I., if our dates are admitted, implies the\nexistence of a letter answering to Letter II., which I have had to regard\nas, in some parts at least, genuine. If forgery and tampering were\nattempted (as I think they certainly were in the letter never produced,\nbut described by Lennox and Moray, and perhaps in other cases), who was\nthe criminal?\n\nMy reply will have been anticipated. Whoever held the pen of the forger,\nLethington must have directed the scheme. This idea, based on we know not\nwhat information, though I shall offer a conjecture, occurred to\nElizabeth, as soon as she heard the first whisper of the existence of the\nLetters, in June-July, 1567. On July 21, de Silva mentioned to her what he\nhad heard--that the Lords held certain Letters 'proving that the Queen had\nbeen cognisant of the murder of her husband. She told me it was not true,\nthough Lethington had behaved badly in the matter.'[384] The person from\nwhom Elizabeth thus early heard something connecting Lethington, in an\nevil way, with the affair must have been Robert Melville. His position was\nthen peculiar. He was first accredited to Elizabeth, on June 5, 1567, by\nMary, Bothwell, and Lethington.[385] Melville left Scotland, for Mary, on\nJune 5, returned to Scotland, and again rode to London on June 21, as the\nenvoy of some of her enemies. Now June 21 was the day of the opening of\nthe Casket, and inspection of its contents. A meeting of the Privy Council\nwas held on that day, but Lethington's name is not among those of the\nnobles who attended it.[386] The minutes of the Council say not a word\nabout the Casket, though the members attending Council were, with several\nothers, present, so Morton declared, at the opening of the Casket. Though\nnot at the Council, Lethington was at the Casket scene, according to\nMorton. And on that very day, Lethington wrote a letter to Cecil, the\nbearer being Robert Melville, who, says Lethington, is sent 'on _sudden_\ndispatch.'[387] Melville, in addition to Lethington's letter, carried a\nverbal message to Cecil, as the letter proves. We may glean the nature of\nthe verbal message from the letter itself.\n\nWe know that the Lords, in December of the same year, publicly and in\nParliament, and with strange logic, declared that the ground of their\nrising and imprisonment of Mary was her guilt as revealed in letters\nwritten by her hand, though these were not discovered when the Lords\nimprisoned Mary. Now Lethington, in his dispatch to Cecil, carried by\nMelville the day of the Casket finding, says that the bearer, Mr. Robert\nMelville, 'can report to you at length the ground of the Lords' so just\nand honourable cause.' Presently that 'ground' was declared to be the\nevidence of the Casket Letters. Melville then would verbally report this\nnew 'ground' to Cecil and Elizabeth. He was dispatched at that very date\nfor no other reason. The Lords were Melville's employers, but his heart\nwas sore for Mary. Elizabeth, on June 30, tells Mary (Throckmorton carried\nher letter) that 'your own faithful servant, Robert Melville, used much\nearnest speech on your behalf.'[388] What Elizabeth knew about\nLethington's bad behaviour as to the Letters, and spoke of to de Silva,\nshe must have heard from Robert Melville. She did not, as far as we are\naware, mention her knowledge of the subject till de Silva introduced it on\nJuly 21, but only from Melville could she learn whatever she did learn\nabout Lethington. Throckmorton, her envoy to Scotland, did not mention the\nLetters till July 25, four days after Elizabeth spoke to de Silva. 'Jhone\na Forret,' whom the Lords sent through London on July 8 to bring Moray,\nwas not exactly the man to blame Lethington and discredit the Letters: for\nhe was probably John Wood, later a chief enemy of Mary.\n\nSuspicions of Lethington, later, were not confined to Elizabeth alone. In\nMary's instructions to her Commissioners (Sept. 9, 1568) she says, 'There\nare divers in Scotland, both men and women, that can counterfeit my\nhandwriting, and write the like manner of writing which I use [the 'Roman'\nor Italic] as well as myself, _and principally such as are in company with\nthemselves_,'[389] as Lethington then was.\n\nLesley stated the matter thus: 'There are sundry can counterfeit her\nhandwriting, who have been brought up in her company, of whom there are\nsome assisting themselves' (the Lords) 'as well of other nations as of\nScots, as I doubt not both your highness' (Elizabeth) 'and divers others\nof your Highness's Court, has seen sundry letters sent here from Scotland,\nwhich would not be known from her own handwriting.'[390]\n\nAll this is vague, and Mary's reference to _women_, Lesley's reference to\nthose 'brought up in her company,' glance, alas! at the Queen's Maries.\nMary Livingstone, wedded to John Sempil, was not on the best terms with\nQueen Mary about certain jewels. Mary Fleming was Lethington's wife. Mary\nBeaton's aunts were at open feud with the Queen. A lady, unnamed, was\nselected as the forger by the author of 'L'Innocence de la Royne\nd'Escosse' (1572).\n\nTo return to Lethington. In 1615, Camden, writing, as it were, under the\neye of James VI. and I., declared that Lethington 'had privately hinted to\nthe Commissioners at York, that he had counterfeited Mary's hand\nfrequently.'[391] There is nothing incredible, _a priori_, in the story.\nBetween October 11, 1568 (when Norfolk, having been _privately_ shown the\nLetters, was blabbing, even to his servant Bannister, his horror of Letter\nII.), and October 16, when Lethington rode out with Norfolk, and the\nscheme for his marrying Mary struck deep root, something may have been\nsaid. Lethington may have told Norfolk that perhaps the Letters were\nforged, that he himself, for amusement, had imitated Mary's hand. As a\nfact, the secretaries of two of the foremost of contemporary statesmen did\nwrite to the innumerable bores who beset well-known persons, in hands\nhardly to be distinguished from those of their chiefs. Norfolk, as Laing\nsays, did acknowledge, at his trial, that Lethington 'moved him to\nconsider the Queen as not guilty of the crimes objected.' Lethington\nappears to have succeeded; possibly by aid of the obvious argument that,\nif _he_ could imitate Mary's hand for pastime, others might do it for evil\nmotives. Nay, we practically know, and have shown, that Lethington did\nsucceed in making Norfolk, to whom, five days before, he had offered the\nLetters as proofs of Mary's guilt, believe that she had not written them.\nFor, as we have seen, whereas Mary at this time was making a compromise\nwith Moray, Norfolk persuaded her to abandon that course. Thus Lethington,\non October 11, 1568, made Norfolk believe in the Letters; on October 16,\nhe made him disbelieve or doubt.\n\nWe are not to suppose Lethington so foolish as to confess that he was\nhimself the forger. Even if Lethington did tell Norfolk that he had often\nimitated Mary's hand, he could not have meant to accuse himself in this\ncase. His son, in 1620, asked Camden for his authority, and we know not\nthat Camden ever replied. He never altered his statement, which meant no\nmore than that, by the argument of his own powers of imitating Mary's\nhandwriting, Lethington kept urging the Duke of Norfolk to doubt her\nguilt.[392] Lethington's illustration of the ease with which Mary's\nwriting could be imitated is rather, if he used it, a proof that he did\n_not_ hold the pen which may have tampered with the Casket Letters. Our\nreasons for suspecting him of engaging, though not as penman, in the\nscheme are:\n\n1. Elizabeth's early suspicion of Lethington, and the probability that\nRobert Melville, who had just parted from Lethington, inspired that\nsuspicion.\n\n2. The probability, derived from Randolph's letter, already cited, that\nLethington had access to the Casket before June 21, 1567, but after\nMary's capture at Carberry.\n\n3. Of all men Lethington, from his knowledge of Mary's disgust at his\ndesertion, ingratitude, and 'extreme opposition' to her, in her darkest\nhour, and from his certainty that Mary held, or professed to hold,\ndocumentary proof of his own guilt, had most reason to fear her, and\ndesire and scheme her destruction.\n\n4. Kirkcaldy of Grange, on April 20, 1567, months before the Letters were\ndiscovered, wrote to Cecil that Mary 'has said that she cares not to lose\n(a) _France_, (b) _England_, and (c) _her own_ country' for Bothwell.[393]\n\nCompare, in the Lennox version of the letter never produced (p. 214)--\n\n (_a_) The loss of her dowry in _France_.\n\n (_b_) Her titles to the crown of _England_.\n\n (_c_) The crown _of her realm_.\n\nUnless this formula of renunciations, _in this sequence_, was a favourite\nof Mary's, in correspondence and in general conversation, its appearance,\nin the letter not produced, and in Kirkcaldy's letter written before the\nCasket was captured, _donne furieusement a penser_.\n\n5. Another curious coincidence between a Casket Letter (VII.) and Mary's\ninstructions to the Bishop of Dunblane, in excuse of her marriage, has\nalready been noticed. We may glance at it again.\n\n INSTRUCTIONS\n\n We thocht his continuance in the awayting upon us ... had procedit\n onelie upoun the ackawlegeing of _his dewtie, being our borne\n subject_.\n\n The _persuasionis_ quhilk oure friendis or his unfriendis _mycht cast\n out for his hinderence_ ...\n\n Sa ceased he nevir till be persuasionis and _importune sute,\n accumpaneit nottheles with force_.\n\n\n LETTER VII.\n\n Gif _abone the dewtie of ane subject_ yow advance yourself.\n\n That uther admonitiounis or forane _persuasiounis_ may not let me from\n consenting ...\n\n To use _ane humbil requiest joynit to ane importune action_.\n\nThe whole scheme of excuse given in Letter VII. is merely expanded into\nthe later Instructions, a piece of eleven pages in length. 'The\nInstructions are understood to have been drawn by Lethington,' says Sir\nJohn Skelton; certainly Mary did not write them, as they stand, for they\nare in Scots. 'Many things we resolved with ourselves, but never could\nfind ane outgait,' say the Instructions. 'How to be free of him she has no\noutgait,' writes Maitland to Beaton. If Lethington, as Secretary, penned\nthe Instructions, who penned Letter VII.?\n\n6. We have already cited Randolph's letter to Kirkcaldy and Lethington,\nwhen they had changed sides, and were holding the Castle for the Queen.\nBut we did not quote all of the letter. Lethington, says Randolph, with\nGrange, is, as Mary herself has said, the chief occasion of all her\ncalamities, by his advice 'to apprehend her, to imprison her; yea, to have\ntaken presently the life from her.' This follows a catalogue of\nLethington's misdeeds towards Mary, exhaustive, one might think. But it\nends, '_with somewhat more that we might say, were it not to grieve you\ntoo much herein_.' What 'more' beyond arrest, loss of crown, prison, and\nthreatened loss of life, was left that Lethington could do against Mary?\nThe manipulation of the Casket Letters was left: 'somewhat more that we\nmight say, were it not to grieve you too much herein.'[394]\n\nRandolph had been stirring the story of Lethington's opening the coffer in\na green cover, in the autumn of 1570. Charges and counter-charges as to\nthe band for murdering Darnley had been flying about. On January 10, 1571,\nCecil darkly writes to Kirkcaldy that of Lethington he 'has heard such\nthings as he dare not believe.'[395] This cannot refer to the declaration,\nby Paris, that Lethington was in the murder, for _that_ news was stale\nfifteen months earlier.\n\nAs to the hand that may have done whatever unfair work was done, we can\nhope for no certainty. Robert Melville, in 1573, being taken out of the\nfallen Castle, and examined, stated that 'he thinkis that the lard of\nGrange' (Kirkcaldy) 'counterfaitit the Regentis' (Moray's) 'handwrite,\nthat was sent to Alixr Hume that nycht.' But we do not accuse Kirkcaldy.\n\nThere is another possible penman, Morton's jackal, a Lord of Session,\nArchibald Douglas. That political forgery was deemed quite within the\nprovince of a Scottish Judge, or Lord of Session, in the age of the\nReformation, we learn from his case. A kinsman of Morton, one of Darnley's\nmurderers, and present, according to Morton, at the first opening of the\nCasket, Archibald was accused by his elder brother, William Douglas of\nWhittingham, of forging letters from Bishop Lesley to Lennox, the\nfavourite of James VI., and others (1580-1581).[396] Of course a Lord of\nSession might bear false witness against his brother in the flesh, and on\nthe Bench. But perhaps Archibald himself, a forger of other letters,\nforged the Casket Letters; he had been in France, and may have known\nFrench. All things are conceivable about these Douglases.\n\nIt is enough to know that experts in forgery, real or reputed, were among\nMary's enemies. But, for what they are worth, the hints which we can still\npick up, and have here put together, may raise a kind of presumption that,\nif falsification there was, the manager was Lethington. 'The master wit of\nLethington was there to shape the plot,' said Sir John Skelton, though\nlater he fell back on Morton, with his 'dissolute lawyers and unfrocked\npriests'--like Archie Douglas.\n\nI do not, it will be observed, profess to be certain, or even\nstrongly inclined to believe, that there was any forgery of Mary's\nwritings, except in the case of the letter never produced. But, if forgery\nthere was, our scraps and hints of evidence point to Lethington as manager\nof the plot.\n\n[Illustration: PLATE A B\n\nEXAMPLES OF MARY'S HAND\n\nOne of these two is, in part, not genuine, but imitated]\n\n[Illustration: PLATE B A\n\nEXAMPLES OF MARY'S HAND\n\nIn one some parts are not genuine, but imitated\n\nThe text is Mary to Elizabeth, B. Museum, Calig. C.I. Number 421 in Bain.\nCalendar II. p. 659 (1900)]\n\nAs to problems of handwriting, they are notoriously obscure, and the\nevidence of experts, in courts of justice, is apt to be conflicting. The\ntestimony in the case of Captain Dreyfus cannot yet have been forgotten.\nIn Plates BA, AB the reader will find a genuine letter of Mary to\nElizabeth, and a copy in which some of the lines are not her own, but have\nbeen imitated for the purpose of showing what can be done in that way.\n'The puzzle is' to discover which example is entirely by the Queen, and\nwhich is partly in imitation of her hand. In Plate F is an imitation of\nMary's hand, as it might have appeared in writing Letter VIII (Henderson's\nLetter III.). An imitator as clever as Mr. F. Compton Price (who has\nkindly supplied these illustrations) would easily have deceived the crowd\nof Lords who were present at the comparison of the Casket Letters with\ngenuine epistles of Mary to Elizabeth.\n\nScotland, in that age, was rich in 'fause notaries' who made a profession\nof falsification. In the Burgh Records of Edinburgh, just before Mary's\nfall, we find a surgeon rewarded for healing two false notaries, whose\nright hands had been chopped off at the wrists. (Also for raising up a\ndead woman who had been buried for two days.) But these professionals\nwere probably versed only in native forms of handwriting, whereas that of\nMary, as of Bothwell, was the new 'Roman' hand. An example of Mary\nBeaton's Roman hand is given in Plate C. Probably she had the same\nwriting-master as her Queen, in France, but her hand is much neater and\nsmaller than that of Mary, wearied with her vast correspondence. Probably\nMary Beaton, if she chose, could imitate the Queen's hand, especially as\nthat hand was, before the Queen had written so much. The 'Maries' of Mary\nStuart, Mary Beaton, and Mary Flemyng are all very similar. But to a\nlayman, Mary Beaton's hand seems rather akin to that of the copyist of the\nSonnets in the Cambridge MSS. (Plate A). The aunts of Mary Beaton, Lady\nReres and the Lady of Branxholme, were, after April 1567, on the worst\nterms with the Queen, railing at her both in talk and in letters. But that\nMary Beaton forged the Casket Letters I utterly disbelieve.\n\nKirkcaldy, whose signature is given, could not have adapted fingers\nhardened by the sword-hilt to a lady's Roman hand. Maitland of Lethington,\nwhose signature follows Kirkcaldy's, would have found the task less\nimpossible, and, if there is any truth in Camden's anecdote, may perhaps\nhave been able to imitate the Queen's writing. But if any forged letters\nor portions of letters were exhibited, some unheard-of underling is most\nlikely to have been the actual culprit.\n\n[Illustration: PLATE C\n\nHANDS OF MARY BEATON, KIRKCALDY, LETHINGTON, AND MARY FLEMING]\n\n\n\n\nXVIII\n\n_LATER HISTORY OF CASKET AND LETTERS_\n\n\nThe best official description of the famous Casket is in the Minutes of\nthe Session of Commissioners at Westminster, on December 7, 1568. It was\n'a small gilt coffer, not fully one foot long, being garnished in many\nplaces with the Roman (_Italic_) letter F set under a king's crown.' This\nminute is in the hand of Cecil's clerk, and is corrected by Cecil.[397]\nThe Casket was obviously long in shape, not square, like a coffer\ndecorated with Mary's arms, as Dowager of France, with thistles and other\nbadges, the property of M. Victor Luzarche, and described by him in 'Un\nCoffret de Bijoux de Marie Stuart' (Tours, 1868). Possibly the Casket was\nthe _petite boyte d'argent_, which Mary intended to bequeath to Margaret\nCarwood, if she herself died in childbed in 1566.[398]\n\nThe Casket with the Letters was in Morton's hands till shortly before his\ndeath in 1581. On November 8, 1582, Bowes, Elizabeth's envoy in Scotland,\nwrote to Walsingham about the Casket. He had learned from a bastard of\nMorton's, the Prior (lay) of Pluscarden, that the box was now in the\npossession of Gowrie, son of the Ruthven of Riccio's murder, and himself\nengaged in that deed. Gowrie was at this time master of James's person.\nBowes thought that Gowrie would not easily give up the Casket to\nElizabeth, who desired it.[399]\n\nAfter trying to get agents to steal the Casket, Bowes sought to induce\nGowrie to give it up, with promises of 'princely thanks and gratuity.'\nGowrie was not willing to admit the fact of possession, but Bowes proved\nthat the coffer had reached him through Sandy Jordan, a servant of the\nlate Earl of Morton. Gowrie then said that, without the leave of James,\nand of the nobles, who had dragged down Mary, he could not part with the\ntreasure, as the Letters warranted their action--undertaken before they\nknew that such Letters existed! However, Gowrie promised to look for the\nCasket, and consider of the matter. On November 24, Bowes again wrote.\nMary was giving out that the Letters 'were counterfeited by her rebels,'\nand was trying to procure them, or have them destroyed. To keep them would\ninvolve danger to Gowrie. Bowes would obtain the consent of the other\nlords interested, 'a matter more easy to promise than to perform;' finally\nGowrie ought to give them to Elizabeth 'for the _secrecy_ and benefit of\nthe cause.' Mary's defenders may urge that this 'secrecy' is suspicious.\nGowrie would think of it, but he must consult James, which, Bowes said,\n'should adventure great danger to the cause.' On December 2, Bowes\nwrote about another interview with Gowrie, who said that the Duke of\nLennox (Stewart d'Aubigny, the banished and now dead favourite of James)\nhad sought to get the Letters, and that James knew where they were, and\nnothing could be done without James's consent.[400]\n\n[Illustration: PLATE D\n\nSIDE OF CASKET WITH ARMS OF HAMILTON\n\nRAISED WORK ON ROOF OF CASKET]\n\nGowrie was executed for treason in May, 1584, and of the Casket no more is\nheard. Goodall, in 1754, supposed that the Earl of Angus got it as\nMorton's 'heir by tail,' whereas we know that Gowrie succeeded Morton as\ncustodian. In an anonymous writer of about 1660, Goodall found that 'the\nbox and letters were at that time to be seen with the Marquis of Douglas;\nand it is thought by some they are still in that family, though others say\nthey have since been seen at Hamilton.'[401] In 1810, Malcolm Laing, the\nhistorian, corresponded on the subject with Mr. Alexander Young,\napparently the factor, or chamberlain, of the Duke of Hamilton. He could\nhear nothing of the Letters, but appears to have been told about a silver\ncasket at Hamilton, rather less than a foot in length. A reproduction of\nthat casket, by the kindness of the Duke of Hamilton, is given in this\nbook. Laing maintained that, without the F's, crowned as mentioned in\nCecil's minute, the casket could not be Mary's Casket. In any case it is a\nbeautiful work of art, of Mary's age, and has been well described by Lady\nBaillie-Hamilton in 'A Historical Relic,' _Macmillan's Magazine_.[402]\nLady Baillie-Hamilton, when staying at Hamilton Palace, asked to be shown\na ring which Mary bequeathed to Lord John Hamilton, created Marquis in\n1599. The ring was produced from a silver box, which also contained\npapers. One of these, written probably about 1700-1715, gave the history\nof the box itself. It was 'bought from a ' by the Marchioness of\nDouglas, daughter of George (first Marquis of Huntly). In 1632 this lady\nbecame the second wife of William, first Marquis of Douglas. Her eldest\nson married Lady Anne Hamilton, heiress of James, first Duke of Hamilton,\nwho later became Duchess of Hamilton in her own right, her husband (Lord\nWilliam Douglas, later Earl of Selkirk) bearing the ducal title. The\nMarchioness of Douglas bought the box from a at an unknown date\nafter 1632, the box being sold as the Casket. The Marchioness 'put her own\narms thereon,' the box having previously borne 'the Queen's arms.' The\nMarchioness bequeathed her plate to her son, Lord John Douglas, who sold\nit to a goldsmith. The daughter-in-law of the Marchioness, namely the\nDuchess of Hamilton, purchased the box from the goldsmith, as she had\nlearned from the Marchioness that it was the historical Casket, and, by\nher husband's desire, she effaced the arms of the Marchioness, and put on\nher own, as may be seen in Plate D. Only one key was obtained by the\nDuchess, and is shown lying beside the Casket. The lock has been, at\nsome time, 'stricken up,' as Morton says that the lock of the Casket was\n(see Plate E). The box is 'not fully a foot long'; it measures eight\ninches in length. The scroll-work (Plate E) and bands have been gilded,\nbut the whole piece has not been 'overgilt,' as in Morton's description.\nThat by the English Commissioners at York, 'a little coffer of silver and\ngilt,' better describes the relic. It is pronounced to be 'French work of\nthe early part of the sixteenth century,' but Lady Baillie-Hamilton\nobserves that the scroll-work closely resembles the tooling on a book of\nCatherine de' Medici, now in the British Museum.\n\n[Illustration: PLATE E\n\nCASKET SHOWING THE LOCK AND KEY\n\nFRONT OF CASKET SHOWING PLACE WHENCE THE LOCK HAS BEEN 'STRICKEN UP']\n\nIs the Hamilton Casket the historical Casket? It has the advantage of a\nfairly long pedigree in that character, as we have seen. But where are\n'the many Roman letters F set under a king's crown,' of Cecil's\ndescription, which is almost literally copied in the memorandum added to\nthe English edition of Buchanan's 'Detection'? Buchanan did not insert\nthis memorandum, it is merely borrowed from Cecil's description, a fact of\nwhich Lady Baillie-Hamilton was not aware. There is no room on the panel\nnow occupied by the Duchess of Hamilton's arms for _many_ crowned F's.\nOnly a cypher of two F's interlaced and crowned could have found space on\nthat panel. Conceivably F's were attached in some way, and later removed,\nbut there is no trace of them. We can hardly suppose that, as in the case\nof the coffer with a crimson cover, which was sent to Mary at Loch Leven,\nthe crowned F's were worked in gold on the covering velvet. Dr. Sepp, in\n1884, published, in a small pamphlet, the document rediscovered by Lady\nBaillie-Hamilton. He was informed that there were small crowned F's\nstamped on the bottom of the box, but these Lady Baillie-Hamilton accounts\nfor as 'the mark of a French silversmith, consisting of a distinctive sign\nsurmounted by a fleur-de-lis and a crown.' Thus for lack of any certainty\nabout the 'many or sundry' crowned F's, this beautiful piece of work\nshares in the doubt and mystery which seem inseparable from Mary Stuart.\n\nVery possibly the Hamilton Casket may be the other of the 'twa silver\ncofferis' seen by Hepburn of Bowton at Dunbar (see p. xvi). Tradition,\nknowing that the Casket had been Mary's, would easily confuse it with the\nother more famous coffer, full of evils as the Casket of Pandora.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX A\n\nTHE SUPPOSED BODY OF BOTHWELL\n\n\nMonsieur Jusserand, the well-known writer on English and Scottish\nliterature, has kindly allowed me to print the following letter on the\nburial-place of Bothwell, and on the body which is traditionally regarded\nas his corpse.\n\n\nLegation de France, a Copenhague, December 26, 1900.\n\nMY DEAR LANG,--Our poor Queen's last scoundrel lies low in a darksome\nplace.\n\nThe Faarvejle church is quite isolated on a little eminence formerly\nwashed by the water of a fiord now dried up (the work of an agricultural\ncompany which expected great benefits and lost much money instead). There\nis no village around; the houses are scattered rather thinly throughout\nthe country--a very frequent case in Denmark.\n\n[Illustration: FAARVEJLE CHURCH (ACTUAL STATE).\n\n(1) A side chapel used for burials, now attached to the Zytphen-Adeler\nfamily. 'Bothwell' was buried in it, and removed to the vault under the\nchancel when the Z.-A. family had some time adopted it.\n\n(2) The entrance porch, with a fine oak door ornamented with iron work\nrepresenting the dragons of 'Drags'-holm.]\n\nThis church is, however, the one from which the castle of Dragsholm has\never, ecclesiastically, depended. Castle and church are at some distance:\nabout twenty miles drive.\n\nThe castle was formerly a royal one; it was so in Bothwellian times.[403]\nLittle remains of the old building; it was burnt during the Swedish wars\nin the seventeenth century; and rebuilt by the Zytphen-Adeler family (of\nDutch origin); it still belongs to them.\n\nOnly the walls have been preserved; they are of red brick; but the actual\nowner has caused them to be whitewashed throughout. The characteristic\ngreat tower it used to have in Hepburnian times has been destroyed. Almost\nno trace of any style is left, and the house, big as it is, is plain\nenough. The park around it is fine, with plenty of deer, hares, &c. The\nsea is near at hand and you see it from the walls.\n\nAs for the mummy, it lies in an oak coffin now preserved in a vault under\nthe floor of the nave in the Faarvejle church. This vault is under the\npassage in the middle, near the step leading to the choir. The wooden\nplanks on the floor are removed, a ladder is provided, and you find\nyourself in a subterranean chamber, with coffins piled on the top of one\nanother, right and left. 'Bothwell's' stands apart on the left; it is an\noak chest; as it was in a bad state, the present Baron Zytphen-Adeler has\ncaused it to be placed in another one, with a sheet of glass allowing the\nhead to be seen. But he kindly allowed me to see the body complete. The\nman must have been rather tall, not very; the hands and feet have a very\nfine and aristocratic appearance; the mummifying process may have\nsomething to do with this appearance; yet I think some of it came from\nnature. The head is absolutely hairless; the face is close shaven; the\nskull has no hair. I noticed, however, on the top of it faint traces of\nreddish-brown hair, but extremely close cropped. Horace Marryat, who saw\nit in 1859, says (in the same innocent fashion as if he had been\nperforming a pious rite) that he 'severed a lock of his red and silver\nhair.' If he really did so, he must have severed all that was left.\n('Residence in Jutland,' 1860.)\n\nThe skin remains; the nose, very prominent and arched, is complete; the\nmouth _very_ broad. The jawbone is prominent (partly on account of the\ndrying up of the flesh). The hind part of the skull is broad and deep. The\narms are folded on the chest, below which the body is still wrapped in its\nwinding sheet, only the feet emerging from it. The head lies on some white\nstuff which seems to be silk. All about the body is a quantity of\nvegetable remains, looking like broken sticks; they told me it was hops,\nsupposed to have preserving qualities.\n\nAs for the authenticity of the relic, there is no absolute proof. It is\nprobable and likely; not certain. That Bothwell died in Dragsholm and was\nburied in Faarvejle church is certain. The coffin has no mark, no\ninscription, no sign whatever allowing identification. But, if not\nBothwell, who can this be--for there _it_ is? That careful embalming is\nnot a usual process; the other people buried in the church either have\ntheir names on their coffins or are not of such importance as to justify\nsuch a costly process.\n\nA careful burial and no name on the tomb tally rather well with the\ncircumstances: for the man was a great man, the husband of a Queen; and\nyet what was to be done with his body? would he not be sent back to\nScotland some day? what rites should be allowed him? Even before his\ndeath Bothwell had become, so to say, anonymous; and, to get rid of\nimportunities, the Danish King, Fred. II., had allowed the rumour of his\ndeath to be spread several years before it happened.\n\nThe question remains an open one. J. J. A. Worsaae believed in the\nauthenticity of the relic. The professor of anatomy, I. Ibsen, has also\npronounced in its favour. Others have disagreed. Anatomici certant.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX B\n\nTHE BURNING OF LYON KING OF ARMS\n\n\nAmong the mysteries of Mary's reign, none is more obscure than the burning\nof Sir William Stewart, the Lyon King at Arms: at St. Andrews, in August,\n1569. In 1560, Stewart was Ross Herald, and carried letters between Mary\nand Elizabeth.[404] On February 11, 1568, when Moray was Regent, we find\nStewart sent on a mission to Denmark. He was to try to obtain the\nextradition of Bothwell, or, at least, to ask that he might be more\nstrictly guarded.[405] Now we know that, according to Moray, Bothwell's\nvalet, Paris, did not arrive in Scotland from Denmark till June, 1569,\nthough he was handed over to Captain Clark in October, 1568. Miss\nStrickland conjectured that Sir William Stewart, now Lyon Herald, brought\nback Paris from Denmark, learned from him that Mary was innocent, and\nMoray's associates culpable, and so had to be put out of the way. But the\nLyon Herald returned to Scotland without Paris, a year before Paris; for\nhe was in Scotland by July, 1568, and Paris did not land till June, 1569.\n\nOn July 20, 1568, Drury informs Cecil that Moray 'has understanding who\nhas determined to kill him,' and has enlisted a bodyguard of thirty\ngentlemen. Drury adds--I cite him in his native orthography--\n\n'I send unto your h. herewt. some pease off the woorke that the conjurers\nthat dyd vse theyre develysshe skyle dyd devyse above Edenborogh, the\nplatte whereoff I sente you before paynted.[406] And so ajayne I humbly\ntake my leave.\n\n'Some money they fownde. Will Stwart kyng off herauldee one off the parte\nplayers he that they judge schoold be the fynder off the threasure,\nschoold be the rejente.'\n\nHere Drury speaks of 'conjurers,' who have played some prank involving\ndiscovery of a treasure. Stewart was one of the party, but what is meant\nby 'he that they judge should be finder of the treasure, should be\nRegent'? There is, apparently, some connection between the treasure hunt\nand the plot to kill Moray, and Stewart is mixed up with the magic of the\ntreasure hunters. We know that Napier of Merchistoun, inventor of\nLogarithms, was to assist Logan of Restalrig to find treasure, 'by arts to\nhim known,' at a later date. Probably the divining rod was to be employed,\nas in a case cited by Scott.\n\nBut in 1568, Napier of the Logarithms was only a boy of eighteen.\n\nReturning to the plot to kill Moray: on August 14, 1568, Patrick Hepburn,\nbastard of the Bishop of Moray, and cousin of Bothwell, was taken in\nScone, by Ruthven and Lindsay, brought before Moray at Stirling, and\nthence taken to Edinburgh. He was examined, revealed the nature of the\nplot, and gave up the names of his accomplices.[407]\n\nThis Patrick Hepburn was parson of Kynmoir by simoniacal arrangement with\nhis father, the Bishop. It seems possible that Stewart met Bothwell, when\nhe was in Denmark, in the spring of the year, and induced him to arrange a\nconspiracy with his cousin, Patrick Hepburn. Before Hepburn was taken, the\nLyon Herald, on August 2, fled to Dumbarton, where he was safe under the\nprotection of Lord Fleming, then holding Dumbarton Castle for Mary.[408]\nThe Herald 'was suspecte of conspiracy against the life of the Regent, the\nEarll of Moray.' He lost his place as Lyon King at Arms, and Sir David\nLindsay was appointed to the office, held under James V. by his poet\nnamesake. On August 19, Sir William Stewart wrote, from Dumbarton, a\nletter to a lord, not named. This lord had written to ask Fleming to give\nup Stewart, who believes that he was instigated by some other. 'For I\ncannot think that you can be so ingrate as to seek my innocent life and\nblood, considering that I have so favourably and so oft forewarned you of\nthe great misery that you are like to fall into now, for not following my\ncounsel and admonitions made oft and in due time.' Here we see Stewart\nclaiming foreknowledge of events. 'Desist, I pray you, to seek further my\nblood, for as I shall answer to the eternal God, I never conspired or\nconsented to the Earl of Moray's death.... I fear you not, nor none of\nthat monstrous faction, for, as God is the defender of innocents, so is he\nthe just and severe punisher of cruel monsters and usurpers, who spare not\nto execute all kind of cruelty, under the pretext of religion and\njustice.... But there be some of his own secret Council that both directly\nand indirectly have sought that bloody usurper's life, whom I shall name\nas occasion shall serve....' Stewart again protests his own innocence,\napparently with conviction. He ends 'I pray you be favourable to the\nParson of Kenmore' (Patrick Hepburn), 'and with such as have meddled with\nmy apparel, bows, and books, to keep all well till meeting, which will be\nsoon God willing....'[409]\n\nThis letter shows Stewart as a believer in foreknowledge of events, as one\nwho hates Moray, 'a bloody usurper,' and as acquainted with a plot against\nMoray by his intimates. Lethington and Sir James Balfour were more or less\nat odds with Moray, about this time, but we have no evidence that they\nconspired to kill him.\n\nHow it happened we do not know, but Stewart was captured, despite the\nprotection of Dumbarton Castle. On October 4, 1568, his reception there\nwas one of the charges made, perhaps by John Wood, against Mary's party,\n'Lord Fleming refusing his delivery.'[410] At all events, on August 5,\n1569, we find Stewart imprisoned in Edinburgh Castle, as also was Paris,\nwho, says Moray, arrived at Leith in June of the year. On August 5, both\nmen were taken to St. Andrews, 'there to be punished according to their\ndemerits.'[411]\n\nOn the same day, August 5, 1569, Stewart wrote from the Castle a piteous\nletter to 'the most merciful Regent.' He declared, as to the conspiracy of\n1568, that he only knew of it by public talk. 'The bruit of your Grace's\nmurder was tossed up and down at Edinburgh.' Even if Stewart foreknew and\nconcealed the plot, 'yet till the principal devisers are tried and\nconvicted, I cannot be accused.' Stewart himself first heard of the\nconspiracy on July 21, 1568, from Patrick Hepburn. The comptroller\n(Tullibardine) had, on that day, 'purged himself' of the affair at\nStirling. Now July 21 was the day after Drury gave his second notice of\nthe treasure-hunt by magic, somehow involving a new regent, in which\nStewart was concerned. Stewart cannot be accurate in referring his first\nhearsay knowledge of the conspiracy to July 21, 1568.\n\nHe goes on excusing himself. He could not believe that the persons\nimplicated by Patrick Hepburn ever contemplated the murder of Moray, who\nknows their names. Moreover, there is some one who predicted many events\nto Stewart, such as Darnley's murder, the fall of Bothwell, 'the death of\nLyon Herald, and my promotion, the Queen's deliverance,' Langside, 'and\nother predictions which have proved true.' This soothsayer said that Moray\nwas only in danger from 'domestical treason.' Therefore, Stewart\ndisbelieved wholly in Patrick Hepburn's story of a plot, and so did not\ndivulge it. As witness, he cites 'a certain courtier' to whom he had given\nthe same reason for his scepticism, in the middle of July, 1568. He adds\nthat he thinks it wrong, following St. Paul, to resist 'tyrants and\nusurpers.' He regarded Moray as a tyrant and usurper, we have seen, in\nAugust, 1568. He ends by offering disclosures, privately, and asking for\nmercy.[412]\n\nOn August 15, 1569, 'William Stewart, being convictit for witcherie, was\nburnt, and the said Paris, convictit for ane of the slayaris of the King,\nwes hangit in Sanctandrois,' says the 'Diurnal.'\n\nNow, why was Lyon Herald burned? If there was a conspiracy, in July, 1568,\nno others suffered for it. It was easy to convict Stewart for 'witchery':\nhe confessed to dealings with a soothsayer, and the Kirk was beginning its\ncampaign against witches. But what was the political or personal reason\nfor Moray's cruelty? Had he seen Stewart's letter of August 19, 1568?\n\nAs to the soothsayer, he may have been a familiar spirit, but he may also\nhave been the Laird of Merchistoun, Napier, the father of the inventor of\nLogarithms. One of his prophecies to Stewart dealt with Mary's escape from\nLoch Leven. And Nau, Mary's secretary, writes, 'The Laird of Merchistoun,\nwho had the reputation of being a great wizard, made bets with several\npersons, to the amount of 500 crowns, that by the 5th of May, her Majesty\nwould be out of Loch Leven.'[413]\n\nThus there were two wizard Lairds of Merchistoun, the scientific son (the\ntreasure-hunter for the laird of Restalrig) and his father.\n\nFor the rest, the conspiracy against Moray, in July, 1568, and the secret\nas to the cause of Lyon Herald's death, remain mysterious.[414]\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX C\n\nTHE DATE OF MARY'S VISIT TO GLASGOW\n\n\nThe question of the possibility that Letter II. may be authentic turns on\ndates. If the Lords are right in declaring, in 'Cecil's Journal,' that\nMary left Edinburgh on January 21, 1567, and arrived in Glasgow on January\n23, then the evidence of the Letter is incompatible with that of Paris,\nand one or both testimonies must be abandoned. They fare no better if we\naccept the statement of Drury, writing from Berwick, that Mary entered\nGlasgow on January 22. It is shown in the text that, if we accept the date\nas given in Birrel's 'Diary,' and also in the 'Diurnal of Occurrents': if\nwe make Mary leave Edinburgh on January 20, and (contrary to Drury and\n'Cecil's Journal') make her enter Glasgow on January 21, then the Letter\nmay be brought into harmony with the statement of Paris.\n\nOf course it may be argued that the 'Diurnal' and Birrel's 'Diary'\ncoincide in an error of date. The 'Diary' of Birrel describes itself as\nextending from 1532 to 1605. One man cannot have kept a daily note of\nevents for seventy-three years. The 'Diary,' in fact, is _not_ a daily\nrecord. There is but one entry for 1561, one for 1562, one for 1565, ten\nfor 1566, and twenty-four for 1567; up to Mary's surrender at Carberry\n(June 15). The 'Diurnal,' for our period, is more copious, and is by a\ncontemporary, though probably he did not always write his remarks on the\nday of the occurrence noted.\n\nFrom August 19, 1561, to June 15, 1567, the 'Diurnal' and the 'Diary'\nrecord in common twenty-one events, with date. In seven of these cases\nthey differ, as to date. They differ as to the day of Mary's departure\nfrom Edinburgh to Jedburgh, as to the departure of the ambassadors from\nStirling, as to the arrival of Mary with her infant child in Edinburgh\n(January, 1567), as to the return of Mary and Darnley from Glasgow, as to\nthe day of Darnley's burial, as to the day of opening Parliament, and as\nto the attack on Borthwick Castle by the Lords: while the 'Diurnal' makes\nthe explosion at Kirk o' Field occur at 2 A.M. on February 10, but ends\nthe Parliament on April 29, which is absurd. When the dates are correctly\nknown from other sources, and when the 'Diary' and the 'Diurnal' coincide\nas to these dates, then, of course, we may accept their authority. But\nwhen, as in the case of Mary's departure from Edinburgh, and arrival in\nGlasgow, the 'Diary' and 'Diurnal' oppose 'Cecil's Journal,' and Drury's\nversion, every reader must estimate the value of their coincidence for\nhimself. If their date, January 20, is correct, then a letter may have\nbeen written, and sent, and received, and the facts, so far, are\ncorroborated by Paris's deposition.\n\nThe argument of Chalmers, that Mary was at Edinburgh till January 24,\nbecause there are entries as if of her presence there in the Register of\nPrivy Seal, is not valid, as such entries were occasionally made in the\nabsence of the King or Queen.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX D\n\nTHE BAND FOR DARNLEY'S MURDER\n\n\nThis Band, which is constantly cited in all the troubles from 1567 to\n1586, is a most mysterious document. We have seen that Mary's secretary,\nNau, wilfully or accidentally confuses it with an anti-Darnley band signed\nby Morton, Moray, and many others, early in October, 1566. We have also\nseen that Randolph, in 1570, distinguishes between this 'old band' and the\nband for the murder, which, he says, Lethington and Balfour abstracted\nfrom a little coffer in the Castle, covered with green cloth or velvet,\nimmediately after Mary surrendered at Carberry. I have ventured the theory\nthat this carefully covered little coffer may have been the Casket\nitself.[415] Drury, again, in November, 1567, reports that the band has\nbeen burned, while the papers as to Mary are 'kept to be shewn.' But, in\nScotland, till Morton's execution in June, 1581, the murder band was\nbelieved to be extant: at least Sir James Balfour, if he chose, could give\nevidence about it. What Mary wished to be believed as to this matter, we\nhave seen in Nau, who wrote under her inspiration between 1575 and 1587.\nHe asserts that Bothwell, 'to ease his conscience' gave Mary a copy of the\nband, when he rode away from Carberry (June 15, 1567). He showed Mary the\nsignatures of Morton, Balfour, Lethington, and others. She kept the\ndocument, and, when she met Morton on Carberry Hill, told him that he was\none of the chief murderers, as she had learned. He slunk away.[416]\nProbably Mary did accuse Morton, at Carberry. When he was executed (June\n3, 1581) Sir John Foster, from Alnwick, sent an account of the trial to\nWalsingham. In the evidence against Morton was 'the Queen's confession\nwhen she was taken at Carberry Hill. She said he was the principal man\nthat was the deed-doer, and the drawer of that purpose.' Morton certainly\nwas not present, and it is as good as certain that he did not sign the\nband. Still, Mary, at Carberry, charged him with complicity.[417]\n\nWe have seen that Mary, ever after Carberry, also inculpated Lethington,\nand vowed that she had something in black and white which would hang him.\nSomething she probably did possess, but not a band signed also by Morton.\nConcerning the murder-band, Hay of Tala, before execution (January 3,\n1568), 'in presence of the whole people,' named as subscribers 'Bothwell,\nHuntly, Argyll, Lethington, Balfour, with divers other nobles.'[418] Hay\nsaw their signatures, but not that of Morton. 'He said my Lord Bothwell\nsaid to him that he subscribed the same.' The Black Laird (December 13,\n1573), when in a devout and penitent condition, said that Bothwell had\nshown him the contract, 'subscribed by four or five handwrites, which, he\naffirmed to me, was the subscription of the Earl of Huntly, Argyll, the\nsecretary Maitland, and Sir James Balfour.' Ormistoun repeated part of the\ncontents: the paper was drawn up by Balfour, a Lord of Session.[419] (See\nIntroduction, pp. xiii-xviii.)\n\nMorton, we know, was accused of Darnley's death, and arrested, at the end\nof December, 1580. Archibald Douglas was sought for, but escaped into\nEngland. Elizabeth sent Randolph down to save Morton: Hunsdon was to lead\nan army over the Border. Every kind of violence was designed, and forgery\nwas attempted, but Randolph had to fly to Berwick, at the end of March.\nMeanwhile the arch traitor, Balfour, had been summoned from France, as an\nevidence against Morton. But he was not of much use. On January 30, 1581,\nhe wrote from Edinburgh to Mary. He had arrived in Scotland on December\n17, 1580, when he found Morton in the height of power. Balfour secretly\napproached James's new favourite, Stewart d'Aubigny, recently created Earl\nof Lennox. By giving them information '_had from your Majesty's self_, and\npartly by other intelligence which I knew and learned from others,' he\ngave them grounds for Morton's arrest. But Morton, he says, trusting to\nthe lack of testimony from the absence of Archibald Douglas, boldly\n'denies all things promised by him to Bothwell in that matter,' 'except\nhis signature to the band whereof I did send the copy to your Majesty.'\nNow that was only 'Ainslie's band,' made _after_ the murder, on April 19,\n1567, to defend Bothwell's quarrel. On an extant copy Randolph has\nwritten, 'upon this was grounded thacusation of therle Morton.'[420] This\nwas no hanging matter, and Balfour either had not or would not produce the\nmurder band. He therefore asks Mary for further information: 'all that\nyour Majesty has heard or known thereinto.'[421]\n\nBalfour and Mary corresponded in cypher through Archbishop Beaton, her\nambassador in France. On March 18, 1580, she had written to Beaton, 'if\npossible make Balfour write to me fully about the band which he has seen,\nwith the signatures, for the murder of my late husband, the King, or let\nhim give you a copy in his own hand.' If she really possessed the band\nwhich Nau says Bothwell gave her at Carberry, she needed no copy from\nBalfour. She does not seem to have believed in him and his band. On May\n20, 1580, she writes to Beaton: 'I put no faith in what Balfour has sent\nme, so far, and cannot trust him much having been so wretchedly betrayed\nby him,' for Balfour had put Morton on the trail of the Casket, had sold\nthe Castle, and later, had betrayed Kirkcaldy and Lethington when they\nheld the Castle against Morton. However, she sent to Balfour a civil\nmessage, and bade him go on undermining Morton, in which he succeeded, in\nthe following year. But the murder-band was never produced. On March 16,\n1581, Randolph described a conference which had passed between him and\nJames VI. 'I spoke again of the _band in the green box_, containing the\nnames of all the chief persons consenting to the King's murder, which Sir\nJames Balfour either hath or can tell of.' Randolph, who was working for\nMorton, obviously knew that _he_ did not sign that band: otherwise he\nwould have avoided the subject.[422]\n\nWe have no account of Morton's trial, save what Foster tells Walsingham.\n'The murder of the King was laid to him by four or five witnesses. The\nfirst is the Lord Bothwell's Testament' (usually thought to be forged),\n'the second, Mr. Archibald Douglas, when he was his man.' But Douglas,\nsurely, dared not appear in Court, or in Scotland. Foster clearly means\nthat Archibald's servant, Binning, proved _his_ guilt, and that it\nreflected on Morton, whose 'man' Archibald was, in 1567, and later. Next\ncame the charge that Morton 'spoke with' Bothwell, as he confessed that he\ndid, at Whittingam, about January 20, 1567, when he says that he declined\nto join the plot without Mary's written warrant. How could this be known,\nexcept through Mary or Archibald Douglas? Possibly his brother, at whose\nhouse the conference was held, may have declared the matter, as he\n'split,' in 1581, on Archibald, and all concerned. 'And then' Morton was\ncondemned on 'the consenting to the murder of the King' (how was _that_\nproved?), on Ainslie's band to support Bothwell's quarrel, 'no person\nbeing excepted,' and finally, 'the Queen's confession at Carberry Hill,'\nwhen she confessed nothing, but accused Morton.\n\nMary's conduct, as far as it can be construed, looks as if she knew very\nlittle either about Morton or the murder-band. If Bothwell told her\nanything, what he told her was probably more or less untrue.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX E\n\nTHE TRANSLATIONS OF THE CASKET LETTERS\n\n\nThe casual treatment of the Casket Letters by Mary's accusers, and by the\nEnglish Commissioners, is demonstrated by an inspection of the texts as\nthey now exist. One thing is absolutely certain, the Letters were\nproduced, at Westminster and Hampton Court, in the original French,\nwhether that was forged, or garbled, or authentic. This is demonstrated by\nthe occurrence, in the English translation, of the words 'I have taken the\nworms out of his nose.' This ugly French phrase for extracting a man's\ninmost thoughts is used by Mary in an authentic letter.[423] But the Scots\nversion of the passage runs, 'I have drawn all out of him.' Therefore the\nEnglish translator had a French original before him, _not_ the French\nlater published by the Huguenots, where for _tire les vers du nez_, we\nfind _j'ay sceu toutes choses de luy_.\n\nOriginal French letters were therefore produced; the only doubt rests on\npart of Crawford's deposition, where it verbally agrees with Letter II.\nBut we may here overlook Crawford's part in the affair, merely reminding\nthe reader that the French idioms in that portion of the Letter (Scots\nversion) which most closely resembles his very words, in his deposition,\nmay have come in through the process of translating Crawford's Scots into\nFrench, and out of French into Scots again, to which we return.\n\nThe Casket Letters were produced, in French, on December 7 and 8. On\nDecember 9, the English Commissioners read them, 'being duly translated\ninto English.'[424] We are never told that the Scottish Lords prepared and\nproduced the _English_ translations. These must have been constructed on\nDecember 7 and 8, in a violent hurry. So great was the hurry that Letter\nVI. was not translated from French at all: the English was merely done,\nand badly done, out of the Scots. Thus, Scots, 'I am wod;' English, 'I am\nwood.' As far as this Letter goes, there need have been no original French\ntext.[425] In this case (Letter VI.) the English is the Scots Anglified,\nword for word. The same easy mode of translating French is used in Letter\nV.; it is the Scots done word for word into English. In Letters I. and\nII., M. Philippson makes it pretty clear that the English translator had a\ncopy of the Scots version lying by him, from which he occasionally helped\nhimself to phrases. M. Cardauns, in _Der Sturz der Maria Stuart_, had\nproved the same point, which every one can verify. Dozens of blunders\noccur in the English versions, though, now and then, they keep closer to\nthe originals than do the Scots translators.\n\nOf this we give a singular and significant proof. In the Scots of Letter\nI. the first sentence ends, 'Ze promisit to mak me advertisement of zour\nnewis from tyme to tyme.' The next sentence begins: 'The waiting upon\nyame.' In the English we read 'at your departure you promised to send me\nnewes from you. _Nevertheless I can learn none_:' which is not in the\nScots, but is in the published French, 'et toutes fois je n'en puis\napprendre.' The _published_ French is translated from the Latin, which is\ntranslated from the Scots, but each of the French _published_ letters\nopens with a sentence or two from the _original_ French: thus the\npublished French, in one of these sentences, keeps what the Scots omits.\n\nTherefore, the Scots translator undeniably, in the first paragraph of\nLetter I., omitted a clause which was in his French original, and is in\nthe English translation. Consequently, when, in the same short letter, the\nEnglish has, and the Scots has not, '_to Ledington, to be delivered to\nyou_,' we cannot, as most critics do, and as Herr Bresslau does, infer\nthat Lethington had that mention of him deliberately excised from the\nScots version, as likely to implicate him in the murder. It did not\nimplicate him. Surely a Queen may write to her Secretary of State, on\npublic affairs, even if she is planning a murder with her First Lord of\nthe Admiralty. When the Scots translator omits a harmless clause, by\ninadvertence, in line 6, he may also, by inadvertence, omit another in\nline 41.\n\nFrom these facts it follows that we cannot acquit Lethington of a possible\nshare in the falsification of the Letters, merely because a reference to\nhim, in the original French, existed, and was omitted in the Scots text.\nHe need not have struck out the clause about himself, because the Scots\ntranslator, we see, actually omits another clause by sheer inadvertence.\nIn the same way Mr. Henderson's text of the Casket Letters exhibits\nomissions of important passages, by inadvertence in copying.\n\nAgain, we can found no argument on omissions or changes, in the English\nversions. That text omits (in Letter II.), what we find in the Scots, the\nword _yesternight_, in the clause 'the King sent for Joachim\n_yesternight_.' M. Philippson argues that this was an intentional\nomission, to hide from the English commissioners the incongruity of the\ndates. The translators, and probably the commissioners, did not look into\nthings so closely. The English translators made many omissions and other\nerrors, because they were working at top speed, and Cecil's marginal\ncorrections deal with very few of these blunders. On them, therefore, no\ntheory can be based. Nor can any theory be founded on clauses present in\nthe English, but not in the Scots, as in Letter II., Scots, 'I answerit\nbut rudely to the doutis yat wer in his letteris,' to which the English\ntext appends, 'as though there had been a meaning to pursue him.' This,\nprobably, was in the French; but we must not infer that Lennox had it\nsuppressed, in the Scots, as a reference to what he kept concealed, the\nrumour of Darnley's intention to seize and crown the child prince. The\nreal fact is that the Scots translator, as we have seen, makes inadvertent\nomissions.\n\nThe English text is sometimes right where the Scots is wrong. Thus, Sir\nJames Hamilton told Mary, as she entered Glasgow, that Lennox sent the\nLaird of Houstoun to tell him that he (Lennox) 'wald never have belevit\nthat he (Sir James) wald have persewit him, nor zit accompanyit him with\nthe Hamiltounis.' The English has what seems better, 'he,' Lennox, 'wold\nnot have thought that he would have followed and accompany himself with\nthe Hamiltons.' In the end of a paragraph (3), the Scots is gibberish:\nScots, 'nevertheless he speikis gude, at the leist his son': English\n(_Henderson_), 'and they so speakith well of them, at least his sonne,'\n'and then he speaketh well of them' (Bain). The English then omits (Scots)\n'I se na uthir Gentilman bot thay of my company.'\n\nIn the next line (Scots) 'The King send for Joachim yesternicht,' the\nEnglish omits 'yesternicht,' probably by inadvertence. The word has a\nbearing on the chronology of the Letter, and its omission in the English\ntext may be discounted. It is a peculiarity of that text to write 'he' for\n'I,' and a feature of Mary's hand accounts for the error. Where Darnley,\nin the Scots, says, 'I had rather have passit with yow,' the sentence\nfollows 'I trow he belevit that I wald have send him away Presoner.' This\nis not in the English, but recurs in the end of Crawford's Deposition, 'I\nthought that she was carrying him away rather as a prisoner than as a\nhusband.' Probably the sentence, omitted in English, was in the French:\nwhether derived from Crawford's Deposition or not. Presently the English\ngives a kind of date, not found in the Scots. Scots, 'I am in doing of ane\nwork heir that I hait greitly.' The English adds, '_but I had begun it\nthis morning_.' Now, to all appearance, she had 'begun it' the night\nbefore. How did 'but I had begun it this morning' get into the English?\nFor the answer see page 300. Even in the first set of Memoranda there are\ndifferences: Scots, 'The purpois of Schir James Hamilton.' English, 'The\ntalk of Sir James Hamilton _of the ambassador_.'\n\nThere are other mistranslations, and English omissions: the English\nespecially omits the mysterious second set of notes. What appears most\ndistinctly, from this comparison, is the hasty and slovenly manner of the\nwhole inquiry. The English translators had some excuse for their bad work;\nthe Scots had none for their omissions and misrenderings.\n\nLetter III. (or VIII.) and Letter IV. I have translated, in the body of\nthis book, from the copies of the French originals.\n\nIn Letter V. the copy of the French original enables us to clear up the\nsense. It is a question about a maid or lady in waiting, whom Bothwell, or\nsomebody else, wishes Mary to dismiss. The French is, 'et si vous ne me\nmondes [mandez] ce soir ce que volles que j'en fasse, Je mendeferay [m'en\ndeferay] au hazard de _la_ fayre entreprandre ce qui pourroit nuire a ce a\nquoy nous tandons tous deus.' The Scots has 'I will red myself of _it_,\nand cause _it_ to be interprysit and takin in hand, quhilk micht be\nhurtful to that quhair unto we baith do tend.' The English is the Scots,\nAnglified.\n\nThe real sense, of course, is 'if you do not let me know to-night what\nstep you want me to take, I shall get rid of _her_, at the risk of making\n_her_ attempt something which might harm our project.' We have no other\nknown contemporary English translations. Of the four known, two (I. II.)\nare made with a frequent glance at the Scots, two are merely the Scots\ndone into English, without any reference to the French. Nothing but the\nhasty careless manner of the whole inquiry accounts for these\ncircumstances.\n\nThe most curious point connected with the translations is Crawford's\ndeposition. It was handed in on December 9, 1568. Whoever did it out of\nCrawford's Scots into English had obviously both the Scots and English\nversions of Letter II. before him. Where the deposition is practically\nidentical with the corresponding passages of Letter II., the transcriber\nof it into English usually followed the Scots version of Letter II. But\nthere is a corrected draft in the Lennox MSS. at Cambridge, which proves\nthat the Angliciser of Crawford's Scots occasionally altered it into\nharmony with the English version of Letter II. Thus, in the first\nparagraph, the original draft of Crawford in English has, like the Scots\nversion of Letter II., 'the _rude_ words that I had spoken to Cunningham.'\nBut, in the official copy, in English, of Crawford, and in the Lennox\ndraft of it, 'rude' is changed into '_sharpe_ wordes,' and so on. The part\nof Crawford which corresponds with Letter II. is free from obvious literal\nrenderings of the French idiom, as Mr. Henderson remarks.[426] These\nabound in the English version of the corresponding part of Letter II.,\nbut are absent here in the Scots translation. It is, therefore, open to\nargument that Crawford did make notes of Darnley's and Mary's talk; that\nthese were done into 'the original French,' and thence retranslated into\nthe Scots (free from French idiom here) and into the English, where traces\nof French idiom in this passage are frequent.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CASKET LETTERS\n\n\nI print the Scots Texts with one or two variations from C (the Cambridge\nMS.) and Y (the Yelverton MS.). The English Texts are given, where they\nare not merely taken direct from the Scots translations; these and\nCrawford's Deposition are from MSS. in the Record Office and Hatfield\nCalendar.\n\n\nLETTER I\n\n PUBLISHED SCOTS TRANSLATION\n\n It apeiris, that with zour absence thair is alswa joynit forgetfulnes,\n seand yat at zour departing ze promysit to mak me advertisement of\n zour newis from tyme to tyme. The waitting upon yame zesterday causit\n me to be almaist in sic joy as I will be at zour returning, quhilk ze\n have delayit langer than zour promeis was.\n\n As to me, howbeit I have na farther newis from zow, according to my\n commissioun, I bring the Man with me to Craigmillar upon Monounday\n quhair he will be all Wednisday; and I will gang to Edinburgh to draw\n blude of me, gif in the meane tyme I get na newis in ye contrarie fra\n zow.\n\n He is mair gay than ever ze saw him; he puttis me in remembrance of\n all thingis yat may mak me beleve he luifis me. Summa, ze will say yat\n he makis lufe to me: of ye quhilk I tak sa greit plesure, yat I enter\n never where he is, bot incontinent I tak ye seiknes of my sair syde, I\n am sa troubillit with it. Gif Paris bringis me that quhilk I send him\n for, I traist it sall amend me.\n\n I pray zow, advertise me of zour newis at lenth, and quhat I sall do\n in cace ze be returnit quhen I am cum thair; for, in cace ze wirk not\n wysely, I se that the haill burding of this will fall upon my\n schoulderis. Provide for all thing, and discourse upon it first with\n zourself. I send this be Betoun, quha gais to ane Day of Law of the\n Laird of Balfouris. I will say na further, saifing that I pray zow to\n send me gude newis of zour voyage. From Glasgow this Setterday in the\n morning.\n\n\n ENGLISH TRANSLATION AT THE RECORD OFFICE\n\n (State Papers relating to Mary Queen of Scots, vol. ii. No. 62)\n\n It seemyth that with your absence forgetfulness is joynid consydering\n that at your departure you promised me to send me newes from you.\n Neuertheless I can learn none. And yet did I yesterday looke for that\n that shuld make me meryer then I shall be. I think you doo the lyke\n for your returne, prolonging it more than you have promised.\n\n As for me, if I hear no other matter of you, according to my\n Commission, I bring the man Monday to Cregmillar, where he shall be\n vpon Wednisdaye. And I go to Edinboroughe to be lett blud, if I haue\n no word to the contrary.\n\n He is the meryest that euer you sawe, and doth remember vnto me all\n that he can, to make me beleve that he louith me. To conclude, you\n wold saye that he makith love to me, wherein I take so muche plesure,\n that I never com in there, but the payne of my syde doth take me. I\n have it sore to daye. Yf Paris doth bring back unto me that for which\n I have sent, it suld muche amend me.\n\n I pray you, send me word from you at large, and what I shall doo if\n you be not returnid, when I shall be there. For if you be not wyse I\n see assuredly all the wholle burden falling vpon my shoulders. Prouide\n for all and consyder well first of all. I send this present to\n Ledinton to be delivered to you by Beton, who goith to one Day a lau\n of Lord Balfour. I will saye no more vnto you, but that I pray God\n send me good newes of your voyage.\n\n From Glasco this Saturday morning.\n\n\nLETTER II\n\n PUBLISHED SCOTS TRANSLATION\n\n 1. Being departit from the place quhair I left my hart, it is esie to\n be judgeit quhat was my countenance, seeing that I was evin als mekle\n as ane body without ane hart; quhilk was the Occasioun that quhile\n Denner tyme I held purpois to na body; nor zit durst ony present\n thameselfis unto me, judging yat it was not gude sa to do.\n\n 2. Four myle or I came to the towne, ane gentilman of the Erle of\n Lennox come and maid his commendatiounis unto me; and excusit him that\n he came not to meit me, be ressoun he durst not interpryse the same,\n becaus of the rude wordis that I had spokin to Cuninghame: And he\n desyrit that he suld come to the inquisitioun of ye matter yat I\n suspectit him of. This last speiking was of his awin heid, without ony\n commissioun.\n\n I answerit to him that thair was na recept culd serve aganis feir; and\n that he wold not be affrayit, in cace he wer not culpabill; and that I\n answerit bot rudely to the doutis yat wer in his letteris. Summa, I\n maid him hald his toung. The rest wer lang to wryte.\n\n 3. Schir James Hammiltoun met me, quha schawit that the uther tyme\n quhen he hard of my cumming he[427] departit away, and send Howstoun,\n to schaw him, that he wald never have belevit that he wald have\n persewit him, nor zit accompanyit him with the Hammiltounis. He\n answerit, that he was only cum bot to see me, and yat he wald nouther\n accompany Stewart nor Hammiltoun, bot be my commandement. He desyrit\n that he wald cum and speik with him: He refusit it.\n\n The Laird of Lusse, Howstoun, and Caldwellis sone, with xl. hors or\n thairabout, come and met me. The Laird of Lusse said, he was chargeit\n to ane Day of Law be the Kingis father, quhilk suld be this day,\n aganis his awin hand-writ, quhilk he hes: and zit notwithstanding,\n knawing of my cumming, it is delayit. He was inquyrit to cum to him,\n quhilk he refusit, and sweiris that he will indure nathing of him.\n Never ane of that towne came to speik to me, quhilk causis me think\n that thay ar his; and neuertheles he speikis gude, at the leist his\n sone. I se na uther Gentilman bot thay of my company.\n\n 4. The King send for Joachim zisternicht, and askit at him, quhy I\n ludgeit not besyde him? And that he wald ryse the soner gif that wer;\n and quhairfoir I come, gif it was for gude appointment? and gif I had\n maid my estait, gif I had takin Paris [this berer will tell you\n sumwhat upon this], and Gilbert to wryte to me? And yat I wald send\n Joseph away. I am abaschit quha hes schawin him sa far; zea he spak\n evin of ye mariage of Bastiane.\n\n 5. I inquyrit him of his letteris, quhairintill he plenzeit of the\n crueltie of sum: answerit, that he was astonischit, and that he was sa\n glaid to se me, that he belevit to die for glaidnes. He fand greit\n fault that I was pensive.\n\n 6. I departit to supper. Yis beirer wil tell yow of my arryuing. He\n prayit me to returne: the quhilk I did. He declairit unto me his\n seiknes, and that he wald mak na testament, bot only leif all thing to\n me; and that I was the caus of his maladie, becaus of the regrait that\n he had that I was sa strange unto him. And thus he said: Ze ask me\n quhat I mene be the crueltie contenit in my letter? it is of zow alone\n that will not accept my offeris and repentance. I confess that I haue\n failit, bot not into that quhilk I ever denyit; and siclyke hes failit\n to sindrie of zour subjectis, quhilk ze haue forgeuin.\n\n I am zoung.\n\n Ze wil say, that ze have forgevin me oft tymes, and zit yat I returne\n to my faultis. May not ane man of my age, for lacke of counsell, fall\n twyse or thryse, or inlacke of his promeis, and at last repent\n himself, and be chastisit be experience? Gif I may obtene pardoun, I\n protest I sall never mak fault agane. And I crafit na uther thing, bot\n yat we may be at bed and buird togidder as husband and wyfe; and gif\n ze wil not consent heirunto, I sall never ryse out of yis bed. I pray\n zow, tell me your resolutioun. God knawis how I am punischit for\n making my God of zow, and for hauing na uther thocht but on zow; and\n gif at ony tyme I offend zow, ze ar the caus, becaus quhen ony\n offendis me, gif, for my refuge, I micht playne unto zow, I wald speik\n it unto na uther body; bot quhen I heir ony thing, not being familiar\n with zow, necessitie constranis me to keip it in my breist; and yat\n causes me to tyne my wit for verray anger.\n\n 7. I answerit ay unto him, but that wald be ovir lang to wryte at\n lenth. I askit quhy he wald pas away in ye _Inglis_ schip. He denyis\n it, and sweiris thairunto; bot he grantis that he spak with the men.\n Efter this I inquyrit him of the inquisitioun of Hiegait. He denyit\n the same, quhill I schew him the verray wordis was spokin. At quhilk\n tyme he said, that Mynto had advertisit him, that it was said, that\n sum of the counsell had brocht an letter to me to be subscrivit to put\n him in Presoun, and to slay him gif he maid resistance. And he askit\n the same at Mynto himself; quha answerit, that he belevit ye same to\n be trew. The morne I wil speik to him upon this Point.\n\n 8. As to the rest of Willie Hiegait's, he confessit it, bot it was the\n morne efter my cumming or he did it.\n\n 9. He wald verray fane that I suld ludge in his ludgeing. I refusit\n it, and said to him, that he behovit to be purgeit, and that culd not\n be done heir. He said to me, I heir say ze have brocht ane lytter with\n zow; but I had rather have passit with zow. I trow he belevit that I\n wald have send him away Presoner. I answerit, that I wald tak him with\n me to Craigmillar, quhair the mediciner and I micht help him, and not\n be far from my sone. He answerit, that he was reddy quhen I pleisit,\n sa I wald assure him of his requeist.\n\n He desyris na body to se him. He is angrie quhen I speik of Walcar,\n and sayis, that he sal pluk the eiris out of his heid and that he\n leis. For I inquyrit him upon that, and yat he was angrie with sum of\n the Lordis, and wald threittin thame. He denyis that, and sayis he\n luifis thame all, and prayis me to give traist to nathing aganis him.\n\n 10. As to me, he wald rather give his lyfe or he did ony displesure to\n me. And efter yis he schew me of sa money lytil flattereis, sa cauldly\n and sa wysely that ze will abasche thairat. I had almaist forzet that\n he said, he could not dout of me in yis purpois of Hiegaite's; for he\n wald never beleif yat I, quha was his proper flesche, wald do him ony\n evill; alsweill it was schawin that I refusit to subscrive the same;\n But as to ony utheris that wald persew him, at leist he suld sell his\n lyfe deir aneuch; but he suspectit na body, nor zit wald not; but wald\n lufe all yat I lufit.\n\n 11. He wald not let me depart from him, bot desyrit yat I suld walk\n with him. I mak it seme that I beleive that all is trew, and takis\n heid thairto, and excusit my self for this nicht that I culd not walk.\n He sayis, that he sleipis not weil. Ze saw him never better, nor speik\n mair humbler. And gif I had not ane prufe of his hart of waxe, and yat\n myne wer not of ane dyamont, quhairintill na schot can mak brek, but\n that quhilk cummis forth of zour hand, I wald have almaist had pietie\n of him. But feir not, the place sall hald unto the deith. Remember, in\n recompence thairof, that ye suffer not zouris to be wyn be that fals\n race that will travell na les with zow for the same.\n\n I beleve thay[430] have bene at schuillis togidder. He hes ever the\n teir in his eye; he salutis every body, zea, unto the leist, and makis\n pieteous caressing unto thame, to mak thame have pietie on him. This\n day his father bled at the mouth and nose; ges quhat presage that is.\n I have not zit sene him, he keipis his chalmer. The king desyris that\n I suld give him meit with my awin handis; bot gif na mair traist\n quhair ze ar, than I sall do heir.\n\n This is my first jornay. I sall end ye same ye morne.\n\n 12. I wryte all thingis, howbeit thay be of lytill wecht, to the end\n that ze may tak the best of all to judge upon. I am in doing of ane\n work heir that I hait greitly. Have ze not desyre to lauch to se me\n lie sa weill, at ye leist to dissembill sa weill, and to tell him\n treuth betwix handis? He schawit me almaist all yat is in the name of\n the Bischop and Sudderland, and zit I have never twichit ane word of\n that ze schawit me; but allanerly be force, flattering, and to pray\n him to assure himself of me. And be pleinzeing on the Bischop, I have\n drawin it all out of him. Ye have hard the rest.\n\n 13. We ar couplit with twa fals races; the devil sinder us, and God\n knit us togidder for ever, for the maist faithful coupill that ever be\n unitit. This is my faith, I will die in it.\n\n Excuse I wryte evill, ye may ges ye half of it; bot I cannot mend it,\n because I am not weil at eis; and zit verray glaid to wryte unto zow\n quhen the rest are sleipand, sen I cannot sleip as thay do, and as I\n wald desyre, that is in zour armes, my deir lufe, quhome I pray God to\n preserve from all evill, and send zow repois: I am gangand to seik\n myne till ye morne, quhen I sall end my Bybill; but I am faschit that\n it stoppis me to wryte newis of myself unto zow, because it is sa\n lang.\n\n Advertise me quhat ze have deliberat to do in the mater ze knaw upon\n this point, to ye end that we may understand utheris weill, that\n nathing thairthrow be spilt.\n\n 14. I am irkit, and ganging to sleip, and zit I ceis not to\n scrible[431] all this paper in sa mekle as restis thairof. Waryit mot\n this pokische man be that causes me haif sa mekle pane, for without\n him I suld have an far plesander subject to discourse upon. He is not\n over mekle deformit, zit he hes ressavit verray mekle. He hes almaist\n slane me with his braith; it is worse than zour uncle's; and zit I cum\n na neirer unto him, bot in ane chyre at the bed-seit, and he being at\n the uther end thairof.\n\n 15. The message of the father in the gait.\n\n The purpois of Schir James Hamilton.\n\n Of that the Laird of Lusse schawit me of the delay.\n\n Of the demandis that he askit at Joachim.\n\n Of my estait.\n\n Of my company.\n\n Of the occasion of my cumming:\n\n And of Joseph.\n\n _Item_, The purpois that he and I had togidder. Of the desyre that he\n hes to pleis me, and of his repentence.\n\n Of the interpretatioun of his letter.\n\n Of Willie Hiegaite's mater of his departing.\n\n Of Monsiure de Levingstoun.\n\n 16. I had almaist forzet, that Monsiure de Levingstoun said in the\n Lady Reres eir at supper, that he wald drink to ye folk yat I wist of,\n gif I wald pledge thame. And efter supper he said to me, quhen I was\n lenand upon him warming me at the fyre, Ze have fair going to se seik\n folk, zit ze cannot be sa welcum to thame as ze left sum body this day\n in regrait, that will never be blyth quhill he se zow agane. I askit\n at him quha that was. With that he thristit my body, and said, that\n sum of his folkis had sene zow in fascherie; ze may ges at the rest.\n\n 17. I wrocht this day quhill it was twa houris upon this bracelet, for\n to put ye key of it within the lock thairof, quhilk is couplit\n underneth with twa cordounis. I have had sa lytill tyme that it is\n evill maid; bot I sall mak ane fairer in the meane tyme. Tak heid that\n nane that is heir se it, for all the warld will knaw it, becaus for\n haist it was maid in yair presence.\n\n 18. I am now passand to my fascheous purpois. Ze gar me dissemble sa\n far, that I haif horring thairat; and ye caus me do almaist the office\n of a traitores. Remember how gif it wer not to obey zow, I had rather\n be deid or I did it; my hart bleidis at it. Summa, he will not cum\n with me, except upon conditioun that I will promeis to him, that I\n sall be at bed and buird with him as of befoir, and that I sall leif\n him na ofter: and doing this upon my word, he will do all thingis that\n I pleis, and cum with me. Bot he hes prayit me to remane upon him\n quhil uther morne.\n\n He spak verray braifly at ye beginning, as yis beirer will schaw zow,\n upon the purpois of the Inglismen, and of his departing: Bot in ye end\n he returnit agane to his humilitie.[432]\n\n 19. He schawit, amangis uther purposis, yat he knew weill aneuch that\n my brother had schawin me yat thing, quhilk he had spoken in\n Striviling, of the quhilk he denyis ye ane half, and abone all, yat\n ever he came in his chalmer. For to mak him traist me, it behovit me\n to fenze in sum thingis with him: Thairfoir, quhen he requeistit me to\n promeis unto him, that quhen he was haill we suld have baith ane bed:\n I said to him fenzeingly, and making me to beleve his[433] promisis,\n that gif he changeit not purpois betwix yis and that tyme, I wald be\n content thairwith; bot in the meane tyme I bad him heid that he leit\n na body wit thairof, becaus, to speik amangis our selfis, the Lordis\n culd not be offendit nor will evill thairfoir: Bot thay wald feir in\n respect of the boisting he maid of thame, that gif ever we aggreit\n togidder, he suld mak thame knaw the lytill compt thay take of him;\n and that he counsallit me not to purchas sum of thame by him.\n\n Thay for this caus wald be in jelosy, gif at anis, without thair\n knawledge, I suld brek the play set up in the contrair in thair\n presence.\n\n He said verray joyfully, And think zow thay will esteme zow the mair\n of that? Bot I am verray glaid that ze speik to me of the Lordis; for\n I beleve at this tyme ze desyre that we suld leif togidder in\n quyetnes: For gif it wer utherwyse, greiter inconvenience micht come\n to us baith than we ar war of: bot now I will do quhatever ze will do,\n and will lufe all that ze lufe; and desyris zow to mak thame lufe in\n lyke maner: For, sen thay seik not my lyfe, I lufe thame all equallie.\n Upon yis point this beirer will schaw zow mony small thingis. Becaus I\n have over mekle to wryte, and it is lait: I give traist unto him upon\n zour word. Summa, he will ga upon my word to all places.\n\n 20. Allace! I never dissavit ony body: Bot I remit me altogidder to\n zour will. Send me advertisement quhat I sall do, and quhatsaever\n thing sall cum thairof, I sall obey zow. Advise to with zourself, gif\n ze can find out ony mair secreit inventioun be medicine; for he suld\n tak medicine and the bath at Craigmillar. He may not cum furth of the\n hous this lang tyme.\n\n 21. Summa, be all that I can leirne, he is in greit suspicioun, and\n zit notwithstanding, he gevis credit to my word; bot zit not sa far\n that he will schaw ony thing to me: bot nevertheles, I sall draw it\n out of him, gif ze will that I avow all unto him. Bot I will never\n rejoyce to deceive ony body that traistis in me: Zit notwithstanding\n ze may command me in all thingis. Have na evill opinioun of me for\n that caus, be ressoun ze ar the occasion of it zourself; becaus, for\n my awin particular revenge, I wald not do it to him.\n\n He gevis me sum chekis of yat quhilk I feir, zea, evin in the quick.\n He sayis this far, yat his faultis wer publeist: bot yair is that\n committis faultis, that belevis thay will never be spokin of; and zit\n thay will speik of greit and small. As towart the Lady Reres, he said,\n I pray God that scho may serve zow for your honour: and said, it is\n thocht, and he belevis it to be trew, that I have not the power of\n myself into myself, and that becaus of the refuse I maid of his\n offeris. Summa, for certanetie he suspectis of the thing ze knaw, and\n of his lyfe. Bot as to the last, how sone yat I spak twa or thre gude\n wordis unto him, he rejoysis, and is out of dout.\n\n 22. I saw him not this evening for to end your bracelet, to the quhilk\n I can get na lokkis. It is reddy to thame: and zit I feir that it will\n bring sum malhure, and may be sene gif ze chance to be hurt. Advertise\n me gif ze will have it, and gif ze will have mair silver, and quhen I\n sall returne, and how far I may speik. He inragis when he heiris of\n Lethingtoun, or of zow, or of my brother. Of your brother he speikis\n nathing.[434] He speikis of the Erle of Argyle. I am in feir quhen I\n heir him speik; for he assuris himself yat he hes not an evill\n opinioun of him. He speikis nathing of thame that is out, nouther gude\n nor evill, bot fleis that point. His father keipis his chalmer I have\n not sene him.\n\n 23. All the Hammiltounis ar heir, that accompanyis me verray\n honorabilly. All the freindis of the uther convoyis me quhen I gang to\n se him. He desyris me to come and se him ryse the morne betyme. For to\n mak schort, this beirer will tell zow the rest. And gif I leirne ony\n thing heir, I will mak zow memoriall at evin. He will tell zow the\n occasioun of my remaning. Burne this letter, for it is ovir dangerous,\n and nathing weill said in it: for I am thinkand upon nathing bot\n fascherie. Gif ze be in Edinburgh at the ressait of it, send me word\n sone.\n\n 24. Be not offendit, for I gif not ovir greit credite. Now seing to\n obey zow, my deir lufe, I spair nouther honour, conscience, hasarde,\n nor greitnes quhat sumevir tak it, I pray zow, in gude part, and not\n efter the interpretatioun of zour fals gudebrother, to quhome, I pray\n zou, gif na credite agains the maist faithful luifer that ever ze had,\n or ever sall have.\n\n Se not hir, quhais fenzeit teiris suld not be sa mekle praisit nor\n estemit, as the trew and faithful travellis quhilk I sustene for to\n merite hir place. For obtening of the quhilk aganis my naturall, I\n betrayis thame that may impesche me. God forgive me, and God give zow,\n my only lufe, the hap and prosperitie quhilk your humble and faithful\n lufe desyris unto zow, quha hopis to be schortly ane uther thing to\n zow, for the reward of my irksum travellis.\n\n 25. It is lait: I desyre never to ceis fra wryting unto zou; zit now,\n efter the kissing of zour handis, I will end my letter. Excuse my\n evill wryting, and reid it twyse over. Excuse that thing that is\n scriblit,[435] for I had na paper zisterday quhen I wrait that of ye\n memoriall. Remember upon zour lufe, and wryte unto hir, and that\n verray oft. Lufe me as I sall do zow.\n\n Remember zow of the purpois of the Lady Reres.\n\n Of the Inglismen.\n\n Of his mother.\n\n Of the Erle of Argyle.\n\n Of the Erle Bothwell.\n\n Of the ludgeing in Edinburgh.\n\n\n ENGLISH TRANSLATION\n\n (State Papers, Mary Queen of Scots, vol. ii. No. 65)\n\n Being gon from the place, where I had left my harte, it may be easily\n iudged what my Countenance was consydering what the body may without\n harte, which was cause that till dynner I had used lyttle talk,\n neyther wold any --pson-- body advance him selfe therunto, thinking\n that it was not good so to doo.\n\n Fowir myles from thence a gentleman of the Erle of Lennox cam and made\n his commendations and excuses vnto me, that he cam not to meete me,\n because he durst not enterprise so to doo, consydering the sharp\n wordes that I had spoken to Conyngham, and that he desyred that I wold\n com to the inquisition of the facte which I did suspecte him of. This\n last was of his own head, without commission, and I told him that he\n had no receipte against feare, and that he had no feare, if he did not\n feele him self faulty, and that I had also sharply answeared to the\n doubtes that he made in his letters as though ther had bene a meaning\n to poursue him. To be short I have made him hold his peace; for the\n reste it were to long to tell you. Sir James Hamilton came to meete\n me, who told me that at another tyme he went his waye when he heard of\n my comming, and that he sent unto him Houstoun, to tell him that he\n wold not have thought, that he wold have followed and accompany him\n selfe with the Hamiltons. He answeared that he was not com but to see\n me; and that he would not follow Stuard nor Hamilton, but by my\n commandment. He prayed him to go speake to him; he refused it.\n\n The Lard Luce, Houstoun and the sonne of Caldwell, and about XLty\n horse cam to meete me and he told that he was sent to one day a law\n from the father, which shuld be this daye against the signing of his\n own hand, which he hathe, and that, knowing of my comming, he hath\n delayed it, and hath prayed him to go see him, which he hath refused\n and swearith that he will suffer nothing at his handes. Not one of the\n towne is --to see me-- come to speake with me, which makith me to\n think that they be his, and then he speakith well of them at leaste\n his sonne.\n\n The King sent for Joachim and asked him, why I did not lodge nighe to\n him, and that he wold ryse sooner and why I cam, whithir it wear for\n any good appointment, that he[428] cam, and whithir I had not taken\n Paris and Guilbert to write and that I sent Joseph. I wonder who hath\n told him so muche evin of the mariage of Bastian. This bearer shall\n tell you more vpon that I asked him of his letters and where he did\n complayne of the crueltye of some of them. He said that he did dreme,\n and that he was so glad to see me that he thought he shuld dye.\n Indeede that he had found faulte with me....\n\n I went my waye to supper. This bearer shall tell you of my arryving.\n He praied me to com agayn, which I did: and he told me his grefe,\n and that he wold make no testament, but leave all unto me and that I\n was cause of his sicknes for the sorrow he had, that I was so strange\n unto him. And (said he) you asked what I ment in my letter to speak of\n cruelty. It was of your cruelty who will not accepte my offres and\n repentance I avowe that I have done amisse, but not that I have always\n disauowed; and so have many other of your subjects don and you have\n well pardonid them.\n\n I am young.\n\n You will saye that you have also pardoned me many tymes and that I\n returne to my fault. May not a man of my age for want of counsell,\n fayle twise or thrise and mysse of promes and at the last repent and\n rebuke him selfe by his experience? Yf I may obtayn this pardon I\n protest I will neuer make faulte agayne. And I ask nothing but that we\n may be at bed and table togiether as husband and wife; and if you\n will not I will never rise from this bed. I pray you tell me your\n resolution heerof. God knoweth that I am punished to have made my God\n of you and had no other mynd but of you. And when I offende you\n somtyme, you are cause thereof: for if I thought, whan anybody doth\n any wrong to me, that I might for my refuge make my mone thereof unto\n you, I wold open it to no other, but when I heare anything being not\n familiar with you, I must keep it in my mynd --makith me out of my\n wytt-- and that troublith my wittes for anger.\n\n I did still answair him but that shall be too long. In the end I asked\n him why he wold go in the English shipp. He doth disavow it and\n swearith so, and confessith to have spoken to the men. Afterwards I\n asked him of the inquisition of Hiegate. He denyed it till I told him\n the very wordes, and then he said that Minto sent him word that it was\n said, that som of the counsayle had brought me a letter to signe to\n putt him in prison, and to kill him if he did resiste and that he\n asked this of Minto himself, who said vnto him that he thought it was\n true. I will talke with him to morrowe vpon that poynte. The rest as\n Wille Hiegate hath confessed; but it was the next daye that he cam\n hither.\n\n In the end he desyred much that I shuld lodge in his lodging. I have\n refused it. I have told him that he must be pourged and that could not\n be don heere. He said unto me 'I have hard saye that you have brought\n the lytter, but I wold rather have gon with yourselfe.' I told him\n that so I wolde myself bring him to Cragmillar, that the phisicians\n and I also might cure him without being farr from my sonne. He said\n that he was ready when I wolde so as I wolde assure him of his\n requeste.\n\n He hath no desyre to be seen and waxeth angry when I speake to him of\n Wallcar and sayth that he will pluck his eares from his head, and that\n he lyeth; for I asked him before of that, and what cause he had to\n complayne of some of the lords and to threaten them. He denyeth it,\n and sayth that he had allready prayed them to think no such matter of\n him. As for my selfe he wold rather lose his lyfe than doo me the\n leaste displeasure; and then used so many kindes of flatteryes so\n coldly and wysely as you wold marvayle at. I had forgotten that he\n sayde that he could not mistrust me for Hiegate's word, for he could\n not beleve, that his own flesh (which was myselfe) wold doo him any\n hurte; and in deed it was sayd that I refused to have him lett\n bludd.[429] But for the others he wold at leaste sell his lyfe deare\n ynoughe; but that he did suspecte nobody nor wolde, but wolde love all\n that I did love.\n\n He wold not lett me go, but wold have me to watche with him. I made as\n though I thought all to be true and that I wold think vpon it, and\n have excused myself from sytting up with him this nyght, for he sayth\n that he sleepith not. You have never heard him speake better nor more\n humbly; and if I had not proofe of his hart to be as waxe, and that\n myne were not as a dyamant, no stroke but comming from your hand could\n make me but to have pitie of him. But feare not for the place shall\n contynue till death. Remember also, in recompense therof, not to\n suffer yours to be won by that false race that wold do no lesse to\n your selfe.\n\n I think they have bene at schoole togither. He hath allwais the teare\n in the eye. He saluteth every man, even to the meanest, and makith\n much of them, that they may take pitie of him. His father hath bled\n this daye at the nose and at the mouth. Gesse what token that is. I\n have not seene him; he is in his chamber. The king is so desyrous,\n that I shuld give him meate with my own hands, but trust you no more\n there where you are than I doo here.\n\n This is my first journay; I will end to morrow. I write all, how\n little consequence so ever it be of, to the end that you may take of\n the wholle, that shall be best _for you to judge_. I doo here a work\n that I hate muche, _but I had begon it this morning_; had you not lyst\n to laugh, to see me so trymly make a lie, at the leaste dissemble, and\n to mingle truthe therewith? He hath almost told me all on the bishops\n behalfe and of Sunderland, without touching any word unto him of that\n which you had told me; but only by muche flattering him and praying\n him to assure him selfe of me, and by my complayning of the bishop. _I\n have taken the worms out_ of his nose. You have hard the rest.\n\n We are tyed to by two false races. The _good yeere_ untye us from\n them. God forgive me and God knytt us togither for ever for the most\n faythfull couple that ever he did knytt together. This is my fayth; I\n will dye in it.\n\n Excuse it, yf I write yll; you must gesse the one halfe. I cannot doo\n with all, for I am yll at ease, and glad to write unto you when other\n folkes be a sleepe, seeing that I cannot doo as they doo, according to\n my desyre, that is betwene your armes my dear lyfe whom I besech God\n to preserve from all yll, and send you good rest as I go to seeke\n myne, till to morrow in the morning that will end my bible. But it\n greevith me, that it shuld lett me from wryting unto you of newes of\n myself --long the same-- so much I have to write.\n\n Send me word what you have determinid heerupon, that we may know the\n one the others mynde for marryng of any thing.\n\n I am weary, and am a sleepe, and yet I cannot forbeare scribbling so\n long as ther is any paper. Cursed be this pocky fellow that troublith\n me thus muche, for I had a pleasanter matter to discourse vnto you but\n for him. He is not muche the worse, but he is yll arrayed. I thought I\n shuld have bene kylled with his breth, for it is worse than your\n uncle's breth; and yet I was sett no nearer to him than in a chayr by\n his bolster, and he lyeth at the furdre syde of the bed.\n\n The message of the Father by the waye.\n\n The talk of Sir James --Hamilton-- of the ambassador.\n\n That the Lard a Luss hath tolde me of the delaye.\n\n The questions that he asked of Jochim.\n\n Of my state.\n\n Of my companye.\n\n And of the cause of my comming.\n\n And of Joseph.\n\n The talk that he and I haue had, and of his desyre to please me, of\n his repentance, and of thinterpretation of his letter.\n\n Of Will Hiegate's doinges, and of his departure, and of the L. of\n Levinston.\n\n I had forgotten of the L. of Levinston, that at supper he sayd softly\n to the Lady Reres, that he dronk to the persons I knew if I wold\n pledge them. And after supper he sayd softly to me, when I was leaning\n vpon him and warming myselfe, 'You may well go and see sick folkes,\n yet can you not be so welcom unto them as you have this daye left som\n body in payne who shall never be meary till he haue seene you agayne.'\n I asked him who it was; he tooke me about the body and said 'One of\n his folkes that hath left you this daye.' Gesse you the rest.\n\n This day I have wrought till two of the clock vpon this bracelet, to\n putt the keye in the clifte of it, which is tyed with two laces. I\n have had so little tyme that it is very yll, but I will make a fayrer;\n and in the meane tyme take heed that none of those that be heere doo\n see it, for all the world wold know it, for I have made it in haste in\n theyr presence.\n\n I go to my tedious talke. You make me dissemble so much that I am\n afrayde therof with horrour, and you make me almost to play the part\n of a traytor. Remember that if it weare not for obeyeng I had rather\n be dead. My heart bleedith for yt. To be shorte, he will not com but\n with condition that I shall promise to be with him as heretofore at\n bed and borde, and that I shall forsake him no more; and vpon my word\n he will doo whatsoever I will, and will com, but he hath prayed me to\n tarry till after to morrow.\n\n He hath spoken at the fyrst more stoutly, as this bearer shall tell\n you upon the matter of the Englishmen and of his departure; but in the\n end he cometh to his gentlenes agayne.\n\n He hath told me, among other talk, that he knew well, that my brother\n hath told me at Sterling that which he had said there, wherof he\n denyed the halfe, and specially that he was in his chamber. But now to\n make him trust me I must fayne somthing vnto him; and therfore when he\n desyred me to promise that when he shuld be well we shuld make but one\n bed, I told him fayning to believe his faire promises, that if he did\n not change his mynd betwene this tyme and that, I was contented, so as\n he wold saye nothing therof; for (to tell it betwen us two) the Lordis\n wished no yll to him, but did feare lest, consydering the\n threateninges which he made in case we did agree together, he wold\n make them feel the small accompte they have made of him; and that he\n wold persuade me to poursue som of them, and for this respecte shuld\n be in --by and by-- jelousy if at one instant, without their knowledge\n I did brake a game made to the contrary in their presence.\n\n And he said unto me very pleasant and meary 'Think you that they doo\n the more esteem you therfore? But I am glad that you talked to me of\n the Lordes. I hope that you desyre now that we shall lyve a happy\n lyfe; for if it weare otherwise, it could not be but greater\n inconvenience shuld happen to us both than you think. But I will doo\n now whatsoever you will have me doo, and will love all those that you\n shall love so as you make them to love me allso. For so as they seek\n not my lyfe, I love them all egally.' Therupon I have willed this\n bearer to tell you many prety things; for I have to muche to write,\n and it is late, and I trust him upon your worde. To be short, he will\n go any where upon my word.\n\n Alas! and I never deceived any body; but I remitt myself wholly to\n your will. And send me word what I shall doo, and whatsoever happen to\n me, I will obey you. Think also yf you will not fynd som invention\n more secret by phisick, for he is to take physick at Cragmillar and\n the bathes also, and shall not com fourth of long tyme.\n\n To be short, for that that I can learn he hath great suspicion, and\n yet, nevertheles trusteth upon my worde, but not to tell me as yet\n anything; howbeit, if you will that I shall avow him, I will know all\n of him; but I shall never be willing to beguile one that puttith his\n trust in me. Nevertheles you may doo all, and doo not estyme me the\n lesse therfore, for you are the cause therof. For, for my own revenge\n I wold not doo it.\n\n He giuith me certain charges (and these strong), of that that I fear\n evin to saye that his faultes be published, but there be that committ\n some secret faultes and feare not to have them spoken of lowdely, and\n that ther is speeche of greate and small. And even touching the Lady\n Reres, he said 'God grant, that she serve you to your honour.' And\n that men may not think, nor he neyther, that myne owne power was not\n in myselfe, seeing I did refuse his offres. To conclude, for a\n suerety, he mistrustith vs of that that you know, and for his lyfe.\n But in the end, after I had spoken two or three good wordes to him, he\n was very meary and glad.\n\n I have not sene him this night for ending your bracelet, but I can\n fynde no claspes for yt; it is ready therunto, and yet I feare least\n it should bring you yll happ, or that it shuld be known if you were\n hurte. Send me worde, whether you will have it and more monney, and\n whan I shall returne, and how farre I may speak. Now as farr as I\n perceive _I may doo much with you_; gesse you whithir I shall not be\n suspected. As for the rest, he is wood when he hears of Ledinton, and\n of you and my brother. Of your brother he sayth nothing, but of the\n Earl of Arguile he doth; I am afraide of him to heare him talk, at the\n least he assurith himselfe that he hath no yll opinion of him. He\n speakith nothing of those abrode, nether good nor yll, but avoidith\n speaking of them. His father keepith his chamber; I have not seene\n him.\n\n All the Hamiltons be heere who accompany me very honestly. All the\n friendes of the other doo come allwais, when I go to visitt him. He\n hath sent to me and prayeth me to see him rise to morrow in the\n morning early. To be short, this bearer shall declare unto you the\n rest; and if I shall learne anything, I will make every night a\n memoriall therof. He shall tell you the cause of my staye. Burn this\n letter, for it is too dangerous, neyther is there anything well said\n in it, for I think upon nothing but upon greefe if you be at\n Edinboroughe.\n\n Now if to please you, my deere lyfe, I spare neither honor,\n conscience, nor hazard, nor greatnes, take it in good part, and not\n according to the interpretation of your false brother-in-law, to whom\n I pray you, give no credit against the most faythfull lover that ever\n you had or shall have.\n\n See not also her whose faynid teares you ought not more to regarde\n than the true travails which I endure to deserve her place, for\n obteyning of which, against my own nature, I doo betray those that\n could lett me. God forgive me and give you, my only frend, the good\n luck and prosperitie that your humble and faythfull lover doth wisshe\n vnto you, who hopith shortly to be an other thing vnto you, for the\n reward of my paynes.\n\n I have not made one worde, and it is very late, althoughe I shuld\n never be weary in wryting to you, yet will I end, after kyssing of\n your handes. Excuse my evill wryting, and read it over twise. Excuse\n also that [I scribbled], for I had yesternight no paper when took the\n paper of a memorial. [Pray] remember your frend, and wryte vnto her\n and often. Love me allw[ais as I shall love you].\n\n\nLETTER III\n\nORIGINAL FRENCH VERSION AT HATFIELD\n\n(See Calendar of Hatfield Manuscripts, vol. i. pp. 376-77.)\n\nJ'ay veille plus tard la hault que je n'eusse fait si ce neust este pour\ntirer ce que ce porteur vous dira que Je treuve la plus belle commoditie\npour excuser vostre affaire que se pourroit presenter. Je luy ay promise\nde le luy mener demain ^si^ vous le trouves bon mettes y ordre. Or\nmonsieur j'ay ja rompu ma promesse Car vous ne mavies rien comande ^de^\nvous envoier ni escrire si ne le fais pour vous offencer et si vous\nscavies la craint que j'en ay vous nauries tant des subcons contrairs que\ntoutesfois je cheris comme procedant de la chose du mond que je desire et\ncherche le plus c'est votre ^bonne^ grace de laquelle mes deportemens\nm'asseureront et je n'en disesperay Jamais tant que selon vostre promesse\nvous m'en dischargeres vostre coeur aultrement je penseras que mon malheur\net le bien composer de ceux qui n'ont la troisiesme partie de la fidelite\nni voluntair obeissance que je vous porte auront gaigne sur moy l'avantage\nde la seconde amye de Jason. Non que je vous compare a un si malheureuse\nni moy a une si impitoiable. Combien que vous men fassies un peu resentir\nen chose qui vous touschat ou pour vous preserver et garder a celle a qui\nseulle vous aporteins si lon se peult approprier ce que lon acquiert par\nbien et loyalment voire uniquement aymer comme je fais et fairay toute ma\nvie pour pein ou mal qui m'en puisse avenir. En recompence de quoy et des\ntous les maulx dont vous maves este cause, souvenes vous du lieu icy pres.\nJe ne demande que vous me tennes promesse de main mais que nous truvions\net que nadjousties foy au subcons quaures sans nous en certifier, et Je ne\ndemande a Dieu si non que coignoissies tout ce que je ay au coeur qui est\nvostre et quil vous preserve de tout mal au moyns durant ma vie qui ne me\nsera chere qu'autant qu'elle et moy vous serons agreables. Je m'en vois\ncoucher et vous donner le bon soir mandes moy de main comme vous seres\nporte a bon heur. Car j'enseray en pein et faites bon guet si l'oseau\nsortira de sa cage ou sens son per comme la tourtre demeurera seulle a se\nlamenter de l'absence ^pour^ court quelle soit. Ce que je ne puis faire ma\nlettre de bon coeur si ce nestoit que je ay peur que soyes endormy. Car je\nnay ose escrire devant Joseph et bastienne et Joachim qui ne sont que\npartir quand J'ay commence.\n\n\nLETTER IV\n\nORIGINAL FRENCH VERSION\n\n(In the Record Office State Papers, Mary Queen of Scots, vol. ii. No. 63.)\n\nMon cueur helas fault il que la follie d'une famme dont vous connoisses\nasses l'ingratitude vers moy soit cause de vous donner displesir veu que\nje neusse sceu y remedier sans le scavoir; et despuis que men suis apersue\nJe ne vous lay peu dire pour scauoir comment mi guovejernerois car en cela\nni aultre chose je ne veulx entreprandre de rien fayre sans en scavoir\nvotre volontay, laquelle je vous suplie me fayre entandre car je la\nsuiuray toute ma vie plus volontiers que vous ne me la declareres, et si\nvous ne me mandes ce soir ce que volles que jen faise je men deferay au\nhazard de la fayre entreprandre ce qui pourroit nuire a ce a quoy nous\ntandons tous deus, et quant elle sera mariee je vous suplie donnes men vne\nou ien prandray telles de quoy vous contanteres quant a leur condition\nmayes de leur langue ou fidelite vers vous ie ne vous en respondray Je\nvous suplie qune opinion sur aultrui ne nuise en votre endroit a ma\nconstance. Soupsonnes moi may quant je vous en veulx rendre hors de doubte\net mesclersir ne le refeuses ma chere vie et permetes que je vous face\npreuue par mon obeissance de ma fidelite et constance et subjection\nvolontaire, que je prands pour le plus agreable bien que je scaurois\nresceuoir si vous le voulles accepter, et nen faytes la ceremonie car vous\nne me scauriez dauantage outrasger ou donner mortel ennuy.\n\n\nLETTER V\n\nORIGINAL FRENCH VERSION AT HATFIELD\n\nMonsieur, helas pourquoy est vostre fiance mise en personne si indigne,\npour subconner ce que est entierement vostre. Vous m'avies promise que\nresouldries tout et que ^me^ manderies tous les jours ce que j'aurais a\nfaire. Vous nen aves rien fait. Je vous advertise bien de vous garder de\nvostre =faulx beau frere= Il est venu vers moy et sens me monstrer rien de\nvous me dist que --vous-- luy mandies qu'il vous escrive ce qu'auries a\ndire, et ou, et quant vous me troveres et ce que faires touchant luy et la\ndessubs m'a presche que c'estoit une folle entrepri--n--se, et qu'avecques\nmon honneur Je ne vous pourries Jamaiis espouser, veu qu'estant marie vous\nm'amenies et que ses gens ne l'endureroient pas et que les seigneurs se\ndediroient. Somme il est tout contrair. Je luy ay dist qu'estant venue si\navant si vous ne vous en retiries de vous mesmes que persuasion ne la mort\nmesmes ne me fairoient faillir --de-- a ma promesse. Quant au lieu vous\nestes trop negligent (pardonnes moy) de vous en remettre a moy. Choisisses\nle vous mesmes et me le mandes. Et cependant je suis malade je differeray\nQuant au propose cest trop tard. Il n'a pas tins a moy que n'ayes pense a\nheure. Et si vous neussies non plus change de --propos-- pensee depuis mon\nabsence que moy vous ne series a demander telle resolution. ^Or^ il ne\nmanque rien de ma part et puis que vostre negligence vous met tous deux au\ndanger d'un faux frere, s'il ne succede bien je ne me releveray Jamais. Il\nvous envoy ce porteur. Car Je ne --m--'ose me fier a vostre frere de ces\nlettres ni de la diligence, il vous dira en quelle estat Je suis, et Juges\nquelle amendement--e-- m'a porte ce incertains Nouvelles. Je voudrais\nestre morte. Car Je vois tout aller mal. Vous prometties bien autre chose\nde vostre providence. Mais l'absence peult sur vous, qui aves deux cordes\na vostre arc. Depesches la responce a fin que Je ne faille et ne ^vous^\nfies de ceste entrepri--n--se a vostre frere. Car il la dist, et si y est\ntout contrair.\n\nDieu vous doint le bon soir.\n\n\nLETTER VI\n\nPUBLISHED SCOTS TRANSLATION\n\nOf the place and ye tyme I remit my self to zour brother and to zow. I\nwill follow him, and will faill in nathing of my part. He findis mony\ndifficulteis. I think he dois advertise zow thairof, and quhat he desyris\nfor the handling of himself. As for the handling of myself, I hard it ains\nweill devysit.\n\nMe thinks that zour services, and the lang amitie, having ye gude will of\nye Lordis, do weill deserve ane pardoun, gif abone the dewtie of ane\nsubject yow advance yourself, not to constrane me, bot to asure yourself\nof sic place neir unto me, that uther admonitiounis or forane\nperswasiounis may not let me from consenting to that that ye hope your\nservice sall mak yow ane day to attene. And to be schort, to mak yourself\nsure of the Lordis, and fre to mary; and that ye are constraint for your\nsuretie, and to be abill to serve me faithfully, to use ane humbil\nrequeist joynit to ane importune actioun.\n\nAnd to be schort, excuse yourself, and perswade thame the maist ye can,\nyat ye ar constranit to mak persute aganis zour enemies. Ze sall say\naneuch, gif the mater or ground do lyke yow; and mony fair wordis to\nLethingtoun. Gif ye lyke not the deid, send me word, and leif not the\nblame of all unto me.\n\n\nLETTER VII\n\nSCOTS VERSION\n\nMy Lord, sen my letter writtin, zour brother in law yat was, come to me\nverray sad, and hes askit me my counsel, quhat he suld do efter to morne,\nbecaus thair be mony folkis heir, and amang utheris the Erle of\nSudderland, quha wald rather die, considdering the gude thay have sa\nlaitlie ressavit of me, then suffer me to be caryit away, thay conducting\nme; and that he feirit thair suld sum troubil happin of it: Of the uther\nsyde, that it suld be said that he wer unthankfull to have betrayit me. I\ntald him, that he suld have resolvit with zow upon all that, and that he\nsuld avoyde, gif he culd, thay that were maist mistraistit.\n\nHe hes resolvit to wryte to zow be my opinioun; for he hes abaschit me to\nse him sa unresolvit at the neid. I assure myself he will play the part of\nan honest man: But I have thocht gude to advertise zow of the feir he hes\nyat he suld be chargeit and accusit of tressoun, to ye end yat' without\nmistraisting him, ze may be the mair circumspect, and that ze may have ye\nmair power. For we had zisterday mair than iii. c. hors of his and of\nLevingstoun's. For the honour of God, be accompanyit rather with mair then\nles; for that is the principal of my cair.\n\nI go to write my dispatche, and pray God to send us ane happy enterview\nschortly. I wryte in haist, to the end ye may be advysit in tyme.\n\n\nLETTER VIII\n\nORIGINAL FRENCH VERSION\n\n(In the Record Office State Papers, Mary Queen of Scots, vol. ii. No. 66.)\n\nMonsieur si lenuy de vostre absence celuy de vostre oubli la crainte du\ndangier, tant promis d'un chacun a vostre tant ayme personne peuuent me\nconsoller Je vous en lesse a juger veu le malheur que mon cruel sort et\ncontinuel malheur mauoient promis a la suite des infortunes et craintes\ntant recentes que passes de plus longue main les quelles vous scaves mais\npour tout cela Je me vous accuserai ni de peu de souuenance ni de peu de\nsoigne et moins encores de vostre promesse violee ou de la froideur de vos\nlettres mestant ja tant randue vostre que ce quil vous plaist mest\nagreable et sont mes penses tant volonterement, aux vostres a subjectes\nque je veulx presupposer que tout ce que vient de vous procede non par\naulcune des causes de susdictes ains pour telles qui son justes et\nraisoinables et telles qui Je desir moy --mesme-- qui est lordre que maves\npromis de prendre final pour la seurete et honnorable service du seul\nsoubtien de ma vie pour qui seul Je la veus conserver et sens lequel Je ne\ndesire que breve mort or pour vous tesmoigner combien humblement sous voz\ncommandemens Je me soubmets Je vous ay envoie en signe d'homage par paris\nlornement du cheif conducteur des aultres membres inferant que vous\ninvestant de sa despoille de luy qui est principal le rest ne peult que\nvous estre subject et avecques le consentement du cueur au lieu du quel\npuis que le vous ay Ja lesse Je vous envoie un sepulcre de pierre dure\npoinct de noir seme d'larmes et de ossements, la pierre Je le la compare a\nmon cueur qui comme luy est talle en un seur tombeau ou receptacle de voz\ncommandements et sur tout de vostre nom et memoire qui y sont enclos,\ncomme me cheveulz en la bague pour Jamais nen sortir que la mort ne vous\npermet fair trophee des mes os comme la bague en est remplie en signe que\nvous aves fayt entiere conqueste de moy, de mon cueur et iusque a vous en\nlesser les os pour memoir de vre victoire et de mon agreable perte et\nvolontiere pour estre mieux employe que ie ne le merite Lesmail demiron\nest noir qui signifie la fermete de celle que lenvoie les larmes sont sans\nnombre ausi sont les craintes de vous desplair les pleurs de vostre\nabsence et de desplaisir de ne pouvoir estre en effect exterieur vostre\ncomme je suys sans faintise de cueur et desprit et a bon droit quant mes\nmerites seroint trop plus grands que de la plus perfayte que Jamais feut\net telle que je desire estre et mettray poine en condition de contrefair\npour dignement estre emploiee soubs vostre domination, reseues la donc mon\nseul bien en aussi bonne part, comme avecques extreme Joie Jay fait vostre\nmariage, qui jusques a celuy de nos corps en public ne sortira de mon\nsein, comme merque de tout ce que Jay ou espere ni desire de felicite en\nce monde or craignant mon cueuer de vous ennuyer autant a lire que je me\nplaire descrir Je finiray apres vous avoir baise les mains daussi grande\naffection que je prie Dieu (O le seul soubtien de ma vie) vous la donner\nlongue et heureuse et a moy vre bonne grace le seul bien que je desire et\na quoy je tends Jay dit a ce porteur ce que Jay apris sur le quel Je me\nremets sachant, le credit que luy donnes comme fait celle que vous veult\nestre pour Jamais humble et obeisante loyalle femme et seulle amye qui\npour Jamais vous voue entierement le cueur le corps sans aucun changement\ncomme a celuy que J fait possesseur du cueur du quel vous pouves tenir\nseur Jusques a la mort ne changera car mal ni bien onque ne estrangera.\n\n[Illustration: PLATE F\n\nMODERN IMITATION OF MARY'S HAND\n\nThe text is part of the 'Original French' of Letter VIII. (III.)\n\nThe purpose is to show how far Mary's hand can be imitated]\n\n\nLETTER IX\n\nTHE FRENCH 'SONNETS'\n\n O dieux ayes de moy compassion\n E m'enseignes quelle preuue certane\n Je puis donner qui ne luy semble vain\n De mon amour et ferme affection.\n Las n'est il pas ia en possession\n Du corps, du cueur qui ne refuse peine\n Ny dishonneur, en la vie incertane,\n Offence de parents, ne pire affliction?\n Pour luy tous mes amys i'estime moins que rien,\n Et de mes ennemis ie veulx esperere bien.\n I'ay hazarde pour luy & nom & conscience:\n Ie veux pour luy au monde renoncer:\n Ie veux mourire pour luy auancer.\n Que reste il plus pour prouuer ma constance?\n\n Entre ses mains & en son plein pouuoir\n Je metz mon filz, mon honneur, & ma vie,\n Mon pais, mes subjects mon ame assubiectie\n Et toute a luy, & n'ay autre vouloir\n Pour mon obiect que sens le disseuoir\n Suiure ie veux malgre toute l'enuie\n Qu'issir en peult, car ie nay autre envie\n Que de ma foy, luy faire apparceuoir\n Que pour tempest ou bonnace qui face\n Iamais ne veux changer demeure ou place.\n Brief ie farray de ma foy telle preuue,\n Qu'il cognoistra sens feinte ma constance,\n Non par mes pleurs ou feinte obeissance,\n Come autres ont fait, mais par diuers espreuue.\n\n Elle pour son honneur vous doibt obeissance\n Moy vous obeissant i'en puys resseuoir blasme\n N'estat, a mon regret, come elle vostre femme.\n Et si n'aura pourtant en ce point preeminence\n Pour son proffit elle vse de constance,\n Car ce n'est peu d'honneur d'estre de voz biens dame\n Et moy pour vous aymer i'en puix resseuoir blasme\n Et ne luy veux ceder en toute l'obseruance\n Elle de vostre mal n'a l'apprehension\n Moy ie n'ay nul repos tant ie crains l'apparence\n Par l'aduis des parents, elle eut vostre acointance\n Moy maugre tous les miens vous port affection\n Et de sa loyaute prenes ferme asseurance.\n\n Par vous mon coeur & par vostre alliance\n Elle a remis sa maison en honneur\n Elle a jouy par vous de la grandeur\n Dont tous les siens n'auoyent nul asseurance\n De vous mon bien elle a eu la constance,[436]\n Et a guagne pour vn temps vostre cueur,\n Par vous elle a eu plaisir et bon heur,\n Et pour vous a receu honneur & reuerence,\n Et n'a perdu sinon la jouissance\n D'vn fascheux sot qu'elle aymoit cherement.\n Ie ne la plains d'aymer donc ardamment,\n Celuy qui n'a en sens, ni en vaillance,\n En beaute, en bonte, ni en constance\n Point de seconde. Ie vis en ceste foy.\n\n Quant vous l'aymes, elle vsoit de froideur.\n Sy vous souffriez, pour s'amour passion\n Qui vient d'aymer de trop d'affection,\n Son doil monstroit, la tristesse de coeur\n N'ayant plesir de vostre grand ardeur\n En ses habitz, mon estroit sens fiction\n Qu'elle n'auoyt peur qu'imperfection\n Peult l'affasser hors de ce loyal coeur.\n De vostre mort ie ne vis la peaur\n Que meritoit tel mary & seigneur.\n Somme de vous elle a eu tout son bien\n Et n'a prise ne iamais estime\n Vn si grand heur sinon puis qu'il n'est sien\n Et maintenant dist l'auoyr tant ayme.\n\n Et maintenant elle commence a voire\n Qu'elle estoit bien de mauuais iugement\n De n'estimer l'amour d'vn tel amant\n Et vouldroit bien mon amy desseuoir,\n Par les escripts tout fardes de scauoir\n Qui pour tant n'est en son esprit croissant\n Ayns emprunte de quelque auteur eluissant.\n A feint tresbien vn enuoy sans l'avoyr\n Et toutesfois ses parolles fardez,\n Ses pleurs, ses plaints remplis de fictions.\n Et ses hautes cris & lamentations\n Ont tant guagne que par vous sont guardes.\n Ses lettres escriptes ausquells vous donnez foy\n Et si l'aymes & croyez plus que moy.\n\n Vous la croyes las trop ie l'appercoy\n Et vous doutez de ma ferme constance,\n O mon seul bien & mon seul esperance,\n Et ne vous peux ie[437] asseurer de ma foy\n Vous m'estimes legier je le voy,\n Et si n'auez en moy nul asseurance,\n Et soubconnes mon coeur sans apparence,\n Vous deffiant a trop grande tort de moy.\n Vous ignores l'amour que ie vous porte\n Vous soubconnez qu'autre amour me transporte,\n Vous estimes mes parolles du vent,\n Vous depeignes de cire mon las coeur\n Vous me penses femme sans iugement,\n Et tout cela augmente mon ardeur.\n\n Mon amour croist & plus en plus croistra\n Tant que je viuray, et tiendra a grandeur,\n Tant seulement d'auoir part en ce coeur\n Vers qui en fin mon amour paroitra\n Si tres a cler que iamais n'en doutra,\n Pour luy ie veux recercher la grandeure,\n Et faira tant qu'en vray connoistra,\n Que ie n'ay bien, heur, ni contentement,\n Qu' a l'obeyr & servir loyamment.\n Pour luy iattendz toute bon fortune.\n Pour luy ie veux guarder sante & vie\n Pour luy tout vertu de suiure i'ay enuie\n Et sens changer me trouuera tout vne.\n\n Pour luy aussi ie jete mainte larme.\n Premier quand il se fit de ce corps possesseur,\n Du quel alors il n'auoyt pas le coeur.\n Puis me donna vn autre dure alarme\n Quand il versa de son sang maint drasme\n Dont de grief il me vint lesser doleur,[438]\n Qui me pensa oster la vie, & la frayeur\n De[439] perdre las la seule rempar qui m'arme.\n Pour luy depuis iay mesprise l'honneur\n Ce qui nous peut seul prouoir de bonheur.\n Pour luy iay hasarde grandeur[440] & conscience.\n Pour luy tous mes parents i'ay quiste, & amys,\n Et tous aultres respects sont a part mis.\n Brief de vous seul ie cherche l'alliance.\n\n De vous ie dis seul soubtein de ma vie\n Tant seulement ie cherche m'asseurer,\n Et si ose de moy tant presumer\n De vous guagner maugre toute l'enuie.\n Car c'est le seul desir de vostre chere amye,\n De vous seruir & loyaument aymer,\n Et tous malheurs moins que riens estimer,\n Et vostre volunte de la mien suiure.\n Vous conoistres avecques obeissance\n De mon loyal deuoir n'omettant la science\n A quoy i'estudiray pour tousiours vous complaire\n Sans aymer rien que vous, soubs la suiection\n De qui ie veux sens nulle fiction\n Viure & mourir & a ce j'obtempere.\n\n Mon coeur, mon sang, mon ame, & mon soussy,\n Las, vous m'aues promes qu'aurois ce plaisir\n De deuiser auecques vous a loysir,\n Toute la nuit, ou ie languis icy\n Ayant le coeur d'extreme peour transie,\n Pour voir absent le but de mon desir\n Crainte d'oubly vn coup me vient a saisir:\n Et l'autrefois ie crains que rendursi\n Soit contre moy vostre amiable coeur\n Par quelque dit d'un meschant rapporteur.\n Un autrefoys ie crains quelque auenture\n Qui par chemin deturne mon amant,\n Par vn fascheux & nouueau accident\n Dieu deturne toute malheureux augure.\n\n Ne vous voyant selon qu'aues promis\n I'ay mis la main au papier pour escrire\n D'vn different que ie voulou transcrire,\n le ne scay pas quel sera vostre aduise\n Mais ie scay bien qui mieux aymer scaura\n Vous diries bien qui plus y guagnera.\n\n\n\n\nCRAWFORD'S DEPOSITION\n\n(State Papers, Scotland, Elizabeth, vol. xiii. No. 14. Cal. Foreign State\nPapers, Elizabeth, vol. viii. No. 954, February 1566-7.)\n\n\n The Wordes betwixt the Q. and me Thomas Crawforde bye the waye as she\n came to Glasco to fetche the kinge, when mye L. my Master sent me to\n showe her the cause whye he came not to mete her him sellfe.\n\nFirste I made my L. mye masters humble comendacons vnto her Ma{ti} w{th}\nthexcuse y{t} he came not to mete her praing her grace not to thinke it\nwas eath{r} for prowdnesse or yet for not knowinge hys duetye towardes her\nhighnesse, but onelye for want of hely{e} at y{e} present, and allso y{t}\nhe woulde not psume to com in her presence vntille he knewe farder her\nminde bicause of the sharpe Wordes y{t} she had spoken of him to Robert\nCuningh{a}m hys servant in Sterling. Wherebye he thought he Was in her\nMa{tis} displesvre Notwithstanding he hathe sent hys servant and frend to\nwaite vppon her Ma{ti}.\n\nShe aunswered y{t} there was no recept against feare.\n\nI aunswered y{t} mye L. had no feare for anie thinge he knewe in him\nsellf, but onelye of the colde and vnkinde Wordes she had spoken to hys\nservant.\n\nShe aunswered and said y{t} he woulde not be a fraide in case he were not\nculpable.\n\nI aunswered y{t} I knewe so farr of hys Lordsh. y{t} he desired nothing\nmore than y{t} the secretts vf everye creatures harte were writte in\ntheire face.\n\nShe asked me yf I had anie farder comission.\n\nI aunswered no.\n\nThen she comaunded me to holde mye peace.\n\n The Wordes y{t} I rememb{r} were betwixt the Kinge and the Q. in\n Glasco when she took him awaie to Edinbrowghe.\n\nThe Kinge for y{t} mye L. hys father was then absent and sicke, bye reason\nwhereof he could not speke w{th} him him sellfe, called me vnto him and\ntheise wordes that had then passed betwixt him and the Quene, he gaue me\nin remembraunce to reporte vnto the said mye Lord hys father.\n\nAfter theire metinge and shorte speking to geth{r} she asked him of his\nlres, wherein he complained of the cruelltye of som.\n\nHe aunswered y{t} he complained not w{th}owt cause and as he beleved, she\nwoulde graunte her sellfe when she was well advised.\n\nShe asked him of hys sicknesse, he answered y{t} she was the cause\nthereof, and moreover he saide, Ye asked me What I ment bye the crueltye\nspecified in mye lres, yt procedeth of yo{w} onelye y{t} wille not accepte\nmye offres and repentaunce, I confesse y{t} I haue failed in som thing,\nand yet greater fautes haue bin made to yo{w} sundrye times, w{ch} ye haue\nforgiue. I am but yonge, and ye will saye ye haue forgiue me diverse\ntymes. Maye not a man of mye age for lacke of Counselle, of w{ch} I am\nverye destitute falle twise or thrise, and yet repent and be chastised bye\nexperience? Yf I haue made anye faile y{t} ye but thinke a faile, howe so\never it be, I crave yo{r} pdone and protest y{t} I shall never faile\nagaine. I desire no oth{r} thinge but y{t} we maye be to geath{r} as\nhusband and wife. And yf ye will not consent hereto, I desire never to\nrise forthe of thys bed. Therefore I praye yo{w} give me an aunswer here\nvnto. God knowethe howe I am punished for makinge mye god of yo{w} and for\nhaving no oth{r} thowght but on yo{w}. And yf at anie tyme I offend yo{w},\nye are the cause, for y{t} whe anie offendethe me, if for mye refuge I\nmight open mye minde to yo{w}, I woulde speak to no other, but whe anie\nthinge ys spoke to me, and ye and I not beinge as husband and wife owght\nto be, necessite compelleth me to kepe it in my breste and bringethe me in\nsuche melancolye as ye see me in.\n\nShe aunswered y{t} it semed him she was sorye for hys sicknesse, and she\nwoulde finde remedye therefore so sone as she might.\n\nShe asked him Whye he woulde haue passed awaye in Thenglishe shipp.\n\nHe aunswered y{t} he had spoke w{t} thenglishe ma but not of minde to goe\nawaie w{t} him. And if he had, it had not bin w{th}owt cause consideringe\nhowe he was vsed. For he had neath{r} to susteine him sellfe nor hys\nservant, and nede not make farder rehersalle thereof, seinge she knewe it\nas well as he.\n\nThen she asked him of the purpose of Hegate, he aunswered y{t} it was\ntolde him.\n\nShe required howe and bye whome it was told him.\n\nHe aunswered y{t} the L. of Minto tolde him y{t} a lre was presented to\nher in Cragmiller made bye her own divise and subscribed by certeine\nothers who desired her to subscribe the same, w{ch} she refused to doe.\nAnd he said that he woulde never thinke y{t} she who was his owne propre\nfleshe, woulde do him anie hurte, and if anie oth{r} woulde do it, theye\nshuld bye it dere, vnlesse theye took him sleping, albeit he suspected\nnone. So he desired her effectuouslye to beare him companye. For she ever\nfownde som adoe to drawe her selfe fro him to her owne lodginge and woulde\nnever abyde w{t} him past two howres at once.\n\nShe was verye pensiffe. Whereat he fownd faulte he said to her y{t} he was\nadv{r}tised she had browght a litter w{t} her.\n\nShe aunswered y{t} bicause she vnderstoode he was not hable to ryde on\nhorseback, she brought a litter, y{t} he might be caried more softlye.\n\nHe aunswered y{t} yt was not mete for a sick ma to travelle y{t} coulde\nnot sitt on horsebacke and especiallye in so colde weather.\n\nShe aunswered y{t} she would take him to Cragmiller where she might be\nw{t} him and not farre from her sonne.\n\nHe aunswered y{t} vppon condicon he would goe w{th} her w{ch} was that he\nand she might be to geath{r} at bedde and borde as husband and wife, and\ny{t} she should leaue him no more. And if she would promise him y{t},\nvppon her worde he would goe w{th} her, where she pleised w{th}owt\nrespecte of anye dang{r} eath{r} of sicknesse, wherein he was, or\notherwise. But if she would not condescend thereto, he would not goe w{th}\nher in anye wise.\n\nShe aunswered that her comminge was onelye to that effecte, and if she had\nnot bin minded thereto, she had not com so farre to fetche him, and so she\ngraunted hys desire and p{o}mised him y{t} it should be as he had spoken,\nand therevppon gave him her hand and faithe of her bodye y{t} she woulde\nlove him and vse him as her husband. Notwithstanding before theye coulde\ncom to geath{r} he must be purged and clensed of hys sicknesse, w{ch} she\ntruisted woulde be shortlye for she minded to giue him the bathe at\nCragmill{r}. Than he said he would doe what soever she would have him doe,\nand would love all that she loved. She required of him in especialle,\nwhome he loved of the nobilitie and Whome he hated.\n\nHe aunswered y{t} he hated no ma, and loved all alike well.\n\nShe asked him how he liked the Ladye Reresse and if he were angrye w{th}\nher.\n\nHe aunswered y{t} he had litle minde of suche as she was, and wished of\nGod she might serve her to her hono{r}.\n\nThen she desired him to kepe to him sellfe the promise betwixt him and\nher, and to open it to nobodye. For padventure the Lordes woulde not\nthinke welle of their suddine agrement, consideringe he and theye were at\nsome wordes before.\n\nHe aunswered that he knew no cause whye theye shulde mislike of it, and\ndesired her y{t} she would not move anye of the against him even as he\nwoulde stirre none againste her, and y{t} theye would worke bothe in one\nmind, otherwise it might tourne to great{r} inconvenience to them bothe.\n\nShe aunswered y{t} she never sowght anye waie bye him, but he was in fault\nhim sellfe.\n\nHe aunswered againe y{t} hys faultes were published and y{t} there were\ny{t} made great{r} faultes than ever he made y{t} beleved were vnknowne,\nand yet theye woulde speke of greate and smale.\n\nFarder the Kinge asked me at y{t} present time what I thowght of hys\nvoyage. I aunswered y{t} I liked it not, bicause she tooke him to\nCragmill{r}. For if she had desired him w{th} her sellf or to have had hys\ncompanye, she would haue taken him to hys owne howse in Edinbr. Where she\nmight more easely visit him, than to travelle two myles owt of the towne\nto a gentlemais house. Therefore mye opinio was y{t} she tooke him awaye\nmore like a prison{r} than her husbande.\n\nHe aunswered y{t} he thowght litle lesse him sellf and feared him sellfe\nindeid save the confidence, he had in her promise onelye, notwithstandinge\nhe woulde goe w{th} her, and put him sellfe in her handes, thowghe she\nshowlde cutte hys throate and besowghte God to be iudge vnto them bothe.\n\n_Endorsed_: 'Thomas Crawford deposit.'\n\n\n\n\nINDEX\n\n\n Abercairnie, Laird of, Mary's appeal to him on behalf of evicted\n cottars, 8\n\n 'Actio,' the, quoted, on Darnley's murder, 141, 142\n\n 'Admonition to the Trew Lordis,' cited, 151\n\n Ainslie's band, purport of, 177, 178;\n defaulters from, 181;\n Morton's stipulation, 254;\n signers of, 329, 330;\n Morton's adhesion to, 383\n\n Alava, Beaton's statement to him about Moray, 210\n\n Alloa, Mary at, 80\n\n 'Appeal to Christian Princes,' cited, 240\n\n Argyll, Earl of, disliked by Darnley, 73;\n lodged by Mary in Edinburgh Castle during her labour, 73, 75;\n at Craigmillar, 98;\n Paris's statement as to him and Mary on the night of Darnley's murder,\n 161;\n in confederation against Bothwell, 181;\n cited, 38\n\n Arran, Earl of, blamed by Bothwell as the cause of the Protestant\n rebellion, 47;\n feud with Bothwell, 47, 49;\n reconciled to him through Knox, 50;\n discloses to Knox Bothwell's plot to seize Mary, 50;\n apprises Mary of the plot, 51\n\n Atholl, Earl of (member of council), 172;\n confederated against Bothwell, 181;\n cited, 203\n\n\n Baillie Hamilton, Lady, on the Hamilton casket, 368, 369, 370\n\n Balcanquell, Rev. Walter, receives Morton's confession, 148\n\n Balfour, Sir James, concerned in the murder 'band' against Darnley, 88,\n 90, 99;\n gives Bothwell the keys of Mary's room at Kirk o' Field, 163;\n persuaded by Lethington to surrender Edinburgh Castle, 186;\n charged by Mary with complicity in Darnley's murder, 189;\n the Casket in his keeping, 198;\n holds Edinburgh Castle, 274\n\n Ballantyne, Patrick, said to have menaced Mary's life, 38\n\n 'Band of assurance for the murder' of Riccio, 67, 68\n\n Bannatyne (Knox's secretary), his account of the death of the Earl of\n Huntly, 38\n\n Bannister (Norfolk's servant), Norfolk's statement to him regarding\n Letter II., 357\n\n Bargany, Laird of, at cards with Archibald Douglas, 32\n\n Barham, Serjeant, asserts that Lethington stole the Casket Letters and\n that his wife copied them, 248;\n denies that Mary received French copies, 249\n\n Beaton, Archbishop (Mary's ambassador in France), communicates with Mary\n about Hiegait and Walker, 110, 114;\n affirms that Moray is Mary's mortal enemy, 210\n\n Beaton, Archibald (Mary's usher), Mary's concern for, 6;\n misses the keys at Kirk o' Field, 164, 165\n\n Beaton, James (Archbishop Beaton's brother), joins Mary at Dunbar, 186;\n with her at Carberry Hill, 187;\n on Lethington's treacherous behaviour to Mary, 190\n\n Beaton, Mary (one of the Queen's Maries), 4;\n and Ogilvy of Boyne, 26;\n her aunts at feud with Mary, 356;\n her handwriting, 364\n\n Beaufort, Jane (widow of James I.), 45\n\n Bedford, Earl of (Elizabeth's ambassador), fears that Mary secretly\n abetted Bothwell, 56;\n on Riccio, 59;\n declares Bothwell to be hated in Scotland, 80;\n instructs his suite not to recognise Darnley as king, 106\n\n Bellenden (Justice Clerk), member of council, 172, 203;\n implicated in Riccio's murder, 203\n\n Binning (Archibald Douglas's servant), his confession, 148\n\n Birrel ('Diary'), on the blowing up of Kirk o' Field, 140;\n on the date Mary left Edinburgh, 292;\n nd that of her visit to Glasgow, 379, 380\n\n Black Friars, the Dominican Monastery of, 124, 125, 126, 127, 130, 131\n\n Blackader, William (Bothwell's retainer), hanged denying his guilt, 153,\n 195;\n cited, 165\n\n Blackwood, on unsigned letters attributed to Mary, 198, 212\n\n Blavatsky case, the, cited, 278, 279\n\n Bolton, Mary at, 249, 250, 251, 283\n\n Book of Articles, cited, 59, 86, 94, 95, 107, 114, 255, 271, 272, 278,\n 279, 280, 281, 316, 318 note, 322;\n on the conference at Craigmillar, 96;\n on Darnley's murder, 141, 142, 148;\n on the Glasgow letters, 308, 317;\n its supposed author, 318\n\n Borthwick Castle, Mary and Douglas at, 185\n\n Bothwell (James Hepburn, Earl of), personal appearance, 14, 18;\n age at Darnley's murder, 14;\n literary tastes, 15;\n character as depicted by his foes, 15;\n his courage in question, 16;\n handwriting, 17;\n study of works on art magic, 17;\n accused of winning Mary's favour by witchcraft, 17, 36;\n his standard of culture compared with that of Scots nobles, 18;\n masterful nature, 18;\n hatred of Maitland of Lethington, 25;\n epitome of early career, 46;\n espouses the cause of Mary of Guise, 47;\n seizes Cockburn of Ormiston, 47, 49;\n deceives and deserts Anne Throndsoen under promise of marriage, 47;\n said to have had three wives simultaneously, 48;\n at the French Court, 49;\n feud and reconciliation with Earl of Arran, 47, 49, 50;\n solicits Arran's aid in a plot to seize Mary, 50;\n warded in, but escapes from, Edinburgh Castle, 51, 53;\n in league with Huntly, 53;\n Lieut.-General and Admiral, 54;\n Elizabeth's prisoner at Holy Island, 54;\n Captain of the Scottish Guards in France, 54;\n said to have accused Mary of incestuous relations with her uncle the\n Cardinal, 54;\n returns to Scotland and his Border fastness, 56;\n outlawed, 56;\n summoned by Mary to assist her, 57;\n ill-feeling towards Darnley, 57;\n marries Lady Jane Gordon, 26, 68;\n rescues Mary from prison after Riccio's murder, 69;\n intrigues with Darnley for the ruin of Moray and Lethington, 72, 73;\n at the Border during Mary's accouchement, 76;\n Bedford's statement that he was the most hated man in Scotland, 80;\n reconciled by Mary to Lethington, 81;\n his guilty intimacy with Mary, 82, 83;\n concerned in the murder 'band' against Darnley, 90, 98, 99;\n wounded in Liddesdale, 93;\n visited by Mary at Hermitage Castle, 93;\n his share in Darnley's murder, 117, 118, 136, 139, 142, 144, 145, 147,\n 148, 149, 150, 158, 159, 160, 161, 163, 164, 165, 166, 167, 171,\n 172, 175;\n escapes to Denmark, 154;\n Paris's evidence as to familiarities between him and Mary, 162;\n his possession of the keys to Mary's room at Kirk o' Field, 163, 164,\n 165;\n influence over Mary, 176;\n objects of 'Ainslie's band,' 177, 178, 181, 329, 330, 383;\n seizes Mary and takes her to Dunbar, 179, 330, 332;\n is created by Mary Duke of Orkney, and marries her, 183;\n intimacy with his divorced wife after marriage with Mary, 27, 184;\n at Carberry Hill, 16, 186;\n gives Mary a copy of the Darnley murder band, 187;\n summons from the Lords for Darnley's murder and Mary's abduction, 202;\n tried and declared innocent of Darnley's murder, 177;\n Mary's alleged letter inciting him to Darnley's murder, 211, 212\n (_see_ Casket Letter II.);\n the Privy Council's Declaration, 239;\n Mary's submissive attitude to him, 315;\n said to have been present at the brawl between Darnley and Lord Robert\n Stuart, 328;\n advice given by Mary as to his relations with the Lords, 331;\n ring sent him by Mary, 335, 337, 341;\n betrothal ring given by him to Mary, 340;\n letters to his wife after his marriage with Mary, 351;\n place of his death and burial, 371, 372, 373.\n _See_ Mary Stuart\n\n Bothwell, Lady. _See_ Lady Jane Gordon\n\n Bowes (Elizabeth's envoy to Scotland), 365;\n tries to induce Gowrie to give up the Casket, 366\n\n Bowton, Hepburn of, his statement of Darnley's murder, 143, 144, 146,\n 158, 165, 170, 233, 278, 280, 310;\n dying confession, 167;\n execution, 139\n\n Boyd, Lord, 73\n\n Brantome, on Bothwell's personal appearance, 18;\n on the Casket Sonnets, 344\n\n Branxholme, the Lady of, rails at Mary's marriage with Bothwell, 184\n\n Bresslau, Herr, on the Casket Letters, 387\n\n Buchan, Earl of (grandfather of Christian Stewart), 19\n\n Buchan, Master of, killed at Pinkie, 19\n\n Buchanan, George (poet and historian), celebrates Mary's virtues, 15;\n his inaccurate accounts of her behaviour, 33, 34;\n anecdotes of visions portending Darnley's fate, 37;\n tale of Mary at Alloa with Bothwell, 80;\n on the guilty intimacy of Mary and Bothwell, 81;\n respecting Lady Reres, 82, 83;\n on the Craigmillar conference, 96, 97, 98;\n Latin elegiacs on Mary, 105;\n on Darnley's murder, 141;\n his treatment of the Darnley case, 148-151;\n on Paris's Deposition, 157;\n on Darnley's meek endurance of Mary's slights, 314;\n account of a brawl between Darnley and Lord Robert Stuart, 323, 328\n\n\n Caithness, Earl of (member of council), 172\n\n Calderwood, on Morton's warrant from Mary for signing Ainslie's band, 254\n\n Callendar, Mary at, 112, 318 note\n\n Camden, on Lethington counterfeiting Mary's handwriting, 357, 358\n\n Carberry Hill, Mary and Bothwell at, 186\n\n Cardauns, M., on the translations of the Casket Letters, 386\n\n Carwood, Margaret, Mary's intended bequest of a casket to, 365\n\n Casket, the, official description of, 365;\n the one in possession of the Hamilton family, 367-370\n\n Casket Letter I., its place in order of composition, 290, 291;\n question of date, 291, 292;\n intelligible if classed as Letter II., 293;\n purport, 293;\n reference to Lethington in English copy, 294;\n possibly authentic and indicating a presumptively authentic Letter\n II., 295;\n published Scots and English translations, 391-393\n\n Casket Letter II., shows Mary's complicity in the murder of Darnley, 14;\n not genuine if the chronology of Cecil's Journal be accepted, 296;\n authenticity opposed by the letter cited by Moray and Lennox, 296, 320;\n probably garbled, 297, 300;\n difficulties of internal chronology, 297;\n Crawford's corroboration of parts, 297;\n theory of dovetailing by a forger, 300 et seq.;\n objections based on Crawford's written Deposition, 302-304;\n verbal identities with Crawford's account, 305, 306;\n differences from, 307;\n reveals Darnley's unconcealed knowledge of Mary's relations with\n Bothwell, 307;\n German theory respecting correspondence of deposition with, 308;\n influence of Mary's memoranda with regard to genuineness, 309;\n forgery--balance of probabilities, 309, 313, 314;\n not inconsistent with Mary's style and character, 313;\n shows Mary's remorse and submission to Bothwell, 315;\n reasons pointing to partial genuineness, 316;\n the phrase 'a more secret way by medicine,' 317;\n confused by Buchanan with the letter described by Moray and Lennox,\n 318;\n the 'ludgeing' in Edinburgh, 318;\n the Craigmillar reference, 319, 320;\n represents Mary as tortured by remorse, 348;\n published Scots and English translations, 393-414;\n concerning, 211, 212, 213, 214, 215, 229, 232, 245, 253\n\n Casket Letter III., copy of the French original, 322;\n gives brawl between Darnley and Lord Robert Stuart, 323-328;\n its affected style, 325, 328;\n original French version at Hatfield, 414, 415\n\n Casket Letter IV., subject of, 329;\n original French version, 416\n\n Casket Letter V., concerning Mary's abduction by Bothwell, 329, 330;\n the several translations, 330;\n original French version at Hatfield, 417, 418\n\n Casket Letter VI., Mary advises Bothwell as to his relations with the\n Lords, 331;\n her excuses for her marriage with Bothwell, 331, 332;\n published Scots translation, 418\n\n Casket Letter VII., subject of, 333;\n coincidence with Mary's instructions to Bishop of Dunblane, 359, 360;\n Scots version, 419\n\n Casket Letter VIII. (III. in Henderson): reproaches Bothwell with\n coldness, 334;\n concerning the enamel ring sent by Mary to Bothwell, 335;\n refers to a betrothal ring received by her from Bothwell, 336;\n affectation of its style, 336;\n Mary's gift of a symbolic mourning ring to Bothwell, 337, 341;\n contract of marriage with Bothwell, 337, 338;\n unknown date, 339;\n theory of its having been written to Darnley, 339;\n circumstances in Mary's relations with Bothwell referred to, 339;\n original French version, 420, 421\n\n Casket Letter IX.: the French Sonnets, 422, 426\n\n Casket Letters: their discovery, 195, 274, 275;\n early tampering with suggested, 198, 199, 200, 208;\n published in Scots, Latin, and French, 198;\n Scots versions compared with French originals, 226, 243;\n unsigned copies, 240;\n Scots versions sent to Mary by Lethington's wife, 248;\n French copies, 273;\n English translations, 274;\n original language in which they were written, 346;\n phraseology and orthography, 347;\n tone and style, 347, 348;\n compared with the Sonnets, 349, 350;\n uniformity of sentiment and passion, 350, 351, 352;\n authenticity considered, 352;\n Lethington's suspected garbling, 361;\n Archibald Douglas a possible forger, 362;\n translations of, 385-391.\n _See_ under each Casket Letter\n\n Casket Sonnets, 217;\n Mary's love for Bothwell depicted, 235;\n topics of, 345;\n prove Mary's passion for Bothwell, 345;\n compared with the Letters, 349;\n the French, 422, 426\n\n Cassilis (member of council), 172\n\n Catherine de Medicis, 84, 85, 87, 89, 92, 192\n\n Catholic League, the, 64\n\n Cauldwell, Alexander (a retainer of Eglintoun's), arrested by Mary, 103;\n denies the rumour that Darnley was to be put in ward, 110, 111\n\n Cecil (William Lord Burghley), his account of Riccio's murder, 68;\n avers that Bothwell obtained his divorce by accusing himself of an\n amour with Lady Reres, 82;\n circulates libels about Mary, but does not use Paris's confession, 168;\n knows of the existence of the Casket Letters and their proposed uses,\n 201;\n Jhone a Forret's mission to him, 209;\n receives the Itinerary of Mary, 277, 291, 296;\n on Mary's stay at Callendar, 318 note;\n Kirkcaldy's letter to him, 359;\n hints at Lethington's manipulation of the Casket Letters, 361;\n his description of the Casket, 369\n\n Chalmers, David (a friend of Bothwell), 82\n\n Charles IX. of France, 80;\n resents the publication of the Casket Letters, 200\n\n Chastelard, cited, 39\n\n Chatelherault, Duke of (heir to the Scottish Crown), 10;\n suit to be restored, 61;\n acquires and builds a chateau on land near Kirk o' Field, 125\n\n Clark, Captain (in command of Scots in Danish service), Paris extradited\n to him, 154, 374;\n in correspondence with Moray, 154\n\n Clernault (Frenchman), on the blowing up of Kirk o' Field, 140\n\n Cockburn of Ormiston, seized by Bothwell while carrying English money to\n the Lords, 47;\n his son carried off by Bothwell, 49\n\n Coventry, Mary at, 337 and note\n\n Craig (Protestant preacher), denounces Mary's marriage with Bothwell,\n 183;\n Lethington's statement to him of his offer to Mary, 188\n\n Craigmillar Castle, conference at, 91, 95, 96, 98, 99, 103, 319, 320\n\n Crawford, Thomas (Lennox's retainer), 35;\n on Mary's visit to Darnley at Glasgow, 113;\n Lennox's letter to him, 226;\n deposition at Westminster, 276;\n second deposition, 280, 310;\n substantiates part of Letter II., 297;\n verbal identities of his deposition with, and differences from, Letter\n II., 303, 304, 305, 306, 307, 385, 389, 390;\n his private character, 309, 310, 312;\n one indication of the truth of his oath, 311;\n deposition anglicised from the Scots, 312;\n full text of his deposition, 427-431\n\n Crokat, May (Mrs. Stirling), sees the murderers of Darnley, 147\n\n Cullen, Captain James (a soldier of fortune), 35;\n officer of the guard to Mary, 151;\n share in the Darnley murder, 152;\n executed, 153;\n his evidence burked, 156\n\n Cunningham, Robert (Lennox's retainer), Lennox's letter to him, 226\n\n\n Dalgleish, George (Bothwell's valet), his confession regarding Darnley's\n murder, 84, 143, 144, 145, 146, 167, 195, 274, 278;\n under torture reveals the Casket, 275;\n executed, 144\n\n Darnley, Henry Lord (son of Earl of Lennox), genealogy, 10;\n letter to Mary Tudor, 10;\n physical, moral and mental characteristics, 11, 18;\n influence on Mary, 12;\n marries her, 13, 57;\n petulance and arrogance of his disposition, 13;\n habits and health, 13;\n on the possessions of Moray, 19;\n his tragic end foretold in spiritual visions, 37;\n at feud with the Lennox Stewarts, 58;\n estranged from Mary, 59;\n fondness for hunting, 60, 61, 62, 63;\n removed from Mary's Council, 60, 62;\n at Peebles, 62;\n affects to believe in, and have proofs of, Riccio's amour with Mary,\n 63, 65, 67;\n schemes with his father to obtain the crown, 66;\n in league with Ruthven and Morton, 67;\n present at Riccio's slaying, 67;\n list of those who aided him in the murder, 67;\n his treachery to his associates after Riccio's murder, 71;\n Mary's growing dislike of him, 73;\n tale of Mary's proposal to him to make Lady Moray his mistress, 74, 86;\n urged to ruin Moray and Lethington, 76;\n Mary's gift of a bed to him, 81;\n at Meggatdale with Mary, 81;\n threatens to fly the country, 84, 85;\n invited to state his grievances before the Council, 85;\n powerful nobles against him, 85, 87;\n determined not to be present at the baptism of his son, 86;\n evidence of a signed 'band' against him, 87, 88, 90;\n visits Mary at Jedburgh, 95, 96;\n warned by Lennox of a plan to put him in ward, 101;\n does not attend his son's baptism, 105;\n denied his title to the kingship, 106;\n will not associate with the English therefor, 106;\n anecdote of his treatment by Mary, at Stirling, 107;\n wild projects attributed to him, 108;\n complains of Mary to the Pope and Catholic Powers, 109;\n rumours of his intended arrest, 111;\n falls ill at Glasgow, 112;\n his reply to Mary when she offers to visit him, 112;\n Crawford's account of his interview with Mary, 113;\n returns with her to Edinburgh, 113;\n the poison suggestion of his illness, 114;\n brought to Kirk o' Field, 115;\n situation, environs, and interior of Kirk o' Field, 123-133;\n his letter to Lennox three days before his death, 133;\n Mary's interview with him on the eve of the explosion, 135;\n his last hours, 136;\n statements and theories of the manner of his death, 136, 138, 139,\n 140, 141, 142, 149, 150;\n confessions of some of his murderers, 141-153;\n his probable murderers, 169;\n the band for his murder, 381-385\n\n De Foix (French ambassador), Cecil's account to him of Riccio's murder,\n 68\n\n De Silva (Spanish ambassador) discusses, with Elizabeth, Mary's share in\n Darnley's murder, 171, 172;\n knowledge of the Casket Letters, 197;\n mentions their existence to Elizabeth, 201;\n statement made to him by Mary's confessor, 210;\n Moray reports a guilty letter of Mary's, 211, 214;\n notifies Elizabeth of the Lords' possession of the Casket Letters, 353\n\n 'Detection,' on the Craigmillar conference, 96;\n on the Casket Letters, 200\n\n 'Diurnal of Occurrents,' quoted, 36, 139, 292, 378, 380\n\n Douglas, Archibald (cousin of Morton), the 'parson of Glasgow,' 30, 31;\n in Riccio's murder, 31;\n in Darnley's murder, 31, 147, 148, 274;\n Morton's go-between, 31;\n judge of Court of Session, 32, 147;\n career of treachery, 32, 33;\n states the existence of the Darnley murder band, 87, 90;\n letter to Mary in exile, 89;\n account of the band signed by Moray, 91;\n endeavours to propitiate Mary, 117, 118, 119;\n considered as a forger of the Letters, 362\n\n Douglas, George, concerned in Riccio's murder, 65;\n witness against Moray and Lethington, 76\n\n Douglas, Lady (Moray's mother), 20\n\n Douglas, Robert (brother of Archibald), at the discovery of the Casket\n Letters, 275\n\n Douglas, Sir George (father of the Earl of Morton), his treacherous\n character, 29\n\n Douglas, William, rescuer of Mary from Loch Leven, 6, 7, 34\n\n Douglas, William (of Whittingham), accuses his brother Archibald of\n forging letters, 32, 362\n\n Dragsholm, Castle of, in Denmark, where Bothwell died, 372, 373\n\n Drummond Castle, Mary at, 112\n\n Drumquhassel, 35\n\n Drury, quoted, on Captain Cullen, 152;\n aware of Bothwell's projected seizure of Mary, 180;\n stays Nelson at Berwick, 319 note\n\n Du Croc (French ambassador), on Bothwell's courage, 16;\n on differences between Darnley and Mary, 85, 86, 95;\n high opinion of Mary, 87;\n on Bothwell's wound, 93;\n declines to meet Darnley, 106;\n finds Mary in tears at Stirling, 107;\n opposed to Mary's marriage with Bothwell, 183;\n on Lethington's interview with Mary after Carberry, 188;\n leaves Scotland with copies of Casket Letters, 197, 198, 199\n\n Dunbar, Mary at, 180, 186\n\n Dunblane, Bishop of, letter presented by him to the Court of France in\n excuse of Mary's marriage with Bothwell, 331, 333;\n coincidence of Mary's instruction to, with Letter VII., 359, 360\n\n Durham, Sandy (Bothwell's servant), asks Paris for the key of Kirk o'\n Field, 163\n\n Durie, Rev. John, receives Morton's confession, 148\n\n\n Edinburgh, Mary's midnight revels in, 4;\n in Mary's time, 40, 41, 42;\n insanitariness, 41;\n street brawling, 43;\n social condition, 43;\n house in, referred to in Mary's letters, 316, 317, 318\n\n Edinburgh Castle, Bothwell prisoner in, 51, 53;\n Mary gives birth to James VI. at, 75;\n Sir James Balfour holds, 274\n\n Eglintoun, Lord, an untrustworthy Lennoxite, 110, 111;\n evades subscription to the Ainslie band, 178\n\n Elizabeth, Queen, acknowledges Mary's physical and mental charm, 3, 4;\n regards her as a rival, 9;\n opinion of Maitland of Lethington, 24;\n pestered to recognise Mary as her successor, 55;\n congratulations on birth of James VI., 76;\n her baptismal gift as godmother, 105;\n receives Paris's deposition, 154;\n discusses with De Silva Darnley's murder, 171, 172;\n Lords appeal to her against Mary, 184, 185;\n wavers between Mary and the dominant Scots party, 195;\n acquainted with the discovery of the Casket Letters, 196;\n angry with Lethington about them, 201;\n communicates with Mary in Lochleven, 202;\n demands of Moray the reason of the Lords' rebellion, 228, 229;\n favourably inclined to Mary, 237;\n removes the conference from York to London, 260;\n her Council at Hampton Court, 264;\n declines Mary's appeal for a hearing before her, 269;\n asks for the Letters, 269;\n adds to commissioners at Westminster, 277;\n debars Mary her presence, 281, 282;\n offers Mary three choices, 283;\n refuses to permit Mary the sight of originals or copies of the\n Letters, 284;\n absolves both Moray and Mary, 285;\n suspects Lethington of tampering with Letters, 353, 355, 358;\n acquaints Mary with Robert Melville's efforts, 355\n\n Elphinstone, Nicholas (Moray's messenger), not allowed to give Mary\n Moray's letters at Loch Leven, 210\n\n Erskine, Arthur, 34;\n escorts Mary to Dunbar, 69\n\n\n Faarvejle Church, Denmark, Bothwell's body and grave in, 371 et seq.\n\n Fitzwilliam, John (of Gray's Inn), Lesley's letter to him, 286 note\n\n Fleming, Dr. Hay, on Bothwell's outlawry, 56\n\n Fleming, Mary (Queen Mary's favourite attendant), 4;\n her love affair with Maitland of Lethington, 24;\n when Lethington's wife, copies the Letters, 247, 248\n\n Fleming (member of council), 172\n\n Forbes of Reres, kills Moray's secretary, 33\n\n Foster, Sir John, 54;\n on Mary's visit to Bothwell, 94;\n on the Liddesdale reivers, 180\n\n Froude, Mr. (historian), his opinion of Moray, 22;\n on the discovery of the Casket Letters, 196;\n on the Glasgow Letter, 212, 213;\n on Mary's attitude towards the Letters, 245\n\n\n Galloway, Bishop of (member of council), 172\n\n Glasgow, in the sixteenth century, 39;\n Darnley ill at, 112\n\n Glasgow Letter, the, 135, 162, 168, 211, 212, 213, 214, 225, 229, 255.\n _See_ Letter II.\n\n Glencairn, Earl of, received by Mary at Edinburgh Castle, 73, 92\n\n Goodall, quoted, 312 note\n\n Gordon, John (Mary's servant), 7\n\n Gordon, Lady Jane (daughter of Huntly, the Cock of the North), wife of\n Bothwell, 26, 53, 68;\n her literary love letters, 26;\n conditions of her consent to a divorce with Bothwell, 27, 218;\n relations with Bothwell after her divorce, 27, 184;\n marries the Earl of Sutherland, and, on his death, Ogilvy of Boyne,\n 27, 218;\n literary contest with Mary, 349, 350\n\n Gowrie, Earl of, in possession of the Casket Letters, 366;\n Bowes seeks to obtain them from him, 366;\n insists on James's consent before giving them up, 367;\n executed for treason, 367\n\n Greville, Fulke, attracted by the personality of Archibald Douglas, 33\n\n Gueldres, Mary of (widow of James II.), 45\n\n\n Hamilton, Archbishop of St. Andrews, resides at Hamilton House to\n prevent Darnley's occupation, 116;\n there on the eve of Kirk o' Field explosion, 149;\n accessory to Darnley's murder, 150;\n member of council, 172;\n hanged by Lennox, 150\n\n Hamilton Casket, the, doubts as to its being the true Casket, 369\n\n Hamilton, present Duke of, the Casket in his possession, 367, 368\n\n Hamilton House, 115, 116, 131, 149\n\n Hamilton, John, singular death of, 37\n\n Hamilton, Lord Claude (Gloade), 149\n\n Hampton Court, 264, 279\n\n Handwriting, problems of, 363, 364\n\n Hay, the Younger, of Tala, his complicity in Darnley's murder, 35, 90,\n 143, 144, 145, 146, 157, 160, 165, 169, 328;\n confession, 278;\n execution, 139, 280\n\n Henderson, quoted, on Letter II. and Crawford's Deposition, 310, 312\n note;\n his text of the Casket Letters, 387\n\n Henri II. of France, 5\n\n Hepburn of Riccartoun (Bothwell's agent), 56, 57\n\n Hepburn, Patrick (Bishop of Moray), Bothwell's great-uncle, 14\n\n Hepburn, Patrick (parson of Kynmoir), evidence to a plot to kill Moray,\n 375, 376, 377, 378\n\n Hepburns, the, character of, 45, 46\n\n Hermitage Castle, Bothwell visited by Mary at, 39, 54, 93, 94\n\n Herries, Lord, on Mary's abduction, 241;\n at the York Conference, 251;\n at Westminster, 267;\n challenged to battle by Lindsay, 285\n\n Hiegait, William (Town Clerk of Glasgow), arrested by Mary, 103;\n his tale of Darnley's scheme to kidnap James VI., 108, 109, 110;\n denies same before the Council, 110, 111;\n cited, 301\n\n Holy Island, Bothwell prisoner at, 54\n\n Holyrood, fable of secret passage between it and Kirk o' Field, 115, 116;\n its environs, 124;\n Sebastian's marriage, 136\n\n Hosack, Mr., on the authenticity of Letter II., 232;\n on Glasgow Letter, 296\n\n Hubert, Nicholas, his dying confession, 166\n\n Hume, on Hubert's confession, 166\n\n Hume, Major Martin, on the Casket Letters, 197\n\n Hunter, Michael, slain by the Black Laird of Ormistoun, 35, 36\n\n Huntly, Earl of (Cock of the North), Mary's chief Catholic supporter, 52;\n dies in battle against her, 53\n\n Huntly, Earl of (son of the Cock of the North; Bothwell's\n brother-in-law), influences his sister Lady Jane in her marriage\n to and divorce from Bothwell, 53;\n rescues Mary from prison after Riccio's murder, 69;\n complicity in Darnley's murder, 90, 167, 168;\n at Craigmillar, 98;\n evidence against him suppressed, 143;\n on the Council, 172;\n Mary distrusts him, 330;\n trusts him, 331;\n manner of his death, 37, 38\n\n\n James V. of Scotland, 18\n\n James VI. of Scotland (I. of England), birth of, 59, 75;\n baptism, 105;\n his godmother Queen Elizabeth's gift, 105;\n crowned, 222\n\n James Stuart (Mary's great-great-grandson), 3\n\n Jedburgh, Mary at, 93, 94, 95, 96\n\n Jhone a Forret (? John Wood), supposed bearer of copies of Casket\n Letters to Moray and Cecil, 209, 212, 219, 226, 233, 321 note\n\n Joachim (a servant of Mary), cited, 298, 299\n\n Jordan, Sandy (Earl of Morton's servant), bearer of the Casket to\n Gowrie, 366\n\n Jusserand, M., on the corpse of Bothwell, 14 note;\n on Bothwell's remains and burial place, 371 et seq.\n\n\n Keith, Agnes (daughter of the Earl Marischal), married to Moray, 20\n\n Ker, Andrew, of Faldonside (one of Riccio's murderers), 101, 152 note\n\n Killigrew, his report of the Darnley case, 171\n\n Kirk o' Field (St. Mary in the Fields), 41, 124;\n house prepared for Darnley, 115, 140, 141, 142;\n blown up, 140;\n site, situation, and environs, 123-132;\n map of 1647 and chart of 1567, 127, 128, 129, 130, 131;\n interior of the house, 132, 133;\n cited in Letter II., 316, 317\n\n Kirkcaldy of Grange, 34;\n action against Mary, 184, 185;\n Mary's surrender to him at Carberry Hill, 187;\n letter to Cecil, 359\n\n Knollys, his estimate of the character of Mary, 3;\n Mary's accusation against him, 245;\n on Mary at the York Conference, 257\n\n Knox, John, denounces the fripperies of women, 4;\n in argument on the Mass with Maitland of Lethington, 23, 24;\n credited with winning a bride by witchcraft, 37;\n patches up a reconciliation between Bothwell and Arran, 50;\n Arran reveals to him Bothwell's plot to seize Mary, 51;\n on Bothwell's escape from Edinburgh Castle, 53;\n on Darnley's sporting tastes, 60;\n his drastic advice in the case of Mary, 66;\n witch story concerning Lady Reres related to him, 82\n\n Koot Hoomi's (Blavatsky case) correspondence, cited, 278, 279\n\n\n La Forest (French ambassador), reports the existence of letters proving\n Mary's complicity in the death of Darnley, 197;\n his copies and the published Letters, 200\n\n La Mothe Fenelon (French ambassador), on the Lords' possession of\n Letters written and signed by Mary, 198, 199;\n on their publication in 'Detection,' 200;\n pleads for Mary to be allowed to see originals or copies of Casket\n Letters, 284;\n opinion of the Casket Sonnets, 344, 345\n\n Laing, Malcolm (historian), on Letter III., 325, 326;\n on the Hamilton Casket, 367\n\n Lennox, Earl of (Darnley's father), 10;\n forfeited estates restored, 55;\n complains of Mary's intimacy with Riccio, 58;\n a competitor for the Scottish crown, 62;\n wishes to see Darnley at Peebles, 62, 63;\n schemes to get the crown for Darnley, 66;\n accuses Mary of threatening to avenge Riccio with her own hands, 72;\n avers that improper relations began between Mary and Bothwell soon\n after the birth of James VI., 79;\n on Mary's behaviour at Stirling, 80;\n warned of a plot to put Darnley in ward, 100;\n 'Discourse' prepared by him for York conference, 101;\n 'Brief Discourse' put in at Westminster, 102;\n on a second conference at Craigmillar, 103;\n not present at James VI.'s baptism, 105;\n sends men to guard Darnley at Stirling, 107, 110, 111;\n Minto, Walker, and Hiegait working in his interests, 111;\n denies that either Darnley or himself suspected foul play from Mary,\n 113;\n Darnley's letter to him respecting Mary, 133;\n urges the collection of the sayings and reports of all Mary's\n servants, 138;\n account of his son's murder, 141;\n asks for the deposition of the priest of Paisley, 150;\n states that Mary caused a hagbut to be fired as a signal for the\n Kirk o' Field explosion, 173;\n describes Mary's conduct at Seton, 175;\n asks for the arrest of Bothwell, 176;\n flight after his son's death, 180;\n his account of the Glasgow Letter tallies with Moray's, 214, 215;\n his additions to and differences from that Letter, 216 et seq.;\n marginal note to Sonnet IV., 217, 218;\n common source of his and Moray's reports, 221;\n proposed co-regency, 223;\n collects extraneous evidence regarding Mary, 224, 226;\n avers that Wood knows the murderers of Darnley, 227;\n knowledge of the contents of the Casket Letters, 227, 228;\n his indictments against Mary, 222, 223, 229, 230;\n cites Letter II., 231;\n activity in getting up evidence against Mary before the York\n Commissioners, 253;\n attitude at Westminster, 266;\n on Crawford's talk with Mary, 311, 312 note;\n seeks to prove that the Kirk o' Field plan was arranged between\n Bothwell and Mary before Mary met Darnley at Glasgow, 316;\n Papers, quoted, 58, 59, 74\n\n Lennox, Lady, Mary complains to Elizabeth of her, 225\n\n Lesley (Bishop of Ross), considers Bothwell a handsome man, 18;\n wishes Mary to put Moray in ward, 75;\n Huntly's statement to, respecting Mary's counter accusations, 96;\n member of council, 172, 178;\n asserts the Letters were not signed, 198;\n on unsigned Letters attributed to Mary, 212;\n one of Mary's commissioners at York, 246;\n share in the schemes of the Duke of Norfolk, 246;\n report of an interview with Mary at Bolton, 247;\n confession contradicted by Melville's, 250;\n conference with Lethington about the Letters, 258;\n pleads for Mary to be heard in person before Elizabeth, 267;\n protests against Moray's production of the Letters, 270;\n Elizabeth's three choices to him, 283;\n charge against Moray and the Lords, 285;\n curious letter to John Fitzwilliam, 286 note;\n on counterfeiters of Mary's handwriting, 356\n\n Lethington, Sir Richard (father of Maitland of Lethington), 23\n\n Lethington (William Maitland, the younger), early life and culture, 23;\n arguments with Knox, 23, 24;\n Secretary to Mary of Guise, 23;\n desires the union of the crowns of England and Scotland, 23;\n friendly advances to Mary before her arrival in Scotland, 24;\n character, 24;\n allied by marriage with the Earl of Atholl, 24;\n love affair with Mary Fleming, 24;\n in every scheme against Darnley, 25;\n dislikes and is hated by Bothwell, 25;\n joins Mary's enemies, 25;\n nicknamed Michael Wylie (Machiavelli), 26;\n political principles, 52;\n counsels drastic measures against Riccio, 66;\n reconciled by Mary to Bothwell, 81;\n concerned in the murder 'band' against Darnley, 88, 90;\n his method of dealing with Darnley, which Parliament would support,\n 98, 99, 103;\n favours a project of marriage between Norfolk and Mary, 155;\n charged with complicity in the Darnley murder, 155, 156, 159;\n refuses to aid Moray in betraying Norfolk, 156;\n in attendance on Mary, 179;\n prisoner at Dunbar, 179, 180, 181;\n declares that Mary means to marry Bothwell, 181;\n escapes from Bothwell, 182;\n question of friendship for or enmity to Mary, 182;\n flies to confederated Lords, 185;\n persuades Sir J. Balfour to surrender Edinburgh Castle, 186;\n interview with Mary, 188, 189;\n reasons for his treachery to Mary, 190, 191, 192;\n statement to Throckmorton respecting his conduct towards her, 204;\n Randolph accuses him of advising Mary's death, 204;\n statement to Throckmorton about the letters, 205;\n Mary's documentary charge against him, 243, 244;\n conduct at the York Conference, 246, 252;\n accused of stealing the Casket Letters, and having them copied by his\n wife, 248;\n explains the reason for Mary's abduction, 255;\n his privy disclosure of the Letters, 257;\n shakes Norfolk's belief in same, 258;\n discriminating attitude between private and public exhibition of\n Letters, 287;\n writes letter to be presented to the French Court concerning Mary's\n marriage with Bothwell, 331;\n directs the scheme of garbling the Casket Letters, 353;\n (?) despatches Melville to Cecil on the day of the finding of the\n Casket Letters, 355;\n privately hints that he had counterfeited Mary's handwriting, 357, 358;\n case against him, 358, 359;\n 'Instructions' drawn by him, 360;\n Randolph hints at his tampering with the Letters, 361;\n Herr Bresslau's inferences of tampering, 387\n\n Liddesdale reivers, the, 180\n\n Lindsay, Sir David, pardoned, 112;\n the Lords send him to Loch Leven to induce Mary to abdicate, 204;\n challenges Herries to combat on Moray's account, 285;\n appointed Lyon King at Arms, 376\n\n Livingstone, Lord, member of council, 172;\n his knowledge of Mary's amour with Bothwell, 253\n\n Livingstone, Mary (Queen Mary's attendant), 4;\n wife of John Sempil, 356;\n on ill terms with Mary, 356\n\n Loch Leven, Mary imprisoned at, 192;\n Lindsay sent to, to extort her abdication, 204;\n Mary's escape from, 242\n\n Logan of Restalrig, treasure-finding, 375\n\n Lords, Scots, of the Privy Council, banded against Mary, 185;\n success at Carberry Hill, 195;\n Casket Letters in their possession, 196, 201;\n summons against Bothwell, 202;\n their mixed character, motives, and statements, 203, 204;\n demand of Mary her abdication, 204;\n formulate charges against her, 205;\n extort from her a consent to their proposals, 205;\n vacillations with regard to the Letters, 206, 207;\n obtain Mary's signature to her abdication, 206;\n forward copies of Casket Letters to Moray, 212;\n publish their Declaration, 238;\n accuse Mary of being privy to Darnley's murder, 239;\n on Mary's handwriting, 241;\n cause of their action against Mary, 355\n\n Luzarche, M. Victor, his Coffret de Bijoux, 365\n\n\n Maitland of Lethington. _See_ Lethington\n\n Mameret, Roche (Mary's confessor), on the character of the Queen, 210\n\n Mar, Earl of, entertains Mary at Alloa, 80;\n deprived of the custody of Edinburgh Castle, 172;\n confederated against Bothwell, 181\n\n Marryat, Mr. Horace, and the body of Bothwell, 373\n\n Mary of Gueldres, 45\n\n Mary of Guise, Regent, 19;\n her secretary Lethington, 23;\n deserted by her nobles, 47;\n Bothwell espouses her cause, 47\n\n Mary Stuart Queen of Scotland: the Morton portrait, 3;\n periwig, 3 note;\n midnight revels and masculine energy, 4, 5, 8;\n her 'four Maries,' 4;\n costumes and jewels and their donors, 5;\n moods, spirit, and gratitude, 5, 6, 7;\n brow-beaten by Knox, 7;\n causes provoking hardness of heart, 8;\n centre of intrigue, 8, 9;\n Elizabeth's rival, 9;\n disposition to yield to masterful men, 9;\n Bothwell's defects instanced against her, 15;\n presented by Ruthven with a ring as an antidote to poison, 17, 36;\n pensions the assassin of Moray, 22;\n kindness to Lethington, 24;\n Morton her prosecutor, 31;\n virulence of the Preachers of Righteousness against her, 35, 36;\n 'bewitched' by Bothwell, 36;\n social condition of Scotland when she became queen, 43;\n informed by Arran of Bothwell's plot to seize her, 51;\n political position during her first years in Scotland, 52, 53, 54;\n her compromise between Catholicism and Protestantism, 52;\n suspected by the Protestant party of favouring Bothwell, 53;\n intercedes with Elizabeth to allow Bothwell to go to France, 54;\n efforts to fix her as Elizabeth's successor, 55;\n sees Darnley and admires him, 12, 55;\n action in Bothwell's outlawry, 56;\n weds Darnley, 13, 57;\n summons Bothwell from France against her opponents, 57;\n estrangement from Darnley, 13, 57;\n political use made of her intimacy with Riccio, 58;\n twitted with favouring Riccio and Bothwell, 59;\n anger against Moray, 56;\n amour with Riccio not credible, 60, 63;\n removes Darnley from her Council, 60;\n illness, 61;\n letter to Pius V., 63, 64;\n arranges Bothwell's marriage with Lady Jane Gordon, 64;\n insists on free Mass for all men, 65;\n schemes for killing Riccio in her presence, 68;\n rescued by Bothwell, Huntly, and Atholl after Riccio's murder, 69;\n at Dunbar, 69, 70, 71;\n seeks to quiet the country, 71;\n growing hatred of Darnley, 71;\n threatens that a fatter than Riccio should soon lie anear him, 72;\n pardon of the rebel Lords demanded of her, 72;\n befriends Moray, 73;\n represented by Lennox as trying to induce Darnley to make love to\n Moray's wife, 74;\n her bequests to Darnley, 75;\n allows Moray and Argyll to be at the Castle during her accouchement,\n 75;\n gives birth to James VI., 75;\n protects Moray from Darnley and Bothwell, 77;\n Darnley's jealousy of her favour to Moray, 77;\n increasing dislike to Darnley, 78, 80;\n passion for Bothwell, 18, 26, 79;\n conduct at Alloa and Stirling, 80;\n gift of a bed to Darnley, 81;\n reconciles Lethington and Bothwell, 81;\n Buchanan's account of her amour with Bothwell, 82, 83;\n this legend supported by Sonnet IX. and Dalgleish's confession, 84;\n strained relations with Darnley, 84, 85;\n in Jedburgh at a Border session, 93;\n visits wounded Bothwell at Hermitage Castle, 93, 94;\n illness at Jedburgh, 94;\n returns to Craigmillar Castle, 95;\n letter from Darnley, 95;\n divorce proposed, 96;\n Buchanan insinuates her desire to involve Moray in the Darnley murder,\n 97;\n Lennox's statement that she would have Darnley in ward after James's\n baptism, 100, 102;\n arrests Hiegait, Walker, Laird of Minto, Cauldwell, 103;\n festivities at the baptism of her child at Stirling, 105;\n baptizes him by the Catholic rite, 105;\n Bedford's advice, 106;\n treatment of Darnley at Stirling, 107;\n anxiety concerning Darnley's projects, 108, 109;\n warned by Beaton and the Spanish ambassador of Darnley's intention to\n kidnap James VI., 109;\n causes Hiegait and Walker to be questioned before the Council, 110;\n distress of mind, 111;\n at Drummond Castle, Tullibardine, Callendar, and Holyrood, 112;\n letter to Beaton, 110, 114;\n offers to visit sick Darnley at Glasgow, 112;\n Crawford's account of her visit to Darnley, 113;\n induces Darnley to return with her to Edinburgh, 113, 119;\n brings him to Kirk o' Field, 115;\n aware of the plot against Darnley, 116, 117;\n refuses a written warrant asked for by the conspirators, 118;\n hypotheses for her conduct, 120, 121;\n her shift of beds at Kirk o' Field, 134, 162;\n story drawn from a Casket Letter, 135, 136, 142;\n visits Darnley on the eve of the explosion, 135;\n at the marriage of her servant Sebastian that same night, 135, 136,\n 173;\n curious anecdote respecting her, 137;\n at supper with the Bishop of Argyle on the night of the murder, 161;\n Paris's evidence as to familiarities between her and Bothwell, 162;\n Bothwell asks for the key of her room at Kirk o' Field, 163, 164, 165;\n said to have endeavoured to incite her brother Lord Robert Stuart\n against Darnley, 135, 165, 166, 323-328, 353;\n dying confessions regarding her participation, 167, 169, 170;\n theory of her accusers, 170;\n conduct after Darnley's murder, 171;\n her letters from and to Beaton, 173;\n inference which her letters were meant to suggest, 174;\n makes no effort to avenge Darnley, 175, 176;\n seized by Bothwell and conveyed to Dunbar, 179;\n evidence of the Casket Letters as to her collusion, 179;\n Lethington's attitude towards her, 182;\n creates Bothwell Duke of Orkney and is married to him, 183;\n her distrust of Huntly, 185;\n appeals to the loyalty of her subjects, 185;\n surrenders to Kirkcaldy at Carberry Hill, 186;\n parting with Bothwell, 187;\n conditions of her surrender, 187;\n interview with Lethington, 188, 189;\n complains of being parted from Bothwell, 188, 194;\n denounces Lethington and the members of the Darnley murder band, 189;\n incarcerated in Loch Leven Castle, 192;\n reported to have prematurely given birth to twins, 194;\n motives of the Lords against her, 194;\n the compromising Casket Letters, 195, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201,\n 202, 203, 205, 206, 207 (_see_ Casket Letters);\n communication from Elizabeth respecting Melville, 202;\n her abdication demanded by the Council, and charges formulated against\n her, 204, 205;\n signs the deeds of her abdication, 207;\n her confessor's opinion of her, 210;\n the Glasgow Letter, 135, 162, 168, 211, 212, 213, 214, 225, 229, 255;\n complains to Elizabeth of Lady Lennox, 225;\n the Glasgow Letter as rendered in the Lennox Papers, 234, 235;\n her love for Bothwell as presented in the Casket Sonnets, 235;\n the Glasgow Letter discredited, 236;\n the Lords' specific charge against her, 239;\n demands to be heard in the Parliament at Edinburgh, 240;\n escapes from Loch Leven, 242;\n claims the right of confronting her accusers, 243;\n her line of defence, 243, 245;\n on the handwriting of her accusers, 244;\n letter to Lesley, 245;\n Lesley's details of an interview with her at Bolton, 248;\n copies of the letters forwarded to her by Lethington, 248, 249;\n theory of her translation of Scots copies into French, 249 note;\n arrival of her commissioners at York, 250;\n assents to Moray's compromise, 251;\n attitude at York, 257;\n consents to the removal of inquiry from York to London, 260;\n terms of her compromise, 260, 262, 265;\n change in her plan of defence, 262;\n plea for a hearing before Elizabeth, 267, 268;\n injury done to her cause by friends' renewed efforts for a compromise,\n 269, 270;\n withdrawal of her commissioners from Westminster, 275;\n refuses to acknowledge Elizabeth as a judge, 282;\n her letter from Bolton, 283;\n asks to see the copies and originals of the Casket Letters, 284;\n makes their delivery a condition of her production of charges and\n proofs, 286, 287;\n causes of her detestation of Lethington, 288;\n her submissive attitude to both Bothwell and Norfolk, 315;\n suggestion of marriage with Norfolk, 155;\n distrusts Huntly, 330;\n trusts him, 331;\n her excuses for marrying Bothwell, addressed to the French Court, 331,\n 332;\n sends Bothwell a symbolic mourning ring, 337;\n letter to Norfolk from Coventry, 337 and note;\n contract of marriage with Bothwell, 338;\n receives betrothal ring from Bothwell(?), 340;\n hypothesis of her contest in literary excellence with Lady Bothwell,\n 350;\n tone of her letters to Norfolk, 351;\n suspicions of Lethington in her instructions to her commissioners, 356;\n coincidence between Letter VII. and her instructions to the Bishop of\n Dunblane, 331, 359, 360;\n facsimiles of her own and imitated handwriting, 363, 364;\n date of her visit to Glasgow, 379, 380;\n charges Balfour, Morton and Lethington with complicity in Darnley's\n murder, 189, 382\n\n Meggatdale, Mary and Darnley at, 81\n\n Melville, Robert, against Mary, 185;\n sent to Elizabeth with news of the discovery of the Casket Letters,\n 196, 201, 320, 355;\n acting for the Lords, 202;\n denies his visit to Mary at Bolton before going to commissioners at\n York, 249, 250;\n Lesley's confession contravened by his, 250;\n Moray sends him to Bolton to compromise with Mary, 251;\n negotiates with Mary on a compromise, 259;\n his statement, 261;\n sent by Lethington on 'sudden despatch' to Cecil, 354, 355;\n friendly efforts in Mary's behalf, 355;\n suspects Kirkcaldy of Grange of counterfeiting Moray's handwriting, 361\n\n Melville, Sir James, on George Buchanan's veracity as a historian, 34;\n dissuades Mary from putting Moray in ward, 75;\n on Darnley's murder, 140;\n on Bothwell's behaviour in the Queen's chamber, 181;\n at the York conference, 259\n\n Mertine, Barbara, encounters the murderers of Darnley, 147\n\n Middlemore, Mary's statement to him regarding her accusers, 245\n\n Minto, Laird of, arrested by Mary, 103;\n working in Lennox's interests, 111;\n cited, 150\n\n Moray, Regent (natural son of James V.), an enigma, 19;\n Protestant and warrior, 19;\n acquisitiveness, 19, 20;\n secures the Buchan estates in spite of the legal rights of Christian\n Stewart, 20;\n marries Agnes Keith, 20;\n ambition, 20;\n treachery and caution, 21, 22;\n alibis, 21;\n as Regent, 22;\n Mr. Froude's estimate of him, 22;\n his secretary, John Wood, 33;\n believes that Ruthven gave Mary a ring with magical properties, 36;\n urged by the preachers to burn witches, 36;\n political bias and theological tenets, 52;\n tells Mary that either he or Bothwell must quit Scotland, 56;\n his rising to prevent Mary marrying Darnley, 59;\n seeks for the restoration of Morton and Ruthven, 72;\n in favour with Mary, 73, 76, 121;\n permitted by Mary to reside in the Castle during her accouchement, 75;\n said to be banded against Darnley, 89, 90, 91, 92, 98;\n denies that any unlawful ends were mooted at Craigmillar, 98;\n winks at the conspiracy against Darnley, 116, 122;\n account of the numbers engaged in Darnley's murder, 141;\n laxity in their prosecution, 144, 145;\n gives records of examinations to English commissioners, 145;\n reasons for not summoning Paris as witness, 154, 155;\n opposes marriage between Mary and Norfolk, 155;\n takes the evidence of Paris, 155;\n delays in forwarding it to Cecil, 156;\n seeks to betray Norfolk, 156;\n story of his presence at a wrangle between Darnley and Lord Robert\n Stuart, 166, 323, 327;\n informed of the Casket Letters, 196 note;\n his sources of information as to Mary's correspondence, 208;\n from friend becomes enemy of Mary, 209, 210;\n reports a guilty letter from Mary to Bothwell, 211, 213;\n his additions to and differences from the Glasgow letter, 216 et seq.;\n common source of his and Lennox's reports, 221;\n 'not capable' of employing a forged document, 234;\n 'most loth' to accuse Mary, 242;\n Scots translations and French originals of Casket Letters, 242;\n treats for a compromise with Mary at York, 251;\n seeks to know the powers of the English commissioners at York, 253;\n exhibits 'privately' to them the Casket Letters and other papers, 254;\n confers with Norfolk at York, 259;\n puts in his proofs at Westminster, 266, 270, 271, 272, 273;\n complains of being slandered by Mary's commissioners, 285;\n Mary's joy at the news of his murder, 22\n\n Moretta (Savoyard ambassador), on Darnley's murder, 140\n\n Morton, Earl of, joins the Protestants, 29;\n sanctimonious remark to Throckmorton, 29;\n private life, 30;\n schemes with all parties in his own ends, 30;\n helps to organise the murder of Riccio, 30;\n portrait of, 31;\n Regent, 32;\n political principles, 52;\n in league with Darnley to restore Moray, 67;\n Moray endeavours his recall, 73;\n feud with Darnley, 78;\n pardoned, 89, 112;\n concerned in Darnley's murder, 31, 90;\n desires the Queen's warrant before proceeding to extremities with\n Darnley, 117;\n his confession, 118, 147, 148, 167, 168;\n confederated against Bothwell, 181;\n advised by Lethington to espouse Mary's cause, 191;\n accused by Mary of Darnley's murder, 244;\n Casket Letters entrusted to him, 195, 365;\n declaration at Westminster respecting them, 272;\n his story of the discovery of the Casket Letters, 274, 275, 276, 277;\n in his dying declaration denounces Archibald Douglas, 32;\n executed, 382\n\n\n Napier of Merchistoun (soothsayer), 17, 36\n\n Napier of Merchistoun (inventor of logarithms), 17;\n treasure-finding, 375\n\n Nau, Claude, on Mary's escape to Dunbar, 72;\n on the motives of Darnley's murderers, 90;\n on Mary's abdication, 241;\n on the band for Darnley's murder given to Mary by Bothwell, 243;\n account of Lethington's conduct towards Mary, 288\n\n Nelson (Darnley's servant), in Kirk o' Field at the explosion, 116;\n on the position of Kirk o' Field, 129;\n escape, 140;\n statement on the custody of the keys, 165, 175;\n evidence at Westminster, 276;\n on Darnley's refusal to stay at Craigmillar, 319;\n detained by Drury at Berwick, 319 note\n\n Norfolk, Duke of, his proposed marriage with Mary, 155;\n schemes, 246;\n on the York commission of inquiry, 246, 252;\n excuses delays of Scots Lords, 256;\n for a compromise, 256;\n confers with Moray, 259;\n opposes a compromise, 261, 262;\n doubts authenticity of Letters and would marry Mary, 257, 258, 259,\n 262;\n prevents Mary from abdicating, 262;\n Mary's submissive attitude to him, 315;\n Lethington asks him not to believe in Mary's guilt, 357, 358\n\n Northumberland, Earl of, in arms for Mary, 277\n\n\n Ogilvy of Boyne, loved by Lady Jane Gordon and Mary Beaton, 26;\n marries the divorced Lady Bothwell, 27, 218\n\n Orkney, Bishop of, marries Mary to Bothwell, 62, 183\n\n Orkney, Duke of, Bothwell created, 183\n\n Ormistoun, Black Laird of (one of Darnley's murderers), his treatment by\n Mary in prison, 6;\n his exordium before being hanged, 35;\n confession of a murder-band against Darnley, 99;\n executed, 139\n\n Ormistoun, Hob (one of Darnley's murderers), 101, 139, 339, 341;\n executed, 139\n\n\n Paris (Nicholas Hubert), on the Craigmillar plot against Darnley, 103;\n escapes with Bothwell to Denmark, 154;\n extradited to Captain Clark, 154;\n evidence taken by Moray, 155, 156;\n nature of his deposition and the circumstances under which it was\n made, 156-170;\n account of Lady Reres, 162;\n receipt and delivery of Glasgow Letter, 292, 293, 299;\n on the Glasgow Letter, 316, 327;\n cited, 339, 340, 341, 342;\n hanged at St. Andrews, 157, 378\n\n Percy, Sir Harry, on Bothwell, 54\n\n Periwigs, worn by Mary, 3 note\n\n Philippson, M., on the translations of the Casket Letters, 386, 388\n\n Pinkie, battle of, 19\n\n Pitcairn's 'Criminal Trials,' cited, 56\n\n Pius V., Mary's letter to him on political matters, 63\n\n Pluscarden, Prior of, and the Casket, 365\n\n Pollen, Father, cited, 230\n\n Powrie (Bothwell's servant), statement of, concerning Darnley's murder,\n 142, 143, 144, 145, 146, 148, 149, 195, 280\n\n Preston, Laird of Craigmillar (Provost of Edinburgh), Mary imprisoned in\n his house, 188\n\n Price, Mr. F. Compton, cited, 363\n\n\n Ramsay, Robert (Moray's servant), hears Paris avouch the truth of his\n deposition, 157\n\n Randolph (English ambassador at Holyrood), his opinion of Darnley, 11,\n 12;\n on the Earl of Arran, 49;\n reports Bothwell and Atholl all-powerful, 57;\n on Lennox at Glasgow, 61;\n reports 'private disorders' between Mary and Darnley, 63;\n on Mary's demand for free Mass for all men, 65;\n aware of Darnley's and Lennox's schemes for obtaining the crown, 66;\n favours Moray, 73;\n on a murder-band, kept in a casket, aimed at Darnley, 87;\n on the conduct of Lethington and Kirkcaldy towards Mary, 194, 360;\n accuses Lethington of advising Mary's death, 204;\n hints at Lethington having tampered with the Letters(?), 361\n\n Read, John (Buchanan's secretary), supplies Cecil with a list of the\n signatories to Ainslie's band, 177\n\n 'Relation,' the, cited on Riccio's murder, 65\n\n Reres, Lady, alleged confidant of Mary's amour with Bothwell, 33, 48,\n 82, 83;\n telepathic story assigned to her, 82;\n Paris's account of her as a go-between, 162;\n rails at Mary's marriage with Bothwell, 184\n\n Reres, Laird of (son of Lady Reres), 83\n\n Riccio, David, his intimacy with Mary, 58, 59;\n complained of as a foreign upstart by Scots nobles, 58, 65;\n reasons for discrediting his amour with Mary, 60;\n Darnley's hatred and jealousy of him, 63, 64, 65, 66;\n 'band of assurance' for his murder, 67;\n nobles and others concerned, 67;\n murdered, 69\n\n Ridolfi plot, the, 6\n\n Robertson, Dr. Joseph, on Lady Reres as wet nurse to Mary's baby, 83;\n on the Paris deposition, 158;\n on the Glasgow Letter, 296\n\n Rogers, William, informs Cecil of Darnley's design to seize the Scilly\n Isles, 108 note\n\n Ronsard (poet), quoted, 314;\n on the Casket Sonnets, 344, 349\n\n Ross, Bishop of. _See_ Lesley\n\n Ruthven Earl of, his account of Riccio's murder, 17;\n presents Mary with a ring as an antidote to poison, 17;\n conspiring with Darnley, 67;\n seeks refuge in England, 70;\n his dying vision, 37;\n death, 73\n\n\n Sadleyr (one of Elizabeth's commissioners), at the York inquiry, 246\n\n St. Andrews, in Mary's time, 40\n\n St. Mary in the Fields. _See_ Kirk o' Field\n\n Sanquhar, signs the band for delivering Mary from Loch Leven, 275, 276\n\n Scarborough, Darnley's designs on, 108\n\n Schiller's 'Marie Stewart,' cited, 2\n\n Scilly Isles, Darnley's designs on, 108 note\n\n Scots Parliament, Casket Letters produced before, 241\n\n Scottish Guards (in France), Bothwell captain of, 54\n\n Scott's 'Abbot,' cited, 2\n\n Scrope, quoted, on Captain Cullen, 151-3\n\n Sebastian (Mary's servant), his marriage at Holyrood, 136, 148\n\n Sempil, John, husband of Mary Livingstone, 356\n\n Sepp, Dr., on the Casket Letters, 242\n\n Seton, Mary (Mary's attendant), 'the finest busker of a woman's hair,'\n 3, 4\n\n Seton, Mary's conduct at, 175\n\n Skelton, Sir John, on Bothwell's age, 14;\n his 'Maitland of Lethington' cited, 23;\n on Mary's knowledge of the plot against Darnley, 116, 117;\n on Mary's submissive attitude to Bothwell, 315\n\n Sorcery, belief in, in the sixteenth century, 36\n\n Spens (Black Mr. John), 175\n\n Standen (brothers Anthony), one of them boasts that he saved Mary from\n assassination, 38;\n Darnley's companions, 60;\n their immorality put to Darnley's account, 75;\n romantic memoirs of one of them imprisoned in the Tower, 75;\n assist Darnley in his schemes, 108;\n the younger, 137, 319 note\n\n Stewart, Christian (heiress to the Buchan earldom), contracted in\n marriage with Lord James Stewart, 19;\n legal inheritress to Buchan estates, 20;\n married to Lord James, 20\n\n Stewart d'Aubigny (Duke of Lennox), James's banished favourite, 367\n\n Stewart, Lord James (Moray's brother), contracts himself in marriage to\n the Buchan child-heiress, 19;\n secures the right of redemption of the Buchan estates, 19;\n marries the heiress but loses the estates, 20\n\n Stewart of Periven (Lennox's retainer), 226\n\n Stewart of Traquair, escorts Mary to Dunbar, 69\n\n Stewart, Sir William (Lyon Herald), burnt for sorcery, 17, 36, 156,\n 374-379\n\n Stirling, Mary at, 80;\n baptism of James VI. at, 105, 106, 107;\n full of 'honest men of the Lennox,' 109\n\n Strickland, Miss, on Darnley's signature to State documents, 60 note\n\n Stuart, Lord Robert (Mary's brother), account of him drawn from a Casket\n Letter, 135;\n concerned in Darnley's murder, 162, 165, 166;\n Mary's alleged attempt to provoke a quarrel between him and Darnley,\n 323, 327\n\n Sussex, Earl of (one of Elizabeth's commissioners), on Mary's defence,\n 245;\n believes in an intended compromise, 263;\n doubts in judicial proof of Mary's guilt, 264;\n on Mary's proofs, 287\n\n Sutherland, Earl of, marries Bothwell's divorced wife, 27;\n member of council, 172\n\n\n Tala. _See_ Hay of Tala\n\n Taylor (Darnley's servant), killed at Kirk o' Field, 132, 137, 139, 148\n\n 'The Purpose' or talking dance, 39\n\n Throckmorton, Sir Nicholas (English envoy), visits Mary in prison, 29;\n in communication with Lords of Council, 203, 204;\n Lethington acquaints him with Casket Letters, 205, 237;\n mentions them to Elizabeth, 355\n\n Throndssoen, Anne (Norwegian lady), Bothwell's treatment of her, 47;\n alleges breach of promise of marriage against Bothwell, 48\n\n Tombs of the Kings, the, 39\n\n Tulchan bishops, the, 30\n\n Tullibardine, Mary at, 112\n\n Tullibardine, signs band for releasing Mary from Loch Leven, 276\n\n\n Walker (Archbishop Beaton's retainer), on Darnley's plot to kidnap the\n infant James, 108, 110, 111\n\n Walsingham, Sir Francis, and the Casket Letters, 365\n\n Westminster Conference, proceedings at, 240, 266, 270-276\n\n Westmorland, Earl of, in arms for Mary, 277\n\n Whithaugh, Laird of, holds Ker of Faldonside prisoner, 101;\n shelters the Ormistouns, 101\n\n Wilson, Dr., asks Cecil for Paris's confession, 168;\n on Mary, 247\n\n Witchcraft and sorcery, 17, 36\n\n Wood, John (Moray's secretary), helps Lennox in his case against Mary,\n 150;\n hears Paris testify to his deposition, 157;\n bears letters to Moray and Cecil, 209, 226;\n in custody of the Casket Letters, 196, 227, 228, 229;\n on Lethington as a commissioner at Mary's trial, 244;\n slain by Forbes of Reres, 33\n\n\n York, Commission of Inquiry at, 101, 226, 227, 230, 233, 246, 250 et seq.\n\n\n Zytphen-Adeler, Baron, his care of Bothwell's remains, 372\n\n PRINTED BY\n SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. LTD., NEW-STREET SQUARE\n LONDON\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] _Blackwood's Magazine_, December, 1889.\n\n[2] Bond.\n\n[3] Laing, ii. 284.\n\n[4] See Murdin, p. 57.\n\n[5] Among the mysteries which surround Mary, we should not reckon the\ncolour of her hair! Just after her flight into England, her gaoler, at\nCarlisle, told Cecil that in Mary Seton the Queen had 'the finest busker\nof a woman's hair to be seen in any country. Yesterday and this day she\ndid set such a curled hair upon the Queen, that was said to be a perewyke,\nthat showed very delicately, and every other day she hath a new device of\nhead dressing that setteth forth a woman gaily well.' Henceforth Mary\nvaried the colour of her 'perewykes.' She had worn them earlier, but she\nwore them, at least at her first coming into England, for the good reason\nthat, in her flight from Langside, she had her head shaved, probably for\npurposes of disguise. So we learn from Nau, her secretary. Mary was\nflying, in fact, as we elsewhere learn, from the fear of the fiery death\nat the stake, the punishment of husband-murder. Then, and then only, her\nnerve broke down, like that of James VIII. at Montrose; of Prince Charles\nafter Culloden; of James VII. when he should have ridden with Dundee to\nthe North and headed the clans.\n\n[6] The papers used by Lennox in getting up his indictment against Mary\nare new materials, which we often have occasion to cite.\n\n[7] Mr. Henderson doubts if Darnley knew French.\n\n[8] M. Jusserand has recently seen the corpse of Bothwell. Appendix A.\n\n[9] _Actio_, probably by Dr. Wilson, appended to Buchanan's _Detection_.\n\n[10] Teulet, ii. p. 176. Edinburgh, June 17, 1567.\n\n[11] See a facsimile in Teulet, ii. 256.\n\n[12] Appendix B. 'Burning of the Lyon King at Arms.'\n\n[13] The private report is in the Lennox MSS.\n\n[14] See the sketch, , in Bannatyne _Miscellany_, vol. i. p. 184.\n\n[15] See description by Alesius, about 1550, in Bannatyne _Miscellany_, i.\n185-188.\n\n[16] Information from Father Pollen, S.J.\n\n[17] This gentleman must not be confused with Ormistoun of Ormistoun, in\nTeviotdale, 'The Black Laird,' a retainer of Bothwell.\n\n[18] Riddell, _Inquiry into the Law and Practice of the Scottish Peerage_,\ni. 427. Joseph Robertson, _Inventories_, xcii., xciii. Schiern, _Life of\nBothwell_, p. 53.\n\n[19] Randolph to Cecil, Edinburgh, Sept. 23, 1560. Foreign Calendar,\n1560-61, p. 311.\n\n[20] Hay Fleming, _Mary Queen of Scots_, p. 236, note 32.\n\n[21] Cal. For. Eliz. 1561-62, iv. 531-539.\n\n[22] Knox, Laing's edition, ii. 322-327. Randolph to Cecil _ut supra_.\n\n[23] Knox, ii. 347.\n\n[24] Knox, ii. 473.\n\n[25] Hay Fleming, p. 359, note 29.\n\n[26] Knox, ii. 479.\n\n[27] See Cal. For. Eliz. 1565, 306, 312, 314, 319, 320, 327, 340, 341,\n347, 351.\n\n[28] Calendar, Bain, ii. 223.\n\n[29] Bain, ii. 213.\n\n[30] _Ibid._ ii. 242, 243.\n\n[31] Hosack, i. 524.\n\n[32] Cal. For. Eliz. 1564-5, 464.\n\n[33] Bain, ii. 222-223.\n\n[34] Bain, ii. 225. Cal. For. Eliz. 1564-5, 464, 495. Hay Fleming, pp.\n380, 381.\n\n[35] Miss Strickland avers that 'existing documents afford abundant proof,\nthat whenever Darnley and the Queen were together, his name was written by\nhis own hand.'\n\n[36] October 31, 1565. Bain, ii. 232.\n\n[37] Bain, ii. 234.\n\n[38] Randolph to Cecil, Nov. 19, Dec. 1, 1565. Bain, ii. 241, 242.\n\n[39] Bain, ii. 242.\n\n[40] Buchanan, _Historia_, 1582, fol. 210.\n\n[41] Bain, ii. 247.\n\n[42] The Foreign Calendar cites Randolph up to the place where _amantium\nirae_ is quoted, but omits that. The point is important, if it indicates\nthat Randolph had ceased to believe in Mary's amour with Riccio. Cf. Bain,\nii. 248.\n\n[43] Nau, p. 192.\n\n[44] The subject is discussed, with all the evidence, in Hay Fleming, pp.\n379, 380, note 33.\n\n[45] _Ruthven's Narrative._ Keith, iii. 260. There are various forms of\nthis Narrative; one is in the Lennox MSS.\n\n[46] Goodall, i. 274.\n\n[47] Bain, ii. 255.\n\n[48] Printed in a scarce volume, _Maitland's Narrative_, and in Tytler,\niii. 215. 1864.\n\n[49] Bain, ii. 259-261.\n\n[50] Goodall, i. 266-268.\n\n[51] Hosack, ii. 78, note 3.\n\n[52] See Dr. Stewart, _A Lost Chapter in the History of Mary Queen of\nScots_, pp. 93, 94.\n\n[53] This is alleged by Mary, and by Claude Nau, her secretary.\n\n[54] Goodall, i. 264, 265.\n\n[55] Bain, ii. 289.\n\n[56] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 51.\n\n[57] Bain, ii. 276. Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 52.\n\n[58] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 62.\n\n[59] Bain ii. 278.\n\n[60] _Ibid._ ii. 281.\n\n[61] See Joseph Robertson's _Inventories_, 112.\n\n[62] Bain, ii. 283.\n\n[63] Melville, pp. 154, 155.\n\n[64] Bain, ii. 288, 289.\n\n[65] Bain, ii. 290.\n\n[66] Bain, ii. 294.\n\n[67] Nau, 20, 22.\n\n[68] Bain, ii. 296.\n\n[69] _Detection_, 1689, pp. 2, 3.\n\n[70] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 118.\n\n[71] Stevenson, _Selections_, pp. 163-165.\n\n[72] Cheruel, _Marie Stuart et Catherine de Medicis_, p. 47.\n\n[73] Robertson, _Inventories_, p. 167.\n\n[74] Bain, ii. 300.\n\n[75] _Detection_ (1689), p. 4.\n\n[76] Bain, ii. 440.\n\n[77] Bannatyne, _Journal_, p. 238. This transference of disease, as from\nArchbishop Adamson to a pony, was believed in by the preachers.\n\n[78] Teulet, _Papiers d'Etat_, ii. 139-146, 147, 151. See also Keith, ii.\n448-459.\n\n[79] Frazer, _The Lennox_, ii. 350, 351.\n\n[80] Cal. For. Eliz. ix. 354, 355.\n\n[81] Laing, ii. 331, 334.\n\n[82] Nau, p. 35.\n\n[83] Bain, ii. 599, 600.\n\n[84] Bain, ii. 276.\n\n[85] _Diurnal_, p. 99.\n\n[86] See the evidence in Hay Fleming, 414, note 61.\n\n[87] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 139. _Diurnal_, 101.\n\n[88] Teulet, ii. 150.\n\n[89] Laing, ii. 72.\n\n[90] Hay Fleming, 418, 419.\n\n[91] _Queen Mary at Jedburgh_, p. 23.\n\n[92] Bain, ii. 597-599. Anderson, iv. pt. ii. 186. Keith, iii. 290-294.\n\n[93] Goodall, ii. 359.\n\n[94] _Historia_, fol. 214.\n\n[95] Keith, iii. 294. Bain, ii. 600.\n\n[96] Laing, ii. 293, 294.\n\n[97] The original MS. has been corrected by Lennox, in the passages within\nbrackets. The italics are my own.\n\n[98] Bain, ii. 516, 517.\n\n[99] De Brienne came to Craigmillar on November 21, 1566, _Diurnal_.\n\n[100] Nau, p. 33.\n\n[101] Bain, ii. 293, 310.\n\n[102] Melville, p. 172. (1827.)\n\n[103] Crawford, in his deposition against Mary, says that she spoke sharp\nwords of Lennox, at Stirling, to his servant, Robert Cunningham.\n\n[104] Keith, i. xcviii.\n\n[105] Bain, ii. 293. This Rogers it was who, later, informed Cecil that\n'gentlemen of the west country' had sent to Darnley a chart of the Scilly\nIsles. If Darnley, among other dreams, thought of a descent on them, as he\ndid on Scarborough, he made no bad choice. Mr. A. E. W. Mason points out\nto me that the isles 'commanded the Channel, and all the ships from the\nnorth of England,' which passed between Scilly and the mainland,\ntwenty-five miles off. The harbours being perilous, and only known to the\nislesmen, a small fleet at Scilly could do great damage, and would only\nhave to run back to be quite safe. Darnley, in his moods, was capable of\npicturing himself as a pirate chief.\n\n[106] Hay Fleming, p. 415, note 63.\n\n[107] Labanoff, ii.\n\n[108] Labanoff, i. 396-398. Mary to Beaton, Jan. 20, 1567.\n\n[109] Hosack, ii. 580. Crawford's deposition.\n\n[110] Hosack, i. 534.\n\n[111] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 163, 164. January 9, 1567.\n\n[112] See Appendix C, 'The date of Mary's visit to Glasgow.'\n\n[113] The 'undermining and' are words added by Lennox himself to the MS.\nThey are important.\n\n[114] _Maitland of Lethington._\n\n[115] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 167-168.\n\n[116] On July 16, 1583, she wrote from Sheffield to Mauvissiere, the\nFrench Ambassador, bidding him ask the King of France to give Archibald\nDouglas a pension, 'because he is a man of good understanding and\nserviceable where he chooses to serve, as you know.' She intended to\nprocure his pardon from James (Labanoff, v. 351, 368). She employed him,\nand he betrayed her.\n\n[117] Laing, ii. 223-236.\n\n[118] Bain, ii. 599, 600.\n\n[119] _Registrum de Soltre_, p. xxxv, Bannatyne Club, 1861.\n\n[120] Records of the Burgh of Edinburgh, March 14, 1541.\n\n[121] _Registrum de Soltre_, xxxvii.\n\n[122] Burgh Records, Nov. 5, 1557.\n\n[123] Burgh Records, Feb. 19, 1560, March 12, 1560.\n\n[124] Burgh Records.\n\n[125] Keith, ii. 151, 152. Editor's note.\n\n[126] _Registrum de Soltre_, p. xli.\n\n[127] Burgh Records, Feb. 19, March 12, 1560.\n\n[128] Laing, ii. 254.\n\n[129] Lennox MSS.\n\n[130] See Hay Fleming, p. 434.\n\n[131] Lennox's sources must have been Nelson and the younger Standen, to\nwhom Bothwell gave a horse immediately after the murder. Standen returned\nto England four months later.\n\n[132] _Diurnal_, 105, 106.\n\n[133] Keith, i. cii.\n\n[134] Register Privy Council, i. 498.\n\n[135] Melville, p. 174, Bannatyne Club.\n\n[136] Labanoff, vii. 108, 109, Paris. March 16, 1567.\n\n[137] Hosack, i. 536, 537.\n\n[138] Spanish Calendar, i. 635, April 23.\n\n[139] Hosack, i. 534. The 'Book of Articles,' of 1568, was obviously\nwritten under the impression left by a forged letter of Mary's, or by the\nreports of such a letter, as we shall show later. Yet the author cites a\nCasket Letter as we possess it.\n\n[140] Bain, ii. 393.\n\n[141] This is not, I think, a letter of September 5, but of September 16,\nbut in Foreign Calendar Elizabeth, viii. p. 342, most of the passage\nquoted by Mr. Hosack is omitted.\n\n[142] Laing, ii. 28.\n\n[143] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. p. 392.\n\n[144] Laing, ii. 256.\n\n[145] _Diurnal_, 127, 128. Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 393.\n\n[146] Hosack, ii. 245.\n\n[147] This was obvious to Laing. Replying to Goodall's criticism of verbal\ncoincidences in the confessions, Laing says, 'as if in any subsequent\nevidence concerning the same fact, the same words were not often dictated\nby the same Commissioner, or recorded by the Clerk, from the first\ndeposition which they hold in their hands.' It does not seem quite a\nscientific way of taking evidence.\n\n[148] See the Confessions, Laing, ii. 264.\n\n[149] Bain, ii. 312, 313.\n\n[150] Arnott and Pitcairn, _Criminal Trials_.\n\n[151] Buchanan, _History_ (1582), fol. 215.\n\n[152] _Maitland Miscellany_, iv. p. 119.\n\n[153] French Foreign Office, _Registre de Depesches d'Ecosse_, 1560-1562,\nfol. 112.\n\n[154] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. p. 7, No. 31.\n\n[155] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 229. Drury would not here add to our\nconfidence by saying that 'Sir Andrew Ker' (if of Faldonside) 'with others\nwere on horseback near to the place for aid to the cruel enterprize if\nneed had been.' Ker, a pitiless wretch, was conspicuous in the Riccio\nmurder, threatened Mary, and had but lately been pardoned. After Langside,\nhe was kept prisoner, in accordance with Mary's orders, by Whythaugh. But\nthe Sir Andrew of Drury is another Ker.\n\n[156] Bain ii. 321, 325.\n\n[157] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 252.\n\n[158] Bain, ii. 394. Cullen is spelled 'Callan,' and is described as\nBothwell's 'chalmer-chiel.'\n\n[159] Bain, ii. 355.\n\n[160] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 500. Hosack, i. 350, note 2, and Schiern's\n_Bothwell_.\n\n[161] Laing, ii. 269.\n\n[162] Bain, ii. 698.\n\n[163] See Appendix B, 'The Burning of the Lyon King at Arms.'\n\n[164] Bain, ii. 667, 668.\n\n[165] Laing, i. 256, 257.\n\n[166] Laing, ii. 253.\n\n[167] Murdin, i. 57.\n\n[168] Laing, ii. 286, 287.\n\n[169] Laing, ii. 259.\n\n[170] Laing, ii. 254.\n\n[171] Laing, ii. 267, 268.\n\n[172] Laing, ii. 287.\n\n[173] Anderson, 1, part II., 76, 77.\n\n[174] Nau, Appendix ii. 151, 152. The Jesuits' evidence was from letters\nto Archbishop Beaton.\n\n[175] Murdin, p. 57.\n\n[176] In the 'Book of Articles,' and in the series of dated events called\n'Cecil's Journal.'\n\n[177] Hay Fleming, p. 444.\n\n[178] Spanish Calendar, i. 628. For Moray's dinner party, cf. Bain, ii.\n317.\n\n[179] Spanish Calendar, i. 635.\n\n[180] Laing, ii. 244.\n\n[181] Labanoff, ii. 2-4.\n\n[182] Venetian Calendar, vii. 388, 389. There were rumours that Lennox had\nbeen blown up with Darnley, and, later, that he was attacked at Glasgow,\non February 9, by armed men, and owed his escape to Lord Semple. It is\nincredible that this fact should be unmentioned, if it occurred, by Lennox\nand Buchanan.\n\n[183] Hay Fleming, pp. 442-443.\n\n[184] Robertson, _Inventories_, p. 53.\n\n[185] Anderson, i. 112. Bain, ii. 322.\n\n[186] Keith knew a copy in the Scots College at Paris, attested by Sir\nJames Balfour as 'the authentick copy of the principall band.' This copy\nSir James sent to Mary, in January, 1581, after Morton's arrest. The names\nof laymen are Huntly, Argyll, Morton, Cassilis, Sutherland, Errol,\nCrawford, Caithness, Rothes, Boyd, Glamis, Ruthven, Semple, Herries,\nOgilvy, Fleming. John Read's memory must have been fallacious. There are\neight prelates in Balfour's band, including Archbishop Hamilton, the\nBishop of Orkney, who joined in prosecuting Mary, and Lesley, Bishop of\nRoss (Keith, ii. 562-569). On the whole subject see a discussion by Mr.\nBain and Mr. Hay Fleming, in _The Genealogist_, 1900-1901. Some copies are\ndated April 20. See Fraser, _The Melvilles_, i. 89.\n\n[187] Spanish Calendar, i. 662.\n\n[188] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 213.\n\n[189] Bain, ii. 323, 324.\n\n[190] Melville, p. 177.\n\n[191] Melville, p. 178.\n\n[192] Drury to Cecil, Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 222.\n\n[193] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 223-224.\n\n[194] May 6, Drury to Cecil.\n\n[195] Drury to Cecil, May 6. Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 223, 224.\n\n[196] Undated letter in Bannatyne, of 1570-1572.\n\n[197] See Stewart's _Lost Chapter in the History of Queen Mary_ for the\nillegalities of the divorce. The best Catholic opinion is agreed on the\nsubject.\n\n[198] Melville, 182. Teulet, ii. 153, 170.\n\n[199] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 235.\n\n[200] Drury to Cecil, Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 240.\n\n[201] Dates from James Beaton's letter of June 17. Laing, ii. 106, 115.\n\n[202] Nau, 46-48.\n\n[203] Laing, i. 113. June 17, 1567.\n\n[204] Melville, p. 183.\n\n[205] Teulet, ii. 179.\n\n[206] Teulet, ii. 169, 170. June 17.\n\n[207] Bannatyne's _Memorials_, p. 126.\n\n[208] Nau, 50-54.\n\n[209] Laing, ii, 115.\n\n[210] Bannatyne, _Journal_, 477, 482.\n\n[211] Chalmers, _Life of Mary, Queen of Scots_ (1818), ii. 486, 487, note.\nI do not understand Randolph to bring these charges merely on the ground\nof Mary's word. _That_ he only adds as corroboration, I think, of facts\notherwise familiar to him.\n\n[212] Mr. Froude has observed that the Lords, 'uncertain what to do, sent\none of their number in haste to Paris, to the Earl of Moray, to inform him\nof the discovery of the Letters, and to entreat him to return\nimmediately.' Mr. Hosack says that Mr. Froude owes this circumstance\n'entirely to his imagination.' This is too severe. The Lords did not send\n'one of their number' to Moray, but they sent letters which Robert\nMelville carried as far as London, and, seventeen days later, they did\nsend a man who, if not 'one of their number,' was probably Moray's agent,\nJohn Wood (Hosack, i. 352).\n\n[213] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. p. 261.\n\n[214] Spanish Calendar, i. 657.\n\n[215] Cal. For. Eliz. ix. pp. 354, 355.\n\n[216] Fenelon, _Depeches_ (1838), i. 19, 20.\n\n[217] Fenelon, i. 22. To this point we shall return.\n\n[218] La Mothe Fenelon, vii. 275-276.\n\n[219] Cal. Span. i. 659.\n\n[220] Bain, ii. 336.\n\n[221] Bain, ii. 338.\n\n[222] Bain, ii. 339.\n\n[223] Bain, ii. 341.\n\n[224] Melville to Cecil, July 1. Bain, ii. 343.\n\n[225] Bain, ii. 350, 351.\n\n[226] Bain, ii. 322, 360.\n\n[227] _Ibid._ 358.\n\n[228] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 297, 298. Keith, ii. 694, 700.\n\n[229] Already, on July 16, Mary had offered verbally, by Robert Melville,\nto the Lords, to make Moray Regent: or, failing him, to appoint a Council\nof Regency, Chatelherault, Huntly, Argyll, Atholl, Lennox, and, 'with much\nado,' Morton, Moray, Mar, and Glencairn. But she would not abandon\nBothwell, as she was pregnant. Throckmorton does not say that she now\npromised to sign an _abdication_. A letter of Mary's, to Bothwell's\ncaptain in Dunbar, was intercepted, 'containing matter little to her\nadvantage.' It never was produced by her prosecutors (Throckmorton, July\n18. Bain, ii. 355,356). Robert Melville, visiting her, declined to carry\nsuch a letter to Bothwell. See his examination, in Addit. MSS. British\nMuseum, 33531, fol. 119 _et seq._\n\n[230] Bain, ii. 367.\n\n[231] Bain, ii. 328.\n\n[232] _Ibid._ i. 346-348.\n\n[233] Bain, ii. 346.\n\n[234] _Ibid._ 354. July 16.\n\n[235] Alava to Philip, July 17. Teulet, v. 29.\n\n[236] De Silva, July 26, August 2. Spanish Calendar, i. 662, 665. I have\noccasionally preferred the Spanish text to Major Hume's translations. See\nalso Hosack, i. 215, 216.\n\n[237] Froude, iii. 118. 1866.\n\n[238] Lennox MSS.\n\n[239] The words within inverted commas are autograph additions by Lennox\nhimself.\n\n[240] Ogilvy of Boyne, who married his old love, Lady Bothwell, after the\ndeath of her second husband, the Earl of Sutherland. See pp. 26, 27,\n_supra_.\n\n[241] _A Lost Chapter in the History of Mary Stuart._\n\n[242] Throckmorton to Elizabeth, July 18. Bain, ii. 355.\n\n[243] Throckmorton to Elizabeth, July 31, 1567. Bain, ii. 370.\n\n[244] _Maitland Miscellany_, vol. iv. part i. p. 119.\n\n[245] Teulet, ii. 255, 256.\n\n[246] Labanoff, ii. 106.\n\n[247] Bain, ii. 423.\n\n[248] _Ibid._ 441, 442.\n\n[249] I do not know where the originals of these five letters now are.\nThey were among the Hamilton Papers, having probably been intercepted by\nthe Hamiltons before they reached Moray, Lethington, Crawford, and the\nothers.\n\n[250] Bain, ii. 514.\n\n[251] _Ibid._ 523, 524.\n\n[252] For. Eliz. viii. 478, 479. Bain, ii. 426, 427.\n\n[253] Bowton's confession. Laing, ii. 256, 257.\n\n[254] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 331.\n\n[255] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 363.\n\n[256] Moray, Morton, Glencairn, Errol, Buchan, Home, Ruthven, Semple,\nGlamis, Lindsay, Gray, Graham, Ochiltree (Knox's father-in-law),\nInnermeith, the treacherous Bishop of Orkney, Sir James Balfour (deeply\ninvolved in the murder), Makgill, Lethington, Erskine of Dun, Wishart of\nPitarro, Kirkcaldy of Grange, and others of less note.\n\n[257] Nau, pp. 71-73.\n\n[258] Teulet, ii. 247.\n\n[259] Act in Henderson, 177-185.\n\n[260] Nau, 74, 75.\n\n[261] Goodall, ii. 361. B. M. Titus, c. 12, fol. 157 (_olim_ 175). 'And\ngif it beis allegit, yat hir ma{tz} wretting producit in pliamet, sould\nproiff hir g, culpable. It maybe ansrit yat yaere is na plane mentione maid\nin it, be ye quhilk hir hienes may be convict Albeit it wer hir awin hand\nwreitt, as it is not And als the same is cuttit (cullit?) be yame selfis\nin sum principall & substantious clausis.'\n\n[262] Sepp, _Tagebuch_, Munich, 1882.\n\n[263] Bain, ii. 441, 442.\n\n[264] _Maitland Club Miscellany_, iv. 120, 121.\n\n[265] Teulet, ii. 248.\n\n[266] Bain, ii. 517.\n\n[267] Bain, ii. 434.\n\n[268] Nov. 8, 1571. Murdin, p. 57.\n\n[269] State Trials, i. 978.\n\n[270] As to 'the subtlety of that practice,' which puzzled Mr. Froude,\nLaing offers a highly ingenious conjecture. Mary was to do the Scots\ntranslations, procured for her by Lethington, into her own French,\nomitting the compromising portions. Lethington was next 'privately to\nsubstitute or produce the Queen's transcript instead of the originals,\nwith the omission of those criminal passages, which might then be opposed\nas interpolated in the translation.' But in that case 'some variance of\nphrase' by Mary could bring nothing 'to light,' for there would be no\noriginals to compare. Lethington, while slipping Mary's new transcript\ninto the Casket (Laing, i. 145, 146), would, of course, remove the\noriginal letters in French, leaving the modified transcript in their\nplace. 'Variance of phrase' between an original and a translation could\nprove nothing. Moreover, if Lethington had access to the French letters,\nit was not more dangerous for him to destroy them than to substitute a\nversion which Moray, Morton, Buchanan, and all concerned could honestly\nswear to be false. The Bishop of Ross did, later, manage an ingenious\npiece of 'palming' letters on Cecil, but, in the story of 'palming' fresh\ntranscripts into the Casket there is no consistency. Moreover Melville's\nword is at least as good as Lesley's, and Melville denies the truth of\nLesley's confession.\n\n[271] British Museum Addit. MSS. 33531, fol. 119, _et seq._ The MS. is\nmuch injured.\n\n[272] Murdin, pp. 52, 58.\n\n[273] Bain, ii. 524.\n\n[274] Addit. MSS. _ut supra_.\n\n[275] Goodall, ii. 111.\n\n[276] Bain, ii. 518, 519.\n\n[277] _Ibid._ 519.\n\n[278] Bain, ii. 524.\n\n[279] Lennox MSS.\n\n[280] Bain, ii. 520, 521.\n\n[281] Goodall, ii. 140.\n\n[282] The production is asserted, Goodall, ii. 87.\n\n[283] Calderwood, iii. 556.\n\n[284] For the Ainslie Band, and the signatories, see Bain, ii. 322, and\nHay Fleming, p. 446, note 60, for all the accounts.\n\n[285] Hosack, i. 543.\n\n[286] There are two sets of extracts (Goodall, ii. 148-153): one of them\nis in the Sadleyr Papers, edited by Sir Walter Scott, and in Haynes, p.\n480. This is headed 'A brief Note of the chief and principal points of the\nQueen of Scots Letters written to Bothwell for her consent and procurement\nof the murder of her husband, as far forth as we could by the reading\ngather.' The other set is in Scots, 'Notes drawin furth of the Quenis\nletters sent to the Erle Bothwell.' If this were, as Miss Strickland\nsupposed, an abstract made and shown in June-July, it would prove, of\ncourse, that Letter II. was then in its present shape, and would destroy\nmy hypothesis. But Cecil endorses it. 'sent October 29.' I think it\nneedless to discuss the notion that Lethington and his companions showed\nonly the Scots texts, and vowed that they were in Mary's handwriting! They\ncould not conceivably go counter, first, to Moray's statement (June 22,\n1568) that the Scots versions were only translations. Nor could they,\nlater, produce the Letters in French, and pretend that both they and the\nScots texts were in Mary's hand. Doubtless they showed the French (though\nwe are not told that they did), but the English Commissioners, odd as it\nseems, preferred to send to Elizabeth extracts from the Scots.\n\n[287] Bain, ii. 526-528. See also in Hosack, ii. 496-501, with the\nobliterated lines restored.\n\n[288] Bain, ii. 529-530.\n\n[289] Bain, ii. 533, 534.\n\n[290] Goodall, ii. 162-170. The dates here are difficult. Lesley certainly\nrode to Bolton, as Knollys says, on October 13, a Wednesday. (See the\nEnglish Commissioners to Elizabeth. Goodall, ii. 173. York, October 17.)\nBy October 17, Lesley was again at York (Goodall, ii. 174). Therefore I\ntake it that Lesley's letter to Mary (Bain, ii. 533, 534) is of October\n18, or later, and that the 'Saturday' when Norfolk and Lethington rode\ntogether, and when Lethington probably shook Norfolk's belief in the\nauthenticity of the Casket Letters, is Saturday, October 16.\n\n[291] Bain, ii. 533, 534.\n\n[292] _Ibid._ ii. 693.\n\n[293] Bain, ii. 541.\n\n[294] _Ibid._ ii. 533.\n\n[295] Addit. MSS. _ut supra_.\n\n[296] His letter is given in full by Hosack, i. 518-522.\n\n[297] Goodall, ii. 179-182.\n\n[298] Bain, ii. 551.\n\n[299] Goodall, ii. 182, 186.\n\n[300] Goodall, ii. No. lxvi. 189.\n\n[301] Anderson, iv. pt. ii. 115-121. Goodall, ii. 203-207.\n\n[302] Teulet, ii. 237.\n\n[303] Anderson, ii. 125-128. Bain, ii. 562, 563.\n\n[304] See Hosack, i. 432, 583. The opinions of the Legists are taken from\nLa Mothe, i. 51, 54. December 15, 1568.\n\n[305] Goodall, ii. 222-227. But compare her letter of Nov. 22, p. 265,\n_supra_.\n\n[306] Bain, ii. 565, 566.\n\n[307] Goodall, ii. 229.\n\n[308] In my opinion the book is by George Buchanan, who presents many\ncoincident passages in his _Detection_. On February 25, 1569, one Bishop,\nan adherent of Mary's, said, under examination, that 'there were sundry\nbooks in Latin against her, one or both by Mr. George Buchanan,' books not\nyet published (Bain, ii. 624). Can the _Book of Articles_ have been done\ninto Scots out of Buchanan's Latin?\n\n[309] When Goodall and Laing wrote (1754, 1804) the Minutes of December 7\nhad not been discovered.\n\n[310] Bain, ii. 569, 570.\n\n[311] Bain, ii. 571-573. (Cf. pp. 254, note 3, and 271, _supra_.)\n\n[312] See Appendix E, 'The Translation of the Casket Letters.'\n\n[313] The extant copy is marked as of December viii. That is cancelled,\nand the date 'Thursday, December 29' is given; the real date being\nDecember 9. (Bain, ii. 576, 593, 730, 731.) This Declaration was one of\nthe MSS. of Sir Alexander Malet, bought by the British Museum in 1883. The\nFifth Report of the Historical MSS. Commission contains a summary, cited\nby Bresslau, in _Kassetenbriefen_, pp. 21, 23, 1881. In 1889, Mr.\nHenderson published a text in his _Casket Letters_. That of Mr. Bain, _ut\nsupra_, is more accurate (ii. 730 _et seq._). Mr. Henderson substitutes\nAndrew for the notorious _Archibald_ Douglas, and there are other\nmisreadings in the first edition.\n\n[314] See 'The Internal Evidence,' pp. 302-313.\n\n[315] Mr. Bain omits December 13; see Goodall, ii. 252.\n\n[316] Bain, ii. 579, 580.\n\n[317] Froude, 1866, iii. 347.\n\n[318] Proceedings of Society for Psychical Research, vol. iii. pp. 282,\n283, 294.\n\n[319] See Bain, ii. 581, for Crawford; the matter of this his _second_\ndeposition, made on December 13, is not given; we know it from the Lennox\nPapers. The _Diurnal_ avers that Tala, on the scaffold, accused Huntly,\nArgyll, Lethington, Balfour, and others of signing the band for the\nmurder, 'whereto the Queen's grace consented.' Naturally the Queen's\naccusers did not put the confession about Lethington forward, but if Tala\npublicly accused Mary, why did they omit the circumstance?\n\n[320] Ballad by _Tom Truth_, in Bain under date of December, 1568.\n\n[321] Goodall, ii. 257-260. Bain, ii. 580, 581.\n\n[322] Froude, viii. 484. Mr. Froude's page-heading runs: 'The English\nnobles pronounce them' (the Letters) 'genuine.' But this, as he shows in\nthe passage cited, they really did not do. They only said that Elizabeth\nmust not see Mary, 'until some answer had been made first....' However,\nElizabeth would not even let Mary see the Letters; and so no 'answer' was\npossible.\n\n[323] Lingard, vi. 94, note 2 (1855).\n\n[324] Bain, ii. 583.\n\n[325] Another account, by Lesley, but not 'truly nor fully' reported, as\nCecil notes, is in Groodall, ii. 260, 261. Compare La Mothe Fenelon, i.\n82. Bain, ii. 585.\n\n[326] Hosack, i. 460.\n\n[327] Goodall, ii. 281.\n\n[328] La Mothe, January 20, 30, 1569, i. 133-162.\n\n[329] Goodall, ii. 272, 273.\n\n[330] Goodall, ii. 307-309.\n\n[331] Lesley, like Herries, had no confidence in Mary's cause. On December\n28, 1568, he wrote a curious letter to John Fitzwilliam, at Gray's Inn.\nLesley, Herries, and Kilwinning (a Hamilton) had met Norfolk, Leicester,\nand Cecil privately. The English showed the _Book of Articles_, but\nrefused to give a copy, which seems unfair, as Mary could certainly have\npicked holes in that indictment. Lesley found the Englishmen 'almost\nconfirmed in favour of our mistress's adversaries.' Norfolk and Cecil 'war\nsayrest' (most severe), and Norfolk must either have been dissembling, or\nmust have had his doubts about the authenticity of the Casket Letters\nshaken by comparing them with Mary's handwriting. Lesley asks Fitzwilliam\nto go to their man of law, 'and bid him put our defences to the\npresumptions in writ, as was devised before in all events, but we hope for\nsome appointment (compromise), but yet we arm us well.' Mary, however,\nwould not again stoop to compromise. (Bain, ii. 592, 593.)\n\n[332] Bain, ii. 570.\n\n[333] In the Cambridge MS. of the Scots translations (C) our Letter II. is\nplaced first. This MS. is the earliest.\n\n[334] It is indubitable that 'Cecil's Journal' was supplied by the\nprosecution, perhaps from Lennox, who had made close inquiries about the\ndates.\n\n[335] Bresslau, _Hist. Taschenbuch_, p. 71. Philippson, _Revue\nHistorique_, Sept., Oct., 1887, p. 31. M. Philippson suggests that\nLethington's name may not have been mentioned in the French, but was\ninserted (perhaps by Makgill, or other enemy of his, I presume) in the\nEnglish, to damage the Secretary in the eyes of the English Commissioners.\n\n[336] Hosack, i. 217, 218.\n\n[337] See the letter in Appendix, 'Casket Letters.'\n\n[338] 'Yesternicht' is omitted in the English. See Appendix E,\n'Translation of the Casket Letters.'\n\n[339] The last italicised words are in the English translation, not in the\nScots.\n\n[340] Hosack, ii. 24.\n\n[341] Father Pollen kindly lent me collations of this Cambridge MS.\ntranslation into Scots, marked by me 'C.'\n\n[342] See Letter and Crawford's Deposition in Appendix. Mr. Henderson, in\nhis _Casket Letters_ (second edition, pp. xxvi, xxvii, 82-84), argues that\nthe interdependence of Crawford's Deposition and of Letter II. 'does not\nseem to be absolutely proved.' Perhaps no other critic doubts it.\n\n[343] Goodall, ii. 246.\n\n[344] The English runs, 'Indeede that he had found faulte with me....' Mr.\nBain notes 'a blank left thus' (Bain, ii. 723).\n\n[345] Lennox MSS.\n\n[346] Mr. Frazer-Tytler, who did not enter into the controversy, supposed\nthat Crawford's Deposition was the actual written report, made by him to\nLennox in January 1567. If so, Letter II. is forged.\n\n[347] Mr. Henderson writes (_Casket Letters_, second edition, p. xxvi):\n'It must be remembered that while Crawford affirms that he supplied Lennox\nwith notes of the conversation immediately after it took place, he does\nnot state that the notes were again returned to him by Lennox in order to\nenable him to form his deposition.' How else could he get them, unless he\nkept a copy? 'It is also absurd to suppose that Lennox, on June 11, 1568,\nshould have written to Crawford for _notes which he had already in his own\npossession_.' But Lennox did not do that; he asked, not for Mary's\nconversation with Darnley, but for Crawford's with Mary, which Crawford\nnever says that he wrote down 'at the time.' Mr. Henderson goes on to\nspeak of 'the notes having been lost,' and 'these documents had apparently\nbeen destroyed' (p. 84), of which I see no appearance.\n\n[348] Goodall, ii. 246. _Maitland Club Miscellany_, iv. pt. i. p. 119. It\nwill be observed that while Crawford swears to having written down\nDarnley's report for Lennox 'at the time,' he says that he '_caused to be\nmade_' the writing which he handed in to the Commissioners, 'according to\nthe truth of his knowledge.' Crawford's Deposition handed in to the\nCommissioners, in fact, has been 'made,' that is, has been Anglicised from\nthe Scots; this is proved by the draft in the Lennox Papers. This is what\nCrawford means by saying that he 'caused it to be made.' There is a\ncorrected draft of the declaration in the Lennox MSS., but Crawford's\noriginal autograph text, 'written with his hand' (in Scots doubtless), was\nretained by the Lords (Goodall, ii. 88).\n\n[349] The Deposition, in Bain, ii. 313, is given under February, 1567, but\nthis copy of it, being in English, cannot be so early.\n\n[350] _Historia_, fol. 213. Yet the Lennox _dossier_ represents Darnley as\nengaged, at this very time, at Stirling, in a bitter and angry quarrel\nwith Mary. He may have been in contradictory moods: Buchanan omits the\nmood of fury.\n\n[351] _Maitland of Lethington_, ii. 337.\n\n[352] Mary to Norfolk, Jan. 31, 1570. Labanoff, iii. 19.\n\n[353] Labanoff, iii. 62.\n\n[354] The prosecution is in rather an awkward position as to Bothwell's\naction when he returned to Edinburgh, after leaving Mary at Callendar,\nwhich we date January 21, and they date January 23. _Cecil's Journal_\nsays, 'January 23 ... Erle Huntly and Bothwell returnit _that same nycht_\nto Edynt [Edinburgh] _and Bothwell lay in the Town_.' The _Book of\nArticles_ has 'Bot boithuell at his cuming to Edinburgh ludgit in the\ntoun, quhair customably he usit to ly at the abbay,' that is, in Holyrood\n(Hosack, i. 534). The author of the _Book of Articles_ clearly knew\n_Cecil's Journal_; perhaps he wrote it. Yet he makes Mary stay but one\nnight at Callendar; _Cecil's Journal_ makes her stay two nights. However,\nour point is that both sources make Bothwell lie in the town, not at\nHolyrood, on the night of his return from Callendar. His object, they\nimply, was to visit Kirk o' Field privately, being lodged near it and not\nin his official rooms. But here they are contradicted by Paris, who says\nthat when he brought Mary's first Glasgow Letter to Bothwell he found him\nin his chambers _at Holyrood_ (Laing, ii. 282).\n\n[355] Nelson, according to Miss Strickland (_Mary Stuart_, ii. 178, 1873),\nleft Edinburgh for England, and was detained by Drury for some months at\nBerwick. For this Miss Strickland cites Drury to Cecil, Berwick, February\n15, 1567, a letter which I am unable to find in the MSS. But the lady is\nmore or less correct, since, on February 15, Mary wrote to Robert\nMelville, in England, charging him, in very kind terms, to do his best for\nAnthony Standen, Darnley's friend, who was also going to England (Frazer,\n_The Lennox_, ii. 7). A reference to Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 193, No. 1029,\nshows that a letter of Mary to Drury, asking free passage for Standen and\nfour other Englishmen, is really of March 15, not of February 15. Again, a\nletter of March 8, 1567, from Killigrew, at Edinburgh, to Cecil, proves\nthat 'Standen, Welson, and Guyn, that served the late king, intend to\nreturn home when they can get passport' (Bain, ii. 347, No. 479). Now\n'Welson' is obviously Nelson. On June 16, Drury allowed Standen to go\nsouth (Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 252, No. 1305). Nelson, doubtless, also\nreturned to Lennox. It is odd that Lennox, having these two witnesses,\nshould vary so much, in his first indictment, from the accepted accounts\nof events at Kirk o' Field. This Anthony Standen is the younger of the two\nbrothers of the same name. The elder was acting for Darnley in France at\nthe time of the murder. He lived to a great age, recounting romances about\nhis adventures.\n\n[356] Mr. Hay Fleming suggests that 'Jhone a Forret' may be Forret of that\nilk--of Forret near Cairnie. Of him I have no other knowledge.\n\n[357] Hatfield MSS. Calendar, i. 376, 377.\n\n[358] Melville, _Memoirs_, 173, 174. Hosack's _Mary_, i. 536 (_The Book of\nArticles_). Anderson, ii. 18, 19 (_Detection_). _Cecil's Journal_, under\ndate Saturday, February 8, has 'She confronted the King and my lord of\nHalyrodhouse conforme to hir letter wryttin the nycht before:' that is,\nthis Letter III.\n\n[359] Mr. Hosack makes an error in averring that no letter as to this\nintrigue was produced at Westminster or later; that the letter was only\nshown at York in October, 1568. There and then Moray's party '_inferred_,\nupon a letter of her own hand, that there was another meane of a more\ncleanly conveyance devised to kill the King' (Goodall, ii. 142; Hosack, i.\n409, 410). The letter was that which we are now considering.\n\n[360] The Scots has 'handling.' The Cambridge MS. of the Scots translation\nreads 'composing of thame,' from 'le bien composer de ceux' in the\noriginal French.\n\n[361] Dr. Bresslau notes several such coincidences, but stress cannot be\nlaid on phrases either usual, or such as a forger might know to be\nfavourites of Mary's.\n\n[362] Laing, ii. 286.\n\n[363] _Mary Queen of Scots_, vol. ii. No. 63.\n\n[364] 'Je m'en deferay au hazard de _la_ faire entreprandre:' the\ntranslators, not observing the gender referring to the maid, have\nblundered.\n\n[365] It appears that they did not officially put in this compromising\nAinslie paper. Cecil's copy had only such a list of signers 'as John Read\nmight remember.' His copy says that Mary approved the band on May 14,\nwhereas the Lords allege that she approved before they would sign. Bain,\nii. 321, 322. A warrant of approval was shown at York. Bain, ii. 526. Cf.\n_supra_, p. 254, note 3.\n\n[366] Labanoff, ii. 32-44.\n\n[367] _Maitland of Lethington_, ii. 224.\n\n[368] Lethington to Beaton, October 24, 1566; cf. Keith, ii. 542.\n\n[369] 'The safety,' 'la seurete.' Mr. Henderson's text has 'la seincte.'\nThe texts in his volume are strangely misleading and incorrect, both in\nthe English of Letter II. and in the copies of the original French.\n\n[370] This means a ring in black enamel, with representations of tears and\nbones, doubtless in white: a fantastic mourning ring. Mary left a diamond\nin black enamel to Bothwell, in June, 1566.\n\n[371] This coincidence was pointed out to me by Mr. Saintsbury.\n\n[372] By the way, she says to Norfolk, in the same Letter, 'I am resolvid\nthat weale nor wo shall never remove me from yow, If yow cast me not\naway.' Compare the end of this Letter VIII.: 'Till death nor weal nor woe\nshall estrange me' (jusques a la mort ne changera, _car mal ni bien oncque\nne m'estrangera_). Now the forger could not copy a letter not yet written\n(Labanoff, iii. 5). This conclusion of her epistle is not on the same\nlevel as the _customary_ conclusion--the prayer that God will give the\nrecipient long life, and to her--something else. _That_ formula was usual:\n'Je supplie Dieu et de vous donner bonne vie, et longue, et a moy l'eur de\nvotre bonne grasse.' This formula, found in Mary's Letters and in the\nCasket Letters, also occurs in a note from Marguerite de France to the\nDuchesse de Montmorency (De Maulde, _Women of the Renaissance_, p. 309). A\nforger would know, and would insert the stereotyped phrase, if he chose.\n\n[373] On the point of wearing a concealed jewel in her bosom, the curious\nmay consult the anecdote, 'Queen Mary's Jewels,' in the author's _Book of\nDreams and Ghosts_.\n\n[374] In Laing, ii. 234.\n\n[375] _Cecil's Journal._\n\n[376] _Cecil's Journal._\n\n[377] Laing, ii. 285.\n\n[378] Laing, ii. 289.\n\n[379] Laing, ii. 325, 326. Laing holds that between April 21 and April 23\nMary wrote Letters V. VI. VII. VIII. and Eleven Sonnets to Bothwell:\nstrange literary activity!\n\n[380] Froude, iii. 75, note 1.\n\n[381] Teulet, ii. 169, 170.\n\n[382] Labanoff, iii. 5.\n\n[383] Labanoff, iii. 64.\n\n[384] Spanish Calendar, i. 659.\n\n[385] Bain, ii. 329, 330.\n\n[386] Privy Council Register.\n\n[387] Bain, ii. 336. Sir John Skelton did not observe the coincidence\nbetween the opening of the Casket and the 'sudden dispatch' of Robert\nMelville to London. The letter in full is in _Maitland of Lethington_, ii.\n226, 227.\n\n[388] Bain, ii. 339.\n\n[389] Goodall, ii. 342, 343.\n\n[390] Goodall, ii. 388, 389.\n\n[391] Camden, _Annals_, 143-5. Laing, i. 226.\n\n[392] Laing, ii. 224-240.\n\n[393] Bain, ii. 322.\n\n[394] As to Randolph's dark hint, Chalmers says, 'he means their\nparticipation in Darnley's murder' (ii. 487). But that, from Randolph's\npoint of view, was no offence against Mary, and Kirkcaldy was not one of\nDarnley's murderers.\n\n[395] Cal. For. Eliz. ix. 390.\n\n[396] See Hosack, ii. 217, 218. Bowes to Walsingham, March 25, 1581.\n_Bowes Papers_, 174. Ogilvie to Archibald Beaton. Hosack, ii. 550, 551.\n\n[397] Bain, ii. 569.\n\n[398] Robertson _Inventories_, 124.\n\n[399] _Bowes Correspondence_, 236.\n\n[400] Bowes, 265.\n\n[401] Goodall, i. 35, 36.\n\n[402] Vol. lxxx. 131, _et seq._\n\n[403] Before the Reformation it belonged to the Bishops of Roskilde, and\nwas confiscated from them, Henry VIII.'s fashion.\n\n[404] Bain, ii. 250.\n\n[405] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 413, 414.\n\n[406] This picture seems to be lost.\n\n[407] _Diurnal_, p. 134.\n\n[408] Birrel's _Diary_, p. 17.\n\n[409] Cot. Lib. Calig. B. ix. fol. 272. Apud Chalmers, i. 441, 442.\n\n[410] Bain, ii. 516.\n\n[411] _Diurnal_, p. 146.\n\n[412] Bain, ii. 665.\n\n[413] Nau, p. 80.\n\n[414] Chalmers's date, as to Stewart's expedition to Denmark, differs from\nthat of Drury.\n\n[415] Such coffers were carefully covered. One had a cover of crimson\nvelvet, with the letter 'F' in silver and gold work (Maitland Club,\n_Illustrations of Reigns of Mary and James_). Another coffer, with a cover\nof purple velvet, is described in a tract by M. Luzarche (Tours, 1868).\n\n[416] Nau, p. 48.\n\n[417] Tytler, iv. 324, 1864.\n\n[418] _Diurnal_, p. 127.\n\n[419] Laing, ii. 293, 294.\n\n[420] Bain, ii. 322.\n\n[421] Laing, ii. 314-318.\n\n[422] Tytler, iv. 323, 1864.\n\n[423] Labanoff, ii. 213.\n\n[424] Bain, ii. 576.\n\n[425] Laing's efforts to detect French idioms lead him to take 'all\ncontrary'--as in\n\n 'Mary, Mary,\n All contrary,\n How does your garden grow?'--\n\nand 'all goeth ill' for French too literally translated.\n\n[426] _Casket Letters_, pp. 82, 83.\n\n[427] 'He,' that is, Lennox.\n\n[428] 'He,' misread for 'I.'\n\n[429] The English translator apparently mistook 'signer' for 'saigner.'\n\n[430] 'They': Darnley and Lady Bothwell.\n\n[431] 'I cannot ceis to barbulze' (Y).\n\n[432] 'Humanitie' (C).\n\n[433] His fair promises (C).\n\n[434] 'Your brother.' Huntly.\n\n[435] 'Scriblit.' Barbulzeit (C).\n\n[436] Cambridge MS. 'l'acointance.'\n\n[437] Cambridge MS, 'je' omitted.\n\n[438] Cambridge MS. 'Dont de grief doil me vint ceste dolleur.'\n\n[439] Cambridge MS. 'Per.'\n\n[440] Cambridge MS. 'honneur.'\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nPassages in italics are indicated by _italics_.\n\nUnderlined passages are indicated by =underline=.\n\nPassages that are struck through are indicated by --word--.\n\nPassages raised above the printed line with a carat are indicated by\n^word^.\n\nSuperscripted characters are indicated by {superscript}.\n\nThe original text contains letters with diacritical marks that are not\nrepresented in this text version.\n\nThe original text includes an inverted L symbol that is represented as [L]\nin this text version.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's The Mystery of Mary Stuart, by Andrew Lang\n\n*** "], ["\n\n\n\nProduced by Brian Coe, Graeme Mackreth and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This\nfile was produced from images generously made available\nby The Internet Archive)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n Elements of\n Trench Warfare\n\n Waldron\n\n\n\n\n Elements of\n Trench Warfare\n\n Bayonet Training\n\n _By_\n\n Lieut. Colonel William H. Waldron\n\n 29th U.S. Infantry\n\n DISTINGUISHED GRADUATE INFANTRY AND\n CAVALRY SCHOOL, 1905\n GRADUATE ARMY STAFF COLLEGE, 1906\n GRADUATE ARMY WAR COLLEGE, 1911\n ASSISTANT DIRECTOR ARMY WAR\n COLLEGE COURSE, 1911-12\n\n _Author of_\n\n \"Scouting and Patrolling\"\n \"Tactical Walks\"\n\n PUBLISHED BY\n\n EDWIN N. APPLETON\n 1 Broadway, New York\n 1917\n\n _Price 75 Cents, postage paid_\n\n\n\n\n Copyright, 1917, by\n William H. Waldron\n\n First Edition, 5,000, March 1st, 1917.\n Second Edition, 10,000, August 1st, 1917.\n Third Edition 30,000, September 25th, 1917.\n\n PRESS OF ISAAC GOLDMANN COMPANY, NEW YORK\n\n\n\n\nNOTICE\n\n\nThere is a wealth of material in this little book that will interest\nthe soldier. From the illustrations alone he will be able to obtain a\ngood general idea of the subject.\n\nIt is essentially a soldier's book, written in language that he can\nunderstand. The price has been kept within the limits of his pocketbook.\n\nWith a view to securing a wide distribution of the book I desire to\nsecure a representative in every organization in the Army. I have an\nattractive proposition to make to competent parties.\n\nA letter will bring particulars. My address will be found in the Army\nList and Directory. If this is not available, a letter addressed as\nfollows will be forwarded to me:\n\n Captain W.H. Waldron,\n 29th Infantry,\n Care of \"Infantry Journal,\"\n Washington, D.C.\n\n (Signed) W.H. Waldron.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n Page\n\n Chapter I.--The Organization of a Section of the\n Position 9\n\n Chapter II.--Obstacles: Construction, repair. Wire\n entanglements, barricades, land mines, inundation 13\n\n Chapter III.--Lookout and Listening Posts: Types.\n Construction, service 27\n\n Chapter IV.--Field Trenches: Traversed trenches.\n Types of trenches. Drainage. Communication\n trenches. Dugouts. Penetration of projectiles.\n Communication. Trench mortar positions. Machine\n guns. Supporting points 33\n\n Chapter V.--Use and Improvement of Natural Cover 60\n\n Chapter VI.--Revetments: Sandbags. Fascines.\n Hurdles. Gabions 74\n\n Chapter VII.--Working Parties: Details of organization.\n Laying out tasks. Operations 90\n\n Chapter VIII.--Grenade Warfare: Organization and\n tactics of grenadiers. Offensive operations.\n Clearing fire trenches. Clearing communication\n trenches. Night operations. Grenade patrols.\n Notes on grenade warfare 97\n\n Chapter IX.--Gas Warfare: Methods of dissemination\n of gas. Gas helmets, care and use of\n Sprayers 118\n\n Chapter X.--Service in the Trenches: Preparations\n for entering. Inspection of trenches. Tactical\n dispositions. Going into the trenches. Information\n routine. Observation field glasses. Snipers.\n What to fire at. Use of rifle grenades.\n Scouting and patrolling. Care of arms. Care of\n trenches. Latrines. Maps. Frost bite. The\n trench soldier's creed 128\n\n Chapter XI.--The Attack in Trench Warfare 162\n\n BAYONET TRAINING\n\n Features of the Bayonet 175\n\n Method of Carrying out Bayonet Training and\n Hints to Instruction 177\n\n BAYONET LESSONS\n\n Formation--Technique of Instruction 180\n\n Lesson No. 1--\n\n Position of \"Guard\" 181\n\n \" \" \"Rest\" 184\n\n \" \" \"High Port\" 184\n\n \" \" \"Long Point\" 184\n\n The \"Withdrawal\" After a Long Point 189\n\n PROGRESSION\n\n Vulnerable Parts of the Body 190\n\n Lesson No. 2--\"The Parries\" 192\n\n PRACTICE 194\n\n Lesson No. 3--\"The Short Point\" 193\n\n Lesson No. 4--\"The Jab or Upward Point\" 197\n\n METHOD OF INJURING AN OPPONENT\n\n _Butt Strike I._ 200\n\n \" \" _II._ 200\n\n \" \" _III._ 200\n\n \" \" _IV._ 202\n\n Practice 202\n\n TACTICAL APPLICATION OF THE BAYONET 203\n\n THE BAYONET ASSAULT 203\n\n METHOD OF CARRYING THE RIFLE WITH\n BAYONET FIXED 205\n\n TEAMWORK 206\n\n THE ADVANCE 206\n\n THE CHARGE 206\n\n ASSAULT PRACTICE 208\n\n FINAL ASSAULT PRACTICE 209\n\n ACCESSORIES 211\n\n TARGETS 215\n\n CONSTRUCTION OF GALLOWS 216\n\n \" \" DUMMIES 217\n\n \" \" \"TURK'S HEAD\" 218\n\n \" \" PARRYING DUMMY TARGET 218\n\n DISCS ON TARGETS 218\n\n EXERCISES\n\n Exercise 1 221\n\n The Run 222\n\n Exercise 2 223\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nThis little book has been prepared with a view to placing before the\nsoldier a store of information on the subject of Trench Warfare as\nit has been developed on the battle fronts of Europe, and giving him\nsome idea of the nature of the service that he will be called upon to\nperform when the time arrives for him to do his \"bit.\"\n\nThe illustrations have been carefully prepared and arranged to the end\nthat the soldier may gain a fair knowledge of the subject from them\nalone. The text is intended to treat the subject in a purely elementary\nmanner that the soldier may be able to understand.\n\nThe size of the book is such that it may be conveniently carried in the\npocket and referred to as occasion requires. The price has been kept\ndown to the point where it is available to the soldier.\n\nIf the book assists in his preparation for the front and, by reason\nof the knowledge that he has gained from it, helps to make him more\nefficient when he gets there, it will have served its purpose.\n\n The Author.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nORGANIZATION\n\n\nThe normal organization of an intrenched position includes the\nfollowing elements from front to rear:\n\n1. In front of the position and at a variable distance from the first\nline fire trench there is a line of wire entanglements. (See Obstacles,\np. 13).\n\n2. Close up to the wire entanglements there is an intrenched post known\nas the \"listening post,\" which is connected with the first line fire\ntrench by a zigzag communicating trench. (See Listening Posts, p. 27).\n\n3. Then comes the first line fire trench with attached machine-gun\nemplacements at convenient points. (See Fire Trench and Machine-Gun\nEmplacements, pp. 33 and 54).\n\n4. The fire trench is so narrow that lateral communication along it\nis effected only with difficulty. In order to provide a passageway a\ncommunication or supervision trench is provided a few yards in rear of\nthe fire trench. Passageways lead from this communication trench to\nthe fire trench and to the dugouts located along it.\n\n5. At a variable distance in rear of the fire trench (100 to 200 yards)\nthe emplacements for bomb-throwing apparatus and trench mortars are\nlocated. These are connected up laterally by a communication trench\nwhich joins with the main communication trench running from front to\nrear through the position. (See Emplacements for Trench Mortars, p. 51).\n\n6. From 100 to 400 yards to the rear of the first line fire trench, and\ngenerally parallel to it, is the supporting trench or cover for the\nsupports. This trench is invariably provided with strong overhead cover\nand a system of dugouts for the protection of the troops. (See Cover\nfor Supports, p. 53).\n\n7. This whole arrangement of trenches is connected throughout from\nfront to rear, and laterally, by a system of zigzag communication\ntrenches.\n\n[Illustration: PLATE 1.\n_PLAN OF THE ORGANIZATION OF AN INTRENCHED POSITION_]\n\nTake this brief description together with Plate 1, the drawing that\naccompanies this volume, and study the two until you get the entire\nsystem fixed firmly in your mind; that is, until you get a mental\npicture of all the elements included in the system.\n\n[Illustration: _Organization of a Sector of the Battle Front occupied\nby a Field Army of Two Divisions._\nPlate 2.]\n\nAfter you have done this, study on through the book in order that you\nmay know the purpose of each of these elements and how one links up\nwith the other.\n\nThis is the typical system now in use in the European war theaters.\nCircumstances at certain places may render some variations necessary,\nand it must not be inferred that the trace of the works is the same\nthroughout. As a rule the types of trenches (altered when necessary to\nmeet local conditions) illustrated herein are the ones in actual use on\nthe war fronts.\n\nAll of these trenches and their accessories constitute what is known as\nthe first line. At a distance of from 2,000 to 5,000 yards in rear of\nthis first line a second line, organized in a similar manner, is to be\nfound.\n\nAt intervals of from 800 to 1,500 yards along the first line-centers of\nresistance, or what we know as \"supporting points,\" are located. These\nconsist of fortified villages, or a network (labyrinth) of trenches,\nprovided with every defensive device known to modern warfare. The\nobject of these supporting points is to bring a flanking fire to bear\non the intervals between them, with the idea that an attacking force\ncannot advance beyond them without capturing them.\n\nPlate 2 shows the general scheme of the occupation of a sector of the\nline by a field army of two divisions.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nOBSTACLES\n\n\nThe element of the defensive line nearest the enemy is a line or series\nof lines of obstacles which are designed for the purpose of:\n\n1. Protecting the lines from surprise.\n\n2. Reducing the momentum of the attack, by breaking up the unity of\naction and cohesion.\n\n3. Holding the enemy under the effective fire of the defenders.\n\nThe conditions that obstacles should fulfil are as follows. They must--\n\n1. Be close to the defender's position. As a rule on the western front\nthey are not more than from 50 to 100 yards distant. If they are too\nclose it may be possible to throw hand grenades from the far edge of\nthem into the defender's trenches.\n\n2. As far as practicable, be sheltered and screened from the enemy.\nShell fire is the most effective method of destroying obstacles. If\nthey are not concealed they may furnish aiming points for the enemy's\nfire against the first line fire trench by his being able to estimate\nits location with reference to the obstacle.\n\n3. Afford no cover or screen to the enemy.\n\n4. Be so placed that the enemy will come upon them as a surprise.\n\n5. Be so constructed as to be difficult of removal under fire and\nimpracticable to negotiate while still reasonably intact.\n\n6. Be arranged so as not to interfere with a counter attack. The\nobstacles may have occasional gaps left in them which may be mined.\n\nThe different classes of obstacles are: Abatis, low wire entanglements,\nhigh wire entanglements, barricades, mines, fougasses, crows feet,\nmilitary pits with wire entanglements, inundations, etc.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 3.--Abatis.]\n\nAbatis (pronounced _abatee_) consists of branches of trees lying\nparallel to each other, butts pointing to the rear, and the branches\ninterlaced with barbed wire. All leaves and small twigs should be\nremoved and the stiff ends of branches pointed. The butts are staked or\ntied down or anchored by covering them with earth. When more than one\nrow is used the branches overlap the butts of those in front so as to\nmake the abatis about 5 feet high. An abatis formed by felling trees\ntowards the enemy, leaving the butt hanging to the stump, is called\n_slashing_.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 4.--Slashing.]\n\n\nWIRE ENTANGLEMENTS\n\nBarbed wire is the material most employed in the construction of\nobstacles. It may be used in the following manner:\n\n1. As a simple trip, for giving the alarm. It is stretched just above\nthe ground and attached to some object that will cause a noise to be\nmade if molested.\n\n2. A simple wire fence, to cause delay and confusion to the enemy in\nhis advance.\n\n3. As an adjunct to tree and brushwood entanglement.\n\n4. As a wire entanglement.\n\n5. As a covering for portable cylinders.\n\nThe advantages of the barbed-wire entanglement are:\n\n1. It is easily and quickly made.\n\n2. It is difficult to destroy.\n\n3. It is difficult to get through.\n\n4. It offers no obstruction to the view and fire of the defense.\n\nThe low wire entanglement is constructed as follows:\n\n1. Drive stakes in the ground until they project about 18 inches. The\nstakes should be about 6 feet apart, those in each row being opposite\nthe intervals in adjacent rows.\n\n2. The wire is then passed loosely from the head of one stake to\nanother, wound around each and stapled.\n\n3. Where two or more wires cross they should be tied together.\n\nA more useful and efficient modification of the low wire entanglement\nis made by stapling the wire down the sides of the stakes, allowing\nfive or more feet of slack wire between stakes. Drive the stakes in\nthe ground until the top is flush. This results in a loose network of\ntangled wires difficult to get through, easily concealed and difficult\nto remove.\n\nThe high wire entanglement is made by driving stakes so that they\nprotrude from 4 to 6 feet above the ground. They are placed at\nirregular intervals 5 to 8 feet apart. The head of each stake is\nconnected with the foot of adjoining stakes with the wire loosely\ndrawn, wound around the stakes and stapled fast. Each center post\nshould be stayed by four wires. There should be a trip wire about 9\ninches from the ground all the way across the front and another about\na foot from the top of the center posts. Barbed wire may then be\nhung in festoons throughout the entanglement, with no fixed pattern.\nTo increase the entanglement wire may be stapled to the foot of the\nposts, as indicated in the paragraph above, before they are driven.\nLarge nails should be driven in the tops of the posts with half their\nlength protruding. A number of the wires in the entanglement should be\nfastened together where they cross. The wire should be passed through\npaint, if practicable, to take away the bright color. The post should\nbe painted the color of the surrounding country. Under the conditions\nencountered on the western front this work has to be done hastily. It\nis best, therefore, to limit the first stage of construction to just\nso many strands as will form a nucleus for the whole entanglement, in\norder that the area may be covered by an obstacle before interruption\noccurs.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 4a.--Plan of wire entanglement.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 5.--High wire entanglement.]\n\n_Tight wires help the enemy's advance by forming supports for hurdles.\nIt must be constantly borne in mind that the wires must not be\nstretched taut._\n\n[Illustration: Plate 5a.--Alarm trap.]\n\nA portable wire entanglement is constructed by stretching wire loosely\naround a wooden framework, either circular or square or made on a knife\nrest, and rolling it into position to close up gaps that may have been\nmade in the entanglement. The illustration shows the wooden framework.\n\nThe ordinary repairs to entanglements are made under cover of darkness\nby working parties detailed for the purpose. Iron posts that can be\nquickly placed in position are advantageous, their disadvantage being\nthat they may bullets that would go through the ordinary wooden\nposts, thus furnishing just that much cover and protection to attacking\nparties.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 6.--Portable entanglement. Constructed in the\ntrenches and rolled into position.]\n\nIn the construction and repair of entanglements care must be taken to\nsee that they are firmly fastened into the ground with numerous stay\nposts or \"deadmen.\" This is to prevent the enemy from pulling them\nto pieces with grappling hooks connected to ropes that lead to his\ntrenches and are attached to powerful windlasses or capstans.\n\n\nBARRICADES\n\nBarricades are employed for the defense of streets, roads, bridges,\netc. They may be made out of any available material such as furniture,\nvehicles (overturned or with wheels removed), carts filled with stones,\nbales of goods, etc.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 7.--Plan of barricade for blocking a road.]\n\nWhere trees grow along the roadside they may be felled across the road.\nIf necessary, barbed wire may be run through the branches to make the\npassage more difficult.\n\nBarricades should not as a rule close the road entirely to traffic.\nPassages are required to allow the defenders to pass through when it\nis necessary to do so. Hence they should be made in two parts, one\noverlapping the other, as shown in the illustration.\n\nA _fougass_ is a mine so arranged that upon explosion a large mass of\nstones is projected against the enemy. An excavation is made in the\nshape of a frustrom of a cone, inclining the axis in the direction of\nthe enemy so as to make an angle with the horizon of about 45 degrees.\nThe sides splay outward slightly. A box of powder is placed in a recess\nat the bottom. This is covered with a platform of wood several inches\nthick, on which the stones are piled.\n\nThe fuse is placed in a groove cut at the back of the excavation, or\nthe mine may be exploded by means of electricity.\n\nThe line of least resistance for the charge must be arranged so that\nthe powder will act in the direction of the axis and not vertically.\nThis is accomplished by throwing the excavated earth on the crest\ntowards the defender's side and ramming it well.\n\nTo ascertain the powder charge for any fougass, divide the number of\npounds of stone in the charge by 150. This gives the number of pounds\nof powder in the powder charge. Thus a fougass charged with about 70\npounds of powder will throw about 5 tons of stone over a surface about\n160 yards long and 120 yards wide.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 8.--Fougass.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 9.--Vertical fougass.]\n\nWhen broken up a cubic foot of stone weighs about 100 pounds.\n\nA vertical type of fougass is also shown. A charge of 25 pounds of\npowder should scatter a cubic yard of stones over an area about 200 by\n100 yards.\n\n\nSMALL LAND MINES\n\nLand mines are placed in the line of the advance of the enemy and\nexploded either by electricity or fuse from the defense. They are\nmade by digging holes from 2 to 3 yards deep, either by excavation or\nby boring. In the former case the charge is placed in a recess which\nextends into the solid earth at the side of the hole, which is then\nrefilled and tamped. In the latter case the charge is placed in the\nbottom of the hole, which is then refilled and solidly tamped. In\ncommon earth the powder charge for a 2-yard hole is 25 pounds. That for\na 3-yard hole is 80 pounds. The diameter of the crater formed will be\nabout twice the depth of the charge.\n\nThe mines may be arranged in one or more rows. The intervals between\nmines should be such that the craters will nearly but not quite join.\nThe position of the mines should be concealed as much as possible\nand further sophisticated by disturbing the ground slightly at points\nwhere there are no mines and so situated as to suggest a systematic\narrangement.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 9a.--Land mine.]\n\n\nINUNDATION\n\nBacking up the water of a stream so that it overflows a considerable\narea forms a good obstacle, even though of fordable depth. If shallow,\nthe difficulty of fording may be increased by irregular holes or\nditches dug before the water comes up, or by constructing wire\nentanglements in the water. It may be employed with advantage when the\ndrainage of a considerable area passes through a restricted opening, as\na natural gorge, culvert or bridge.\n\nOpen cribs filled with stones, or tighter ones filled with gravel, may\nform the basis of the obstruction to the flow of the water. The usual\nmethod of tightening spaces or cracks between cribs is by throwing in\nearth or alternate layers of straw, hay, grass, earth, or sacks of\nclay. A continuous construction, as shown in the illustration, may be\nemployed. The ends of the dam must be carried well into the solid earth\nto prevent the water from cutting around them. This type of dam is\neasily destroyed by artillery fire, and cannot be depended upon.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 10.--Dam construction.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nLOOKOUT AND LISTENING POSTS\n\n\nExcept when the garrison are actually required to man the parapet, they\nwill be kept under cover, with the exception of a few lookouts, whose\nduty it is to give timely warning of the movements of the enemy.\n\nWhen the opposing forces are in close proximity to each other mining\noperations are generally resorted to by both sides to compass the\ndestruction of the opposing works and open the way for an attack.\n\nLookout and listening posts serve the double purpose of having a few\nmen at the most advantageous places for observation at the front and\nflanks and providing points at some distance to the front of the first\nline fire trenches from which listeners may be able to discover the\nlocation and direction of enemy mining operations before they really\nmenace the fire trench.\n\nIn the normal case there will be some natural cover available. Such,\nhowever, is not always the case, and specially constructed observation\nstations have to be provided.\n\nThe posts should be placed in advance of the first line trench, the\ndistance depending upon circumstances which have to be determined in\neach particular instance. They must be fully protected from reverse\nfire so that there will be no chance of the observer masking the fire\nof his comrades manning the fire trench.\n\nUnless the ground is very favorable it will be found difficult to\nprovide for observation above ground. Where there are natural features\nsuch as embankments, mounds, hedgerows, ruins of buildings, etc., it\nmay be possible to make provision for observation even by day.\n\nWhere a loophole is used, the type having the narrower end outward\nshould be provided.\n\nIn the open type of post the observation directly to the front may be\ngreatly facilitated by the use of the periscope. (Plate 11.)\n\nA good, strong parapet thrown up and chopped off at the corners will\nenable the observer to cover areas from an oblique direction from the\npost and protect him from fire from the front.\n\nIn the covered type the observer is provided loopholes having the\nsplay towards him. These may also be constructed to the oblique rather\nthan to the front. When this is done, provision must be made to cover\nthe entire front of the position from the several posts. (Plate 12.)\n\nThe post may be connected with the first line fire trench by a narrow\nzigzag trench or by an underground passage. If the former, it must be\nthoroughly concealed and have no excavated earth visible. If it can be\nlocated along a hedge or some other natural feature its location may\nremain unknown to the enemy for a considerable length of time. Where\na communication gallery is constructed the roof and walls must be\nsuitably shored up by casing and supports.\n\nThe sentinel in the listening post carries no accouterments. It has\nbeen found that the creaking noise made by equipment when the sentinel\nmoves has been taken for mining operations of the enemy by his comrades.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 11.--Open type of listening post.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 12.--Covered type of listening post.]\n\nListening galleries should never be left without a sentinel. There\nshould be a depot of arms and hand grenades near the entrance to the\ngallery in case men are attacked while on duty from either above or\nbelow ground.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 13.--A listening and observation post.]\n\nListening will be conducted at specified times, or on some prearranged\nsignal, and for a definite period. During this time all within the\nlistening area, including the trenches, must remain absolutely\nmotionless.\n\nInfantry manning a trench can assist listening by digging a small pit,\n6 feet deep below the trench, and running a bore-hole out 20 feet or\nmore.\n\nThe enemy is always listening for indications of the direction and\nposition of gallery heads. Work must therefore be carried on with a\nminimum of noise. Shouting down the shafts of galleries is absolutely\nforbidden.\n\nWhen the mining operations of the enemy are detected a report should be\nmade at once to the officer in charge of that section of the trench.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nFIELD TRENCHES\n\n\nThe next element of the defensive position is the _first line fire\ntrenches_. These are located so as to have a good field of fire to\nthe front for several hundred yards and so constructed as to give the\ngreatest cover and protection from the fire of the enemy.\n\nAn unbroken, continuous trench would be exposed to enfilade fire. A\nshell, shrapnel or grenade bursting therein would have widespread\neffect. To overcome these elements the trench is constructed in short\nlengths, with traverses between them, and technically known as the\n_traverse type_.\n\nBetter defilade is thus secured and the material effect of any burst is\nconfined to narrow limits.\n\nThe trench interval between the traverses is known as the \"bay,\" which\nshould not ordinarily be longer than 18 feet. Longer bays invite heavy\ncasualties in case the trench is enfiladed or a high explosive shell\nfinds its mark.\n\nThe illustration, Plate 14, shows a trace of the traversed type of fire\ntrench.\n\n[Illustration:\n _PLAN OF TRAVERSED TYPE OF FIRE TRENCH_\n _PLATE 14._]\n\n\nTYPE OF TRENCH\n\nFormerly, protection from the enemy's fire was obtained by thickness of\nparapet. In the trench warfare of today it is obtained by completely\nconcealing the riflemen in a deep, narrow trench with a very low\nparapet.\n\nThe height over which the average man can fire is about 5 feet or about\nfive-sixths of his own height. This factor determines the height of the\nparapet above the firing banquet of the trench or the height of bottom\nof loophole above the same point, when the latter is employed.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 15.--Simple standing trench.]\n\n[Illustration: _PLATE 15a._]\n\nThe type of trench in general use today is the simple standing trench\nshown in Plate 15.\n\n\nDRAINAGE\n\nIf a trench is to be occupied for any length of time, especially if\nmuch ground or falling water is to be encountered, drainage becomes\nof prime importance. Many years ago a celebrated military authority\nasserted that \"nothing so saps the courage of a soldier as to wet the\nseat of his breeches.\" This may be accepted as a true maxim, especially\nin cold weather. The trench should therefore be made as dry as\npossible. The floor of the trench should be given a sufficient to\nthe rear where an intercepting drain should carry the water to prepared\nsumps or to a point from which it can be disposed of by drainage.\nProvision should also be made to exclude surface drainage from the\ntrenches.\n\nA scheme for trench drainage is shown in the illustrations (Plates 16,\n17 and 18).\n\nOverhead cover may be provided as shown in Plates 19 and 20.\n\nLoopholes are made wherever head cover is provided. Where the enemy's\ntrenches are close, there is considerable danger in using them.\nCollective firing takes place over the parapet. When loopholes are used\nthey should face half-right or half-left and not directly to the front.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 16.--Method of draining trench.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 17. Details of trench drainage.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 18. Detail of trench drainage.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 19.--Overhead cover.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 19a.--Overhead cover.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 20.--Overhead cover.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 20a.--Overhead cover.]\n\nThe disadvantages of loopholes are:\n\n1. The difficulty of concealing firing points. Loopholes give the\nenemy's snipers an easy mark.\n\n2. They lessen the number of rifles that can be used at a given point.\n\n3. The necessary head cover makes it difficult to get out of the trench\nquickly.\n\n4. Damaged head cover often spoils a good firing point.\n\nThe three types of loopholes are:\n\n1. Narrowest point of the opening nearest the marksman. This type is\nmost difficult to conceal, much of the parapet thickness is cut away\nand, if of hard material, tends to deflect the bullets into the firer's\nface. This defect may be remedied somewhat by stepping the surface of\nthe loophole.\n\n2. Narrowest point to the front. Easiest to conceal but gives a limited\nfield of view.\n\n3. Narrowest point midway between the front and rear. A compromise\nbetween the first two types.\n\nThe following general remarks on the construction of loopholes are\ntaken from a work based upon the experience gained during the war in\nEurope:\n\n1. The angle of splay is usually 60 degrees. The thicker the parapet\nthe smaller must be the angle of splay.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 21.--Types of loopholes.]\n\n2. The marksman holds his rifle in a line connecting the right\nshoulder, the eye and the object, hence most of the body lies to the\nleft of the rifle. The loophole should be made to the right, with a\nniche in the wall of the parapet from the hip to the armpit, to bring\nthe left shoulder well forward. It will be found that this permits the\nright elbow to be placed on the edge of the parapet.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 22.--Methods of constructing loopholes with\nsandbags.]\n\n3. Box loopholes with screens or blindage may be used, but should be\nplaced by a skilled marksman. The great disadvantage is that the enemy\nnotes these parapet alterations. Steel loophole plates are now provided\nfor this type of loophole. As the Germans sometimes use a steel bullet\nwith great penetrating power, it is advisable to place two plates\ntogether to insure protection.\n\n4. With every precaution that may be taken it is difficult to conceal a\nloophole. A good plan is to deceive the enemy by using painted sandbags\nand preparing plenty of dummy loopholes.\n\n5. The minimum width of loopholes should be 2-1/2 inches. If narrower\nthan this, it is impossible to use both eyes to judge distances\ncorrectly.\n\n6. The parapet should be so sloped that there is a maximum grazing\nfire when the rifle is fired as it lies on the parapet.\n\nTo insure that the bullet will not graze the parapet, although the\nsights are clear, look through the barrel with the bolt removed.\n\n\nCOMMUNICATION TRENCH\n\nIn the first line fire trenches there are so many crooks and turns and\nthe trench itself is so narrow that passage along the same is very\ndifficult. To provide for this lateral communication a trench known\nas the communication or supervision trench is dug. It runs generally\nparallel to and a short distance in rear of the fire trench and is\nconnected therewith by zigzag approaches. The factor that determines\nthe distance between the fire trench and the communication trench is\nthat it should be at such a distance that a shell bursting in one of\nthe bays would not destroy the communication trench.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 23.--Type of communication trench.]\n\nThe location of the communication trench with respect to the fire\ntrench and the arrangements of the approaches is shown in detail in\nPlate 1.\n\nThe profile of the ordinary communication trench is shown in Plate 23.\n\n\nDUGOUTS\n\nDuring the artillery bombardment few men are left in the fire trenches.\nThe remainder of the garrison is held under cover a short distance\nto the rear. This cover is provided by a system of dugouts connected\nwith the fire trench through underground passageways that lead to the\ncommunication trench. This arrangement is shown in Plate 1.\n\nA profile of the latest type of dugout is shown in Plate 24.\n\nThe solid earth cover is from 12 to 18 feet thick, which gives\nprotection from all but the very largest caliber shells.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 24.--Type of dugout.]\n\nEffective resistance is supplied by roofing materials as follows:\n\n1. From shrapnel bullets: 2-inch planks covered with 12 inches of earth.\n\n2. From 3-inch shells: 4-inch planks supporting 4 feet of earth with a\ntop layer of heavy stones to cause an early shell burst.\n\n3. From howitzers of less than 6 inches caliber: 12-inch beams or logs\ncovered with 8 feet of earth.\n\n4. From the largest caliber guns: 15 to 25 feet of earth.\n\nThe following table shows the penetration of the German S bullet at a\nrange of 200 yards:\n\n _Inches_\n Steel plate 3/8\n Broken stone 6\n Brickwork, cement and mortar 9\n Brickwork, lime and mortar 14\n Sandbags 24\n Sand, loose 30\n Hardwood, oak, etc. 38\n Earth 50\n Soft wood, poplar, etc. 58\n Clay 60\n Dry turf 80\n\nIn addition to the regular \"dugouts\" for the supports, the latest\ntype trenches have squad dugouts just in rear of the bays of the fire\ntrench. These provide shelter during bombardment for the members of the\nsquad not actually required on duty in the trench bay.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 24a.--Section of traversed type of fire trench\nshowing entrance to squad dugout.]\n\n\nCOMMUNICATIONS\n\nThe fire trench is connected with the cover for supports by a system of\nzigzag trenches having the profile shown in Plate 23. The arrangement\nis shown in Plate 1.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 25.--Profile of trench mortar emplacement.]\n\n\nTRENCH MORTAR POSITIONS\n\nSomewhere between the first line fire trench and the cover for the\nsupports is a line of emplacements for the trench mortars. Plate 25\nshows a profile of the emplacement.\n\nThe arrangement of the position is shown in Plate 1.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 25a.--Trench mortar.]\n\nThese trench mortars are used to hurl charges of high explosives\nvarying from 25 to 100 pounds into the enemy's lines. They have a\nrange of from 300 to 1,800 yards.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 25b.--Improvised catapult.]\n\n\nCOVER FOR SUPPORTS\n\nAt a variable distance to the rear of the first line fire trench is\nlocated the cover for supports, which is organized much in the same\nmanner as the first line system of trenches and affords a second\nposition in the system to fall back to in case of necessity. These\ntrenches are provided with overhead cover and numerous dugouts for the\nprotection of the men.\n\n\nMACHINE GUNS\n\nAt every available place throughout the defensive position machine guns\nare located, typical positions of which are shown in Plate 1.\n\nThe typical types of cover are shown in Plates 26 and 27.\n\nMachine guns are a very potent factor in trench warfare. They are\nnow being employed to a far greater extent than ever before, and the\nnumber is increasing on all the battle fronts as fast as they can be\nmanufactured. The machine-gun positions are carefully concealed from\nthe enemy, and fire is not opened until it is certain that it will be\neffective.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 26.--Profile of type of cover for machine gun.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27.--Type of cover for machine guns.]\n\nThe selection of the sites for the emplacements should be made with a\nview to bringing a powerful enfilade or oblique fire on the attacking\nenemy at effective range, to provide a flanking fire for supporting\ntroops, and to sweep gaps in the line of obstacles.\n\nTheir fire should come as a surprise to the attacking party.\n\nIn the construction of cover for machine guns the following points\nshould be observed:\n\n1. They must have a platform for the gun and gunner. This may be\nprovided for in the construction of the emplacement or built up with\nsandbags. The platform should be 3 feet wide and 6-1/2 feet in length.\n\n2. If head cover is provided, it should not differ in appearance from\nthat constructed elsewhere in the trenches. The loopholes must be\nblinded with gunny sacks.\n\n3. The front of the emplacement should be cut under to receive the\nleg of the tripod, thus bringing the gun up closer to the parapet and\nfurnishing more cover for the gunner.\n\n4. Splinter-proof shelters should be provided near at hand for the\nmembers of the gun detachment.\n\n5. Where the enemy's trenches are near, the position for the\nemplacement should be selected by day and the actual work done under\ncover of darkness.\n\n6. The guns should be located so that they support each other by their\nfire. Alternate positions should be constructed.\n\n7. When located to enfilade straight lines of trenches, special\ncapioniers should be constructed.\n\n\nSUPPORTING POINTS\n\nAt intervals from 800 to 1,500 yards along the first line, supporting\npoints are established. They may consist of a fortified village or\na specially prepared position having a \"labyrinth\" of trenches and\nrendered well-nigh impregnable to infantry assault by every defensive\ndevice known to modern warfare. They are designed to bring a flanking\nfire to bear upon the intervening intervals with the idea that troops\ncannot pass beyond them until they are reduced.\n\n\nVILLAGE DEFENSE\n\nThe following was the actual scheme employed for the defense of a\nFrench village and exemplifies the thoroughness with which defenses\nmust be organized.\n\nThe village was about 700 yards in rear of the front line, and had\nthree keeps surrounded with wire entanglements and independent of each\nother, but with an elaborate system of communication trenches. Water\nand four days' rations were stored in each keep, and wells dug. Each\nof the keeps held about one company. The communication trenches were\nabout 6 feet deep, used as far as possible as fire trenches, and well\ntraversed. Firing platforms were revetted with brushwood, and shelters\nmade all over the village. In addition to keeps, a series of lines\nexisted in the rear of the front line, intercommunicating and provided\nwith barbed wire. A small wood on one point of the front was defended\nby a network of low wire entanglements and a line of high wire netting.\n\nEvery officer had to know all about his section and its communications\nwith right and left. Telephone wires were laid low down in\ncommunication trenches and fastened a few inches from ground with\nwooden pickets.\n\nMachine guns were placed so as to flank salients. A 65-mm. field gun\nwas placed in the front line to sweep the village, and an observation\nstation placed in a tree. The observer wore a green mask and green\nsheet.\n\nGreat use was made of brushwood and undergrowth to revet steps of\nfiring platform.\n\nAll work was carried out by regimental officers and men without help\nfrom the engineers, who were fully employed in mining. The garrison of\nthe village and the front line trenches in the vicinity was about one\nbattalion, but the fire trenches were sufficient for three battalions.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V[1]\n\nUSE AND IMPROVEMENT OF NATURAL COVER\n\n\n_A screen or mask_ consists of hedges, crops, underbrush, etc., which\nhide the rifleman without, however, protecting him from fire.\n\n_Cover or shelter_ consists of walls, earthworks, etc., which protect\nthe rifleman from fire.\n\nOn the battlefield, natural features that screen and shelter should be\nutilized as much as possible, as they possess the following advantages\nover artificial works:\n\n(_a_) Their organization demands less work.\n\n(_b_) Concealment is easier.\n\n(_c_) From their nature, it is difficult for the enemy to estimate, for\na given length, the number of men sheltered.\n\nThey possess, however, certain disadvantages:\n\n(_a_) The protection is sometimes so excellent that, morally as well\nas materially, it becomes difficult to leave the shelter. Example:\nquarries with obstructed exits. Therefore, good judgment must be\nexercised in the selection.\n\n(_b_) Some of them are too visible. Example: large hedges. In this case\ntheir range can be easily found.\n\nAs a general rule, do not occupy them uniformly and do not change the\nappearance of the organized parts.\n\nOrganization of the cover:\n\nTo organize the cover which protects troops from fire, construct\nsuitable positions for firing and resting. To utilize the screens which\nmerely hide the troops without protecting them from fire, dig trenches\nbehind these screens in the following manner:\n\n(_a_) Choose the points which give the best field of fire.\n\n(_b_) Construct cover for firing.\n\n(_c_) Construct a shelter.\n\nThe constructions are usually \"individual\" in the first period of work;\nafterwards, they are organized \"collectively.\" The covers are: (1)\nfor riflemen lying down, (2) for riflemen sitting down, and (3) for\nriflemen standing up.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27a.--Use of the cover without improvement.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27b.--First period.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27c.--Second period.\nProgressive improvement of the cover.]\n\n\nINDIVIDUAL ORGANIZATION OF NATURAL COVER\n\nExamples of hasty individual cover behind trees, bushes, or branches:\n\n(_a_) Fallen tree (logs or branches), the height of which is at a\nmaximum of 1 foot above the ground:\n\n(_b_) Fallen tree, the top of which is more than 1 foot above the\nground.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27d.--First period.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27e.--Second period]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27f.--Third period.]\n\nWood which does not afford sufficient protection against bullets\nmust be reinforced by earth at the right and against the cover 1 foot\nbehind. Plates 27d, 27e, and 27f show the progressive improvement of\nthe cover.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27g.--Sharp ridges, furrows, or top of a crest at\nthe end of a gentle .]\n\nExamples of hasty individual covers behind a furrow, a crest, a heap of\nsand or earth:\n\nDig the ground as near as possible to crest _A_ of the furrow in the\nmanner indicated for the cover installed behind a fallen tree more than\n1 foot high.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27h.--Narrow furrows.]\n\nUse the earth excavated between furrows _A_ and _B_ to build up the\nearth between furrows _B_ and _C_ and fill up furrow _C_; continue\nafterwards as for the sharp ridge.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27i.--Low wall of earth, or earth and sand heaps,\nmore than 2 feet high (two methods, _A_ or _B_).]\n\n(_A_) Lower the height about 8 inches; throw the earth forward. Dig a\ntrench as indicated in the figure.\n\n(_B_) Make a loophole in the pile of earth, showing oneself as little\nas possible. Improve the firing position by making a place for the\nright leg and an elbow rest.\n\nExamples of hasty shelters (individual) arranged behind a large stone\nor heap of stones.\n\nA heap of stones, the top of which is 1 foot at a maximum above the\nground:\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27j.--First period.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27k.--Second period.]\n\n\nGENERAL ORGANIZATION OF NATURAL COVER\n\nThis consists in connecting up and coordinating the individual work\nunder the direction of the squad commander. The work should be carried\nout on the lines adopted for the individual work and the rules\nprescribed for the construction of artificial cover (profiles, depths,\nvarious shelters) should be followed as far as possible. In arranging\nthe cover, the squads should utilize the natural features of the\nterrain.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27l.--Arrangement for a mound of earth.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27m.--Arrangement for a dry ditch.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27n.--Arrangement for a sunken road defended on\nthe side towards the enemy.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27o.--Arrangement for a sunken road defended from\nthe rear.]\n\nDitches full of water, drains, streams:\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27p.--Arrangement of a large ditch.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27q.--Arrangement of a ditch full of water.]\n\nOrdinary roads, road and railroad embankments, and sunken roads:\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27r.--Arrangement of an ordinary road defended on\nthe side toward the enemy.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27s.--Same defended from the rear.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27t.--Road embankment, defended from the rear.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27u.--Arrangement of a railroad embankment.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27v.--Arrangement of a sunken road.]\n\nHedges and woods:\n\nDig a trench behind the hedge and throw the earth against it; make\nopenings in the hedge to facilitate view and fire (Plate 27w). If the\nhedge is low, deepen the trench, but make the parapet lower than the\nhedge which masks it.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27w.--Arrangement of a hedge.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27x.--Arrangement of the edge of a wood.]\n\nAvoid destroying the natural appearance of the wood; do not cut the\ntrees and brush on a certain depth, but cut off branches where\nnecessary to obtain a field of fire. Behind this strip cut the brush\nand small trees so as to make a path 3 to 4 yards wide. Construct a\ntrench behind the mask of trees. The parapet can be raised up to 2 or\neven 3 feet. Construct abatis on the parts of the border of the wood,\nwhere it will not interfere with the fire.\n\nWalls:\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27y.--Arrangement of a wall 2 feet 8 inches high.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27z.--Arrangement of a wall 8 feet high.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 28.--Arrangement of a wall more than 8 feet high\nwithout making loopholes.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 28a.--Arrangement of an iron fence built on a low\nwall.]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[Footnote 1: This chapter reprinted from _Infantry Journal_.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nREVETMENTS\n\n\nA _revetment_ is a covering or facing placed upon an earth to\nenable it to stand at an inclination greater than it would naturally\nassume. Some revetments also increase the tenacity of s and\ndiminish the injury by fire. The upper parts of revetments that may be\nstruck by projectiles which penetrate the cover of earth must not be\nmade of materials of large units which will splinter when struck. The\nupper part of the revetments is technically known as _crowning_.\n\n\nSANDBAGS\n\nSandbags are made of coarse canvas or burlap. They are 33 inches long\nand 14 inches wide. They are filled loosely with earth or sand about\n1/2 cubic foot to a bag. Having been placed in position they are\npounded down with a shovel to a rectangular form when they will fill a\nspace about 20 by 13 by 5 inches.\n\nThe sandbag revetment is constructed by laying alternate rows of\nheaders and stretchers, breaking joints. The tied ends of the headers\nand seams of the stretchers are put into the parapet. Men working in\npairs lay the bags and set them firmly in place with a spade or mallet.\n\nThe advantages are:\n\n1. The portability of the empty bags. Only 62 pounds per one hundred\nbags.\n\n2. They may be filled with any kind of soil.\n\n3. They are rapidly filled and easily placed in position.\n\n4. They are invaluable in making repairs.\n\n5. They will not splinter.\n\nThe only disadvantage is that they are not durable. The cloth soon goes\nto decay and the filling material crumbles away.\n\nPlate 29 shows the appearance of a sandbag revetment as seen from the\nfront and from the end.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 29.--Sandbag revetment.]\n\nA squad of six men with two shovels and one pick should fill 150 bags\nin an hour. One man uses the pick, two shovel the dirt into the bag,\none holds the bag open and two men tie the bags. Having the filled bags\nready to hand ten men will lay 75 square feet of revetment in an hour.\nFour men lay the bags and flatten them out while six carry them.\n\n\nBRUSH\n\nBrush is used in many forms for revetting. Almost any kind will serve\nthe purpose. For weaving, it must be live and is most pliable when not\nin leaf. It should not be more than 1 inch in diameter at the butt.\nWhen cut it should be assorted in sizes for the different class of\nrevetments. Poles 2-1/2 inches in diameter are cut for the supports.\n\n\nFASCINES\n\nA _fascine_ is a cylindrical bundle of brushwood tightly bound. The\nusual length is 18 feet, the diameter 9 inches, and the weight normally\nabout 140 pounds. Lengths of 6 and 9 feet, which are sometimes used,\nare most conveniently obtained by sawing a standard fascine into two\nor three pieces.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 29a.--Fascine.]\n\nFascines are made in a cradle which consists of five trestles, the\nouter ones being 16 feet apart. The trestle is made by driving two\nsticks about 6-1/2 feet long and 3 inches in diameter in the ground and\nlashed at the intersection as shown in Plate 29a. In making the cradle,\nplant the two end trestles first. Stretch a line from one to the other\nover the intersection. Place the others 4 feet apart and lash them so\nthat each intersection comes fairly to the line.\n\n_To build a fascine_, straight pieces of brush, 1 or 2 inches at the\nbutt, are laid on, the butts projecting at the end 1 foot beyond\nthe trestle. Leaves should be stripped and unruly branches cut off,\nor partially cut through, so that they will lie close. The larger,\nstraighter brush should be laid on the outside, butts alternating in\ndirection, and smaller stuff in the center. The general object is to so\ndispose the brush as to make the fascine of uniform size, strength and\nstiffness from end to end.\n\nWhen the cradle is nearly filled, the fascine is compressed or\n_choked_ by the _fascine choker_ (Plate 30), which consists of two\nbars, 4 feet long, joined 18 inches from the ends by a chain 4 feet\nlong. The chain is marked at 14 inches each way from the middle by\ninserting a ring or special link. To use, two men standing on opposite\nsides pass the chain under the brush, place the short ends of the\nhandles on top and pass the bars, short end first, across to each\nother. They then bear down on the long ends until the marks on the\nchain come together. Chokers may be improvised from sticks and rope or\nwire.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 30.--Method of using the fascine choker.]\n\n_Binding_ will be done with a double turn of wire or tarred rope. It\nshould be done in twelve places 18 inches apart, the end binders 3\ninches outside the end trestles. To bind a fascine will require 66 feet\nof wire.\n\nImprovised binders may be made from rods of live brush; hickory or\nhazel is the best. Place the butt under the foot and twist the rod to\npartially separate the fibers and make it flexible. A rod so prepared\nis called a withe. To use a withe, make a half-turn and twist at\nthe smaller end. Pass the withe around the brush and the large end\nthrough the eye. Draw taut and double the large end back, taking two\nhalf-hitches over its own standing part.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 31.--Fascine revetment.]\n\nA _fascine revetment_ is made by placing the fascines as shown in\nPlate 31. The use of headers and anchors is absolutely necessary in\nloose soils only, but they greatly strengthen the revetment in any\ncase. A fascine revetment _must always be crowned_ with sod or bags.\n\nIn all brush weaving the following terms have been adopted and are\nconvenient to use:\n\n_Randing._--Weaving a single rod in and out between pickets.\n\n_Slewing._--Weaving two or more rods together in the same way.\n\n_Pairing._--Carrying two rods together, crossing each other in and out\nat each picket.\n\n_Wattling._--A general term applied to the woven part of brush\nconstruction.\n\nA _hurdle_ is a basket work made of brushwood. If made in pieces the\nusual size is 2 feet 9 inches by 6 feet, though the width may be varied\nso that it will cover the desired height of .\n\nA hurdle is made by describing on the ground an arc of a circle of\n8-foot radius and on the arc driving ten pickets, 8 inches apart,\ncovering 6 feet out to out. Brush is then woven in and out and well\ncompacted. The concave side of a hurdle should be placed next the\nearth. It warps less than if made flat.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 32.--Method of laying out hurdle.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 33.--Hurdle.]\n\nIn _weaving the hurdle_, begin randing at the middle space at the\nbottom. Reaching the end, twist the rod as described for a withe but\nat one point only, bend it around the end picket and work back. Start\na second rod before the first one is quite out, slewing the two for\na short distance. Hammer the wattling down snug on the pickets with a\nblock of wood and continue until the top is reached. It improves the\nhurdle to finish the edges with two selected rods paired. A pairing\nmay be introduced in the middle, if desired, to give the hurdle extra\nendurance if it is to be used as a pavement or floor. If the hurdle\nis not to be used at once, or if it is to be transported, it must be\n_sewed_. The sewing is done with wire, twine or withes at each end and\nin the middle, with stitches about 6 inches long, as shown in Plate\n33. About 40 feet of wire is required to sew one hurdle. No. 14 is\nabout the right size, and a coil of 100 pounds will sew forty hurdles.\nThree men should make a hurdle in two hours, two wattling and the third\npreparing the rods.\n\n_Continuous Hurdle._--If conditions permit the revetment to be built\nin place, the hurdle is made continuous for considerable lengths.\nThe pickets may be larger; they are driven further apart, 12 or 18\ninches, and the brush may be heavier. The construction is more rapid.\nThe pickets are driven with a little more slant than is intended and\nmust be anchored to the parapet. A line of poles, with wire attached\nat intervals of two or three pickets, will answer. The wires should\nbe made fast to the pickets after the wattling is done. They will\ninterfere with the weaving if fastened sooner. Two men should make 4\nyards of continuous hurdling of ordinary height in one hour.\n\n_Brush Revetment._--Pickets may be set as above described and the brush\nlaid inside them without weaving, being held in place by bringing the\nearth up with it. In this case the anchors must be fastened before\nthe brush laying begins. The wires are not much in the way in this\noperation.\n\n_Gabion Making._--A _gabion_ is a cylindrical basket with open ends,\nmade of brush woven on pickets or stakes as described for hurdles. The\nusual size is 2 feet outside diameter and 2 feet 9 inches height of\nwattling. On account of the sharp curvature somewhat better brush is\nrequired for gabions than will do for hurdles. The _gabion form_ is\nmade of wood, 21 inches diameter, with equidistant notches around the\ncircumference, equal in number to the number of pickets to be used,\nusually eight to fourteen; less if the brush is large and stiff, more\nif small and pliable. The notches should be of such depth that the\npickets will project 1 inch outside the circle. The pickets should be\n1-1/2 to 2 inches in diameter, 3 feet 6 inches long, sharpened, half at\nthe small and half at the large end.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 34.--Gabion.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 35.]\n\n_To Make a Gabion._--The form is placed on the ground. The pickets\nare driven vertically in the ground, large and small ends down,\nalternately. The form is then raised a foot and held by placing a\nlashing around outside the pickets, tightened with a rack stick. (See\nPlate 36.)\n\n[Illustration: Plate 36.--Forming the gabion supports.]\n\nThe wattling is randed or slewed from the form up. The form is then\ndropped down, the gabion inverted, and the wattling completed. If\nthe brush is small, uniform, and pliable, pairing will make a better\nwattling than randing. If not for immediate use, the gabion must\nbe sewed as described for hurdles, the same quantity of wire being\nrequired.\n\nThe gabion, when wattled and sewed, is completed by cutting off the\ntops of the pickets, 1 inch from the web, the bottom 3 inches. The\nlatter are sharpened after cutting and driving a pairing picket through\nthe middle of its length and a little to one side of the axis. Three\nmen should make a gabion in an hour.\n\nGabions may be made without the forms, but the work is slower and not\nso good. The circle is struck on the ground and the pickets driven\nat the proper points. The weaving is done from the ground up. The\nentire time of one man is required to keep the pickets in their proper\npositions.\n\nIf brush is scarce, gabions may be made with 6 inches of wattling at\neach end, the middle being left open. In filling, the open parts may be\nlined with straw, grass, brush, or grain sacks to keep the earth from\nrunning out.\n\n_Gabion Revetment._--The use of gabions in revetment is illustrated in\nPlate 37. If more than two tiers are used, the separating fascines\nshould be anchored back. Gabion revetment should be crowned with sod or\nsandbag.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 37.--Methods of use of gabion.]\n\nThe advantages of gabion revetment are very great. It can be put in\nplace without extra labor, faster and with less exposure than any\nother. It is self-supporting and gives cover from view and partial\ncover from fire quicker than any other form. Several forms of gabions\nmade of material other than brush have been used. Some of them are\nsheet iron, empty barrels and hoops. The disadvantages of iron are that\nit splinters badly, is heavy, and has not given satisfaction. If any\nspecial materials are supplied, the methods of using them will, in view\nof the foregoing explanation, be obvious.\n\n_Timber or Pole Revetment._--Poles too large for use in any other way\nmay be cut to length and stood on end to form a revetment. The lower\nend should be in a small trench and have a waling piece in front of\nthem. There must also be a waling piece or cap at or near the top,\nanchored back. Plate 38 shows this form.\n\n_Miscellaneous Revetments._--Any receptacles for earth which will make\na staple, compact pile, such as boxes, baskets, cans, etc., may be used\nfor a revetment. Canvas or burlap stretched behind pickets is being\nused to a great extent on the battle fronts of Europe. If the soil will\nmake adobe, an excellent revetment may be made of them, but it will not\nstand wet weather.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 38.--Timber revetment.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nWORKING PARTIES\n\n\nThe infantryman will always be called upon to construct the trench\nwhich he is to occupy. Each company is provided with portable tools,\nwhich the men carry, and each infantry regiment is provided with tools\nfor the purpose. The digging tools consist of picks and shovels.\n\nWhen it has been decided to locate fire trenches along a certain\nline officers will lay out the cutting lines and mark them with tape\nor otherwise. A company will be assigned for the construction of a\ndefinite section of the trench.\n\nLet us work out the procedure, assuming that the work may go on\nunmolested by the enemy. Such, however, is not usually the case. The\nenemy will do anything in his power to prevent construction work. If,\nhowever, we are familiar with the details of the work and know how\nto go about it in an orderly and systematic manner under conditions\nof noninterference by the enemy, we will be able to carry out these\ndetails of organization and procedure under more or less trying\nconditions when the time comes.\n\nOfficers have established the trace of the trench and marked the\ncutting lines. It is the ordinary traversed type, 18 feet bays with\ntraverses 5 feet wide and 5 feet deep, as shown in Plate 14.\n\nThe company is composed of, say, twelve squads organized into three\nplatoons of four squads each. Six bays of the trench have been assigned\nto the organization for construction. This gives a task to each platoon\nof two bays, including one complete traverse and a half traverse on\neach flank.\n\nTools have been issued to the first and third squads of each platoon,\nthe front rank men carrying picks and the rear rank men shovels.\n\nThe company is marched in column of squads to the site of the trench,\napproaching it from the rear, and halted with the head of the column\nfifteen paces in rear of and opposite the right of the section\nassigned; that is, in rear of the first bay of the section. The second\nplatoon is then conducted by the platoon commander and halted with\nits head opposite the third bay. The third platoon is in like manner\nconducted to the rear of the fifth bay. Each platoon commander then has\nthe two rear squads of his platoon, conducted to a point behind the\nbay on his left, _i.e._, the second, fourth and sixth respectively.\nThis allows two squads for the work in each bay, the leading squad\nfurnishing the first relief and the rear squad the second.\n\nThe leading squad of each column is then marched to a point two paces\nin rear of the rear cutting line of the trench, where they take off\ntheir packs and lay their rifles on them. The corporal and his rear\nrank man fall out. The corporal assigns tasks, number ones to the first\n2-yard section, number twos to the second and number threes the third.\n\nThe tasks are shown in Plate 39. The corporal superintends the work.\nNumber 4 rear rank marks out the cutting lines with his shovel around\nthe traverses and starts work on them.\n\nExperience has shown that the best method of dividing up the work is to\ngroup the men in pairs, one man with a pick and one with a shovel and\nto prescribe that they relieve each other.\n\n[Illustration: _PLATE 39._\n_ORGANIZATION OF A WORKING PARTY_]\n\nThe leading squads assigned to each bay work at top speed for 30\nminutes. At the end of the twenty-eighth minute the corporal of the\nrear squad brings his men up and deploys them. At a signal from the\nplatoon commander the men of the first and third squads drop their\ntools, get out of the trench, and proceed to the rear, where they rest.\nThe men of the second and fourth squads jump into the trench and take\nup the task. At the end of another 30 minutes this procedure is again\ncarried out.\n\nThis scheme of assigning tasks and procedure was given an exhaustive\ntest in 1915 in the course of testing out various types of intrenching\ntools. It worked to perfection.\n\nThe bays are first completed, after which the traverses begun by No.\n4 rear rank are finished up. Great care should be taken to make the\ndimensions of the trench as accurate as possible. The squad leader is\nheld responsible for this. He should provide himself with two sticks.\nOn one the following lengths are laid off: 1 foot, width of berms, and\nheight of parapet; 1 foot 4 inches, width of firing banquet, height of\nfiring banquet above bottom of trench, and width of bottom of trench.\nThe other stick has the following lengths measured on it: 4 feet,\ndepth of trench from ground surface to the top of firing banquet; 5\nfeet 4 inches, depth of trench from ground surface to bottom of trench.\n(See Plate 15 for dimensions of standing trench.)\n\nWhen the circumstances are such that the work of trench construction\nis interfered with by the enemy, a modification of the system outlined\nhere will have to be made, but the details should be adhered to as\nclosely as possible.\n\nWhen night work is necessary the trace should be staked out before\ncomplete darkness sets in. If the trace can only be made after dark,\nvisible reference points needed with white paper, white tape or\nscreened flashlights may be utilized. Stick to the details of the\ndeployment, the laying out of tasks and the procedure as indicated for\nday work as closely as possible. Avoid making any more noise than is\nabsolutely necessary; allow no smoking and require such conversation as\nis necessary to be made in whispers. Protect the workers by a system of\npatrols to the front.\n\nNon-commissioned officers are held responsible for a systematic and\norderly execution of the work being performed by their units. The\ncaptain cannot be everywhere along the line. He has to depend upon the\nplatoon and squad leaders in the work. That is why you should study it\nand know about it so as to be able to make good when the time comes.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nGRENADE WARFARE\n\n\nThe use of hand grenades as an implement of warfare dates back many\ncenturies. History records their use as far back as 1536. Up to the\nclose of the eighteenth century soldiers were trained in the throwing\nof hand grenades, and for this reason were called \"grenadiers.\" At\nfirst there were a few in each regiment, later entire companies\nwere formed, and finally each infantry unit that corresponds to our\nbattalion of today had its own grenadier unit.\n\nThen there was a period of time when more open formations were adopted,\nwhen there was less opportunity for the employment of grenades and\ntheir use was practically eliminated from the battlefield and confined\nto sieges, where they have been used more or less since the dawn of\nmilitary history.\n\nWith the advent of the Russo-Japanese War came the extensive use of\ntrenches on the battlefield, and with the trenches came the hand\ngrenades which were used in large quantities by both sides. This was\nespecially the case when the fighting lines came to close quarters and\nin the assaults against the forts at Port Arthur.\n\nWhen the European war resolved itself into trench warfare, such as it\nis today, the use of hand-thrown projectiles assumed an importance\nheretofore never attained, and today we find ourselves employing hand\ngrenades in every phase of the conflict.\n\n\nEMPLOYMENT OF GRENADIERS\n\nGrenadiers are employed on both the offensive and defensive. They\naccompany the attacking lines in the advance on the enemy's position,\nthey clear the fire trenches and communication trenches after parts\nof the enemy's lines have been taken, and on the defense they assist\nthe riflemen in repelling attack and engage the enemy whenever he has\nobtained a lodgment in the trenches.\n\n\nORGANIZATION\n\nWhile every infantryman receives a certain amount of instruction in\ngrenade throwing, there should be a grenadier squad in each platoon\nspecially instructed and trained in this most effective auxiliary\nmethod of trench warfare. Not all men possess the temperament and\nqualifications necessary to make efficient grenadiers. Hence the\npersonnel of the grenadier squad should be carefully selected. Strong\nphysique, personal courage and steadiness in emergencies are the\nqualifications that count. Men fond of outdoor sports, other things\nbeing equal, will be found the best.\n\n[Illustration: FIRST POSITION\n _Method of clearing Fire Trenches by Grenadier Squads_\n_PLATE 40._]\n\n[Illustration: SECOND POSITION]\n\nThe grenadier squad is organized as follows:\n\n_Front Rank._\n\n No. 1. First bayonet man.\n No. 2. Second bayonet man.\n No. 3. Grenade thrower.\n No. 4. Squad leader, observer and director.\n\n_Rear Rank._\n\n No. 1. First carrier.\n No. 2. Second carrier.\n No. 3. Barricader.\n No. 4. Barricader.\n\n\nDUTIES\n\nThe duties of the several members of the squad vary under different\ncircumstances of their tactical employment which will be fully\nexplained below. In general they are as follows:\n\n_Bayonet Men._--The bayonet men move in advance of the grenade\nthrowers. When the grenade thrower has thrown his grenades into\nthe objective trench the bayonet men must be ready to take instant\nadvantage of the temporary demoralization of the enemy caused by the\nexplosions and clear the way for a repetition of the operation.\n\n_Grenade Thrower._--The grenade thrower must be ready and able to throw\na grenade at once whenever the bayonet men or squad leader may direct.\n\n_Squad Leader._--The squad leader directs the operations of the squad.\nHe goes wherever his presence is necessary. He keeps a close watch to\nthe flanks. He replaces casualties and attends to the forwarding of\ngrenades to the thrower. He acts as a grenade thrower whenever he can\nassist the operations in that capacity.\n\n_Carriers._--The carriers carry as many grenades as possible, and when\ntheir supply is exhausted they go to the reserve depots and replenish.\nThey are responsible for a continuous supply of grenades to the\nthrowers.\n\n_Barricaders._--The barricaders are charged with the construction of\nbarricades. They carry sandbags and tools for filling them. In\naddition they carry as many grenades as possible. They hold themselves\nin readiness to go forward and construct a barricade or cover at any\npoint designated by the squad leader.\n\n[Illustration: PLATE 41\n_Combat in a Communicating Trench_]\n\n_General._--All the men of the squad must be trained and prepared\nto take over the duties of any other member. Before undertaking any\noperation each man of the squad should thoroughly understand the part\nhe is to play in it.\n\n_Formation._--The formation for the several classes of tactical\nemployment will be explained when each is considered below.\n\n\nOFFENSIVE OPERATIONS\n\nWhen it has been decided to attack a certain sector of the enemy's\nposition a detailed reconnaissance is made with a view to locating and\ndeveloping every element of the position, detailed plans are made and\nimparted to all concerned. (See Chapter XI.)\n\nThe phases of the attack consist of: (1) The artillery preparation;\n(2) the infantry assault; (3) the occupation and organization of the\ncaptured position, and preparation to meet a counter attack.\n\nDuring the course of the artillery preparation grenadier squads work\ntheir way across \"no man's land\" and establish themselves sufficiently\nclose to throw grenades into the fire trenches. Failing in this they\naccompany the assaulting troops.\n\nWhen they are able to work up close they cover the advance of the\ninfantry assaulting lines by showering grenades into the enemy's fire\ntrenches after the curtain of artillery fire has been extended back\ninto his position to prevent the supports and reserves from coming up\nto the front.\n\nAll men of the squad carry as many grenades as possible and such number\nas the squad leader may designate act as throwers, while the others act\nas carriers and prepare the grenades for throwing. Accurate throwing,\nproperly observed and distributed, will greatly assist in preparing for\na successful assault.\n\n\nCLEARING FIRE TRENCHES\n\nNo matter how well the infantry assault on the enemy's fire trenches\nmay be conducted, it rarely succeeds in occupying the hostile\nposition throughout its entire length. Casualties, loss of direction,\nand unexpected obstacles encountered are bound to break up the\nassaulting line more or less, thereby leaving gaps in the captured\nposition. Furthermore the attack on a line of trenches takes place on\na relatively small front by a large number of men. When the trenches\nare finally reached and a lodgment effected there will be great\novercrowding. Provision must be made immediately for extending the\nline, otherwise the casualties at these points will be exceedingly\nheavy.\n\nIt is the particular duty of the grenadier squads to clear these \"gaps\"\nof the enemy as quickly as possible. For this purpose an efficient and\nwell-organized storming party must be immediately available.\n\nLet us say that, after careful artillery preparation, the assault has\nreached the enemy's fire trench. There is much overcrowding at the\npoints where lodgments have been effected. There is a gap in the line\nbetween two adjacent elements. How is this cleared of the enemy?\n\nThe grenadier squad immediately forms for action. Two bayonet men are\nin the lead, followed by the grenade thrower, who is in turn followed\nby the two carriers. Further to the rear are the two barricaders, who\ncarry a reserve supply of grenades in addition to their sandbags and\nshovels. The squad leader is where he can best direct the operations.\n\nThe grenadier squad is formed as shown in the _first position_, Plate\n40.\n\n1. The grenade thrower puts grenades: (1) into bay 1, at _A_; (2) into\nbay 2, at _D_; (3) into bay 1, at _B_; (4) into the traverse leg at _C_.\n\n2. When the four grenades have exploded the bayonet men rush into bay\n1, the leader advancing into the first leg of the traverse trench below\n_B_, while his mate remains in the bay for a moment.\n\n3. The squad leader rushes around the traverse to _A_, followed by the\ngrenade thrower.\n\n4. When the bay and the next traverse passages are all cleared of the\nenemy the word \"O.K.\" is passed back to the squad leader by the bayonet\nmen. The bayonet men get into their proper positions and the remainder\nof the squad rush into the cleared bay 1 and prepare for the further\nclearing of succeeding bays in the same manner as described above.\n\nTake the diagram on Plate 40. Study it out in connection with the text\nand you will see how this system works out.\n\nThe men work in pairs, the two bayonet men together; the two carriers\nbehind the thrower; the two barricaders sufficiently far to the rear\nto be protected by a corner of solid earth. The squad leader must of\nnecessity go where his presence is necessary. Usually he stays as near\nthe grenade thrower as possible.\n\nWhen the enemy's grenadier parties are also very active in the sector,\nthe distances between pairs are extended so that no more than two men\nare exposed in any one bay or traverse leg.\n\nThe formation of the squad must be preserved as long as possible. You\nwill appreciate that when losses occur the squad leader will have to\nreplace men and the formation will have to be modified to meet the\nchanged conditions. This makes it absolutely necessary that every\nmember of the squad be competent to take over the duties of any other\nmember.\n\nWhen the squad has reached the limit of its advance the barricaders\nwill come forward and construct a barricade in such position that it\nis well in view from a corner some distance behind.\n\nNo passing of bombs forward from man to man is permitted. When the\nfirst carrier's supply is exhausted he returns to the rear to secure a\nfresh supply from the reserve grenade carriers who are following the\ngrenade squad, and who have by now advanced to a point where their\nsupply is available. As soon as his supply is replenished he returns to\nhis proper position in the formation. Should the second carrier run out\nof grenades the squad leader may cause one of the barricaders to take\nall the grenades in the possession of the two and replace him while he\ngoes to the rear to secure a fresh supply.\n\nIn the meantime other grenadier squads are clearing out the\ncommunication and supervision trenches, blocking up the exits to\ndugouts and destroying machine-gun detachments that have thus far\nescaped. The assaulting troops have passed on towards the second line,\ncovered by the curtain of fire of the artillery.\n\n\nCLEARING COMMUNICATION TRENCHES\n\nThe clearing of communication trenches is effected much in the same\nmanner as explained for the fire trench. The grenadier squad is\norganized and formed in the same manner. The squad works its way into\nthe communication trench by bombing each leg until they arrive at a\npoint where the formation, as illustrated in Plate 41, can be assumed.\nThe grenade thrower throws grenades into the trench at _B_ and then at\n_C_. As soon as these have exploded the bayonet men take advantage of\nthe confusion to advance into the leg _A-B_ under cover of the shoulder\n_b_, the squad leader and thrower advance to _A_, the carriers to the\npoint formerly occupied by the squad leader, and the barricaders to the\npoint formerly occupied by the carriers. The thrower then puts grenades\ninto the trench at C and then at D, after which the whole squad\nadvances another notch as formerly explained.\n\nWhere island traverses are encountered the thrower puts a grenade on\neach side of the traverse and one in the rear of it. The bayonet men,\none on a side, assault around the traverse and meet on the far side,\nand the operation proceeds as heretofore explained.\n\n\nNIGHT OPERATIONS\n\nThe grenadier squads may be called upon at night, to perform any of the\nservices that are theirs by day, and in addition may be called upon\nto make night reconnaissances. For this work the men must be able to\norganize and reorganize the squad quickly and noiselessly. The throwers\nmust be particularly efficient. There must be the highest order of team\nwork.\n\n\nGRENADIER PATROLS\n\nGrenadier patrols are sent out at night to make reconnaissances of the\nenemy's lines with a view to getting information which may include:\n\n1. Location and organization of line.\n\n2. The length of line occupied.\n\n3. Numbers and disposition of occupying troops.\n\n4. To get an accurate description of the ground.\n\n5. To locate observation and listening posts or any other advanced\npositions.\n\n6. To locate machine guns.\n\nThese patrols may consist of from two men to the entire grenadier\nsquad. In a patrol of six or eight men two of them carry rifles and\nbelts, bayonets fixed. The remaining members of the patrol carry no\nequipment except a haversack filled with grenades. The grenades are\nused only in case of emergency. It is a reconnoitering patrol charged\nwith gaining information and therefore does not enter into an encounter\nwith the enemy except as a last resort.\n\nThe men move or crawl without noise and take advantage of all cover\nthat the ground affords. If they suspect they are observed, they should\n\"freeze\" to the ground and remain absolutely motionless. On dark\nnights it is easy to lose the direction and for the men to lose one\nanother. Every device or scheme to lessen risks in this respect must\nbe employed. The men may tie themselves lightly together so they will\nnot proceed in a bunch and at the same time retain connection with each\nother.\n\n\nNOTES ON GRENADE WARFARE\n\nThe first step in the training of a grenadier is to overcome his\nfear of the grenade itself. This is accomplished by first having him\npractice fuse lighting with dummy grenades having live fuses. The\nmen will be impressed with the fact that the grenades are dangerous\nweapons and that familiarity in handling them must not be permitted to\ndegenerate into carelessness.\n\nThe next step towards efficiency is the development of accuracy of\nthrowing. For short distances it may be lobbed from the shoulder by\na motion similar to \"putting the shot.\" Stick grenades may be thrown\nfor a short distance like throwing a dart. In the trenches the grenade\nshould be thrown with an overhand motion like the bowler of a cricket\nball, as there is danger of exploding them by knocking the hand against\nthe back of the trench.\n\nThe men should be taught to throw from all positions--standing,\nsitting, kneeling and prone.\n\nShould the grenade with a time fuse be dropped in the act of throwing,\nthere is time to pick it up and throw it out of the trench before it\nexplodes. Under no circumstances must it be allowed to explode in the\ntrench.\n\nCommunication throughout the squad in action should be maintained at\nall times. System is required to insure the throwers having a supply\nof grenades on hand all the time and that casualties are promptly\nreplaced.\n\nQuick action is essential to success. Crawling and stalking give the\nenemy what he is waiting for.\n\nArrangements to assist a storming party by rifle and machine-gun fire\nare of the utmost value and should be provided whenever possible. Care\nmust be taken to provide a signal which will mark the progress of the\nstorming party through the trenches. A helmet held up on a bayonet will\ndo this.\n\nAll grenadiers must be especially trained in the filling of sandbags\nand making sandbag barricades.\n\nThe work of the observer is difficult and requires much practice. He\nmust give his directions to the thrower in no uncertain terms. When\nthe thrower has missed his objective the observer will give positive\ndirections for the next throw. Instead of saying \"A yard too much\nto the left,\" he will say, \"Throw a yard to the right.\" Positive\ndirections, even if only half heard, are of some use; negative\ndirections are certain to be both confused and confusing. The observer\nshould be expert in the use of the periscope.\n\n\nHAND GRENADES AND PETARDS\n\nThe hand grenade used by our allies on the western front is the\nbracelet grenade with automatic firing mechanism and consists of a ball\nof cast iron filled with an explosive and of a leather bracelet which\nis fastened to the wrist. To the bracelet is attached a piece of rope\nabout 30 centimeters long, having an iron hook at its end.\n\nJust before the grenade is thrown, the hook is engaged in the ring\nof the roughened wire of the friction primer placed inside the fuse\nplug which closes the cast iron ball. When the grenade is thrown, the\nring with the primer wire, held back by the hook of the bracelet, is\nwrenched off by a sudden movement of withdrawal from the wrist and the\nfuse is fired. The explosion takes place four or five seconds later.\n\nThis grenade is supplied to the fighting zone ready for use. It is\nquite complicated. It can be thrown about 25 meters.\n\nThe German grenade is composite; it can be thrown by hand or fired\nfrom a rifle. As a hand missile, it is used at short distances, 15 to\n20 meters. It is composed of a copper rod to the extremity of which is\nfixed a cast iron cylinder, grooved to facilitate its breaking into\nsmall pieces at the moment of explosion. The explosive is placed inside\nthis cylinder. A copper tube, also containing some explosive, is placed\nin the interior. It is surmounted by a complicated system for closing\nthe grenade and for automatic ignition by percussion, which results in\nat least 50 per cent. of misfires.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 41b.--British hand grenade No. 1.]\n\nUsed with the rifle, this grenade has a maximum range of 400 meters.\nAt the extremity opposite the grenade, the copper rod ends in a copper\nstem about 3 centimeters in length, movable about the axis of the\nrod. This stem is covered with a copper sleeve of slight thickness,\nwhich is attached to it only at the extremity fastened to the rod.\nThe diameter of the exterior of the sleeve must be such that it can\nbe pushed into the gun barrel without pressure. To fire the grenade,\na blank cartridge is placed in the chamber of the rifle; the quantity\nof powder left in the cartridge is regulated according to the distance\nat which the missile is to be thrown. At the moment of firing, the\nexplosive gases penetrate between the sleeve and the stem and jam the\nsleeve against the grooves of the barrel. The sleeve and the stem,\nwhich is attached to it, take a movement of rotation in the grooves of\nthe barrel, which insures the direction of the missile and the maximum\nefficiency of the explosive gases of the cartridge.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 41c.--The latest type British hand grenade.]\n\nThe bracelet grenade and the German grenade just described have to\nbe made in a factory. Attempts have been made to construct similar\nmissiles with the explosives which are at hand at the front, cheddite\nand melinite. Several kinds have been made: a primed cartridge and a\nprimed hand petard, fitted on a wooden paddle, a preserved meat tin\ncan filled with explosive, etc.\n\nThe Germans have hand petards similar to those of the Allies but with\ndifferent explosives. These missiles are primed by a detonator and a\nslow match and can be thrown about 30 meters. The discharge takes place\neither automatically or by tinder. They are made on the spot and very\nrapidly. The assaulting troops carry them in baskets or strung on a\ncircle of wire carried on the shoulder.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 41d.--Throwing hand grenades.]\n\nGrenades and petards constitute a terrible weapon. The projectiles\nexert considerable moral effect owing to the violence of their\nexplosion and the awful wounds they occasion, and they make it possible\nto reach the enemy at points where it is impossible to use the rifle\nand bayonet.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nGAS WARFARE\n\n\nGermany first made use of poisonous and asphyxiating gases on the\nfield of battle. It has become an accepted element in the present war.\nEvery soldier should, therefore, have a knowledge of the various ways\nin which gas is employed in the attack, as well as the measures to be\ntaken to counteract its effect in the defense.\n\nThe two methods of disseminating the gas over the battlefield are by\nemanation and grenades charged with it.\n\n\nEMANATION\n\nThis method has for its object to create a poisonous or irritant\natmosphere. This is accomplished by means of the arsenic and\nphosphorous gas being forced through tubes in the direction of the\nenemy or by means of liquefied chlorine, bromide, phosgene and\nsulphuretted hydrogen gas stored in cylinders under high pressure.\nTo be successful the gas attack must be attended by the following\nconditions:\n\n1. The weather must be comparatively calm with a wind blowing in the\ndirection of the enemy at about 5 miles an hour. If the wind is too\nstrong the gas will be carried over the enemy's trenches so rapidly\nthat it will not settle in them. If the wind be too light the gas will\nbe carried up into the air and disseminate or may even be blown back\ninto our own trenches, in which case chloride of lime scattered about\nfreely will disperse them.\n\n2. There must be no rain, for that would quickly disseminate the gas\nand negative the effect.\n\n3. The attack must come as a surprise. If the elements of surprise are\nmissing and the enemy has time to take protective measures, the effect\nis lost. If the surprise is complete, the enemy trenches should be\nemptied very quickly.\n\n4. The gas used must be heavier than the air, so that it will sift into\nthe enemy's trenches as it passes them. It is impracticable to decide\nupon any definite hour for launching the gas attack. Everything depends\nupon the direction and velocity of the wind. If an hour has been\ntentatively designated and the wind changes, the attack will have to be\npostponed.\n\nWhen an assault follows the gas attack the men should wear the smoke\nhelmets for at least 30 minutes after the dissemination has ceased; in\nfact they must not be removed until the order to do so is given by the\nofficer commanding the attack. You will appreciate that the enemy's\nmachine gunners may have better protection than the men in the bays of\nthe trenches.\n\n\nSHELL AND GRENADE METHOD\n\nIn this method the gas dissemination is effected by means of shells\nor bombs being fired into the enemy's trenches containing the desired\nsubstances which are released and give off irritant fumes on explosion.\nThe grenades used weigh about 1 pound. They are similar in appearance\nto the ordinary tin can grenade. Their effect in a trench will\ncontinue for 20 to 30 minutes. In the attack a large number should be\nconcentrated in a particular area to produce a large volume of gas.\nThey are thrown by hand, trench mortar or catapult.\n\n\nDEFENSE\n\nSurprise must be guarded against in every possible way. The direction\nof the wind must be continually watched, and when its velocity and\ndirection are specially favorable the protective measures must be\nkept ready for instant use and special observers posted. Previous to\nan attack the enemy may remain comparatively quiet for several days.\nNoises like the moving of sheet iron may be heard. Preparations may be\nobserved along the position. When the attack starts a hissing noise is\nheard; this latter is one of the indications that may be evident at\nnight.\n\n\nHELMETS\n\nEach man on duty in the trenches is provided with two smoke helmets,\nspecially devised and constructed so as to absorb the gas and\nneutralize its effect, and which if properly cared for and used will\nprovide complete protection from any substance likely to be used by the\nenemy. They are fitted with a valve tube through which to breathe and\nwith goggles to see through. There are certain rules prescribed for\ntheir care and use.\n\n1. They must not be removed from the protective covering except for\nactual use against an attack.\n\n2. When the helmet has been used once it should be replaced by a new\none.\n\n\nDUMMY HELMETS\n\nDummy gas helmets will be provided in each organization by which the\nmen may be practiced in putting them on. The men must be thoroughly\ndrilled in the methods to be employed.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 40a.--Gas helmet.]\n\nThe following directions accompany the helmets issued to the\nBritish Army. When our helmets are issued it is probable that each\nwill be accompanied by a complete set of rules for its use and full\ninstructions for the method of getting into it and for its care and\npreservation.\n\n\nDIRECTION FOR USE AND CARE OF TUBE HELMETS\n\n\nDESCRIPTION\n\nThese helmets are the same as the smoke helmet already issued, except\nthat stronger chemicals are added and a tube valve provided through\nwhich to breathe out. The tube valve makes the helmet cooler and saves\nchemicals from being affected by the breath. The wearer cannot breathe\n_in_ through the tube valve; this is intended for breathing _out_ only.\n\n\nDIRECTIONS FOR USE\n\nRemove paper cap from mouthpiece of tube valve. Remove service cap.\nPull helmet over head. Adjust so that goggles are over eyes. Tuck in\nskirt of helmet under coat collar and button coat so as to close in\nskirt of helmet. Hold the tube lightly in lips or teeth like stem of\npipe, so as to be able to breathe in past it and out through it.\n\n_Breathe in through mouth and nose, using the air inside the helmet.\nBreathe out through tube only._\n\n\nDIRECTIONS FOR CARE OF TUBE HELMET\n\n1. Do not remove the helmet from its waterproof case except to use for\nprotection against gas.\n\n2. Never use your tube helmet for practice or drill. Special helmets\nare kept in each company for instruction only.\n\nShould the goggles become misty during use they can be cleared by\nrubbing them gently against the forehead.\n\nWhen lacrimatory gases are used goggles affording mechanical protection\nmay be worn, as these gases are not likely to irritate the lungs,\nthough they sometimes produce sickness.\n\n\nIMPROVISED METHODS\n\nIf a soldier does not possess one of the official pattern respirators,\nthe following measures will be found useful:\n\n1. Wet and wring out any woolen article, such as a stocking or muffler,\nso as to form a thick pad large enough to cover the nose and mouth,\nand press firmly over both.\n\n2. Place in a scarf, stocking or handkerchief, a pad of about three\nhandfuls of earth, preferably damp, and tie it firmly over the mouth\nand nose.\n\n3. A wet cloth pulled down over the eyes will be found useful as\nadditional protection, especially against certain gases other than\nchlorine or when the gas is too strong for the ordinary respirator.\n\n4. A stocking, wetted with water and soda solution or tea, folded into\neight folds and firmly held or tied over the nose.\n\n5. A sock folded fourfold similarly wetted and held or tied. If the\nsock or comforter has been soaked in soda solution it will still act\nefficiently when dry, though if possible, it should be moist. The spare\ntapes from puttees may be used for tying on the sock.\n\n6. Any loose fabric, such as a sock, sandbag, woolen scarf or\ncomforter, soaked in urine, then wrung out to allow of free breathing\nand tied tightly over the nose and mouth.\n\nIn the absence of any other cloths, the flannel waistbands issued for\nwinter use could be used for this purpose.\n\n\nKNAPSACK SPRAYERS\n\nKnapsack sprayers are issued for use to clear gases out of the trenches\nafter the cloud has blown over. A man with the sprayer on his back (and\nwearing his smoke helmet) slowly traverses the trench, working the\nspray. If this is not done the heavy poisonous gas may linger in the\ntrench for days and be a source of great danger.\n\nIf supports or reinforcements enter a trench charged with gas, they\nshould be preceded by a man using a sprayer.\n\nSprayers are charged with sodium thiosulphate--more commonly known as\n\"hypo\"--6 pounds being dissolved in a bucket of water and a handful of\nordinary washing soda added.\n\nGarden syringes and buckets may be used if sprayers are not available,\nbut these are not so effective. Sprayers should be charged before they\nare taken up to the trenches, and should be kept ready for immediate\nuse.\n\nEvery officer defending a trench against an enemy gas attack should\nendeavor to collect information whenever possible, to be sent to\nheadquarters through the usual channels. Particularly valuable is the\ncapture of apparatus used by the enemy either for disseminating gas or\nfor protection against it. If a shell attack is made, unexploded shells\nor portions of them should be sent through to headquarters at once. The\ntime of day, duration of attack, color, taste or smell of gas used,\neffect on the eyes, breathing, and all other symptoms should be noted.\nNew gases may be used at any time, and speedy information greatly\nforwards the adoption of preventive measures.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nSERVICE IN THE TRENCHES\n\n\nPREPARATIONS FOR ENTERING TRENCHES\n\nPreparing to enter upon a period of service in the trenches the company\ncommander makes a complete inspection of the company which includes:\n\n1. Inspection of rifles and ammunition.\n\n2. Inspection of equipment, contents of packs, intrenching tools,\nfield glasses, wire cutters, first-aid packets, emergency rations, gas\nhelmets, identification tags, canteens, clothing, etc.\n\n3. Canteens to be filled with water.\n\n4. Test bayonets, fix and unfix.\n\n5. Have company fill magazines.\n\n\nINSPECTION OF SECTION\n\nThe company commander precedes the company into the trenches and makes\na tour and inspection of the section assigned, which includes:\n\n1. Layout of the trenches: fire trench, supervision trench,\ncommunication trenches, machine-gun positions, snipers' positions,\nlistening and observation trenches, dugouts, latrines, etc.\n\n2. Locate telephones, reserve ammunition and munitions depots, water\nsupply, gas alarms, tools and any trench accessories and utilities that\nmay be included in the section.\n\n3. Get any information of the enemy that may be of value from the\noutgoing company commander.\n\n\nTACTICAL DISPOSITION\n\nThe company commander will then make his tactical dispositions. In\noccupying the trenches a certain section of the line is assigned to\neach company. This section contains so many bays of the trench. The\nfollowing dispositions are suggested as meeting the requirements under\nour organization:\n\n1. The company is organized into four platoons of four squads each.\n\n2. The section of the line assigned to the company contains eight bays.\n\n3. Support No. 1 consists of the first and second platoons.\n\n4. Support No. 2 consists of the third and fourth platoons.\n\n5. From Support No. 1: Two squads of the first platoon occupy bays 1\nand 2; two squads of the second platoon occupy bays 3 and 4.\n\n[Illustration: PLATE 41_a_.\nTACTICAL DISPOSITIONS ONE COMPANY OF INFANTRY.]\n\n6. From Support No. 2: Two squads of the third platoon occupy bays 5\nand 6; two squads of the fourth platoon occupy bays 7 and 8.\n\n7. Each squad establishes a double sentinel post in the bay assigned to\nit and the remaining members go into the squad shelters just in rear\nof the bays. This gives three reliefs for a double sentinel post and\nallows one extra man to be utilized as \"runner,\" etc.\n\n8. The remainder of the company is established in the company dugouts.\n\n9. Depending upon the length of the tours of duty of the company in\nthe first line trenches, the squads are changed according to a system\nthat will have to be varied to suit the occasion, the squads in support\ntaking their place in the fire trench and those in the fire trench\nreturning to the support.\n\n\nGOING INTO THE TRENCHES\n\nPlatoons enter by not more than two squads at one time, thus minimizing\nthe danger from shell fire. The platoon commander will explain to his\nsquad leaders the extent of trench to be taken over and the action to\nbe taken in case they are caught under shell fire or rapid fire while\ngoing up to the trenches. A second in command in each squad will be\ndesignated, so that if casualties occur among the squad leaders the\nrelief will proceed as previously arranged.\n\nThe operation will proceed in silence. Rifles must be carried so that\nthey do not show over the parapet. On reaching the fire trench the men\nof the first relief are posted to relieve the old detail and each man\nfinds out any points that may be useful from his predecessor on that\npost.\n\n\nINFORMATION TO BE OBTAINED\n\nThe platoon commander confers with the commander of the outgoing party\nand secures all the information possible about the position which\nincludes:\n\n1. Behavior of enemy during period preceding relief, and any point in\ntheir line requiring special information, _e.g._, enemy may have cut\nwire as though preparing to attack.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 42.]\n\n2. Machine-gun emplacement may be suspected at some particular point.\n\n3. Anything ascertained by patrols about ground between firing lines,\nthus avoiding unnnecessary reconnaissance.\n\n4. Any standing arrangements for patrols at night, including point at\nwhich wire can best be passed, ground to be patrolled, or place where\nthey can lie under cover.\n\n5. Any parts of trench from which it is not safe to fire. Such\npositions are apt to occur in winding trenches, and are not always\nrecognizable in the dark.\n\n6. Special features of trench, recent improvements, work not completed,\ndangerous points (on which machine guns are trained at night), useful\nloopholes for observation.\n\n7. Places from which food and water can be safely obtained.\n\n8. Amount of ammunition, number of picks, shovels and empty sandbags in\nthat section of the line.\n\nInformation on these points cannot always be given properly by word of\nmouth. _Written_ notes and plans should therefore be handed over to a\nplatoon commander taking over for the first time.\n\nEvery man is required to see that he has a good firing position for all\ndirections. Commanders must satisfy themselves that men have done this,\nand report. _The whole line \"Stands to Arms\" during the hour before\ndawn._\n\nAfter dark, unless the moon is bright, rifles should be left in firing\nposition on the parapet. All men not on sentry should keep rifles, with\nbayonets fixed, in the trench.\n\n\nROUTINE\n\n1. Double sentinel posts are established in each bay. They are on post\none hour at a time.\n\n2. When the enemy's trench-mortar detachments are active, special\nsentinels will be posted to give notice of coming bombs.\n\n3. Every man in the platoon is to know:\n\n(_a_) The location of the platoon reserve ammunition and munitions.\n\n(_b_) The location of latrines.\n\n(_c_) The topography of the trenches in the platoon section and the\nadjoining sections, including the approaches. The location of the\naccessory defenses, listening and observation posts, machine-gun\npositions, snipers' positions, trench-mortar positions, etc.\n\n(_d_) The tactical disposition in the sector and the general\ndisposition of the company.\n\n(_e_) The location of loopholes.\n\n(_f_) The places of especial danger in order that he may stay away from\nthem.\n\n4. Rifles are inspected twice daily. Every precaution is taken to keep\nthe rifle and ammunition free from mud.\n\n5. There is a gas helmet parade daily.\n\n6. Accurate sketches are made of the trench and any addition or\nalteration entered on them.\n\n7. Loopholes are inspected at dusk.\n\n8. Wire entanglements are inspected and repaired under cover of\ndarkness.\n\n9. A log of events hour by hour should be kept which shows every\nitem of enemy activity and the measures taken during the tour in the\ntrenches. This will be a valuable reference when turning the trench\nover and will make a record of the habits of the enemy that may be most\nvaluable as a guide for making plans to circumvent him.\n\n10. The police and sanitation of the trenches will be carefully looked\nafter.\n\n11. Platoon commanders may divide the tour of supervision of the\nplatoon sector with the squad leaders.\n\n12. The whole company stands to arms during the hour before dawn.\n\n\nOBSERVATION\n\n[Illustration: Plate 43.]\n\nObservation of the enemy's line should be continuous. The observation\nand firing system will be arranged so that all parts of the enemy's\nline will be under observation and fire at all times.\n\nPlate 42 shows the arrangement in general. The appliances for carrying\nit out are shown in Plates 43, 44 and 45.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 44.--Observation loophole and rifle firing rack.]\n\nThe observation is conducted through a small loophole made by a stick\nthrough the parapet or an iron tube run through and directed toward\nthe point to be observed. To conceal the exit a few tufts of earth and\ngrass are placed there in an irregular manner. Steel loopholes may also\nbe employed for observation and firing purposes. They may be arranged\na yard or two apart, so that one man observing through one can direct\nhis mate using the rifle at the other so that he may bring fire to bear\nupon any member of the enemy's force that exposes himself at the point\nunder observation.\n\nThe loopholes, both observation and firing, are arranged slantwise in\nthe parapet so that the observer does not look straight to his front\nnor does the firer fire in that direction.\n\nAn aiming rack constructed so as to resist the recoil of the rifle and\nnot derange its aim on firing may be arranged near the observation\nloophole. When the enemy exposes himself all that is necessary is a\npress on the trigger and the bullet goes straight to its mark. Such an\naiming rack may be easily constructed, as shown in Plate 44.\n\nObservation of the enemy trenches may also be effected by use of the\nperiscope or, in the absence of one of these, by a looking glass in a\nslanted position fastened to a stick planted at the rear wall of the\ntrench and protruding over the parapet, to reflect his trenches. (See\nPlate 45.)\n\n\nFIELD GLASSES\n\nThe enemy's trench usually appears completely deserted, but on\nobserving it through field glasses you are astonished by the details\nrevealed. You will see, from time to time, the eye of the enemy\nobserver who shows himself at the loophole, or any other activity\nthat it is capable of being observed from the outside. The observer\nwatching through the field glasses will soon become so familiar with\nthe appearance of the opposing trenches that he will be able to detect\nimmediately any alteration in the obstacles, or changes that may be\nmade, such as the establishment of new listening or observation posts,\nnew sap heads, machine-gun emplacements, etc.\n\nObservers are charged especially with detecting the location of\nmachine-gun emplacements. The examination should be so complete and\ndetailed as to prevent their existence without their location being\naccurately known.\n\nAny observations of enemy activities, of any nature whatever, are\nreported immediately so that they may be passed on to the commander\nwhose unit is manning the trenches directly opposite the same.\n\nLoopholes should be screened at the rear by a sandbag split and hung\nover them. They should be carefully concealed to prevent their location\nbeing discovered by the enemy. There must be no alteration in the\nparapet where they are located.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 45.--Looking-glass periscope.]\n\n[Illustration:\nPlate 45a.--Trench showing wire overhead cover and wire trapdoor\nobsctacle. Machacoulis gallery in background.]\n\n\nSNIPERS\n\nThe enemy's sojourn in the trenches should be made as disagreeable\nto him as possible. He must be kept continually on the alert. Our\noperations must be made a constant menace to him. It is in this way\nthat casualties are effected and he is gradually worn out. One of\nthe best methods of accomplishing all of the above is the employment\nof snipers, who are specially selected and trained in this branch of\ntrench warfare.\n\nThe snipers are on duty all day, but they have their nights in bed.\nThey conduct their operations in pairs and are given a definite post\nto occupy and in exceptional cases may be given a roving commission.\nThe advantage of having the same men regularly on the same post is that\nthey learn thoroughly the appearance of every square foot of the ground\nincluded in their area of observation and are able immediately to note\nany change that may take place. They soon learn where to look for the\nenemy and in fact learn the habits, etc., of the enemy occupying their\nsphere of observation.\n\nThe sniper must be an expert in:\n\n1. The construction of loopholes by day and by night.\n\n2. The use of telescopic sights, field glasses, periscopes and all\noptical contrivances designed for observation purposes.\n\n3. The selection of good positions for sniping.\n\n4. Judging distances and estimating or measuring ranges.\n\n5. Rifle firing. He should be an expert rifleman in order that full\nadvantage may be taken of the opportunities to inflict losses on the\nenemy.\n\n6. In trench warfare each pair of snipers will be required to report\neach evening to the company commander the result of their day's\noperations.\n\n\nWHAT TO FIRE AT\n\nWhen the enemy makes his attack you will generally fire at those who\nappear in the sector that has been allotted to you to cover. You may,\nhowever, abandon your target on your own initiative under the following\ncircumstances and fire:\n\n1. On officers and non-commissioned officers. These can be recognized\nby their gestures. They are generally in the center of groups and get\nup and start first. They should be disabled, as this is the surest way\nof breaking up the attack.\n\n2. At a group on the move. Fire should be concentrated on an advancing\ngroup. The time when the group is preparing to start its rush may be\nindicated by rifles being raised and the movements that take place\nalong the line. After a rush has started, look out for the late comers\ntrying to rejoin their comrades. They make good targets.\n\n3. When the enemy attempts to build up his line to the front by a\nprocess of infiltration, that is, by having single men crawl from one\npoint to the other, each man should be fired on during his advance.\n\n4. Fire will be immediately concentrated on any machine gun that comes\ninto action. With the German gun prolonged firing heats the water in\nthe jacket to the boiling point and puffs of steam are given off. Do\nnot be deceived into thinking that this necessarily gives away the\nposition of the gun, for this steam has been piped to a distant place\nand allowed to escape so as to draw fire that otherwise might be\ndirected on the real position of the gun.\n\n5. On signallers or runners. These are carrying information that will\nprobably be of benefit to the enemy's commander. You will appreciate\nthe necessity of preventing this.\n\n6. On an enemy showing a flank. No opportunity must be lost to fire\nupon an enemy that exposes his flank. The fire of a single rifleman\ndown the flank may cause a whole line to retreat.\n\n\nUSE OF RIFLE GRENADES\n\nRifle grenades are capable of causing more losses to the enemy than\nbombardment. The rifle grenade arrives at its destination unexpectedly\nwithout any noise; it explodes before one has even time to get out of\nthe way. As it does not arrive at fixed hours like the bombardment, the\nenemy cannot continually avoid it by taking refuge in his dugouts and\nshelters; when he is moving about a trench which is subject to rifle\ngrenading he must be continually on the alert. This perpetual menace,\nhour in and hour out, day in and day out, renders his sojourn in the\ntrenches extremely disagreeable.\n\nBefore rifle grenades are thrown careful observation of the opposing\ntrench must have been made to determine the point where the grenade is\nlikely to do the greatest damage.\n\nRifles are placed in the aiming racks and the grenades fired from time\nto time, day and night, at moments when it seems propitious. In this\nway a sentinel may be taken by surprise; a non-commissioned officer or\nofficer may be caught unawares.\n\nIt should be remembered that we will probably be able to throw twenty\ngrenades to the enemy's one. Advantage should always be taken of this\nmunitions superiority. Every man of the enemy we can put out of action\nis one less to kill us in the advance which will eventually come.\nSometimes the enemy will try to reply. Here is where our munitions\nsuperiority comes in again. We can fairly shower him with grenades and\nmake him take to his shelters.\n\nIt may be advisable to execute a sudden burst of grenade fire. This is\nstarted by a volley and followed by fire at will.\n\nWhen the artillery has destroyed parts of the enemy's trenches or makes\nbreaches in his obstacles by day he will endeavor to repair them at\nnight. He may be considerably annoyed and losses inflicted upon him\nby a well-directed shower of rifle grenades arriving at points where\nhis working parties are located. To make this effective the rifle racks\nshould be placed in position and secured during the day after trial\nshots have demonstrated conclusively the direction and angle for them.\n\n\nSHELLING\n\nYou will be impressed by the shells, especially the big ones. The din\nand blast of the explosions are, to say the least, terrifying. But\nyou will soon come to know that the shell often makes more noise than\nit does harm and that, after a terrific bombardment, by no means is\neverybody destroyed.\n\n\nHOW TO PROTECT YOURSELF FROM SHELLS\n\nThe big shell, which is so appalling, is only really dangerous if it\nfalls on the place where a man is standing, because the splinters rise\nin the air. Fall down flat when the shell bursts. Even if you are quite\nclose, there is comparatively little risk. Get up immediately after\nthe explosion, especially if you are 200 to 300 yards away from the\nplace where it burst. The splinters do not fall for some time after the\nexplosion.\n\nThe steel helmets and the infantry pack will furnish considerable\nprotection from shrapnel fragments and balls.\n\n\nDURING THE COMBAT\n\nThe safest place to avoid the enemy's shell fire when the attack\nhas been launched is close up to the enemy's position, where the\nartillery fire has to cease for fear of placing shells indiscriminately\nin his own troops and ours. Some men, completely distracted, lie\ndown with their face to the ground. They will be crushed where they\nlie. Artillery fire, when it is violent, tends to throw the ranks\ninto confusion and disorder. You have only ears for the roar of the\napproaching shell. You slow down and attempt to seek cover where there\nis no cover. The unit breaks up, and runs wild or stops altogether.\n_Disorder and confusion means massacre._\n\nMarch strictly in place. To the front is your safest haven of refuge.\nGet hold of the frightened ones and keep them in place. You will need\nthem to help you when you reach the goal.\n\n\nIN THE TRENCHES\n\nDugouts with strong overhead cover are provided for your protection\nwhen not actually required to man the trench. In some places it may be\npossible to dig shelter caves and shore up the roofs.\n\n\nSCOUTING AND PATROLLING\n\n To the Reader: You will find a wealth of information on the methods\n to be employed by scouts and patrols in a little book similar to\n this one in size, entitled \"Scouting and Patrolling,\" by the author\n of this volume. Published and for sale by the United States Infantry\n Association, Washington, D.C. Price 50 cents, by mail, postpaid. _Get\n your copy now and prepare yourself for these important duties._\n\nScouting and patrolling to the front is of greatest importance. It is\nkept up both day and night. The units occupying the first line send out\npatrols whenever necessary. They are frequently able to obtain valuable\ninformation and at the same time serve to counteract the enemy's\nefforts in this direction.\n\nThe patrols generally consist of a junior officer or non-commissioned\nofficer and from four to six selected men. Their operations are\nconducted in accordance with the situation and the mission they are\nsent on.\n\nHand grenades are frequently carried for both offensive and defensive\noperations. Grenade patrols always carry them. The operations of\npatrols may include:\n\n1. Reconnaissance of sectors of the enemy's position with a view to\ndetermining his dispositions and arrangement of obstacles.\n\n2. Making sketches of positions.\n\n3. Capturing prisoners.\n\n4. Opposing enemy patrols.\n\n5. Harrassing the enemy.\n\nWhen the patrol goes out every man in the sector of the firing line\nmust be informed of such fact and the possibility of its returning\nthrough his post. It is not sufficient to simply notify the men on post\nat the time the patrol goes out, as a man cannot always be trusted\nto pass the information on to his relief. Word should be quietly\ntaken along the line by the non-commissioned officer in charge of the\nrelief in person. When the patrol is out, special instructions have\nto be given with respect to firing. To cease firing altogether is very\nundesirable. It arouses the enemy's suspicions. A few trustworthy\nriflemen are directed to fire high at intervals. No lights are sent up\nwhile the patrol is out.\n\nIf the patrol is to remain stationary, similar to the outguard of an\noutpost, communication may be maintained by means of a string, spelling\nout the messages by Morse code, two jerks meaning a dash and one jerk\nmeaning a dot.\n\nWhere night patrols have to remain out under trying conditions special\ndugouts should be reserved where they can rest upon their return.\n\n\nCARE OF ARMS\n\nThe infantryman's rifle is his best friend. The personal care that\nhe gives to it is indicative of his soldierness and discipline. Your\nrifle must be kept in prime condition, otherwise it may fail you at a\ncritical moment. A canvas breech cover that will protect the bolt and\nmagazine mechanism will be found a great advantage when the rifle is\nnot in use. Care must be taken to exclude mud and dirt from the bolt\nmechanism. Do not put mud-covered cartridges into the magazine. Wipe\nthem off first. Arrange a proper receptacle near your post for the\nstorage of your reserve ammunition. Be careful that you do not clog\nthe muzzle of the rifle with mud and dirt. If fired in this condition\nit will ruin the rifle. Be careful not to clog up the sight cover with\nmud. Oil the rifle frequently with good sperm oil. Half of the oilers\nin the squad should be filled with oil and the other half with Hoppe's\nNo. 9 Powder Solvent.\n\nRifles must be carefully inspected daily by platoon commanders and the\nmen required to work on them during the periods off post.\n\n\nCARE OF TRENCHES\n\nRepairs will have to be made daily. The widening of trenches in the\nmaking of repairs should be strictly forbidden. Under no circumstances\nmust they be altered in any manner except on the order of the company\ncommander.\n\nPlatoon commanders will go over every part of the trench several times\ndaily with the squad leaders of the various sections and decide upon\nthe repairs and improvements to be made. A complete and thorough\npolice will be made prior to being relieved. All refuse will be\nremoved. Fired cartridges will be disposed of, as they might get\nimbedded in the trench floor and hinder subsequent digging.\n\nEach squad leader will be held strictly responsible for the state of\npolice of the section of trench occupied by his squad.\n\n\nLATRINES\n\nLatrines are located at convenient points in the trenches. For the\nmen on duty in the first line they are generally dug to the flank of\na connecting trench and connected therewith by a passageway. Their\nlocation is plainly marked.\n\nThe rules of sanitation are even more strictly observed in trenches\nthan they are in soldier camps. The trenches and passageways must not\nunder any circumstances be defiled. Latrines should be kept clean and\nsanitary. They will be carefully protected from flies. The free use of\nchloride of lime daily is an absolute necessity.\n\n\nMAPS\n\nA complete detailed plan of our own trenches and as much as is known\nof those of the enemy opposite should be made, and be available for\nstudy and to refer to in making reports. Every bay of the trench should\nbe numbered, every traverse lettered. All junction points of fire and\ncommunicating trenches, all dugouts, all posts, mortar positions,\nmachine-guns positions, observation posts, and any points that it may\nbe necessary to refer to in reports should be designated by numbers.\n\n\nFROST BITE; CHILLED FEET\n\nThe causes are:\n\n1. Prolonged standing in cold water or liquid mud.\n\n2. Tight boots and leggings, that interfere with the blood circulation.\n\n\nPREVENTION\n\n1. Before going into the trenches wash the feet and legs and dry them\nthoroughly. The British Army has an issue of an anti-freeze mixture\nwhich will probably be issued to our troops also. The feet and legs\nshould be rubbed with it. Put on perfectly dry socks. An extra pair of\ndry socks should be carried.\n\n2. During the period of service in the trenches the feet should be\ntreated in this manner from time to time.\n\n3. When the feet are cold, hot water will not be used for washing nor\nwill they be held close to a fire.\n\n4. Rubber boots must be worn only in the trenches. On no account must\nthey be worn while on reserve.\n\n\nTRENCH SOLDIERS' CREED\n\nTo be of the greatest effectiveness in the trench every soldier,\npersonally and collectively, must be able to adopt the following creed\nand live up to it:\n\n1. We are here for two purposes, to do as much damage as possible to\nthe enemy and to hold our section of the line against all attacks. We\nare doing everything in our power to accomplish these missions. We\nrealize that every man of the enemy confronting us that is not placed\n_hors de combat_ will be there ready to shoot us down when the assault\ntakes place. We realize also that if the enemy makes a lodgment on\nour section of the line that it endangers others and a costly counter\nattack may be necessary. We _will_ hold on.\n\n2. With the means at hand and those we are able to devise we will make\nthe enemy's stay in his trenches as uncomfortable and disagreeable as\npossible. All of our utilities are being utilized to the fullest extent\nand our various detachments are organized and their tactical operations\nare conducted with this object in view.\n\n3. We have done everything possible to strengthen our line.\n\n4. If, despite all the precautions we can take and the hardest fight\nwe are able to make, the enemy succeeds in effecting a lodgment on our\nsection of the line, we will meet him with the bayonet and fight to the\nlast drop of our blood.\n\n5. We are all familiar with the tactical dispositions in our section\nof the line. Those of us on the flanks connect up with the platoons\nto our right and left. We know the route to company and battalion\nheadquarters and know where the nearest support is located. We know\nthe position of our machine guns and the sector they cover. We are in\nconstant communication with the observing posts that cover our front,\nand our observing posts covering the other platoons are in constant\ncommunication with them.\n\n6. We know the firing position assigned to us and are familiar with the\nuse to be made of the accessories furnished us. We can fire over the\nparapet at the foot of our wire entanglements to repel night attack.\n\n7. We will at all times be careful about needlessly exposing ourselves.\nWe appreciate the fact that it is absolutely stupid to get killed or\nwounded in the trench through negligence. By so doing one has served no\npurpose and a soldier cannot be replaced. Our leaders have warned us of\nthe especially dangerous places. We know where they are and avoid them\nexcept when our presence there is necessary as a matter of duty.\n\n8. The sections of the enemy's line that we are to cover with our fire\nhave all been pointed out and each of us is familiar with same. We have\nlocated the enemy's loopholes and are doing our best to keep them under\nfire.\n\n9. We know our way and move noiselessly about the trenches. When we\nenter and leave it is with absolute silence.\n\n10. We are doing our utmost to collect information about the enemy,\nhis defenses, his activity, his movements, and especially his night\noperations. All of this information we transmit immediately to the\nplatoon leader.\n\n11. We know the best way to get over our parapet to reach the enemy.\n\n12. Our appliances for protection from gas attacks are complete and\nready for instant use. We have our helmets on our persons ready to\nput on. We are familiar with their use and have confidence in their\neffectiveness. We will wait for the signal to don our gas helmets\n(signal is usually made by beating a gong, and care must be taken\nto follow exactly the directions for putting on the gas helmets;\ncarelessness may mean your disablement).\n\n13. Our trenches are drained and every precaution is being taken to\nkeep the drains and sump holes in condition to perform their functions.\n\n14. We have rendered the parapets and shelters throughout our sector\nbullet-proof, and effective measures are being taken to prevent them\nfrom caving in.\n\n15. We are keeping our trenches sanitary and clean; our reserve\nmunitions are carefully stored in their proper places ready for\ninstant use. Refuse is always placed in receptacles when it can be\ncarried away. We do not under any circumstances litter up our trench\nfloor. Our empty shells are collected and sent to the rear.\n\n16. Our rifles are our best friends. We keep them clean, well oiled,\nand in readiness for instant use. Our bayonets we have with us at all\ntimes ready to be placed on the rifle. We protect our rifle ammunition\nfrom the mud, as we realize that muddy cartridges will clog the breech\nmechanism and cause mal-function.\n\n17. We are taking every precaution to prevent \"trench feet;\" when\npracticable we take off our shoes and rub our feet for 15 minutes each\nday. We do not wear tight shoes and leggings that tend to interfere\nwith blood circulation. We each have a pair of dry socks to put on. We\ndo not wear rubber boots except when it is absolutely necessary.\n\n18. We observe the orders regarding the wearing of equipment.\n\n19. We do not drink any water except that from authorized sources. We\nreplenish our canteens whenever practicable.\n\nIn addition to the above the platoon commander must be able to adopt\nthe following and live up to them:\n\n1. My sentries are posted in the proper places. They are posted by\nnon-commissioned officers. They have the proper orders. No man is\never on duty more than one hour at a time. I visit them at frequent\nintervals.\n\n2. I have a runner ready to carry a message to company headquarters. I\nrealize that any information of the enemy that I may secure may be of\ngreat importance at regimental and other headquarters. I will therefore\nsend it back with the utmost dispatch.\n\n3. I am familiar with the methods of communicating with the artillery,\nof giving them information and of asking them for support.\n\n4. My patrols operating to the front at night have been properly\ninstructed and are doing their duty effectively. All sentries in the\ntrench have been notified when they are out and cautioned to look out\nfor their return.\n\n5. I have given complete and detailed instruction covering what to do\nin case of gas attacks and the sending out of the S.O.S. signal. I\nhave gas and attack messages already prepared and ready to send after\ninserting the time and place in them.\n\n6. I know the name of every man in my platoon and they all know me.\n\n7. I am here to inflict as much damage as possible on the enemy and to\nhold my part of the line. _I will do it!_\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nTHE ATTACK IN TRENCH WARFARE\n\n\nOBJECTIVES\n\nThe objectives which must be dealt with in the attack of an intrenched\nposition such as will be found on the western front are:\n\n1. The trenches of the first line.\n\n2. The supporting points.\n\n3. The trenches of the second line.\n\nBy a study of the text preceding this you must realize that in the\ndefense of these objectives there will be employed artillery, rifles,\ngrenades and machine guns.\n\n\nARTILLERY PREPARATION\n\nThe first phase of the attack is the artillery preparation. In order\nthat the infantry may make the attack with a minimum of losses, the\nartillery must have destroyed the wire entanglements and obstacles\nthat obstruct the advance, or at least have sufficiently breached\nthem to permit their being negotiated. The destruction of these\nobstacles is never complete. It would require too great an expenditure\nof ammunition. The infantry occupying the hostile trenches must be\nsimply overwhelmed with artillery fire so that they will be unable to\nman the parapets when the assault is launched. During the artillery\npreparation the hostile infantry does not occupy their firing positions\nin the trenches but remain in their dugouts, which are fully protected\nfrom all but the heaviest shells. Only a few observers are left in the\ntrenches.\n\nWhen the bombardment against this particular part of the line ceases\nthe infantry leave their dugouts and man the firing positions. To\nprevent this is one of the most important as well as most difficult\ntasks of the artillery. This may be effected by a well-directed fire\non the exits to the dugouts with a view to caving them in and thus\npreventing the egress of the occupants. The enemy may sometimes be\ninduced to leave his shelter prematurely by the following ruse:\n\n1. Cease the artillery fire.\n\n2. Open a heavy rifle fire; this causes the enemy to believe that the\nassault has begun and he will man his parapets in strength.\n\n3. After waiting for several minutes open the artillery again with even\nincreased vigor.\n\nThe hostile infantry may be forced out of his dugouts by the use of\nshells and grenades containing suffocating gases which penetrate the\nshelters and make them untenable.\n\nThe artillery is also charged with putting the enemy's artillery out of\naction to prevent them from firing upon the attacking infantry.\n\nIf the enemy artillery is left free, it will shell our trenches and\napproaches, causing casualties and confusion and thus interfering with\nthe formation for the attack. The location of hostile batteries is\neffected by aerial reconnaissance.\n\nAnother task of the artillery is to prevent the hostile reserves from\ncoming up to reinforce their firing lines. These reserves will be\nlocated back in the second line until their presence is required at\nthe front. As long as the artillery preparation continues they remain\nin the shelters, but as soon as it ceases they man the trenches.\nThe artillery must therefore extend its fire to the second line and\ncontinue it while the first line is being rushed. Back of the second\nposition the enemy holds strong reserves. The entrance of these into\naction must be prevented. This is accomplished by extending the\ncurtain of fire still further to the rear. The supporting points must\nreceive a lion's share of attention for, bristling with machine guns\nand trench mortars, they are the really dangerous elements to the\ninfantry attack after it passes the first line trenches.\n\nThe weapon which inflicts the greatest losses on the assaulting\ninfantry is the machine gun, which appears suddenly out of the ground\nand lays low whole units. By a careful reconnaissance these machine-gun\npositions are ferreted out and every possible means are taken to effect\ntheir destruction.\n\nThe effectiveness of the artillery preparation depends simply upon\nsuperiority of guns and munitions. In this respect we now possess a\ngreat advantage, for the state of our munition supply is such that our\nartillery may fire several shells to one of the enemy. This is what\nestablished the superiority.\n\n\nORGANIZATION OF INFANTRY ATTACK\n\nThe organization of the attacking infantry corresponds in a general\nway to the organization of the position being attacked. A first line\nof assault is organized. Its mission is the capture of the enemy's\nfirst line trenches. A second line follows, having for its mission\nthe assault and capture of the second line trenches. A separate\norganization of these two lines is necessary for the reason that the\nfirst attacking line is generally so disorganized in the fighting that\nit no longer possesses the cohesion necessary to carry it through to\nthe second line. It has been found necessary to launch a comparatively\nfresh and intact force against it.\n\nAs the first position is organized into several separate lines of\ndefense, so also is the first attacking line organized and launched in\ntwo or more waves, those in rear being in the nature of reinforcements\nto those in front.\n\n\nOBJECTIVES\n\nEach unit of the attacking line is assigned a distinct objective.\nCertain units are given the mission of attacking the supporting points\nto prevent their enfilading the units advancing through the intervals\nbetween them.\n\nThe main efforts are made along the lines between the supporting\npoints, as to assault the latter would entail a casualty list not\ncommensurate with the results. The effort against them is made with a\nview to neutralizing their effect. If the attack is successful in the\nintervals, the supporting points will fall as a result.\n\nThe waves of the first line are directed against the first position,\nthe second against the second position. The reserves held under the\norders of the division commander are employed where the development of\nthe situation dictates.\n\nFurther to the rear, and under orders of the supreme commander, large\nbodies of reinforcements are held ready to be moved rapidly to points\nwhere progress has been made to such an extent that maneuver operations\nare practicable.\n\n\nPREPARATION FOR THE ASSAULT\n\nPreparatory to the assault, numerous saps (trenches) are run out to the\nfront from the main firing trenches. The night before the attack, a\nparallel is broken out connecting the sap heads. This parallel is amply\nsupplied with short ladders and is occupied by the companies composing\nthe first wave of the attack. The saps and the main trenches are also\nfilled with men assigned to the following waves, who will move into\nthe parallel as soon as the first wave leaves it. As the artillery\npreparation ceases, the first waves rush up the ladders in succession\nand move out to the assault.\n\n\nTHE FIRST WAVE\n\nAs the artillery preparation against the first line is completed\nand the curtain of fire shifted far into the enemy's position, the\ninfantry of the first wave emerges from the parallel and moves out.\nThe formation and gait depend upon the distance to the hostile trench.\nIf the artillery preparation has been effective and the distance is\nnot more than 100 yards, it is expected that the wave will be able to\nreach the fire trench without firing, except possibly when the wire\nis reached. If the distance is much greater than 100 yards, it is\nnecessary to cover the advance with rifle fire. This is accomplished by\na line of skirmishers deployed at extended intervals, which precedes\nthe wave at about 50 yards. The wave starts out at a walk, carefully\naligned. It afterwards takes up the double time and advances by rushes\nuntil the wire entanglements are reached.\n\nFrom this moment the period of the charge and individual combat begins.\nThe men can no longer be kept from firing. Each tries to protect\nhimself with his rifle. Each man locates his opening in the wire\nthrough which he is to go and makes for it. The line reforms on the\nother side. With rifles at the high charge (a position to our old head\nparry, but slanting slightly upward from right to left) the line rushes\nupon the enemy. Each man runs straight towards the part of the trench\nin front of him and jumps upon the parapet. By rifle shots and bayonet\nthrusts he destroys everything in his way. Men selected in advance take\ncharge of the prisoners. The line is reformed, lying down just beyond\nthe fire trench, and fire is opened against the second line. Men are\npositively forbidden to enter the communication trenches. They are most\ninviting for cover, but a man rarely gets out of them.\n\nThe grenadier squad proceed to their work of clearing the fire and\ncommunication trenches.\n\n\nTHE SECOND WAVE\n\nThe second wave of the first line starts forward at the moment the\nfirst wave reaches the hostile trenches. If it starts sooner, it will\nunite with the first at the entanglement and become involved in the\nfight for the fire trench. It will be broken up prematurely and will be\nunable to take advantage of the developments of the fight of the first\nwave. The reinforcement by the second wave and the disorganization\nproduced by the assault lead to a mixture of units in the trenches\nof the first position. Before starting out to the assault of the\nnext trench it is necessary that order be restored. When this is\naccomplished the attack is launched against the second line. In front\nof the supporting points the combat rages. The men are barely able to\nhold on the outer edges. In the interval the advance has reached high\ntide and has expanded like a wave and stopped. This is the limit that\ncan be expected of the first line.\n\nHasty cover is prepared and advantage taken of such cover as may exist.\nAll elements of the attack open fire on the second position.\n\n\nTHE SECOND LINE\n\nUnder the cover of these operations the second line has come up in a\nseries of three lines, where it is built up compact at the position\nof the stopped first line. From this point its attack against the\nenemy's second line is launched. The lines are worked up to a point\nfrom which the assault is to be made, and when the time comes the first\nwave dashes out to the attack, followed by the second wave in the same\nmanner as the assault against the first position was made.\n\nThe action of the two lines of attack may be expected to overwhelm\nthe greater part of the two main hostile positions. At certain\npoints, however, the resistance will hold out, and, if not overcome,\nwill constitute points of support to which the enemy may bring up\nreinforcements and even turn the tide of battle by a counter attack.\n\nTo deal with these points that hold out, as well as with hostile\nreinforcements which may arrive, the reserve is launched into action,\nwhich brings the attack into the open ground beyond the second line\nof defense, and maneuver operations are begun. The mobile units are\nrapidly thrown into action, and large forces from the general reserve\nare hurried to the point where the lines of defense are broken through.\n\nFrom what has gone before we may deduce that the following conditions\nmust prevail to attain success in an attack on a prepared position:\n\n1. The attack must be planned down to the most minute detail.\n\n2. There must be a greatly superior force of artillery concentrated at\nthe point of attack, and the artillery preparation must be thorough.\n\n3. The infantry must be sufficient in number, training and morale to\nperform the tasks that will be demanded of them.\n\n4. The arrangements for the supply of ammunition to the firing line\nmust be planned and carried out in all its details.\n\n5. Plans for meeting counter attacks must be thorough and complete. The\ncapture of a position is often less difficult than its retention.\n\n6. Finally, every officer and man must know exactly what he is to do.\n\n\nBayonet Training\n\nWaldron\n\nThe system of Bayonet Training stated herein is taken from the\nprovisional Manual of Bayonet Training of the British Army. In the\nvernacular of the day, it is the \"real dope.\"\n\nEvery battalion should have a bayonet assault practice course\nconstructed along the lines indicated and the work of training should\nbe systematically conducted. The non-commissioned officers should be\ntaken out on a \"Tactical Walk\" on the course and all the features of\nthe exercises explained. This is followed by their practical training\nover the course and this in turn is followed by the instruction of the\nprivates of the organization.\n\n\nFEATURES OF THE BAYONET\n\nTo attack with the bayonet effectively requires good direction,\nstrength and quickness, during a state of wild excitement and probable\nphysical exhaustion. The limit of the range of a bayonet is about 5\nfeet (measured from the opponent's eyes) but more often the killing\nis at close quarters, at a range of 2 feet or less, when troops are\nstruggling hand to hand in trenches or darkness.\n\nThe bayonet is essentially an offensive weapon--go straight at an\nopponent with the point threatening his throat and deliver the point\nwherever an opening presents itself. If no opening is obvious, one\nmust be created by beating off the opponents weapon or making a \"feint\npoint\" in order to make him uncover himself.\n\nHand to hand fighting with the bayonet is individual, which means that\na man must think and act for himself and rely on his own resources\nand skill; but, as in all games, he must play for his side and not\nonly for himself. In a bayonet assault all ranks go forward to kill\nor be killed, and only those who have developed skill and strength by\nconstant training will be able to kill.\n\nThe spirit of the bayonet must be inculcated into all ranks so that\nthey go forward with that aggressive determination and confidence of\nsuperiority born of continual practice, without which a bayonet assault\nwill not be effective.\n\nThe technical points of bayonet fighting are extremely few and simple.\nThe essence of bayonet training is continuity of practice.\n\n\nMETHOD OF CARRYING OUT BAYONET TRAINING AND HINTS TO INSTRUCTORS\n\nAn important point to be kept in mind in Bayonet Training is the\ndevelopment of the individual by teaching him to think and act for\nhimself. The simplest means of attaining this end is to make men\nuse their brains and eyes to the fullest extent by carrying out the\npractices so far as possible, without words of command, i.e., to point\nat a shifting target as soon as it is stationary, to parry sticks,\netc. The class should, whenever possible, work in pairs and act on the\nprinciple of \"master and teacher.\" This procedure in itself, develops\nindividuality and confidence. Sharp jerky words of command which tend\nto make men act mechanically, should be omitted. Rapidity of movement\nand alertness are taught by competition in fixing and unfixing the\nbayonet and by other such quickening movements.\n\nAs the technique of bayonet fighting is so simple, long detail is quite\nunnecessary and makes the work monotonous. All instructions should be\ncarried out on common-sense lines. It should seldom be necessary to\ngive the details of a \"point\" or \"parry\" more than two or three times,\nafter which the class should acquire the correct positions by practice.\nFor this reason a lesson or daily practice should rarely last more\nthan half an hour. Remember that nothing kills interest so easily as\nmonotony.\n\nThe spirit of the bayonet is to be inculcated by describing the special\nfeatures of bayonet and hand to hand fighting. The men must learn to\npractice bayonet fighting in the spirit and with the enthusiasm that\nanimates them when training for their games, and to look upon their\ninstructor as a trainer and helper. Interest in the work is to be\ncreated by explaining the reasons for the various positions, the method\nof handling the rifle and bayonet and the uses of the points. Questions\nshould be put to the men to find out if they understand these reasons.\nWhen men realize the object of their work they naturally take a greater\ninterest in it.\n\nProgression in bayonet training is regulated by obtaining first correct\nposition and good direction, then quickness. Strength is the outcome of\ncontinual practice.\n\nIn order to encourage dash and gradually strengthen the leg muscles\nfrom the commencement of the training, classes should be frequently\npracticed in charging short distances over the bayonet practice courses.\n\nAll company officers and non-commissioned officers should be taught\nhow to instruct in bayonet training in order that they may be able to\nteach their squads and platoons this very important part of a soldier's\ntraining, which must be regularly practiced during the whole of his\nservice at home, and during his periods of rest behind the firing-lines.\n\nThe greatest care should be taken that the object representing the\nopponent and its support should be incapable of injuring the bayonet or\nbutt. Only light sticks are to be used for parrying practice.\n\nThe chief causes of injury to the bayonet are insufficient instruction,\nin the bayonet training lessons, failure to withdraw the bayonet clear\nof the dummy, and placing the dummies on hard, unprepared ground.\n\n\nBAYONET LESSONS\n\n_Formation._--Intervals or distances are taken as prescribed in\nparagraphs 109 and 111 I.D.R. Bayonets are fixed, paragraph 95, I.D.R.\n\n_Technique of Instruction._--Before requiring the soldier to take a\nposition or execute a movement for the first time, the instructor\nshould show him the position or how to execute the movement, stating\nthe essential elements and explaining the purpose that they serve.\n\nIllustrate the position or movement a second time, requiring careful\nobservation so that the men will be taught to use their eyes and brains\nright from the beginning.\n\nNow, require the men to assume the position or execute the movement\nunder consideration. Accuracy and expertness will be developed by\npractice.\n\nFatigue and exhaustion should be carefully guarded against. They\nprevent proper interest being taken in the exercises and delay the\nprogress of the instruction.\n\nThe training consists of five lessons and the Final Assault practice.\n\n\n_Lesson No. 1_\n\nThe First lesson is divided into:\n\n1. The position of _Guard_, from which the various bayonet attacks are\nmade.\n\n2. The position of _High Port_, which is assumed when advancing.\n\n3. The _Long Point_, which is the normal method of bayonet attack.\n\n4. The _Withdrawal_, which follows the attack.\n\n\nTHE POSITION OF GUARD\n\nBeing at the Order Arms: Raise the piece with the right hand, throw it\nto the front. Grasp with both hands, the left at a convenient place\nabove the rear sight so that the left arm is only slightly bent; right\nhand at the small of the stock and held just in front of the navel. The\nrifle is held naturally and easily, without constraint, barrel inclined\nslightly to the left. At the same time the left foot is carried forward\nto a point in a natural position such as a man walking might adopt on\nmeeting with resistance. The left knee is slightly bent, right leg\nstraight and braced. The right foot is flat on the ground with the toe\ninclined to the right front.\n\n[Illustration: THE LONG POINT]\n\nThe common faults that will be noted in assuming the position are:\n\n1. The body will be leaned back from the hips, which causes\nunsteadiness and does not permit quick and aggressive action.\n\n2. The left arm is bent too much, which raises the point of the bayonet\ntoo high and produces a certain amount of constraint. The left hand\nshould grasp the piece at such a point that will avoid this defect. A\nlittle practice will show the exact place to hold the hand to obtain\nthe maximum effect.\n\n3. The right hand may be held too low and too far back, which has the\neffect of raising the point of the bayonet and giving a faulty position\nto the left arm and hand.\n\n4. The rifle may be grasped too tightly with the hands, which produces\nrigidity and restrains freedom of movement. The left hand merely guides\nthe bayonet in the attack, the right furnishes the power behind the\nthrust, hence great care should be taken to see that the left arm is\nnot deprived of its freedom of action by gripping the rifle too hard\nwith the left hand.\n\n\nTHE POSITION OF \"REST\"\n\nThe feet are retained at the position of Guard. The piece is lowered\nand held in the easiest and most comfortable position.\n\n\nTHE POSITION OF HIGH PORT\n\nBeing at the position of Guard. Without changing the position of the\nhands on the piece, carry the rifle so that the left wrist is level\nwith and directly in front of the left shoulder. The right hand is\nlevel with the belt.\n\nPractice will be had at the position of _High Port_ with the right hand\nquitting the piece, it being held approximately in position with the\nleft hand alone. This will be found advantageous when jumping ditches,\nclimbing out of trenches, surmounting obstacles, etc., leaving the\nright hand free.\n\n\nTHE POSITION OF LONG POINT\n\nBeing at the position of Guard. Thrust the point of the bayonet\nvigorously towards the point of the objective, to the full extent of\nthe left arm, the stock running along side of and kept close to the\nright inner fore arm. The body is inclined forward; left knee well\nbent; right leg braced, and weight of body pressed well forward with\nthe sole of the right foot, heel raised. The chief power in the Point\nis derived from the right arm with the weight of the body behind it,\nthe left arm and hand being employed to direct the point of the bayonet\nat the objective.\n\nThe eyes must be fixed on the objective. In making the point other\nthan straight to the front the left foot will be moved laterally in\nthe direction to which the point is made. After progress has been made\nin the execution of the simple point as indicated above, practice\nshould include stepping forward with the rear foot when the assault is\ndelivered.\n\nThe common faults in the execution of the Long Point will be noted as\nfollows:\n\n1. The rifle is drawn back slightly before delivering the point, which\nmakes for a momentary loss of time that may give an opponent the\nadvantage and should be assiduously guarded against.\n\n2. The stock of the piece is held too high, which makes the guiding\nof the point of the bayonet with the left hand more difficult, and\nreduces accuracy in delivering the point at the exact spot intended.\n\n[Illustration: POSITION OF GUARD]\n\n3. The eyes are not directed on the point of the attack. This is an\nerror. One that may cause a man to miss his mark. The soldier must\nrealize what this means in hand to hand fighting. The opponent will get\nhim.\n\n4. The left knee is not sufficiently bent, which does not allow the\npoint to be made with the force intended.\n\n5. The body is not thrust sufficiently forward, which reduces just that\nmuch the force of the attack.\n\n6. The point is started at too great a distance from the objective to\nmake a hit. Practice must be conducted in making the point until the\nsoldier knows the exact distance at which he will have to start to\nproduce the maximum effect. This distance is between four and five feet.\n\nDuring the later stages of the instruction the men should also be\ntaught to step forward with the rear foot when delivering the point.\n\n\nTHE WITHDRAWAL AFTER A LONG POINT\n\n[Illustration: THE WITHDRAWAL]\n\nBeing at the position of Long Point. To withdraw the bayonet. Draw\nthe piece straight back until the right hand is well behind the hip.\nImmediately assume the position of Guard. If the leverage or proximity\nof the object transfixed with the bayonet renders it necessary, prior\nto the withdrawal, the left hand is slipped up close to the stacking\nswivel.\n\nIn the preliminary instruction all Points will be immediately followed\nby a withdrawal, prior to assuming the position of guard.\n\n\nPROGRESSION\n\nAfter the several positions hereinbefore described have been learned,\nthe Points should be made at a definite place on a target, such as the\nthroat, the stomach, the head, etc.\n\nAs progress is made, the pause between the point and the withdrawal is\nshortened until the soldier comes directly to the position of Guard\nfrom the point. Proficiency will finally be attained in making a \"feint\npoint\" at one part of the target and the real point at another, for\nexample: Feint at the head and point at the right thigh; feint at the\nstomach and point at the neck, etc.\n\nAttacks at a retreating foe should be made against the kidneys, the\nposition of which should be shown to the soldier.\n\n\nVULNERABLE PARTS OF THE BODY\n\nIf possible, the point of the bayonet should be directed against the\nopponents throat, especially in hand to hand fighting. The point of\nthe bayonet will easily enter and make a fatal wound on penetrating a\nfew inches. Other and more or less exposed parts are the face, chest,\nlower abdomen, thighs and the region of the kidneys when the back is\nturned. Four to six inches penetration is sufficient to incapacitate\nand allow for a quick withdrawal, whereas if a bayonet is driven home\ntoo far it is often impossible to withdraw it.\n\nAs soon as the nomenclature of the positions and movements are learned\nthe men should work in pairs. They should be practiced in pointing in\nvarious directions. 1. At the opposite man's hand, which he places in\nvarious positions on and off the body. 2. At thrusting rings tied on\nthe end of a stick.\n\nThis practice is conducted without word of command, so that the eyes\nand brain may be trained.\n\nIt is not sufficient that a dummy be merely transfixed. Some particular\nspot on the dummy should constitute the target. Discs or numbers should\nbe placed on the dummy and the men required to point at a distance of\nabout five feet from it and later as they become more proficient, to\npoint after advancing several paces. The advance must be made in a\npractical manner and the point delivered with either foot to the front.\n\nThe rifle must never be drawn back when making a Long Point in a\nforward movement. The impetus of the body and the forward stretching of\nthe arms supply sufficient force.\n\nThe bayonet must be withdrawn immediately after the Point has been\ndelivered, and a forward threatening attitude assumed by the side of or\nbeyond the dummy.\n\nTo guard against accidents the men must be at least five feet apart and\nthe bayonet scabbard should be on the bayonet.\n\nThe principles of this practice should be observed when pointing at\ndummies in trenches, standing upright on the ground or suspended from\ngallows. They should be applied at first slowly and deliberately. No\nattempt must be made to carry out the Final Assault Practice until the\nmen have been carefully instructed in and have thoroughly mastered the\npreliminary lessons.\n\n\n_Lesson No. 2_\n\nTHE PARRIES\n\nBeing at the position of Guard: The right or left parry is executed by\nvigorously straightening the left arm, without bending the wrist or\ntwisting the rifle in the hand, and forcing the piece to the right or\nleft far enough to fend off the adversary's weapon. The eyes must be\nkept on the weapon that is being parried and not on the eyes of the\nopponent as indicated in our bayonet combat training.\n\nThe common faults in the execution of the parries consist of:\n\n1. Making a wide, sweeping parry, with no forward movement of the\nbayonet or body in it.\n\n2. The eyes are taken off the weapon that is being parried.\n\nThe men should be taught to regard the parry as a part of an offensive\nmovement, namely of the Point, which would immediately follow it in\nactual combat. For this reason, as soon as the movements of the parries\nhave been learned they should always be accompanied by a slight forward\nmovement of the body.\n\nParries will be practiced with the right as well as with the left foot\nforward, preparatory to the practice of parrying when advancing.\n\n\nPRACTICE\n\nMen when learning the parries should be required to observe the\nmovements of the rifle carefully, and should not be kept longer at this\npractice than is necessary for them to understand what is required,\nthat is vigorous, yet controlled action.\n\nThe men work in pairs with scabbards on the bayonets, one man pointing\nwith the stick and the other parrying it. The position of guard is\nresumed after each parry. At first this practice must be slow and\ndeliberate, without being allowed to become mechanical, and will be\nprogressively increased in rapidity and vigor.\n\nLater a point at that part of the body indicated by the opposite man's\nhand should immediately follow the parry, and, finally sticks long\nenough to represent the opponents weapon at the position of guard\nshould be attached to dummies and parried before delivering the point.\n(See Targets.)\n\nThe men must be taught to parry points made at them:\n\n1. By an enemy in a trench when they are themselves on the parapet.\n\n2. By an enemy on the parapet when they are on the trench.\n\n3. When both are fighting on the same level at close quarters in a deep\ntrench.\n\n\n_Lesson No. 3_\n\nTHE SHORT POINT\n\nBeing at the position of Guard: Shift the left hand quickly towards the\nmuzzle and draw the rifle back to the full extent of the right arm,\nthe butt either upwards or downwards, according as a low point or high\npoint is to be made. Deliver the point vigorously to the full extent of\nthe left arm.\n\nThe short point is used at a range of about three feet. In close\nfighting it is the natural point to make when the bayonet has just been\nwithdrawn after a long point. If a strong withdrawal is necessary the\nright hand should be slipped above the back sight after the short point\nhas been made.\n\n[Illustration: THE SHORT POINT]\n\nBy placing two discs on a dummy the short point should be taught in\nconjunction with the long point, the first disc being transfixed with\nthe latter and the second with the former. On delivery of the long\npoint if the left foot is forward, the short point would take place\nwith the right foot forward and _vice versa_.\n\nThe parries should be practiced from the position of the short point.\n\n\n_Lesson No. 4_\n\nTHE JAB OR UPWARD POINT\n\nBeing at the position of Short Point: Shift the right hand up the rifle\nand grasp it above the balance, at the same time bringing the piece to\nan almost vertical position close to the body. From this position, bend\nthe knees and jab the point of the bayonet upwards into the throat or\nunder the chin of the opponent.\n\nThe common faults in this movement are:\n\n1. The rifle is drawn backward and not held sufficiently upright.\n\n2. The rifle is grasped too low with the right hand.\n\nFrom the position of Jab, the men will be practiced in fending off an\nattack made on any part of their body by an opponent.\n\n[Illustration: THE JAB]\n\nWhen making a Jab from the position of guard, the right, being the\nthrusting hand, will be brought up first.\n\nThe Jab can be employed successfully in close quarter fighting in\nnarrow trenches or when embraced by an enemy.\n\n\nMETHODS OF INJURING AN OPPONENT\n\nIt should be impressed upon the soldier that, although a man's point\nhas missed, or has been parried or his bayonet has been broken, he can,\nas attacker, still maintain his advantage by injuring his opponent in\none of the following ways:\n\n_Butt Strike I._ Swing the butt up at the opponent's crotch, ribs,\nforearm, etc., using a half arm blow and advancing the rear foot.\n\nThis is essentially a half arm blow from the shoulder, keeping the\nelbow rigid. It can be executed only when the rifle is grasped at the\nsmall of the stock.\n\n_Butt Strike II._ If the opponent jumps back so that the first butt\nstrike misses, the rifle will come into a horizontal position over the\nleft shoulder, butt to the front. The attacker will then step in with\nthe rear foot and dash the butt into his opponent's face.\n\n_Butt Strike III._ If the opponent retires still further out of\ndistance, the attacker again closes up and slashes his bayonet down on\nhis opponent's head or neck.\n\n_Butt Strike IV._ If the point is beaten or brought down, the butt can\nbe used effectively by crashing it down on the opponent's head with an\nover-arm blow, advancing the rear foot. When the opponent is out of\ndistance Butt Strike III can again be used.\n\nIn individual fighting the butt can also be used horizontally against\nthe opponent's ribs, forearm, etc. This method is impossible in trench\nfighting or in an attack, owing to the horizontal sweep of the bayonet\nto the attacker's left.\n\nThe men must be impressed with the fact that the butt must never be\nused when it is possible to use the point of the bayonet effectively.\n\nButt Strikes can be used only under certain conditions and in certain\npositions. If the soldier acquires absolute control of his weapon\nunder these conditions he will be able to adapt himself to all other\nphases of close in fighting. For example, when a man is gripped by\nan opponent, so that neither the point nor the butt can be used,\nthe knee brought up against the crotch or the heel stamped on the\ninstep may momentarily disable him and make him release his hold. When\nwrestling the opponent may be tripped by forcing his weight on to one\nleg and then kicking that leg from under him. These methods will only\ntemporarily disable an enemy, who must be killed with the bayonet.\n\n\nPRACTICE\n\nWhen the men have been shown the methods of using the butt and the\nknee, they should be practiced by affixing several discs on a dummy\nand executing combination exercises at them. For example, point at one\ndisc, use the knee on another fixed low down, jab at a third, etc. For\npractice with the Butt, light dummies should be used to prevent injury\nto the piece.\n\n\nTACTICAL APPLICATION OF THE BAYONET\n\nA bayonet assault should preferably be made under cover of fire, or\ndarkness or as a surprise. Under these circumstances the prospect of\nsuccess is greatest, for a bayonet is useless at any range except in\nhand to hand fighting.\n\nThe bayonet is essentially a weapon of offense to be used with skill\nand vigor. To await an opportunity for using the bayonet entails\ndefeat. An approaching enemy will simply stand out of bayonet range and\nshoot down the defenders.\n\nIn an assault the enemy should be killed with the bayonet. Firing\nshould be avoided. A bullet passing through an opponent's body may kill\na friend who happens to be in the line of fire.\n\n\nTHE BAYONET ASSAULT\n\nTraining in the final assault is conducted only after the soldier has\nreceived a thorough course of instruction in the preliminary lessons\nand has acquired complete control over his weapons. This training must\napproximate as nearly as possible the conditions of actual fighting.\nInstructors should endeavor by every means in their power to arouse the\ninterest and imagination of the men. Each problem should be carefully\nexplained beforehand so that every man may have a complete knowledge of\njust exactly what is being attempted. Each target must be regarded as\nan armed opponent and each line of targets as an enemy line, attacking,\ndefending or retiring, to be disposed of accordingly.\n\nAny tendency towards carelessness and slackness must be corrected at\nonce and all the men must be impressed with the fact that a practice\nassault that is not carried out with quickness, vigor and determination\nis worse than useless.\n\nLack of imagination or lack of understanding of what is being\nattempted, leading to a violation of the principles of tactics in\npractice assaults against dummy targets, can only lead to disaster in a\nreal assault against the enemy.\n\nNervous tension, due to the anticipation of an attack, the advance\nacross the open and the final dash at the enemy all combine to tire\nan assaulting party. It is only by their physical fitness and superior\nskill with the bayonet that they can overcome a comparatively fresh foe.\n\nAccuracy in directing the bayonet when moving rapidly or surmounting\nobstacles; a thrust of sufficient force to penetrate clothing and\nequipment; a clean withdrawal, which requires no small effort,\nespecially when the bayonet is fixed by a bone; are all of the greatest\nimportance.\n\n\nMETHOD OF CARRYING THE RIFLE WITH BAYONET FIXED\n\n1. A quick, short advance. Carry the rifle at the position of \"High\nPort.\" This position is suitable for close formations. It minimizes\nrisks of accidents when surmounting obstacles. It can be maintained\nwith the left hand alone, allowing a free use of the right when\nnecessary.\n\n2. Long advance, in close formation. Carry the rifle slung over the\nleft shoulder, barrel perpendicular, sling to the front. This allows\nthe free use of both hands.\n\n3. Long advance, in open order. Carry the rifle at the \"Trail.\"\n\n\nTEAMWORK\n\nThe importance of teamwork, discipline, and organized control\nthroughout the conduct of the bayonet assault cannot be too strongly\nimpressed upon the men. In this, as well as in all other tactical\noperations, success can only be achieved through the closest\ncooperation of all concerned. While individual initiative is to be\nencouraged, it must be strictly subordinated to the will of the leader\nof the assaulting party. The failure of an enterprize can usually be\ntraced to the lack of this close cooperation.\n\n\nTHE ADVANCE\n\n1. All members of the attacking party must \"go over the top,\" that is,\nleave the trench, or rise from cover simultaneously.\n\n2. The first stage, especially of a long advance, is slow and\nsteady--not faster than the pace of the slowest man.\n\nSuch an advance has a decided moral effect on the enemy. It will\nproduce the maximum shock at the moment of impact. It allows the\nattacking force to reach its objective without undue exhaustion. On the\nother hand, if the assault is allowed to develop without control and\nin a haphazard fashion, the moral effect of the steady advance of a\nresistless wall of men is lost and the defenders will be given time to\ndispose of their opponents in detail.\n\n\nTHE CHARGE\n\nThe actual charge will not be delivered over a greater distance than\n20 paces. Within the last ten paces the piece will be brought to the\nposition of guard. The alignment will be maintained as far as possible\nuntil actual contact is gained.\n\nAs soon as a position is carried and prior to any further advance or\nany other operation whatsoever, the line must be reformed and every\nprecaution taken against a counter attack. In Trench Warfare, the\nindiscriminate pursuit with the bayonet must never be permitted unless\norders to that effect have been given by the leaders of the assaulting\nparty. The attacking troops are not so fresh as the enemy and\nexperience has shown that unorganized pursuit is exposed to ambuscades\nand machine gun fire. In most cases the work of immediate pursuit is\nbetter accomplished by the supporting artillery assisted by the rapid\nfire of the infantry on the retreating enemy.\n\n\nASSAULT PRACTICE\n\nThroughout the period of training the men, the men should be constantly\npracticed in:\n\n1. The recognized method of carrying the rifle with the bayonet fixed.\n\n2. The rapid advance out of deep trenches.\n\n3. Teamwork and control of advancing line. Fire discipline, direction\nand control.\n\n4. The art of using the bayonet with effect in the cramped space of\ncommunication and fire trenches.\n\n5. Reforming and opening fire after an assault.\n\n6. Acting as leaders of an attacking party.\n\n\nFINAL ASSAULT PRACTICE\n\nOne of the best methods of training a command in the final assault\nis to construct a section of trench, forming a course, over which\nthe training may be conducted. The edges of the trenches should be\nprotected by logs anchored back in the parapets or solid ground.\nConstant use will soon wear them down if this precaution is not taken.\nCinders placed on the course are a great advantage, for they prevent\nthe men from slipping.\n\nWhen dummy targets are laid on the ground or on parapets, care should\nbe taken to see that the earth under them is free from stones,\notherwise bayonets will be injured when the thrust penetrates clear\nthrough the dummy and into the ground.\n\nFor this practice work it will be well to select the bayonets of the\ncompany that are most worn and use them exclusively.\n\nMost interesting and practical problems in the tactics of trench\nwarfare can be solved by combining the assault practice with other\nforms of training such as the operations of grenadier squads in\nclearing fire trenches and communication trenches; throwing hand\ngrenades, to cover the assault; barricading with sandbags and the\nconstruction of trenches.\n\nThe illustration herein shows a type of Final Assault Practice course,\nthat may be prepared with a minimum expenditure of labor and material.\nIt occupies a space of about 100 feet in width and may be of varying\ndepth according to the elements that it is desired to introduce. A\nplatoon of four squads with the squad leaders taken out of the line\nand placed in rear to direct their squads, may be run over the course\nwith safety after the men have had sufficient preliminary training. The\nelements of this course are:\n\n1. A line of traversed type of fire trench. There being four bays, 18\nfeet long with 6 foot traverses. This trench is the simple type of\nstanding trench shown in the profile.\n\n2. A supervision trench located parallel to and about 50 feet in rear\nof the fire trench. Profile shown.\n\n3. Communication zigzags from the supervision trench to the fire\ntrench.\n\n4. Two communication zigzags of three legs each running to the rear\nfrom the supervision trench.\n\n5. The location of squad dugouts in rear of the bays of the fire\ntrench and platoon dugouts just in rear of the supervision trench are\nindicated. It is not necessary for the purposes to excavate these. The\nlocation of the entrances in the trenches should be indicated.\n\nThe starting line is 40 feet in front of the traversed fire trench.\nThis may be a deep trench or merely a line as desired. The trench gives\ngood practice for the men in getting out of a fire trench, quickly\nand forming a line beyond. The whole system of trenches should be\nconstructed on ground that can be easily drained.\n\n\nACCESSORIES\n\n1. Portable gallows for the suspension of from one to four targets are\nconstructed and located at such points as may be desired in the area\nbetween the fire trench and the supervision trench and that to the rear\nof the latter.\n\n[Illustration: _Gallows with Dummy._]\n\n2. Shell craters may be excavated in the open spaces mentioned above in\nwhich dummy targets may be placed.\n\n3. Portable Turk's Head may be constructed and placed at such points as\nmay be desired in the trenches or in the open spaces above ground.\n\n4. Dummy targets may be placed where-ever desired.\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n[Illustration: _TURK'S HEAD._]\n\n[Illustration:\n _Dummies in Trenches._]\n\n[Illustration:\n _Types of Dummies._]\n\n\nTARGETS\n\n_Target A._ Consists of a portable gallows having one dummy target.\n\n_Target B._ Consists of a portable gallows having two or more dummy\ntargets.\n\n_Target C._ Consists of a portable gallows the same as Target A, having\na dummy target with the stick protruding to the front to represent the\nopponent's bayonet.\n\n_Target D._ Consists of a dummy target to lie on the ground or rest\nagainst the side wall of the trench.\n\n_Target E._ Is a Turk's Head.\n\n\nCONSTRUCTION OF GALLOWS\n\nThe gallows for targets A, B, and C is constructed as shown in the\nplate. Two standards are made as indicated and joined together by\npieces of 2\u00d74 of the desired length at A and B. For Target A this\nlength should be about 6 feet; for Target B at least 5 feet should be\nallowed for each dummy. Where more than two targets are hung the top\ncross piece had better be a 4\u00d74 instead of a 2\u00d74.\n\n[Illustration: _Plan for Gallows for Dummies._]\n\n\nCONSTRUCTION OF DUMMIES\n\nThe dummy may consist of a gunny sack filled with straw and packed\ntightly. It may be an old uniform stuffed with straw. A more elaborate\nform that tends to hold the bayonet when it is thrust into it may be\nmade as follows:\n\n1. Split a sack along the side and across the end forming a manta. Lay\nit on the ground.\n\n2. Place a layer of straw about 20 inches wide and nearly the length of\nthe sack, allowing a few inches at the top and bottom for folding over.\nNow place a layer of good stiff sod on the straw. Follow this with\nanother layer of straw. Follow this of sod and straw until the dummy is\n8 or 10 inches thick. Then put a one-quarter board with the grain up\nand down on top of the whole.\n\n3. Fold in the sides and top tight and sew them together with a strong\ntwine and a baling needle.\n\n4. Run a strong rope around the outside edges, turning it at each\ncorner to make a loop by which the dummy may be hanged to the gallows.\n\nFor those dummies that are to sit on the ground a piece of 2-inch plank\nplaced across the bottom before the sacking is folded and sewed will\nform a good base. On these the rope will be omitted.\n\n\nCONSTRUCTION OF \"TURK'S HEAD\"\n\nOn the end of a pole about six feet long place a ball of straw about 9\ninches in diameter, packed tightly in gunny sacking. Sharpen the other\nend of the pole so that it may be stuck in the ground.\n\n\nCONSTRUCTION OF PARRYING DUMMY TARGET\n\nTake one of the ordinary dummies. Put a Turk's Head on a stick about\n4 feet long and nail some canvas or gunny sacking to the other end so\nthat the edges will spread out. Sew the canvas to a point on the dummy\nabout two-thirds of the way down the front and suspend it from the top\nwith strong ropes attached to the upper corners of the dummy.\n\n\nDISCS ON TARGET\n\nWith a view to attaining accuracy in the points, cardboard discs about\n3 inches in diameter should be placed on the front of the dummies. The\nsoldier should not merely try to hit the dummy with his bayonet, but he\nshould endeavor to make hits on the discs.\n\n[Illustration: EACH DUMMY MUST BE REGARDED AS AN ACTUAL ARMED OPPONENT]\n\n\nEXERCISES\n\nThe exercises that may be devised with this equipment are of an\ninfinite variety, ranging from practice runs of one man to each bay of\nthe trench, merely going into and out of the trenches, to an entire\nsquad assaulting each bay with targets placed all along the course.\n\nThe following are suggested exercises:\n\n\n_Exercise 1_\n\nNumber of men to make the run: Four, one at each bay.\n\n_Targets: No. 1._ One Target D, half exposed on parapet at the left\ncorner of Bay 4 to represent a man firing over the parapet.\n\n_No. 2._ One Target D, resting against the rear wall of the fire\ntrench of Bay 4, at the opening of the dugout, to represent a man just\nemerging from the squad dugout.\n\n_No. 3._ One Target A, midway between the fire trench and the\nsupervision trench.\n\n_No. 4._ One Target E, in supervision trench.\n\n_No. 5._ One Target D, in supervision trench at the entrance to the\ncommunication trench.\n\n_No. 6._ One Target D, on the ground to the rear of the supervision\ntrench. Note. Targets for the man making the run against Bay 4 are\nstated. Those for the other men making the run are similarly located.\n\n\nTHE RUN\n\nThe method of making the run will be explained for the man making the\nrun at Bay 4. The other men proceed in a similar manner.\n\nBeing in the prone position at the starting point the soldier rises\nquickly to his feet and advances at the double time (not running)\ntowards Target No. 1, the piece being carried at the \"High Port.\"\nWhen within about 8 paces of Target No. 1 the piece is brought to\nthe position of guard and when at the proper distance the target is\nattacked with a vigorous \"Long Point.\" This is followed by a clean\nwithdrawal.\n\nThe soldier then jumps into the fire trench and attacks Target No. 2 or\nattacks from over the fire trench as is desired. He then climbs out of\nthe fire trench and continues his advance attacking Target No. 3 with a\nLong Point; No. 4 with a Long Point; No. 5 with a Short Point and No.\n6 with a Long Point, each being followed by a clean withdrawal of the\nbayonet.\n\n\n_Exercise 2_\n\nNumber of men to make run: Two squads, one at Bays 1 and 2, and the\nother at Bays 3 and 4.\n\n_Targets_: The targets are given only for the four men making the run\nagainst Bay 4. Those for the other three bays are similarly arranged.\n\n_No. 1._ Four Targets D, half exposed on parapet of bay to represent\nmen firing over the parapet.\n\n_No. 2._ Four Targets D, lying on ground or in shell crater a few feet\nin rear of the bay.\n\n_No. 3._ Four Targets A or C, in the open area about midway between the\nfire trench and the supervision trench.\n\n_No. 4._ Four Targets D in the bottom of the supervision trench.\n\n_No. 5._ Four Targets E, a few yards in rear of the supervision trench.\n\nThe run is conducted in the same manner as explained for Exercise 1.\nAdditional precautions will have to be taken to prevent the men from\ninjuring one another with their bayonets.\n\nThe line attacks Target No. 1. The men jump over the fire trench\nlanding on the parados and immediately attack Target No. 2. The line\npasses on towards Target No. 3, jumping all trenches encountered and\nattack Target No. 3 with a parry and a point if Target C is used\nand with a point if Target A is used. The line then goes into the\nsupervision trench and attacks Target No. 4, climbing out immediately\nand advancing on Target No. 5 which is attacked by a \"Jab.\"\n\nIn order to save time a second line may be started from the starting\nline when the first has passed beyond the fire trench and towards the\nsupervision trench.\n\nAfter the men have been taken through a thorough course of training\nin the individual instruction, problems should be devised in which a\nsquad assaults a section of the trench system under the direction\nof the squad leader. This is followed by exercises conducted by the\nplatoon leader, the strength of the platoon being as many squads as can\nbe employed at one time on the front of the section of trench system\navailable.\n\nEND.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nADVERTISEMENTS.\n\n EDWIN N. APPLETON\n\n PUBLISHER OF\n\n MILITARY BOOKS\n\n 1 Broadway, New York\n\n\n _Eastern Distributers for_\n\n \"THE MOSS PUBLICATIONS\"\n\n (Colonel Jas. A. Moss)\n\n COLONEL M.B. STEWART\n\n \"THE BANTA PUBLICATIONS\"\n\n and\n\n COLONEL W.H. WALDRON\n\n Any Military or Naval Book desired\n\n\n\n\n\"What Sammy's Doing\"\n\nBY\n\nColonel JAMES A. MOSS\n\nColonel WILLIAM H. WALDRON\n\nUnited States Army\n\n_Being a Pictorial Sketch of the Soldier's Life_\n\n\nThe mission of this book is to tell and show the folks back home what\nyou, Jack, their boy, are doing at the big training camps throughout\nthe country.\n\nTelling them in a simple text that they can readily understand, and by\npictures true to life what you are doing this morning, this afternoon,\nthis evening\n\n Order Your Copy To-day\n\n ----_Price 75 Cents, postage paid_----\n\n FOR SALE BY\n EDWIN N. APPLETON\n No. 1 Broadway, New York City\n\n\n\n\n_THE WALDRON BOOKS_\n\nThe Infantry Soldier's Hand Book\n\n\nAn illustrated text-book covering the training of the Infantry soldier\nfor war. Every soldier in the army should have a copy. Postpaid, $1.00.\n\n\n\n\nCompany Admimstration\n\n\nA reference book that no Company Commander, First Sergeant or Company\nClerk can afford to be without.\n\nThe most complete and practical treatment of the subject that has been\nproduced. Postpaid, $1.25.\n\n FOR SALE BY\n EDWIN N. APPLETON\n 1 Broadway New York\n\n\n\n\n_THE WALDRON BOOKS_\n\nScouting and Patrolling\n\n_Cloth Bound. Fits the Pocket._\n\nWHAT TO DO--HOW TO DO IT\n\n\nCovers the duties of the individual scout and the operation of the\nPatrol in \"No Man's Land.\" Postpaid, 50c.\n\n\n\n\nTactical Walks\n\n\nA system of instruction for Officers and Non-commissioned Officers for\nthe duties that will devolve upon them in actual service.\n\nNo glittering generalities--a book of detail--just what to do, written\nso you can understand it. Postpaid, $1.50.\n\n\n\n\nElements of Trench Warfare\n\nIncluding Bayonet Training\n\n _Cloth Bound_ _Fits the Pocket_\n\n\nCompiled from the latest information of how they are going about it on\nthe Western front. Profusely illustrated. Postpaid, 75c.\n\n FOR SALE BY\n\n EDWIN N. APPLETON\n 1 Broadway New York\n\n\n\n\nMilitary Sketching and Map Reading\n\nBY\n\nJOHN B. BARNES\n\n_Major Fifth U.S. Infantry, Graduate of Army Service School, Graduate\nof Army Staff College, Instructor Plattsburg Instruction Camp, 1916,\nInstructor Plattsburg Officers' Training Camp, 1917._\n\nMajor Barnes' book is based on an expert knowledge of the subject as\ntaught by the Service Schools, Fort Leavenworth, and an appreciation of\nthe needs of beginners through his wide experience as an instructor of\nNational Guard Officers, and at Officers' Training Camps.\n\nWritten with a view of self-instruction, with new and original\nillustrations that explain simply and graphically the points that are\nusually found troublesome by beginners.\n\nThe new and important subject of Landscape Sketching is thoroughly\nexplained and illustrated.\n\nMap Reading is explained in a few pages. Scales are already\nconstructed. Postpaid, 75c.\n\n EDWIN N. APPLETON\n 1 Broadway, New York\n\n\n\n\nEDWIN N. APPLETON\n\nMilitary Text Books Exclusively\n\nWHOLESALE--RETAIL\n\nNO. 1 BROADWAY NEW YORK CITY\n\nEASTERN DISTRIBUTER for\n\n\n COLONEL JAS. A. MOSS\n LT.-COLONEL MERCH B. STEWART\n LT.-COLONEL WILLIAM H. WALDRON\n LT.-COLONEL FRANK H. LAWTON\n LT.-COLONEL D.T. MERRILL\n MAJOR RALPH M. PARKER\n MAJOR LINCOLN C. ANDREWS\n MAJOR O.O. ELLIS\n MAJOR E.B. GAREY\n MAJOR JOHN B. BARNES\n\n\nAny Military Publication not listed herein will gladly be obtained for\nyou.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Elements of Trench Warfare, Bayonet\nTraining, by William Henry Waldron\n\n*** "], ["\n\n\n\nProduced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Josephine Paolucci\nand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttp://www.pgdp.net.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE AMERICAN QUARTERLY REVIEW.\n\nNo. XVII.\n\nMARCH, 1831.\n\n_Philadelphia:_\nCAREY & LEA.\n\nSOLD IN PHILADELPHIA BY E. L. CAREY & A. HART.\nNEW-YORK, BY G. & C. & H. CARVILL.\n\n_LONDON:_--R. J. KENNETT, 59 GREAT QUEEN STREET.\n_PARIS:_--A. & W. GALIGNANI, RUE VIVIENNE.\n\n\n\n\nAMERICAN QUARTERLY REVIEW.\n\nNo. XVII.\n\nMARCH, 1831.\n\n\n\n\nART. I.--_France in 1829-30._ By LADY MORGAN. _Author of_ \"_France in\n1816_,\" \"_Italy_,\" _&c. &c. &c._ 2 vols. J. & J. Harper: New-York.\n\n\nIt was that solemn hour of the night, when, in the words of the poet,\n\"creation sleeps;\"--a silence as of the dead reigned amid the streets\nand alleys of the great city of Dublin, interrupted, ever and anon, only\nby the solitary voice of the watchman, announcing the time, and the\nprospects of fair or foul weather for the ensuing day. Even the noise of\ncarriages returning from revels and festive scenes of various kinds, was\nno longer heard--\n\n \"The diligence of trades and noiseful gain,\n And luxury more late, asleep were laid:\n All was the night's:\"\n\nAll! save the inhabitants of one mansion, situated in Kildare street,\nwho were still invading nature's rest. Why were they alone up and\nstirring? Why were they debarred from taking their needful repose, and\nobliged to employ the time which should have been devoted to it, in\nactive occupation? The reason is easily understood. Early in the\nmorning, the master and mistress were to set off on a trip to Paris, and\nthere was no small quantity of \"packing up\" yet to be done. Trunks\ninnumerable lay scattered about a romantically furnished bed-chamber;\nsome were partly filled with different articles of female habiliment;\nothers seemed to be appropriated to literary purposes, and books without\nnumber, and of all descriptions, were lying around them--here was a pile\nof novels, amongst which, the titles of \"The Novice of St. Dominick,\"\n\"Ida of Athens,\" \"The Wild Irish Girl,\" &c. &c. could be\ndiscerned--there was a heap of \"Travels,\" composed of \"Italy,\" \"France\nin 1816,\" and others:--a couple of volumes, entitled \"Life and Times of\nSalvator Rosa,\" were reposing in graceful dignity on the open lid of a\nportmanteau. Several maids were exerting all their activity to get every\nthing properly arranged; all was bustle and preparation.\n\nAdjoining the chamber was a boudoir, furnished likewise in the most\nromantic manner, in which sat a lady of even a more romantic appearance\nthan that of either of the apartments. How shall we describe her? She\ncertainly (we must tell the truth, and shame you know whom) did not seem\nto be of that delightful age, in which a due regard to veracity would\nallow us to apply to her the line of the poet, \"Le printemps dans sa\nfleur sur son visage est peint.\" Her cheeks, to be sure, were deeply\ntinged with a roseate hue, but it was not that with which nature loves\nto paint the face of spring; the colour proved too palpably, that it had\nbeen placed there by the exercise of those \"curious arts\" with which the\nsex are enabled to revive dim charms, \"and triumph in the bloom of\nfifty-five.\" Her dress was romantic in the extreme. Of the unity of\n_time_, at all events, it was in direct violation, for its \"gay rainbow\ncolours,\" and modish arrangement, were out of all keeping with her\nmatronly age. One would easily have inferred from it that she was fully\nimpressed with the conviction, that the years which had glided over her\nhead, were not of the old-fashioned kind that contain twelve months, or\nat least, that she did not consider the lapse of time as at all\ncalculated to impair the attractions of her physiognomy, however\nprejudicial its effect might be upon the faces of the rest of the female\npart of the creation. In her countenance there was such an expression of\nblended affectation and self-complacency, that it was impossible to look\nupon it without feeling an inclination to smile. She was sitting near a\nprettily ornamented writing-desk, surmounted by a mirror (in which, by\nthe way, she always found her greatest admirer), with her head reclining\non her open hand, her elbow resting on a volume which bore on its back\nthe appropriate title of \"The Book of the Boudoir,\" and her eyes\ndirected, we need hardly say where,--for who does not love to be\nadmired? Her _reflections_ were suddenly disturbed by a knock at the\ndoor, which she answered by an \"Entrez!\" \"_Ah, Sir Charles, c'est\nvous_,\" she lisped, as the door opened, and a person in male attire\nentered, \"_eh bien_, is every thing _pret_ for our _voyage_?\" \"Yes, my\ndear\"--we presume, from this appellation, that the gentleman was her\n_caro sposo_, as she might say,--\"or at least every thing will be ready\nshortly; but let me essay again to dissuade you from this foolish\nexpedition\"--\"_de grace_, Sir Charles, _ayez pitie de moi_; do not\npester me with your _betises_; I am determined to _faire une autre\nvisite_ to my _cher_ Paris, so that all you may say will be _tout a\nfait inutile_.\" \"Well,\" sighed the _caro sposo_, \"just as you please,\"\nand he returned to direct the \"packing up,\" while she began to revel in\nthe anticipations of triumphs, both personal and intellectual, which she\nintended to gain in the fashionable and literary capital of the world.\nAlas! \"oft expectation fails, and most oft there where most it\npromises.\"\n\nWho is this lady? Had she lived in the days of Juvenal, it might have\nbeen supposed that he had her in his eye, when he drew, in his sixth\nsatire, the picture of the \"greatest of all plagues\"--had her existence\nbeen cast in the time of the prince of French comic writers, she would\nundoubtedly have been presumed to be the prototype of the heroine in one\nof his most exquisite comedies; we need hardly say, therefore, that she\nis, in the words of Boileau, \"_une precieuse_,\n\n \"Reste de ces esprits jadis si renommes\n Que d'un coup de son art Moliere a diffames.\"\n\nPity, then, kind reader, pity the lot of the unfortunate gentleman whom\nwe have just introduced to your acquaintance. A further account of this\ndame may prove not unacceptable.\n\nHer father was an honest actor, accustomed to afford great delight to\nthose deities who inhabit the one shilling galleries of English and\nIrish theatres, and to receive, himself, vast gratification from\nworshipping at the shrine of Bacchus. The daughter having given early\nindications of quickness and pertness, came to be considered quite a\ngenius by her family and friends, whose natural partiality soon induced\nher to entertain the same opinion. Determined, accordingly, not to hide\nher light under a bushel, she made her appearance before the world as an\nauthoress, from which it may very reasonably be inferred that she had\nnot yet attained the years of discretion. Her _debut_, of course, was as\na wanderer in the realms of imagination, alias, a novel-writer, and in\nthis capacity she continued to make the public stare for a series of\nyears. We say stare, for we can find no more appropriate word for\nexpressing the feelings which her fictions are calculated to excite.\nWith plots of almost incomprehensible absurdity, they combine a style\nmore inflated than any balloon in which Madame Blanchard ever sailed\nthrough the regions of air--a language, or rather jargon, composed of\nthe pickings of nearly every idiom that ever did live, or is at present\nin existence, and sentiments which would be often of a highly\nmischievous tendency, if they were not rendered ridiculous by the manner\nin which they are expressed. The singularity of these productions\nexcited a good deal of sensation, and, if we believe her own words, she\nwas placed by them \"in a _definite_ rank among authors, and in no\nundistinguished circle of society.\" In some of the principal journals,\nhowever, the lady was severely taken to task, at the same time that she\nwas counselled to obtain for herself a partner in weal and wo, by which\nshe might be brought down from her foolish vagaries, to the sober\nrealities of domestic duty. Wonderful to relate, she followed the advice\nof those whom her vanity must have taught her to consider as her\nbitterest foes, namely critics,--and as\n\n \"Nought but a genius can a genius fit,\n A wit herself, Amelia weds a wit.\"\n\nThis wit was a regular knight of the pestle and mortar--a physician,\nwhose pills and draughts had acquired for him the enviable right of\nplacing that dignified appellation, Sir, before his Christian name, by\nwhich our authoress became entitled to be addressed as \"Your Ladyship,\"\nas much as if she had married an Earl or a Marquis. Oh! how delighted\nthe ci-devant plain \"Miss\" must have been at hearing the servants say to\nher, \"Yes, my lady,\"--\"No, my lady.\"--The year in which the ceremony was\nperformed that gave her a lord and master, we cannot precisely\nascertain; but as the happy pair favoured the capital of France with\ntheir presence in 1816, it may not be unreasonable to suppose, that they\nwent there to spend the honeymoon. Miraculous as are the changes which\nmatrimony sometimes operates, it was powerless in its influence upon her\nLadyship's propensities, and, consequently, not very long after\nreturning to her \"_maison bijou_\" in Dublin, she put forth a quarto!\nwith the magnificent title of \"France.\" There are phenomena in the\nphysical world, in the moral world, in the intellectual world, but this\nbook was a phenomenon that beat them all. It was absolutely wonderful\nhow so much ignorance, nonsense, vanity, and folly, could be compressed\nwithin the compass even of a quarto. All the sense that could be\ndiscerned in it, was contained in four or five essays, upon Love, Law\nand Physic, and Politics, contributed by Sir the husband. Being anxious\nthat \"France\" should have a companion, she subsequently made an\nexpedition to the land of the Dilettanti, in company with the dear man\nwho had made her, \"she _trusts_, a respectable, and she is _sure_, a\nhappy mistress of a family,\" and forthwith \"Italy\" appeared to sustain\nher well-earned reputation for qualities, which she has the singular\nfelicity of possessing without exciting envy. But her \"never ending,\nstill beginning\" pen, was not satisfied with two volumes as the fruits\nof her Italian campaigning, especially as there happened to be a goodly\nquantity of memoranda in the \"diary\" which had not yet been turned to\nany use. Some subject, therefore, was to be hit upon for another\npublication, in which they could be inserted, when beat out into a\nsizeable shape; and what could be better adapted for that purpose than\nthe biography of a great Italian artist? The life of poor Salvator Rosa\nwas, in consequence, attempted. Just think of making one of the\ngreatest geniuses that ever lived, a peg to hang notes upon! The next\noffspring of her Ladyship's brain, was, we believe, another novel, which\nwas as like its predecessors as possible. In the period that elapsed\nbetween this birth, and the moment in which we have had the honour of\nintroducing her to our readers, her literary family was increased by\nanother child, with the delightful name of \"The Book of the Boudoir.\"\n\nWe hope we have not been understood as meaning to insinuate, that\nbecause her Ladyship is the mother of a couple of dozen of volumes, she\nis on that account a _precieuse ridicule_. This was far, very far from\nour intention. None can take more pleasure than ourselves in rendering\nall homage to genuine female talent, employed for useful and honourable\npurposes, or be more willing to acknowledge the peculiar excellence by\nwhich its productions are frequently marked. Were it our pleasant duty\nat present to notice the works of an Edgeworth, a Hemans, a Mitford, a\nSedgwick, or of any others of that fair and brilliant assemblage, who\nreflect so great a lustre upon the literature of this age, we should use\nlanguage as eulogistic as their warmest admirers could desire. But we\nhave to do now with a person of a very different description from those\nbright ornaments of their sex--with one in whose mind, whatever flowers\nNature may originally have planted, have been almost completely choked\nby the rank weeds of ignorance, presumption, frivolity, and vanity\nbeyond measurement--who, in a list of works as long, to use one of her\nown delicate illustrations, as \"Leporello's catalogue of Don Juan's\nmistresses,\" has given little or no aid to the cause of virtue\ngenerally, or evinced the slightest anxiety to improve and benefit her\nsex, but has devoted all her faculties to the erection of an altar on\nwhich she might worship herself, and only herself--who has even afforded\ncause, by the frequently extreme levity of her expressions, for the\ncharge of lending countenance to licentiousness and impiety--whose\nwritings, in fine, are calculated to inflict serious injury upon the\ntastes, the understandings, and the hearts of her youthful female\nreaders, by accustoming them to a vicious and ridiculous style, by\nfilling their minds with false and perverted sentiments and wrong\nimpressions upon some of the most important matters, and by setting\nbefore them the example of a woman who boasts of being a member of no\nundistinguished circle of society, and yet constantly violates those\nlaws of delicacy and refinement, the full observance of which is\nindispensable for every female who aspires to the name and character of\na lady.\n\nPale Aurora began now to appear, \"_Tiphoni croceum linquens cubile_,\" in\nvulgar parlance, day began to break. Behold our couple setting forth on\ntheir Parisian expedition. Some months afterwards, the \"_maison\nbijou_,\" in Kildare street, again was illumined by the presence of our\nfair traveller, whose pen was soon mended, dipped in ink, and busily\nemployed. In due time its labours were brought to a termination, and two\ngoodly volumes were ushered into the light of day, purporting to contain\nan account of \"France in 1829-30.\" These are the identical volumes which\nit is our design in this article to notice.\n\n\"_Facit indignatio versus_,\" exclaimed the old Roman satirist, and\n\"indignation makes us write,\" would we exclaim, in assigning our motives\nfor devoting a number of our pages to \"France in 1829-30,\" could we for\na moment be persuaded that our readers would credit the assertion. It\nseems to us, that we already behold every one of them smiling in\nderision, and giving an incredulous shake of the head, at the bare idea\nof a cold-blooded reviewer being actuated by indignant feelings to place\nhis critical lance in rest, and run a course against an unfortunate\nauthor. We must, nevertheless, be permitted to protest, that we do feel\na considerable quantity of very honest and virtuous indignation against\nthe trash last put forth by _Miladi_--quite as much, we are sure, as\nimpelled Juvenal to the composition of his searing satires. We may be\ntold, however, that we are waging battle with a lady, and that we should\nbe upon our guard not to give fresh cause for the exclamation, that \"the\nage of chivalry is gone.\" A lady, true; but, when in your boasted \"age\nof chivalry,\" persons of her sex buckled on armour and rushed into the\n_melee_, were they spared by the courteous knights with whom they\nmeasured swords? Did not Clorinda receive her death wound from the hand\nof Tancred? And why should the Amazon who wields the pen, be more gently\ndealt with than she who meddles with cold iron? In literature, as in\nwar, there is no distinction of sex. We hope, therefore, we shall not be\naccused of ungallant, or anti-chivalric bearing, on account of the blows\nwe may inflict upon the literary person of a most daring Thalestris,\nespecially as her vanity is a panoply of proof.\n\nIn her preface, Lady M. says, that a second work on France from her pen\ncould only be justified by the novelty of its matter, or by the merit of\nits execution. Then do we pronounce this second work, this \"France in\n1829-30,\" to be the most unjustifiable imposition on the good nature of\nthe reading community that ever was practised. Its matter is nothing\nmore nor less than Miladi herself; and is she a novelty? Something less\nthan half a century ago, her Ladyship undoubtedly was a novelty, and one\ntoo of an extraordinary kind. As to the \"merit of its execution,\" it is\nquite sufficient to know that it is the work of Lady Morgan, to form an\nidea of that requisite for its \"justification.\" Out of thine own mouth\nhave we condemned thee. The fact is, that \"France in 1829-30,\" is\nalmost, the counterpart of \"France in 1816,\" and the same remarks may\nbe made concerning it which we have already applied to the latter. All\nthe information we could discover we had obtained from it on finishing\nits perusal, was that its author had improved in neither wisdom,\nknowledge, nor modesty, since her first visit to the land after which\nboth of these productions have been christened. France! and what right\nhave they to that name? Would it not induce one to suppose, that their\nauthor had at least travelled through the greater portion of that\nbeautiful country, and eked out a number of her pages from the notes,\nsuch as they might be, made during the tour? And yet her Ladyship, on\nboth occasions, went to Paris by the high road of Calais, remained in\nthe capital a few months, and then returned by another high road. Even\n\"Paris in 1816,\" \"Paris in 1829-30,\" would be titles with which these\npublications would possess scarcely more affinity, than that by which\nchildren, on whom the preposterous fondness of their parents has\nbestowed the high-sounding appellations of warriors and monarchs, are\nconnected with those worthies. Their only appropriate names would be,\n\"Lady Morgan in 1816,\" \"Lady Morgan in 1829-30;\" for what information do\nthey give about France or Paris, and what information do they _not_ give\nabout Lady Morgan? they even let us into the secrets of her Ladyship's\nwardrobe. It was Paris that saw Lady Morgan, and not Lady Morgan that\nsaw Paris, in the same way as, according to Dr. Franklin, it was\nPhiladelphia that took Sir William Howe, and not Sir William Howe that\ntook Philadelphia.\n\nTo collect materials for a book of travels, it is necessary to be all\neyes and ears with regard to every thing but one's self. Her Ladyship,\nhowever, was just the reverse throughout the whole period of her absence\nfrom Kildare street,--it seems always to have been her object to\nattract, and not to bestow, attention. In the volumes before us, it is\nher perpetual endeavour to win admiration by making known the admiration\nshe entertains for herself, as well as that which she supposes she\nexcites in others. They are consequently, in great measure, filled with\nwhat was said to Lady Morgan, and what Lady Morgan did and said during\nher last visit to Paris. While discoursing about anything else than\nherself, she appears to be on thorns until she gets back to that all\nabsorbing subject, and no matter what is the title of the chapter, she\ngenerally contrives, by hook or by crook, to bring herself into it as\nthe main object of interest. The poor reader is thus often sadly\ndisappointed in the expectations he may form of deriving pleasure or\ninformation from various parts of her work, in consequence of the\npromises held out by their \"headings.\" He almost always eventually\ndiscovers, that however he may have been induced to anticipate a meeting\nwith other persons or matters, it is still \"Monsieur Tonson come\nagain.\" We must confess, that it is rather too bad to be _Morbleued_ in\nthis way; though it is but fair to acknowledge, that her Ladyship is not\nan intentional tormentor, like the malicious wags by whom the\nunfortunate Frenchman was teased out of house and home. On the contrary,\nher design is one altogether consonant to the general benevolence of her\ncharacter. It is to give pleasure; and as her greatest delight arises\nfrom the contemplation of herself, she has presumed, naturally enough if\nwe may believe the philosophers, that the same cause will produce the\nsame effect upon the rest of the world. All her pictures, therefore,\nlike those of the painter who doated upon his mistress to such a degree\nas to introduce her face into every one of his works, contain the object\nof her idolatry, either prominently in the foreground, or so ingeniously\nplaced in the background, as to be quite as well fitted to draw\nattention.--But it is time to follow her in some of her peregrinations.\n\nOn a certain day of the year 1829, which she has not had the goodness to\ndesignate, she arrived at Calais. She was accompanied by an Irish\nfootman,--not, we presume, the \"_illiterate literatus_,\" whom she has\nimmortalized in her first \"France,\"--and by a person whom she once or\ntwice alludes to in her volumes; first, by acknowledging her obligations\nto a \"Sir C. M.\" for some articles which had been contributed by him to\nswell the dimensions of her work; and, secondly, by mentioning that\nsomebody sent a \"flask of genuine _potteen_,\" to her Ladyship's great\ndelight, \"with Mr. Somebody's compliments to Sir C. M.\" As there is an\nindividual designated once or twice also as \"my husband,\" we have shrewd\nsuspicions that he and this Sir C. M. are one and the same being. The\nfirst thing that Miladi does at Calais, is to experience a \"burst of\nagreeable sensations;\" and the next, to feel a considerable degree of\nsurprise at being delighted again with that renowned place--renowned for\nhaving been several times visited by Lady Morgan, besides other minor\ncauses of celebrity, such as its sieges, and its having been the place\nwhere Yorick commenced his sentimental journey; but these have been\ncompletely forgotten since the year 1816. After her \"little heart\" had\nbeen fluttered by those agreeable and wonderful sensations, the nature\nof its palpitations was unfortunately changed by the indignation with\nwhich it was filled on her discovering \"how English\" every thing\nappeared. \"English carpets, and English cleanliness; English delf and\nEnglish damask,\" with various other _Englishiana_, gave such a John Bull\naspect to the room of the hotel into which she was ushered, that she was\non the point of swooning, when her ears were suddenly assailed by a loud\nsound--Gracious heavens! What noise is that? Her delicate little head\nis in a twinkling thrust out of the window, and she beholds,--oh horror\nof horrors--she beholds a mail-coach, built on the regular English plan,\ncantering into the yard, with all its concomitants completely _a\nl'Anglaise_--\"horses curvetting, and not a hair turned--a whip that\n'tips the silk' like a feather--'ribbons,' not ropes--a coachman, all\ncapes and castor--a guard that cries 'all right,'\" and who was at that\nmoment puffing most manfully into a \"reg'lar mail-coach horn.\" This was\ntoo much, and her Ladyship would inevitably have been driven distracted,\nor, at least, have gone into hysterics, had not a most delicious idea\ninterposed its aid, and she exclaimed, \"What luck to have written _my_\nFrance, while France was still so French!\"--and what luck, say we, to\nhave so commodious a safety-valve as vanity, by means of which to let\noff the superabundant steam of one's ire!\n\nNow, as to her Ladyship's having written her \"France,\" while _France_\nwas still \"so French,\" this we do not deny; but we do deny that _her_\nFrance itself is \"so French.\" It would be an affair of some considerable\ndifficulty, in our humble opinion, to find any thing French either about\nit or the \"France\" we are now reviewing, except their titles, and\ninnumerable scraps of the French language, not unfrequently so expressed\nand so applied that they would do honour to Mrs. Malaprop herself.\n\nLady M.'s fondness for generalizing, has led her to relate this\napparition of the \"Bang-up\" in such a way as would induce any one who\ndid not know better, to suppose that the \"Coach\" had entirely superseded\nthe \"Diligence\" upon the French roads. Truly would such a change be a\ncause of regret; for the traveller in France would thus be deprived of a\nfruitful source of amusement. But we have the pleasure of announcing,\nfor the satisfaction of such of our readers as may entertain the design\nof paying a visit to that country, that the coach which Lady Morgan saw,\nwas the only vehicle of the kind with which her eyes could have been\nannoyed. We speak _understandingly_ on the subject, as we happened to be\nin France about the same time as her Ladyship. This coach, which, if we\nrecollect aright, was called the Telegraph, and not the \"Bang-up,\" was a\nspeculation of some Englishman, who ran it for a short time between\nBoulogne and Calais, but without much success. The old national vehicle\nhad too strong a hold upon the affections of the most national people in\nthe world, to be pushed from the field by any foreign opponent, and the\nslow, sure, and comfortable Diligence kept on the even tenor of its way,\nwhile the dashing, rapid Telegraph arrived prematurely at the end of its\njourneying.\n\nWe do not deem ourselves competent to decide upon so momentous a subject\nas the respective merits of the English and French stages, to give them\nour technical appellation; but it may be remarked as perhaps somewhat\nsingular, that with regard to comfort--a matter respecting which the\nFrench are as noted for their general heedlessness as the English are\nfor their almost uniform concern--the Diligence can lay claim to\nunquestionable superiority over the coach. On the other hand, the coach\nis constructed in such a way as to possess far greater facilities for\nrapidity of locomotion,--a quality which it might be supposed the quick\nvivacious temperament of the French would especially prize in their\nconveyances. As to appearance also, the English vehicle is certainly a\ngood deal better off than the French. Nothing, indeed, that a stranger\nmay have heard or read about the latter, can prepare him for it\nsufficiently, to prevent him on first beholding it from giving way to\nsomething more than a smile. It is not, however, so much the mere\nmachine itself that operates upon his risible faculties, as the whole\nequipage, or _atalage_,--the scare-crow horses, that seem to have been\nonce the property of the keeper of some museum by whom their bones have\nbeen linked together and covered with skin as well as they might be,\nwithout inserting something between as a substitute for flesh; the\nnon-descript gear by which these living anatomies are kept together and\nattached to the vehicle, composed of rope, leather, iron, steel, brass,\nand every thing else that could by any possibility be used for the\npurpose; the queer-looking postillion, with his long cue, huge boots,\nand pipe, all combine with the grotesque appearance of the Diligence\nitself, to form an _ensemble_ irresistibly ludicrous.\n\nWhat a difference, too, there is in the facility with which they get\n\"under weigh.\" One crack of the coachman's whip, causes his fine animals\nto give \"a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull together,\" and away you\nwhirl in an instant. But the traveller in France does not find starting\nso easy a matter. He gets into the Diligence; every thing seems ready.\nThe passengers are all in their places, and have saluted each other with\ntrue French politeness, except some gruff John Bull sitting in a corner\nseat and eyeing his associates with mingled scorn and distrust--the five\nor six apologies for horses are standing in an attitude of the greatest\npatience, waiting for the signal to make an attempt at putting one foot\nbefore the other--the _conducteur_, a person who has the supreme\ndirection of the movements of the Diligence, is in his place on the\ntop--the boots in which the legs of the postillion are buried, are\ndangling on both sides of the wheel horse on the left--crack! goes his\nwhip--a jingling sound responds, caused by the endeavours of the\n\"cattle\" to advance--\"mais que diable\"--crack! crack! crack!--something\nlike motion is experienced, when there is a sudden stop, and the\nconducteur is seen descending from his eminence, muttering sundry\nexpressions of no very gentle nature--\"what the devil's the matter now,\"\ngrowls a more than bass voice out of one window--\"qu'est ce que c'est,\nconducteur,\" simultaneously demand a treble and a tenor from another\nwindow--\"rien, Madame,\" the answer is always addressed to the lady,\n\"rien du tout,\" he replies whilst endeavouring to repair some part of\nthe \"rigging\" that could not stand the efforts of the poor beasts to\nmove from their position. At length, however, you get fairly under\nweigh, with about a four knot breeze, and continue to make some progress\nfor an hour or two amidst a noise caused by the rumbling of the vehicle,\nthe creaking, jingling, rattling, and clanking, of the _atalage_, the\nunceasing crack of the whip, and the chattering of your companions, to\nwhich the sounds at Babel were music. The movement then becomes\n_adagio_, and soon afterwards the conducteur's voice is heard, begging\nthe passengers in all parts of the vehicle to descend. Wondering what is\nthe matter, you get out with the rest, and find the cause of this\ncommotion to be a _grande Montagne_--anglice, a little hill--in mounting\nwhich, the tender care that is taken of the animals upon the road,\nhowever much the state of their flesh shows it is diminished in the\nstable, renders it indispensable that they should be relieved of every\npossible weight. To this inconvenience you are subjected on approaching\nalmost every little elevation, the like of which in England or the\nUnited States, would not cause the slightest diminution of speed. But it\nmust be confessed, that occasionally, a hill is to be passed of a\nmagnitude which the steeds could never surmount without diminishing\ntheir load, and then the notice that is said to have been affixed to one\nof the Diligences, may very well be appended to all. \"MM. les voyageurs,\nsont pries, quand ils descendent, de ne pas aller plus vite que la\nvoiture:\" passengers are requested, when they descend, not to go faster\nthan the vehicle. A most necessary request! La Fontaine, when he wrote\nthe fable in which he gives an account of a vehicle ascending a steep\neminence, and the exertions of a fly to assist the horses, must have\njust returned from some excursion in a Diligence, during which he was\nwitness to the creeping, toiling, panting of the animals pulling it up a\nhill. Pauvres diables! as the women are constantly exclaiming, a fly\nmight really lend them some aid in their efforts. About every eight\nmiles, fresh horses are in readiness, but the change is rarely for the\nbetter,--for the worse it cannot be.\n\nIt is only on the road that the postillions drive slowly; when they\nenter a town it is a sort of signal for them to dash on at a furious\nrate, notwithstanding the danger of going rapidly through streets which\nare little better than alleys, and in which there are no side-pavements\nto mark the limits for pedestrians. We never before experienced such\nphilanthropic alarm for the safety of our fellow-mortals, as on the\nevening of our arrival in Paris, whilst whirling at a furious rate\nthrough its narrow streets, which were thronged with people, when it was\nso dark that their ears alone could give them warning to get out of the\nway. No accident, however, occurred. The French drivers, it must be\nconfessed, though not very elegant or stylish \"whips,\" are very sure;\nthey contrive to guide the immense Diligences through the crowded\nlabyrinths of a large city with wonderful safety, notwithstanding the\nswiftness with which they generally pass through them, and the loose\nmanner in which the horses are linked together.\n\nBut where did we leave our Ladyship? Oh, with her head out of the window\nof the hotel, saying something about _her_ France and the other France.\nWe really beg her pardon for keeping her so long in such a situation,\nand hasten to relieve her from it, by placing her, together with Sir C.\nM. and the Irish footman, in a,--but here again we are at fault. She has\nnot had the kindness to inform us what was the species of conveyance\nthat she consecrated to eternal veneration by employing for her journey\nto Paris, and as we have neither time nor space for an adequate\ninvestigation of this important point, we must leave it to be mooted by\nother commentators, contenting ourselves with the knowledge that the\nillustrious trio arrived safely at the capital.\n\nOn reaching the hotel in the Rue de Rivoli, which she had resolved upon\nimmortalizing by residing in it during her sojourn in Paris, she was\nagain fearfully agitated by that dreadful fondness for things English,\nin France, by which her nervous system had before been so greatly\ndiscomposed. Woful to relate, she was received by \"a smart, dapper,\nEnglish-innkeeper-looking landlord,\" and conducted to apartments \"which\nwere a box of boudoirs, as compact as a Chinese toy.\" \"There were\ncarpets on every floor, chairs that were moveable, mirrors that\nreflected, sofas to sink on, footstools to stumble over; in a word, all\nthe incommodious commodities of my own cabin in Kildare street.\" Poor\nMiladi! this was really too provoking, to have all the trouble and\nexpense of journeying from Dublin to see just what was to be seen there;\nbut no matter, it will serve for the subject of some twenty pages in\nyour intended book. But then the change, so trying to the nerves of a\nromantic lady, which had taken place since 1816. In that year, she\nremembered, on driving into the paved court of the hotel d'Orleans, she\nhad seen \"an elderly gentleman, sitting under the shelter of a vine, and\nlooking like a specimen of the restored emigration. His white hair,\npowdered and dressed _a l'oiseau royale_; his Persian slippers and _robe\nde chambre, a grand ramage_, (we hope, reader, you have a French\ndictionary near you) spoke of principles as old as his toilet. He was\nreading, too, a loyal paper, loyal, at least, in those days,--the\n_Journal des Debats._ Bowing, as we passed, he consigned us, with a\ngraceful wave of the hand, to the care of Pierre, the _frotteur_. I took\nhim for some fragment of a _duc et pair_ of the old school; but, on\nputting the question to _the frotteur_, who himself might have passed\nfor a _figurante_ at the opera, he informed us that he was '_Notre\nbourgeois_,' the master of the hotel.\" It is quite wonderful to us how\nMiladi could have survived to relate so shocking a metamorphosis. Ovid\nhas nothing half so strange and heart-rending.\n\nThe instances we have mentioned are far from being the only ones in\nwhich her Ladyship was \"put out of sorts\" by the Anglomania, which, she\nwould make us believe, is operating at present as great a revolution in\nthe social, as was effected in '98 in the political condition of France.\nAll along the road from Calais to Paris, she sees nothing but \"youths\ngalloping their horses in the cavalry costume of Hyde Park,\" \"smart gigs\nand natty dennets,\" \"cottages of gentility, with white walls and green\nshutters, and neat offices, rivalling the diversified orders of the\nWyatvilles of Islington and Highgate,\" in short, nothing but \"English\nneatness and propriety on every side,\" with one terrible exception,\nhowever, \"an Irish jaunting car!\" of which she chanced, to her infinite\ndismay, to catch a glimpse. The second appearance that she makes in the\nstreets of Paris, is for the purpose of buying some \"_bonbons_,\n_diablotins en papillotes_, _Pastilles de Nantes_, and other sugared\nprettinesses,\" for which Parisian confectioners are so renowned.\nAccordingly, she goes into a shop where she supposes that \"fanciful\nidealities, sweet nothings, candied epics and eclogues in spun sugar, so\nlight, and so perfumed as to resemble (was there ever such nonsense)\ncongealed odours, or a crystallization of the essence of sweet flowers,\"\nare to be sold, but on inquiry she is told by a \"demoiselle behind the\ncounter, as neat as English muslin and French (what a wonder it wasn't\nEnglish) _tournure_ could make her,\" that 'we sell no such a ting,' but\nthat she might have 'de cracker, de bun, de plom-cake, de spice\ngingerbread, de mutton and de mince pye, de crompet and de muffin, de\ngelee of de calves foot, and de apple dumplin.' Reader, Lady Morgan \"was\nstruck dumb!\" She purchased a bundle of crackers, \"hard enough to\n_crack_ the teeth of an elephant,\" and hurried from the shop. But\nmisfortunes never come single, and her ladyship, though an exception to\nmost other general rules, was not destined to prove the correctness of\nthat one in this instance, for just as she was escaping from the place\nwhere she had experienced the serious inconvenience of being \"struck\ndumb,\" she was struck in another way--viz. on the left cheek, by the\nexplosion of a bottle of \"Whitbread's entire,\" the consequence of which\nwas, that the exterior of her head became covered with precisely the\nsame thing with which its interior is filled--\"froth.\"--\n\nFoaming with rage and brown-stout, her Ladyship was hastening home as\nfast as her \"little feet\" could carry her, when a perfumer's shop\n\"caught the most acute of all her senses.\"--What a delightful mode, by\nthe way, her ladyship has, of imparting knowledge _en passant_, as it\nwere; here we have the important information communicated to us, that\nher \"acutest sense\" is situated in her nose, just because she happened\nto pass by a perfumery store; but what a nose her ladyship's nose must\nbe, since it is endowed with more wonderful faculties than her eyes,\nwhich possess such miraculous powers as to enable her to see things in\nFrance perceptible by no other mortal optics! But to proceed with our\ndismal story. Her ladyship's olfactory nerves, as we have already\nmentioned, having made her aware of the proximity of a perfumer's shop,\nshe was induced to go into it by the desire of procuring something which\nmight relieve them from the torture produced by the exhalations of\n'Whitbread's entire.' But here again she was doomed to disappointment.\nShe asked for various \"_eaux_, _essences_, and _extraits_,\" and was\npresented with bottles of \"_lavendre vatre_, _honey vatre_, and _tief\nhis vinaigre_;\" she asked for _savons_, and was shown cakes of \"_Vindsor\nsoap_,\" and \"_de Regent's vashball_.\" In an agony of despair, she rushes\nfrom the shop, first taking care, however, to \"gather up her purse and\nreticule,\" and soon arrives at her--alas! English furnished apartments.\nAfter stumbling over a footstool, and being incommoded by other\n\"incommodious commodities,\" she at length sinks exhausted upon a sofa,\njust opposite to a \"mirror that reflected.\" But what other singular\nlooking object, besides Miladi's face, is it that forms a subject of\nthat glass's reflections, and is lying on a table just behind her? It is\na little basket, the contents of which her ladyship soon begins to\ninvestigate,--and what do you suppose she finds?--\"A flask of _genuine\npotteen_!!\" This time she is struck loquacious, and she shrieks out,\n\"this is too much! was it for this we left the snugness and economical\ncomfort of our Irish home, and encountered the expensive inconveniencies\nof a foreign journey, in the hope of seeing nothing British, 'till the\nthreshold of that home should be passed by our feet;'--to meet at every\nstep with all that taste, health, and civilization (exemplified by\n'lavendre vatre,' 'vindsor soap,' and 'a flask of _potteen_,') we cry\ndown at home, as cheap and as abundant abroad,\" &c. &c. The piercing key\non which her Ladyship pitched her voice while declaiming this\nmagnificent soliloquy, brought Sir C. M., the Irish footman, and the\nEnglish-looking landlord into the room, in a terrible flurry. \"My\ndearest dear what is the matter?\"--\"Och! my leddy, what is it now that\nails you?\"--\"_Ah! madame, mille pardons, qu'est ce que c'est?_\"\nsimultaneously issue from the mouths of the three worthies. \"Avaunt! get\nout of my sight, you _maudit imitateur_; and you Sir Charles, _et vous_,\nPatrick, see that _tout est prepare_ for returning to Dublin _dans\nl'heure meme_,\" meekly responds Miladi. But a sudden change comes over\nher countenance--sudden as that which took place in the aspect of Juno\nwhen she beheld the waves raised to the very heavens by the power of\nNeptune, and supposed that they had overwhelmed the bark which carried\nAEneas and his companions, the objects of her eternal hatred. She smiled,\nas the face of Nature smiles when the clouds that have long covered it\nwith gloom, have disappeared before the potent influence of the\n\"glorious orb that gives the day,\" and at length she rapturously cried\nout, \"How lucky to have written _my_ France, while France was still so\nFrench!\"--Lady Morgan was herself again.\n\nNow we beg leave to observe, that this Anglomania bugbear, by which her\nladyship pretends to have been so much distressed, is the merest piece\nof nonsense and affectation in the world. We will not be so ungallant as\nto suppose that Lady Morgan has intentionally related what is not\naltogether so true as might be, but she has been accustomed for such a\nlength of time to roam about the varied realms of fancy, that it would\nbe impossible for her ever to descend to the flat regions of fact.\nBesides, as we have already stated, she has been gifted with powers of\nvision more surprising than those of the lynx or the seer--the first can\nonly see through a stone, the second can only see things which may exist\nat a future day, when they will be visible to every one else--but she\nsees things existing at present, that defy the ken of all other animals,\nrational and irrational. While reading her account of the English\nvehicles, English cottages, &c. &c. which she observed in her journey\nfrom Calais to Paris, we could not help asking ourselves, where were our\neyes during the time we travelled that road? We are satisfied, however,\nthat they were in their right place, and tolerably well employed; and\nthat if they did not encounter the signs of Anglomania mentioned by her\nLadyship, it was because these were to be perceived by no one but\nherself. Wide indeed is the difference between travelling in France and\nEngland! The poet Grey, in one of his charming letters, affirms, that in\nthe former country it would be the finest in the world, were it not for\nthe terrible state of the inns; but it must have greatly deteriorated\nthere, or have improved in his native isle since his time, for there can\nnot be the slightest question as to the superior delights of journeying\nin the latter at present. The inns in France are still bad enough, in\nall conscience, and offer but a dreary welcome to one who has been\naccustomed to the neatness and comforts of English hostels. There are,\nhowever, various other particulars of importance for a traveller's\nenjoyment, which Shakspeare's \"sea-walled garden\" furnishes in by far\nthe greater abundance. In France the roads are comparatively much\ninferior, and the general appearance of the country is less pleasing.\nYou meet there with few or none of those detached farm-houses, with\ntheir little dependencies of cottages, which everywhere greet the eye in\nEngland, bespeaking the honest and well-conditioned yeoman, and\npresenting a picture of prosperity and contentment,--the villages\nthrough which you pass, mostly wear a decayed and squalid\nappearance--the magnificent country-seats, with their parks and other\nappurtenances, whose frequent recurrence in England constitutes so rich\na feast for the gaze of the stranger, are rarely rivalled in France--the\nlandscape here, also, is much seldomer able to borrow that venerable\ngrace and romantic charm which the remains of feudal ages alone can\nlend. This last circumstance is one greatly to be regretted; for perhaps\nthe most exquisite gratification to be derived from travelling through a\ncountry, where for centuries civilization in a greater or less degree\nhas exercised sway, arises from the contemplation of the various\nmonuments of by-gone days, some slowly mouldering into dust, others\nstill proudly defying the assaults of the great destroyer. The mind\ndwells upon them with a species of pensive delight, and that peculiar\ncharm which their association with the fictions and annals of times past\ninspires. It would seem, that France should be especially rich in the\nrelics of that feudalism of which for a long time it was the chief seat,\nbut a reason for their scantiness may be found in the policy which\ncaused Louis XI., and which was subsequently pursued by Richelieu, and\ncompleted by Louis le Grand, to call the nobles from their estates,\nwhere they exercised almost sovereign authority, to the capital, and\nconvert them into mere hangers on of the court--in the destructive\nhostilities which have almost incessantly desolated the kingdom--and\nespecially in the determined war that was made upon castles by the\npatriots of the Revolution. These, at all events, are the causes which\nSir Walter Scott, in his \"Paul's Letters to his Kinsfolk,\" assigns for\nthe circumstance we are lamenting. The first one of them had also been\npreviously intimated by that worthy personage, the father of Tristram\nShandy,--\"Why are there so few palaces and gentlemen's seats, (he would\nask with some emotion, as he walked across the room,) throughout so many\ndelicious provinces in France? Whence is it that the few remaining\n_chateaux_ amongst them are so dismantled, so unfurnished, and in so\nruinous and desolate a condition?--Because, sir, (he would say,) in that\nkingdom no man has any country-interest to support:--the little interest\nof any kind which any man has anywhere in it, is concentrated in the\ncourt, and the looks of the Grand Monarch; by the sunshine of whose\ncountenance, or the clouds which pass across it, every Frenchman lives\nor dies.\" This, however, is certainly not the case with Frenchmen of the\npresent day.\n\nBut the principal drawback upon the pleasure of travelling in France, is\ndecidedly the multitude of mendicants by whom you are continually\nannoyed, and whose miserable appearance offends the eye, while it\nsickens the heart. Scarcely ever does the vehicle stop without being\nimmediately surrounded by the most distressing objects that the mind can\nconceive, in such numbers as to render it impossible for any one except\nthe possessor of Fortunatus's or Rothschild's purse, to bestow alms,\nhowever inconsiderable, upon them all. A humane individual, who should\nattempt to do it, with a pocket of but moderate dimensions, would soon\nbe reduced to the necessity of enrolling himself in the mendicant band,\nand crying out with the rest of them, in their peculiar tone, \"_Donnez\nun sous, a un pauvre malheureux, pour l'amour de Dieu, et de la Sainte\nVierge_.\" \"Give a sous to a poor unfortunate, for the love of God and of\nthe Holy Virgin.\" The crowds of these beggars upon the French roads,\nlead the stranger to apprehend that in Paris they will swarm to such an\nextent as to mar in a degree the pleasure of his residence there; he is,\nhowever, agreeably disappointed at finding in his perambulations through\nits streets, that they are completely free from them, in consequence of\nthe admirable regulations of the police. It is worthy of remark, that\nthe reverse of this is the case in England. There the roads and villages\nrarely afford cause for the tear of compassion, or the exclamation of\ndisgust, elicited by scenes of misery; but in walking about London, one\nmust be made of sterner stuff than was sentimental Yorick, who can avoid\nendeavouring to repeat \"Psha! with an air of carelessness,\" at almost\nevery step, after being obliged to refuse infinitely stronger claims\nupon charity than those which were advanced by the poor Franciscan.\n\nWe have thus enumerated most of the reasons why travelling in England is\npreferable to that in France, yet there is one circumstance to be\nremarked in favour of the latter, which almost counterbalances every\nconsideration of an unfavourable kind. We allude to the facility with\nwhich a stranger can make acquaintance with his fellow passengers, in\nthe \"gay, smiling land of social mirth and ease.\" In England he may\njourney from Plymouth to Berwick without speaking more than ten words to\nany persons who chance to be his companions in the coach, or hearing ten\nwords spoken by them if they happen not to know each other; but in a\nFrench public conveyance, only a short time elapses before all its\noccupants are as much at ease, and upon as good terms with each other,\nas if they were familiar acquaintances. Many a pleasant hour have we\nspent in a diligence, in consequence of the conversations we have fallen\ninto with individuals whom we have there encountered, some of which were\nof a highly ludicrous character. We shall never forget a series of\ninterrogatories put to us by a loquacious fellow next to whom we were\nseated in the diligence in going from Rouen to Paris, and who was about\nas ignorant as he was garrulous. Hearing us say, in answer to a question\nof another person, that we were from the United States, he asked us how\nwe liked Italy; and on our telling him we had never been there, inquired\nwith a face of great surprise, whether the United States was not on the\nother side of Italy? After endeavouring to give him an idea of the\nsituation of our country, he asked successively, if we had crossed the\nocean in a steam-boat, if the United States belonged to England or to\nFrance, and if Philadelphia was not the place where the great revolt of\nthe s took place. But we must return to her Ladyship, with the\nwish that she would contrive to render her company more agreeable, that\nwe might have less temptation to wander from her at this rate.\n\nWith regard to the English furniture of her Ladyship's apartments, and\nthe English confectionaries and perfumeries which gave rise to the\nmemorable adventures we have related above, we may remark that it may\nhave been so ordained by fate that she should light upon one of the very\nfew hotels, one of the very few confectionary shops, and one of the very\nfew perfumery stores in Paris, in which matters are ordered in the\nEnglish style; but to give us to understand, in consequence, that all\nthe hotels are furnished in the same way, and that _bonbons_,\n_extraits_, &c. are not to be procured, is like the proceeding of the\nHon. Frederick de Roos, R. N. who affirms, in his sapient work on the\nUnited States, that all the inhabitants in Philadelphia take tea on the\nsteps before their doors in summer evenings, because, forsooth, he saw a\nfamily sitting on those of the house in which they lived, in order to\nenjoy a July twilight.\n\nOne of the first things that her Ladyship does on the morning subsequent\nto her arrival, is to give notice to her friends of that important\nevent,--a gratuitous piece of kindness altogether, as it seems to us,\nfor it must doubtless have been announced by as many portentous signs as\naccompanied the birth of Owen Glendower. Nevertheless, in order to make\nassurance doubly sure, she despatched 'cards to some, and notes to\nothers, after the Parisian fashion,' but previously indulged in a very\npretty sentimental fit. This was caused by the first name that met her\neye as she opened her 'old Paris visiting book for 1818'--that of Denon,\n\"the page, minister, and _gentilhomme de la chambre_ of Louis XV., the\nfriend of Voltaire, the intimate of Napoleon, the traveller and\nhistorian of Modern Egypt, the director of the _Musee_ of France,\" &c.\n&c., who, we are informed, used always to be so particularly delighted\nwith her Ladyship's visits to Paris, that he was wont to hail them with\nhis hand, and welcome them with a cordial smile. Alas! death had\novertaken him, notwithstanding his friendship with Lady Morgan; and she\ncould no longer expect his salutations. \"Other hands were now extended,\nother smiles beamed now as brightly; but his were dimmed for ever!\" How\nkind her Ladyship is! Fearing her readers might be distressed by the\nidea, that, in consequence of the decease of Denon, she might have been\nin some want of welcoming, she has taken the precaution of setting them\nat ease upon that point, by the above ingenious sentence. In mentioning\nthe reasons of her intimacy with Denon, she employs language of a very\nsingular kind, which, if maliciously interpreted to the letter, might\nsubject her to uncomfortable remarks, though we are sure it is nothing\nbut an effusion of gurgling vanity. It is an instance, however, to what\na degree that sentiment, when extreme, gets the better of all sense of\npropriety and decorum. She says, that even if Denon had not been such a\nperson as she describes him, \"still, _he suited me, I suited him_. There\nwas between us that sympathy, in spite of the disparity of years and\ntalents, which, whether in trifles or essentials,--between the frivolous\nor the profound,--makes the true basis of _those ties, so sweet to bind,\nso bitter to break_!\" It is well for Sir Charles Morgan's peace of mind,\nthat he is acquainted, as he must be, with his wife's frivolity and\negotism. How, indeed, he could have allowed her to come before the world\nwith such phraseology in her mouth, we cannot imagine, unless on the\nsupposition that he is such a husband as La Bruyere has described. \"_Il\nne sert dans sa famille qu' a montrer l'exemple, d'un silence timide et\nd'une parfaite soumission. Il ne lui est du ni douaire ni conventions;\nmais a cela pres, et qu'il n'accouche pas, il est la femme, et elle le\nmari._\"\n\nAfter her Ladyship had \"shuddered,\" and \"felt as if she was throwing\nearth upon Denon's grave whilst drawing her pen across his precious and\nhistorical name,\" she spent about half an hour in weeping, \"like a fair\nflower surcharged with dew,\" over the names of others of her departed\nfriends, Guinguene, Talma, Langlois, Lanjuinais, &c., until she\nfortunately recollected that the climate of Paris is one that \"developes\na sensibility prompt, not deep.\" Lucky thought! She immediately threw\ndown the visiting-book, threw up the window to let in the climate, wiped\nfrom her eyes the tears \"which parted thence, as pearls from diamonds\ndropp'd,\" and began to think of \"all that death had left her, of the\n'greater still behind,'--of friends, each in his way, a specimen of that\ngenius and virtue, which, in all regions, and in all ages, make the _ne\nplus ultra_ of human excellence.\" Admire the delicacy of the method by\nwhich Miladi lets us into the secret of her being a _ne plus ultra_; it\nis not by a bold assertion, but by a modest inuendo. She keeps company\nwith _ne plus ultras_--birds of the same feather flock together--ergo,\nshe is a _ne plus ultra_ herself. And so she is, but in her own way.\n\"_Il y a malheureusement_,\" observes a French writer of the present day\n\"_plus d'une maniere de se rendre celebre_,\"--\"there is, unfortunately,\nmore than one method of becoming celebrated,\"--and as this writer is an\nacquaintance of Lady Morgan, we are half inclined to think he committed\nthat sentence to paper after returning from a visit to _her_\nCelebrityship.\n\nWe may as well cite here a few more instances of her ingenuity in\ncommunicating, obliquely, how distinguished a personage she is,--a\nquality she possesses in a degree that we do not recollect ever to have\nseen rivalled. We copy _verbatim_.\n\n \"The other day I dined in the Chaussee d'Antin, in that house\n where it is always such a privilege to dine; where the wit of\n the host, like the _menus_ of his table, combines all that is\n best in French or Irish peculiarity; _and where the society is\n chosen with reference to no other qualities than merit and\n agreeability_.\"\n\nSpeaking of the weekly assemblies at an eminent individual's house, at\nwhich she was a constant attendant, she says, they\n\n \"Are among the most select and remarkable in Paris.\n Inaccessible to _commonplace mediocrity and pushing\n pretension_, their visitor must be _ticketted_ in some way or\n another\" (by writing a \"France,\" or an \"Italy,\" for instance,)\n \"to obtain a presentation.\"\n\nWith regard to another circle of which she was a large segment, she\nobserves,--\n\n \"It is sufficient to have merit, agreeability, or the claims of\n old acquaintance to belong to it, but, truth to tell, it is\n still so far exclusive, that what Madame Roland calls\n _l'universelle mediocrite_, gains no admission there.\"\n\nAgain:--\n\n \"I happened one night at Gen. La Fayette's to say that I should\n remain at home on the following morning, and the information\n brought us a numerous circle of morning visitors; others\n dropped in by chance, and some by appointment. From twelve till\n four, my little salon was a congress composed of the\n representatives of every vocation of arts, letters, science,\n _bon ton_,\" (the Congress of Vienna was nothing to this,) \"and\n philosophy, in which, as in the Italian opera-boxes of Milan\n and Naples, the comers and goers succeeded each other, as the\n narrow limits of the space required that the earliest visitor\n should make room for the last arrival.\"\n\nWe might fill pages with similar specimens of her modesty, but we must\nproceed.\n\nThe notes and cards being all despatched, authentic intelligence is at\nlength diffused throughout Paris of her arrival, and such a commotion is\nforthwith excited as had never been seen even in that city of\ncommotions, since the time the Giraffe made her entree into it, and said\nto the gaping multitude, \"_Mes amis, il n'y a qu'une bete de plus._\"\nPerhaps the sensation might be excepted which was created by \"Messieurs\nles Osages,\" the American deputation whose \"France\" has not yet, we\nbelieve, appeared in either hemisphere. The Rue de Rivoli was instantly\ncrowded with \"old friends\" and \"intimate acquaintances,\" _ne plus\nultras_ included, besides various others anxious for the honour of an\nintroduction, all striving who should get first into the \"_Hotel de la\nTerrasse_;\" and such was the press of visits, dinner-parties, suppers,\nballs, &c. &c. that for a period her Ladyship could not, as she says,\n\"find leisure to register a single impression for her own amusement, or\nhaply for that of a world, which, it must be allowed, is not very\ndifficult to amuse.\" In this sentiment we request leave, before going\nfurther, to record our unqualified concurrence, and also to state, that\nwe know of no one from whom it could proceed with more propriety and\nweight than from Miladi. It has been, doubtless, expressed before, by\nvarious other book-makers, but never, we feel confident, by one whose\ncareer affords fuller evidence of its correctness, or who could adduce\nmore forcible proofs in support of it, should they be required. In such\ncase, the simple fact need only be cited, that \"France in 1830\" is the\nwork of the same hand which indited \"Ida of Athens,\" some twenty years\nprevious, and which, during that interval, has furnished the world\nalmost annually, with quartos, octavos, or duodecimos.\n\nThe accounts that her Ladyship gives of the various festive\nentertainments of which she partook, constitute the matter of a large\nnumber of her pages. If it be true, however, that in order to observe\nwell, one ought to screen one's self from observation, she could have\nhad little opportunity of obtaining acquaintance with the constitution\nof French society; for, if we believe her own story, there was no social\nassemblage of any kind to which she went, where she was not the observed\nof every one, the centre of attraction, the nucleus of excellence. And\nwhat information is to be derived from her relation of a ball here, or a\n_soiree_ there, beyond the very interesting, highly important, and most\ncredible intelligence, that as soon as the announcement of Lady Morgan's\nname falls upon the ears of the company, everything else is forgotten; a\ndead silence instantaneously takes place of the conversational hum that\nbefore prevailed; all eyes are directed towards the door; LADY MORGAN\nENTERS; a buzz of admiration succeeds; she advances with a dignified air\ntowards the hostess, or rather the hostess runs eagerly forward to meet\nher; she drops a romantic curtesy; she sits down; and thenceforward\nnothing is thought of by any of the guests but Miladi, and the pearls\nthat fall from her lips. As the French are fond of forming _queues_, or\nfiles, for the purpose of avoiding confusion, when there is any great\nearnestness among a large collection of persons with regard to any\nobject of curiosity, we can imagine the whole assemblage falling into\none as soon as she takes her seat, and thus enjoying, each in turn, the\ncoveted delight.--But we mistake; other information respecting French\nsociety is communicated, unwittingly however, by her Ladyship. It is\nthis: that they are as fond of ridicule in 1830, as they were in 1816,\nand as they have ever been. We have little difficulty in believing, that\nher Ladyship received a vast deal of attention in Paris; still, we must\nconfess, that it appears to us impossible not to be convinced, from her\nown story, that it was owing to a very different reason from the one to\nwhich it is attributed by her self-love. If there is any feature in the\nFrench character peculiarly salient or prominent, it is the love of\nridicule. \"Take care,\" said a lady to her son, who was on the eve of\ndeparture for his travels, \"of the Inquisition at Madrid, of the mob at\nLondon, and of ridicule at Paris.\" Nothing that is at all calculated to\nexcite an ironical smile or a sarcastic remark, escapes a \"fasting\nMonsieur's\" observation, and even the greatest virtues and genius, if\ncombined with any quality which can afford matter for a joke, will\nscarcely prevent their possessor from being made a laughing-stock.\nNapoleon was so well aware of this propensity of his subjects, that he\nwas prevented by it from placing his own figure in the car which\nsurmounts the triumphal arch erected between the Court of the Tuileries\nand the Place du Carousal, being apprehensive that the wags would avail\nthemselves of the opportunity thus afforded of punning at his\nexpense--_le char le tient_--_le charlatan_. What a delectable tit-bit,\nconsequently, for this appetite of the Parisians, must be a darling\nlittle philosopher in petticoats, (not quite sexagenary,) who dabbles in\nall sciences and arts, and is at the same time a pretender to the pretty\naffectations and hoydenish manners of a youthful belle! Such a person,\nespecially if she possess that happy opinion of herself, which prevents\nher from having the slightest suspicion that she can be the object of\nanything but admiration with all, is regarded by them as a legitimate\nsubject for a _mystification,_ which, in our vernacular, means\n_hoax_,--_elle se prete au ridicule_, as they say, she lends herself, as\nit were, to ridicule; and to be convinced that they know how to take\nconsummate advantage of the loan, it is only necessary to glance over\n\"France in 1830.\" Every one who does so will, we feel confident,\nunderstand in the same manner as ourselves, the meaning of that\n\"brilliant welcome,\" which Miladi, with so much complacency, informs us\nshe received \"in the capital of European intellect.\" From beginning to\nend, these volumes afford almost continued specimens of perfection in\nthe art of \"quizzing,\" and may therefore be particularly indicated to\nsuch as are anxious to acquire proficiency in that way. We are glad\nthat we have at length discovered a description of persons to whom we\ncan conscientiously recommend the work we are reviewing, as calculated\nto afford desirable information.\n\nThere is another cause, besides this fondness for ridicule, to which the\n_mystification_ of her Ladyship may be attributed. Whoever is at all\nacquainted with her writings, must be aware that she pretends to be a\ngreat republican, and to entertain a most orthodox horror of royalism\nand the appendages thereof, and that she has called the royalist party\nin France all the hard names she could find in the most approved\ncollection of opprobrious epithets. This circumstance, it is easy to\nimagine, may have excited a slight desire of revenge in the breasts of\nsome of the younger members of that party.\n\nIn her very preface, we have an evidence of her having been the victim\nof as well concerted and admirably conducted a hoax, as was ever played\noff upon any one--it surpasses that which was put upon poor Malvolio in\n\"Twelfth Night.\" After making the remark upon which we have already\ncommented, that a second work on France from her pen could \"alone be\njustified by the novelty of its matter, or by the merit of its\nexecution,\" she says--\n\n \"It may serve, however, as an excuse, and an authentication of\n the attempt, that I was called to the task by some of the most\n influential organs of public opinion, in that great country.\n They relied upon my impartiality (for I had proved it, at the\n expense of proscription abroad, and persecution at home); and,\n desiring only to be represented as they are, they deemed even\n my humble talents not wholly inadequate to an enterprise whose\n first requisite was the honesty that tells the truth, the whole\n truth, and nothing but the truth.\"\n\nOh you wicked wags! If the abolition of capital punishment be effected\nin France, we hope you will be specially excepted as unworthy of mercy\nfor this cruel plot to make Miladi Morgan expose herself thus to the\nsneers of an ill-natured world. We think we see you in conclave,\nlaughing and joking over an epistle you have just concocted and signed\nwith the names of half a dozen of the leaders of the liberals, in which\nher Ladyship is earnestly conjured to cross the Irish and the English\nchannels and hasten to Paris, in order to dispel by the effulgence of\nher intellectual rays, the mists and darkness that the fiend of ultraism\nhad spread over the political horizon. Seriously speaking, we cannot\ndivine any other than this or a similar manner of accounting for her\nLadyship's assertion, that \"she was called to the task by some of the\nmost influential organs of public opinion in France;\"--she would not\ncertainly affirm what she knew to be false, and the idea that she did\nreceive a bona fide request of the above purport from such individuals,\nis too absurd to command belief for a moment. Would any one in his\nsenses, who is \"desirous of being represented as he is,\" put in\nrequisition the pencil of an artist by which he would be sure to be\ncaricatured?\n\nThe \"persecution at home,\" that her Ladyship affects to have suffered,\nrefers, we suppose, to sundry articles in the Quarterly Review and other\nJournals, in which she was rather roughly handled. We all know, however,\nwhat a pleasant thing it is to deem ourselves the objects of\npersecution, when it does not interfere with our profit--it is a\nflattering unction we love to lay to the soul, as it seems to augment\nour importance--and Miladi appears to have been highly delighted with\nthe persecutions she has encountered. She is continually alluding to the\nattacks of the Quarterly, and whenever an opportunity occurs, favours us\nwith extracts from them, and now and then she slips in some satirical\nobservation concerning herself from the _Journal des Debats_. The\ndifferent manner in which she has been treated by the Edinburgh and\nQuarterly Reviews, is an exemplification of the potent influence which\nparty spirit exercises over those journals. In the latter, one or two of\nher works have been criticised with overwhelming power, and in a tone\nand spirit superlatively bitter. In the former, on the contrary, she is\nspoken of with studied lenity, although the Reviewer is obliged to\nconfess that he is not one of her particular admirers, and seems to be\nperpetually restraining himself from indulging in the language of\nraillery and sarcasm. We need hardly add that the political principles\nwhich her Ladyship professes to entertain, are the main cause of this\ndiscrepancy. For our own part, we conscientiously believe that the\nEnglish journal has not gone half so far beyond the truth as its Scotch\nrival has fallen short of it, in their respective strictures. With\nregard to the republican bursts of Lady Morgan, we cannot help\nsuspecting that there is more affectation and cant in them than\nsincerity:--she is too anxious to let it be known that she is caressed\nevery where by the _ne plus ultras_ of aristocracy and rank, as well as\nby those of intellect, and, at the same time, there is too much parade\nand ostentatious vehemence in her explosions against the royalist party.\n\nAs to the other article which her Ladyship says she has received in\nexchange for her _impartiality!_--\"proscription abroad,\"--we feel pretty\nconfident that it exists no where but in her own imagination. There it\nhas, doubtless, been engendered by the malice of some ultra in disguise,\nwho has made her Ladyship believe, that the Emperor of Austria, the\nGrand Signior, the King of Owyhee, and the other despots of the earth,\nhave forbidden, on pain of racking, roasting, and every kind of torture,\nthe importation of her books into their dominions, lest these should be\nrevolutionized by them forthwith. Heaven defend us! we are very much\nafraid that Lady Morgan will set this world of ours on fire, somewhere\nabout the time when it comes in contact with the comet. It is not mere\nsupposition on our part that her Ladyship deems herself an object of\ndread to the Austrian government at least;--read what she says apropos\nof the entree of its ambassador into a ball-room where she was making\nall the lamps and candles hide their diminished heads. \"When his\nAustrian excellence was announced, how I started, with all the weight of\nAulic proscription on my head! The representative of the long-armed\nmonarch of Hapsburg so near me,--of him, who, could he only once get his\nfidgetty fingers on my _little_ neck, would give it a twist, that would\nsave his custom-house officers all future trouble of breaking carriages\nand harassing travellers, in search of the pestilent writings of 'Ladi\nMorgan.' I did not breathe freely, till his excellency had passed on\nwith his glittering train, into the illumined conservatory, and was lost\nin a wilderness of flowering shrubs and orange trees.\" Ought not this\nambassador to be recalled for his negligence, his want of loyalty, in\nnot attempting to get his fingers about Miladi's 'little neck,' in order\nto restore his Imperial master to peace and tranquillity of mind? Poor\nFrancis! still are you doomed to be _fidgetty_ on your throne. We think\nwe see you receiving intelligence of the appearance of this last\nemanation from Ladi Morgan's untiring pen--a mortal paleness overspreads\nyour face, as Metternich rushes into your presence with terror depicted\nin his countenance, articulating only \"Ladi Morgan, Ladi Morgan,\" having\njust obtained himself a knowledge of the dreadful fact from an almost\nbreathless courier--in an agony of suspense you gaze wildly at your\nfaithful counsellor, until he has recovered composure sufficient to\nunfold to you the whole tale of horror. It is told! The monarch in whose\nhands are the lives of fifty millions of subjects, lies himself, to all\nappearance, deprived of existence. But see! he revives--his lips\nmove--what are the words which fall faintly upon the ears of the\nbewildered attendants who have been called into the apartment by the\ncries of the prime minister? They are words of malediction, of the same\npurport as those which Henry II. of England uttered against his\nservants, for their want of zeal in allowing him to be so long tormented\nby Thomas a Becket, and which caused that prelate's death. But alas! for\nyour repose, Imperial Caesar, it is not so easy at the present day, as in\nformer times, for de Luces and de Morevilles to gratify the vengeful\nwishes of their masters, and Lady Morgan yet breathes the breath of life\n(although it is true she did not do it \"freely,\" according to her own\naccount, while in the vicinity of your ambassador in Paris,) to keep\nyour nervous system in disorder, and for the continued vexation of the\nrational part of the reading world.\n\nMultifarious are the other instances we might cite of the manner in\nwhich her simple Ladyship was _mystified_ by the ironical propensities\nof some, and the malicious ultraism of others, during her visit to Paris\nin 1829-30. \"There are certain characters,\" observes M. Jouy, \"who may\nbe considered as the scourges of whatever is ridiculous (_les fleaux du\nridicule_;) they discover it under whatever form it may be hid, and\npitilessly immolate it with the weapon of irony,\" and into the hands of\npersons of this merciless tribe she seems to have been perpetually\nfalling. We must content ourselves, however, with referring to but one\nexample more; a conversation between herself and a young Frenchman,\nabout Romanticism and Classicism, which she has detailed in her first\nvolume. This is a subject, which, as every one must know, has set all\nParis by the ears, and attracts almost as much attention there as the\noverthrow of one dynasty and the creation of another. Lady Morgan, of\ncourse, is a thorough-going _romantique_, and demonstrates the greater\nexcellence of the school of which she deems herself the chief support\nand brightest ornament, in pretty much the same way as the superiority\nof modern writers over the ancients used to be proved by the advocates\nof the former, viz. by two methods, reason and example, the first of\nwhich they derived from their own taste, and the second from their own\nworks. At the time she was delivered of her quarto about France in 1810,\nParis was still immersed in classical darkness, and it may therefore be\nfairly inferred that the romantic light with which it has since been\nillumined, radiated from that same tome. What can be more natural? When\nshe left France, \"the word '_Romanticism_' was unknown (or nearly so) in\nthe circles of Paris; the writers _a la mode_, whether ultra or liberal,\nwere, or thought themselves to be, supporters and practisers of the old\nschool of literature;\" in the interval of her absence she published a\nwork in which she told the Parisians that Racine was no poet, and gave\nthem other valuable information of the kind, calculated to dispel their\nclassical infatuation:--when she returned, every thing was changed;\npoets and prosers were vieing with each other in gloriously offending\nagainst all rules and canons; Romanticism, in short, was, as she\nasserts, completely the order of the day. The classical wrath of one man\nwas the source of unnumbered woes to ancient Greece, and why may not the\nromantic wrath of one woman--a woman too, who keeps autocrats and\nsultans _fidgetty_ on their thrones, be the cause of a change in the\nliterature of a country? This change, at all events, however it may have\nbeen operated, seems to have inspired her with additional courage in her\nassaults, and additional fury in her anathemas upon the poor French\nauthors whom the ignorant world has hitherto been in the habit of\nregarding as objects of admiration. She now asserts, in \"France in\n1829-30,\" that the whole classic literature of that country is \"feeble\nand unuseful,\" nay, even fitted to \"enervate and degrade;\" and in a\nwonderfully luminous chapter about modern literature, she has shown as\nclearly as Hudibras could have proved by \"force of argument\" that \"a\nman's no horse,\" that Classicism is the ally of despotism, and that it\nwas the policy of arbitrary power to encourage a fondness for the\nancient authors!\n\nFiercely romantic, however, as her Ladyship is, she is mild as a cooing\ndove in comparison with the male interlocutor in the famous conversation\nto which we have alluded. This personage completely out-herods Herod;\nbut that he was an ultra in disguise, endeavouring to make her Ladyship\nwrite down absurdities, is a conviction which 'fire and water could not\ndrive out of' us;--even she, herself, at one period of the dialogue, can\nnot help doubting whether she \"is or is not the subject of what in\nEngland is called a hoax, and in France a _mystification_,\" and when\n_she_ doubts upon such a point, it would be extremely difficult for any\none else not to deem it a matter of certainty. Had we space sufficient,\nwe should transcribe the whole of this colloquy, as it deserves\nrepetition; but we can only give a small specimen of it for the\namusement of our readers. The gentleman having informed Miladi, that\nRacine, Corneille, and Voltaire, are \"dethroned monarchs,\" and no longer\ntolerated at the Theatre, she asks him what is to be seen or heard\nthere, to which he answers:--\n\n \"'Our great historic dramas, written not in pompous\n Alexandrines, but in prose, the style of truth, the language of\n life and nature, and composed boldly, in defiance of Aristotle\n and Boileau. Their plot may run to any number of acts, and the\n time to any number of nights, months, or years; or if the\n author pleases, it may take in a century, or a millennium: and\n then, for the place, the first scene may be laid in Paris, and\n the last in Kamschatka. In short, France has recovered her\n literary liberty, and makes free use of it.'\n\n \"'_Oui da!_' I rejoined, a little bothered, and not knowing\n well what to say, but still looking very wise, 'In fact, then,\n you take some of those liberties, that you used to laugh at, in\n our poor Shakspeare?'\n\n \"'Your _poor_ Shakspeare! your divine, immortal Shakspeare, the\n idol of new France!--you must see him played _textuellement_ at\n the _Francais_, and not in the diffuse and feeble parodies of\n Ducis.'\n\n \"'Shakspeare played _textuellement_ at the _Francais_!\" I\n exclaimed--'_O, par exemple!_'\n\n \"'Yes, certainly. Othello is now in preparation; and Hamlet and\n Macbeth are stock pieces. But even your Shakspeare was far from\n the truth, the great truth, that the drama should represent the\n progress, development, and accomplishment of the natural and\n moral world, without reference to time or locality. Unknown to\n himself, his mighty genius was mastered by the fatal prejudices\n and unnatural restrictions of the _perruques_ of antiquity.\n Does nature unfold her plots in five acts? or confine her\n operations to three hours by the parish clock?'\n\n \"'Certainly not, Monsieur; but still....'\n\n \"'_Mais, mais, un moment, chere Miladi._ The drama is one great\n illusion of the senses, founded on facts admitted by the\n understanding, and presented in real life, past or present.\n When you give yourself up to believe that Talma was Nero, or\n Lafont Britannicus, or that the Rue Richelieu is the palace of\n the Caesars, you admit all that at first appears to outrage\n possibility. Starting, then, from that point, I see no\n absurdity in the tragedy, which my friend Albert de S---- says\n he has written for the express purpose of trying how far the\n neglect of the unities may be carried. The title and subject of\n this piece is \"the Creation,\" beginning from Chaos (and what\n scenery and machinery it will admit!) and ending with the\n French revolution; the scene, infinite space; and the time,\n according to the Mosaic account, some 6000 years.'\n\n \"'And the protagonist, Monsieur? Surely you don't mean to\n revive the allegorical personages in the mysteries of the\n middle ages?'\n\n \"'_Ah ca! pour le protagoniste, c'est le diable._ He is the\n only contemporaneous person in the universe that we know of,\n whom in these days of _cagoterie_ we can venture to bring on\n the stage, and who could be perpetually before the scene, as a\n protagonist should be. He is particularly suited, by our\n received ideas of his energy and restlessness, for the\n principal character. The devil of the German patriarch's\n _Faust_ is, after all, but a profligate casuist; and the high\n poetical tone of sublimity of Milton's Satan is no less to be\n avoided in a delineation that has truth and nature for its\n inspiration. In short, the devil, the true romantic devil, must\n speak, as the devil would naturally speak, under the various\n circumstances in which his immortal ambition and ceaseless\n malignity may place him. In the first act, he should assume the\n tone of the fallen hero, which would by no means become him\n when in corporal possession of a Jewish epileptic, and\n bargaining for his _pis aller_ in a herd of swine. Then again,\n as a leader of the army of St. Dominick, he should have a\n fiercer tone of bigotry, and less political _finesse_, than as\n a privy councillor in the cabinet of the Cardinal de Richelieu.\n At the end of the fourth act, as a guest at the table of Baron\n Holbach, he may even be witty; while as a minister of police,\n he should be precisely the devil of the schoolmen, leading his\n victim into temptation, and triumphing in all the petty\n artifices and verbal sophistries of a bachelor of the Sorbonne.\n But as the march of intellect advances, this would by no means\n be appropriate; and before the play is over, he must by turns\n imitate the _patelinage_ of a Jesuit _a robe courte_, the\n pleading of a procureur general, the splendid bile of a deputy\n of the _cote droit_, and should even talk political economy\n like an article in the 'Globe.' But the author shall read you\n his piece--'_La Creation! drame Historique et Romantique_, in\n six acts, allowing a thousand years to each act. _C'est l'homme\n marquant de son siecle._''\n\n \"'But,' said I, 'I shall remain in Paris only a few weeks, and\n he will never get through it in so short a time.'\n\n \"'_Pardonnez moi, madame_, he will get through it in six\n nights--the time to be actually occupied by the performance; an\n act a night, to be distributed among the different theatres in\n succession, beginning at the _Francais_ and ending at the\n _Ambigu_.'\"\n\nIt is here that her Ladyship begins to doubt whether this romantic\ngentleman was not hoaxing her, and certes it was time; but 'melt and\ndisperse ye spectre doubts!' an attempt to hoax Lady Morgan, impossible!\nThey do quickly pass away, and the conversation is pursued in the same\nstrain, until \"Monsieur de ---- one of the conscript fathers of\nclassicism\" is announced. No sooner has his name passed the lips of the\nservant, than the romantic gentleman snatches up his hat, and endeavours\nto make an exit from the room, in as much consternation as if the\n\"protagonist\" himself were about to appear. But Monsieur de ---- the\nclassicist, enters before he can escape; \"he draws up.\" The two then\n\"glanced cold looks at each other, bowed formally, and the romanticist\nretired, roughing his wild locks, and panting like a hero of a tragedy.\"\nWhat a picture! We venture to affirm, however, that had an attentive\nobserver been present, he would have seen something like a wink or a\ncovert glance passing between the two worthies as they enacted the above\nscene, which might have led him to suspect that they knew each other\nbetter than Miladi supposed: it was only on the previous evening, be it\nstated, on her own authority, that she had made the acquaintance of the\nromanticist, whom she describes as having \"something of an exalte in his\nair, in his open shirt collar, black head, and wild and melancholy\nlook.\" The dialogue that ensues with the classicist after the\ndisappearance of the other, is quite as ridiculous as the foregoing one,\nand quite as well calculated to give her Ladyship a fit of the \"doubts,\"\nthough it does not appear that she suffered by them a second time. We\nmay mention, before leaving this subject, that when the romanticist told\nher, in the extract we have just made, that Othello was in preparation\nfor the _Theatre Francais_, he told her truth; but, if we are not very\nmuch mistaken, the other piece of information he communicated--that\nHamlet and Macbeth are stock-tragedies at that theatre--could only have\nbeen related by a gentleman of great fertility of imagination. Othello,\nwe know, was actually performed, and went off tolerably well until the\nfinal scene, but then the nerves of the Frenchmen were put to a trial\nthey could not by any possibility endure. The sight of a Moor and an\nInfidel, endeavouring to smother a lady and a Christian, so completely\naroused all the gallant and religious sensibilities of the audience,\nthat shouts of _terrible, abominable_, resounded from every part of the\nhouse, and Monsieur Othello was (theatrically) damned for his\nwickedness. As far as we know, he never showed his copper-\nvisage again at the _Theatre Francais_, but contented himself\nthenceforward with running after poor Desdemona, and stabbing her behind\nthe scene at the opera, where this minor exhibition of cruelty is\ntolerated in consideration of the _roulades_, with which he smooths her\npassage into the other world.\n\nSpeaking of theatres puts us in mind, as the story-tellers say, of a\nremark made by her Ladyship in the chapter she has devoted to the\ntheatres of Paris, which we wish to notice. She says, \"it is strange,\nthat among the many men of genius who have treated the subject of the\nunities, none should have clearly laid it down, that the great object of\ndramatic composition is the satisfaction of the audience, no matter by\nwhat means.\" What a fine thing it is to be endowed with uncommon powers\nof original thought! It is so delightful to be able to belie the\nassertion, that it is too late now to think of propounding any new idea,\nevery thing having already been said that can be said about any thing!\nHere, ye croakers about modern degeneracy, here is something that should\ncover you with confusion and shame. Lady Morgan, after having read all,\naye, all, that has been written about a certain subject by all the\n\"many men of genius\" who have treated it--which it would only require\nthe lifetime of a Methuselah to do--has discovered an idea relating to\nit, which is to be found in none of the works of those \"many men of\ngenius,\" and this she has revealed for the edification and astonishment\nof the world, in the sentence we have quoted above. How every lover of\nnew ideas now living, should bless his stars for having cast his\nexistence in the same period as that of her Ladyship! It is, however,\nour melancholy duty, to be obliged to deprive our generation of the\nglory which would be shed upon it by such an intellectual invention as\nthe foregoing. Though it has undoubtedly never been adverted to in any\nway, since she so asserts the fact, by any of the \"many men of genius\"\nwho have exercised their minds upon the topic of the unities, yet by a\nsingular chance we have fallen upon something very much like it in the\npetty effusions of two or three subordinate scribblers, who have\npresumed to hint at what was not excogitated by their betters. One of\nthose effusions is a paper called a \"Preface to Shakspeare,\" written\nabout fifty years ago, as we have discovered, after long research and a\ngreat deal of trouble, by a certain Samuel Johnson, who dubbed himself\nDoctor, and published likewise, if our investigations have informed us\nrightly, other works, under the titles of \"The Rambler,\" \"Rasselas,\"\n\"Biographies of the British Poets,\" &c., and tradition even says that he\nattempted a dictionary of the English language. Another of those\neffusions is an \"Essay upon the Drama,\" by a person called Walter Scott,\nwho, it is affirmed, is still in the land of the living, but where he\ndwelleth, and what other productions he hath printed, we have been able\nto obtain no clue for finding out. It must indeed be confessed, that\nneither of those individuals has so \"clearly laid it down\" as her\nLadyship, that the audience should be pleased, \"_no matter by what\nmeans_,\" though they certainly have intimated that its gratification\nought to be one of the principal objects of a dramatic author. They were\nfoolish enough to think, that to pander to the tastes of an audience, if\ncorrupt and vitiated, is paltry, is despicable; that to consult its\ninclinations when at war with sound taste or proper decorum, is to do\nthe work of those who are influenced only by a love of sordid gain,\nreckless of every pure and elevated feeling--that \"the end of all\nwriting is to instruct, the end of all poetry, _to instruct by\npleasing_.\" This is the difference between the sentiment of the authors\nand that of the authoress; but were that same Samuel Johnson now alive,\nsooner than maintain an opinion in any the slightest manner at variance\nwith one expressed by her Ladyship, he would,--as he was ready to do,\naccording to his own avowal, when asserting something that was denied by\npersons scarcely more important than himself,--\"sink down in\nreverential silence, as AEneas withdrew from the defence of Troy, when he\nsaw Neptune shaking the wall, and Juno heading the besiegers.\"\n\nWe do not wish to insinuate that her Ladyship has derived any advantage\nfrom consulting the pages of either the Preface or the Essay to which we\nhave alluded. By no means. Nothing would be more unjust; for how could\nshe be indebted for any thing to what may be contained in a couple of\ninsignificant pamphlets, whose scarcity is such, that we might almost\nsuppose our copies of them to be the only ones in existence? How they\ncame into our hands, is a point we leave for elucidation to those who\nfind pleasure or profit in unravelling mysteries. There is, to be sure,\na wonderful similitude throughout, between her reflections upon the\nclassical and romantic drama, and those which may be read in the Essay;\nbut this circumstance must unquestionably be considered one of those\n\"remarkable coincidences\" that every now and then prompt the cry of \"a\nmiracle!\" It must, else, be accounted for, by supposing that the author\nof the Essay is gifted with a power over future operations of mind,\nsimilar to that which was possessed over future events, by the wizard\nwho warned Lochiel against the fatal day at Culloden, and that he is\nthus enabled, by his \"mystical lore,\" to make\n\n \"Coming _ideas_ cast their shadow before.\"\n\nSeriously, however, the observations of her Ladyship on this head,\nfurnish as nice an instance of plagiarism as we recollect. The best of\nthe matter is, that after filling nearly a couple of pages with remarks,\namongst which not a single original idea is to be found, save perhaps\nthe rather novel one, that \"in Macbeth the interest is suspended at the\ndeath of Duncan, and does not revive until that of the tyrant is at\nhand;\" she winds up with saying, \"obvious as this train of reasoning\nappears, _it has been overlooked equally by the opponents and the\nsticklers for the old canons of criticism_; a lamentable instance of the\ninfluence of authority, and of the spirit of party, on the judgments of\nthe most cultivated minds.\" This is a sample of modest assurance in\nperfection. There is another \"remarkable coincidence\" in these volumes,\nbetween the biography they contain of General Lafayette, and an article\nabout \"the Nation's Guest\" in a number of the North American Review for\n1825. But we leave it to our contemporary to take her Ladyship to task\nfor this appropriation of his property.\n\nIn our foregoing remarks we have confined ourselves, in great measure,\nto some of those portions of the volumes before us, which are most\nsusceptible of ridicule, though we have adverted to only a few even of\nthose--there are others, however, that would require a graver tone. The\nsickly sentimentalism about Ninon de l'Enclos, La Valliere, Madame\nd'Houdetot, and other strumpets--such \"free\" conversations as those\nwhich are detailed at page 138, in the first volume, and page 108, in\nthe second; especially as they were held in the presence of a young\ngirl, her Ladyship's niece, who was doubtless one of the chief causes\nwhy so many gentlemen came \"_pour faire leurs hommages_\" to the\naunt--and various expressions upon matters appertaining to religion,\ndeserve reprehension in no measured terms. But we have not space enough\nat our disposal to bestow any further notice upon these, or to glance at\nother parts of \"France in 1829-30,\" although we have reaped but a small\nportion of the harvest which it contains.\n\nAnd this is the writer who pretends to enlighten the world upon the\n\"state of society\" in one of the greatest countries of the earth! This\nis the work by means of which she flatters herself that such an object\nis to be effected,--and this too, (_proh pudor!_) is the kind of work\nthat can be republished in our country with a certainty of success!\nShould the fact come to the knowledge of posterity, what will be thought\nof the literary taste of this generation? We have, however, a cause for\nconsolation--if that can be termed consolation which ministers only to\nselfish vanity, and is a source of pain to every better feeling--in the\nassurance that the literary history of future times, judging from the\nexperience of the past, will present similar instances of depravity of\nintellectual appetite. We wonder now, how our ancestors could have\nrelished what we regard with indifference if not with disgust, in the\nsame way that our taste in some respects will be a matter of surprise\nwith our descendants, and as theirs will be with those by whom they may\nbe succeeded on the stage of life. Every age, since books have been\nwritten and books have been read, has furnished, and we may therefore\nassert, every age will furnish, reason upon reason for making the remark\nof the philosophic author of the \"Caracteres,\" that not to hazard\nsometimes a great deal of nonsense, is to manifest ignorance of the\npublic taste--\"_c'est ignorer le gout du peuple, que de ne pas hasarder\nquelquefois de grandes fadaises_.\" We do not wish to deny that Lady\nMorgan has been gifted with a modicum of talent; even in the work before\nus, there is occasional evidence of natural ability, which, had it been\nproperly cultivated and modestly employed, might have earned for her\nhonourable fame. But what advantage--we speak, of course, with reference\nto reputation; as to pecuniary profit we have no doubt that she has\nfound her account in her '_fadaises_,' or else they would not have been\nmultiplied to such an extent--what advantage, we ask, has she derived\nfrom her faculty of scribbling, except that she has made herself pretty\nwidely known, and ridiculed wherever she is known? Presumptuous\nignorance, and overweening conceit, have, in her case, completely\n_nullified_, nay worse, have converted into a curse, in some respects,\nwhat was intended every way for a blessing. If Lady Morgan would forego\nher mongrel idiom, and use the English language; if she would confine\nherself to subjects with which she has some acquaintance; if she would\nsubstitute a simple in the stead of her inflated style; and above all,\nif she could forget herself, she might write tolerably well; but there\nare too many _ifs_ to render it probable, or even possible, that the\ndefects to which they relate will ever be overcome. This being the case,\nwe take leave of you, Miladi, not with the _au revoir_ of which you are\nso fond, but with the parting salutation of Louis the Fourteenth to\nJames the Second, when sending him with an army to recover his forfeited\ncrown, \"Adieu, and may we never meet again.\"\n\n\n\n\nART. II.--_Physiologie des Passions, ou nouvelle Doctrine des Sentimens\nMoraux_; par J. L. ALIBERT. Chapitre XI. de l'Ennui. _Physiology of the\nPassions; or a New Theory of Moral Sentiments._ Chap. XI. of Ennui.\n\n\nThis book is neither exact nor eloquent. The thoughts are not precise;\nthe expressions are vague; and, of consequence, the reasonings of no\nvalue. The attempts at rich displays of imaginative power are contrasted\nwith a want of invention; and illustrative stories, of feeble execution,\nare lavished abundantly in lieu of physiological facts. The volumes are\ntoo insipid to cheat an idle hour of its weariness; they rather engender\nfatigue than relieve it. The author will never enter the true elysium of\nglory; he has not substance enough to proceed straight up the ascent;\nbut will certainly be \"blown transverse into the devious air.\" Like most\nof the literature of the day, this new Theory of Moral Sentiments is\nessentially transient. It will pass, like anti-masonry, without\nproducing an era.\n\nYet the chapter on Ennui is tolerably sensible. It is neither brilliant\nnor acute; but gives a superficial sketch of that state of being with\nconsiderable accuracy. To be sure, it is not from a Frenchman, that the\nbest account of ennui should be expected. Of all nations of Europe, the\nFrench have the least of it, though they invented the word; while the\nTurks, with their untiring gravity, their lethargic dignity, their blind\nfatalism, their opium-eating, and midnight profligacies, have\nundoubtedly the largest share. But the Turks are only philosophers in\npractice; the theory they leave to others. Now next to the Turks, the\nEnglish suffer most from ennui. Do but hear the account which their\nfinest poetical genius of the present century gives of himself, when he\nwas hardly of age.\n\n \"With pleasure drugged he almost longed for wo,\n And e'en for change of scene would seek the shades below.\"\n\nThe complaints of a young man in the bloom of life and the vigour of\nearly hope, cannot excite much sympathy. But he interests all our\nfeelings, when in the fullest maturity to which Lord Byron was permitted\nto attain, he still draws from his own bosom the appalling picture of\nunalleviated feelings, and describes the horrors of permanent ennui, in\nlanguage that was doubtless but the mournful echo of an unhappy mind.\n\n \"'Tis time this heart should be unmoved,\n Since others it has ceased to move;\n Yet, though I cannot be beloved,\n Still let me love.\n\n My days are in the yellow leaf;\n The flowers and fruits of love are gone;\n The worm, the canker, and the grief,\n Are mine alone.\n\n The fire that in my bosom preys\n Is like to some volcanic isle;\n No torch is kindled at his blaze--\n A funeral pile.\n\n The hope, the fears, the jealous care,\n The exalted portion of the pain\n And power of love I cannot share,\n But wear the chain.\"\n\nSuch was the harassed state of Lord Byron's mind, at the epoch of his\nlife which seemed to promise a crowded abundance of exciting sensations.\nHe had hastened to the consecrated haunts of classic associations; he\nwas struggling for honour on the parent soil of glory; he was surrounded\nby the stir and tumult of barbarous warfare; he had the consciousness,\nthat the eyes of the civilized world were fixed upon his actions; he\nprofessed to feel the impulse of enthusiasm in behalf of liberty; and\nyet there was not irritation enough in the new and busy life of a\nsoldier, to overcome his apathy, and restore him to happy activity. He\nonly sought to give away his breath on the field, and to take his rest\nin a soldier's grave.\n\nThe literature of the day is essentially transient. The rapid\ncirculation of intelligence enriches the public mind by imparting and\ndiffusing every discovery; and the active spirit of man, quickened by\nthe easy possession of practical knowledge, rightly claims the instant\ndistribution of useful truth. But with this is connected a feverish\nexcitement for novelty. The world, in the earliest days of which\naccounts have reached us, followed after the newest strains; and now\nthe lessons of former ages, though they have a persuasive eloquence for\nthe tranquil listener, are as blank and as silent as the grave to the\ngeneral ear. The voice of the past, all musical as it is with the finest\nharmonies of human intelligence, is lost in the jangling din of\ntemporary discussions. Philosophy steals from the crowd, and hides\nherself in retirement, awaiting a better day; true learning is\nundervalued, and almost disappears from among men. It would seem, as\nthough the wise men of old frowned in anger on the turbulence of the\npetty passions, and withdrew from the noisy and contentious haunts,\nwhere wisdom has no votaries, and tranquillity no followers. In the days\nof ancient liberty, the public places rung with the nervous eloquence of\nsublime philosophy; and the streets of Athens offered nothing more\nattractive than the keen discussions, the piercing satire, and the calm\nphilanthropy of Socrates. But now it is politics which rules the city\nand the country; the times of deep reflection, of slowly maturing\nthought, are past; and now that erudition is a jest, ancient learning an\nexploded chimera, and elaborated eloquence known chiefly by\nrecollection, the ample gazette runs its daily career, and heralds, in\nephemeral language, the deeds of the passing hours. The age of\naccumulated learning is past, and every thing is carried along the\nrushing current of public economy, or of private business.--Life is\ndivided between excited passions and morbid apathy.\n\nAnd is this current so strong, that it cannot be resisted? Are we borne\nwithout hope of rest upon the ebbing tide? Can we never separate\nourselves from the theory, and with the coolness of an observer, watch\nthe various emotions, motives, and passions by which the human world is\nmoulded and swayed? Can we not trace the influence of the changes and\nchances of this mortal state on the character and minds of mortal men?\n\nLife is a pursuit. The moralists, who utter their heathenish oracles in\nthe commonplace complaints of a heathenish discontent, tell us, that we\nare born but to pursue, and pursue but to be deceived. They say, that\nman in his career after earthly honours, is like the child that chases\nthe gaudy insect; the pursuit idle; the object worthless. They tell us,\nthat it is but a deceitful though a deceptive star, which beams from the\nsummit of the distant hill; advance, and its light recedes; ascend, and\na higher hill is seen beyond, and a wider space is yet to be traversed.\nAnd they tell us, that this is vanity; this the worthlessness of human\ndesire; this the misery and desolation of the human heart. But how\nlittle do they know of the throbbings of that heart! How poorly have\nthey studied the secrets of the human breast! How imperfectly do they\nunderstand the feebleness and the strength of man's fortitude and will!\nIf the bright object still gleams in the horizon, if the brilliancy of\nglory is still spread on the remotest hill, if the distant sky is still\ninvested with the delicate hues of promise, and the gentle radiance of\nhope, pursuit remains a pleasure; and the pilgrim, ever light-hearted,\npasses heedlessly over the barren wastes, and climbs with cheerful\nardour each rugged mountain. But suppose that brilliant star to be\nblotted out of the sky; suppose the lustre of the horizon to have faded\ninto the dank and gloomy shades of a cloudy evening; suppose the pursuit\nto be now without an object, and the blood which hope had sent merrily\nthrough the veins, to gather and curdle round the desponding heart. Then\nit is, that life is abandoned to persecuting fiends, and the springs of\njoy are poisoned by the demons of listlessness.\n\nThe scholar and the Christian have theirs guarantied against despair.\nThe desire for intelligence is never satisfied but with the attainment\nof that wisdom which passes all understanding; and the eye discerning\nthe bright lineaments of its perfect exemplar, can set no limits to the\nsacred passion, which recognises the connexion of the human mind with\nthe divine, and places before itself a career of advancement, to which\ntime itself can never prescribe bounds. But it is not with these high\nquestions that we are at present engaged. We have thrown open the book\nof human life; we are to read there of this world and its littleness, of\nthe springs of present action, of the relief of present restlessness.\n\nWe have said, that the pursuit of a noble object is in itself a\npleasure. It is to the mind which holds up no definite object to its\nwishes, that the universe seems deficient in the means of happiness, and\njoy becomes a prey to the fiend of ennui.\n\nLet us develop this principle more accurately. Let us examine into the\nnature of _ennui_, and fix with exactness its true signification. Let us\nsee if it be a principle of action widely diffused. Let us ascertain the\nlimits of its power; let us trace its influences on individual\ncharacter. Perhaps the investigation may lead us to a more intimate\nacquaintance with our nature.\n\n_Ennui_ is the desire of activity without the fit means of gratifying\nthe desire. It presupposes an acknowledgment of exertion as a duty, and\na consciousness of the possession of powers suited to making an\nexertion. It is itself a state of idleness, yet of disquiet. It is\ninert, yet discontented.\n\nSuch is ennui in itself. In its effects, it embraces a large class of\nhuman actions, and its influences are widely spread throughout every\nportion of mental or physical effort. To trace these effects, and to\nprescribe their limits, will be a part of our object; at present we\nwould observe, that wherever a course of conduct is the result of\nphysical want, of a passion for intelligence, a zeal for glory, or to\nsum up a great variety of theories in one, of a just and enlightened\nself-love, there there is no trace of ennui. But when the primary\nmotives of human conduct have failed of their effect, and the mind has\nbecome a prey to listlessness, the career, then pursued, let it be what\nit may, is to be ascribed to the pain of ennui. When the mind gnaws upon\nitself, we have ennui; the course which is pursued to call the mind from\nthis self-destructive process, is to be ascribed to the influence of\nthat passion.\n\nAre our definitions indistinct? Let us attempt illustration. When the\nseveral powers and affections of man are, in the usual course of\nexistence, called into healthy exercise, on objects sufficient to\ninterest and satisfy them; this is happiness. When those powers and\naffections are exercised by objects sufficient to excite them in their\nhighest degree, but where, being thus excited, there exists no harmony\nbetween the mind and its pursuits, where the affections are aroused\nwithout being soothed, where the chime is rung, but rung discordantly,\nthere is misery. Where the powers of the mind are vigorous but\nunoccupied; where there exist a restless craving, an inquiet mobility,\nyet without any definite purpose or commensurate object, there is ennui.\n\nThe state of mind is strongly delineated in the language of the sacred\nwriter.--\n\n \"I looked on all the works that my hands had wrought, and on\n the labour that I had laboured to do; and behold all was vanity\n and vexation of spirit, and there was no profit under the sun.\n And I turned myself to behold wisdom, and madness, and folly;\n for what can the man do that cometh after the king? Even that\n which hath already been done. Then I saw that wisdom excelleth\n folly, as far as light excelleth darkness. The wise man's eyes\n are in his head; but the fool walketh in darkness; and I\n perceived also, that one event happeneth to them all. Then I\n said in my heart, As it happeneth to the fool, so it happeneth\n even to me; and why was I then more wise? Then I said in my\n heart, that this also is vanity. For there is no remembrance of\n the wise more than of the fool for ever; seeing that which now\n is, in the days to come shall all be forgotten. And how dieth\n the wise man? As the fool. Therefore, I hated life; because the\n work that is wrought under the sun is grievous unto me; for all\n is vanity and vexation of spirit.\"\n\nOr, to take an example from the earliest monument of Grecian genius.\nAchilles, in the pride of youth, engaged in his favourite profession of\narms, making his way to an immortality secured to him by the voice of\nhis goddess mother, sure to gain the victory in any contest, and\nselecting for his reward the richest spoils and the fairest maid.\nAchilles, the heroic heathen, was then fully and satisfactorily\nemployed, and according to his semi-barbarous notions of joy and right,\nwas happy within his own breast, and was happy in the world around him.\nWhen the same youthful warrior was insulted by the leader under whose\nbanners he had rallied, when the private recesses of his tent were\ninvaded, and his domestic peace disturbed, his mind was strongly\nagitated by love, anger, hatred, the passion for strife, and the intense\neffort at forbearance; and though there was here room enough for\nactivity, there was nothing but pain and misery. But when the dispute\nwas over, and the pupil of the Centaur, trained for strife, and victory,\nand glory, separated from the army, and gave himself up to an inactive\ncontemplation of the struggle against Troy, his mind was abandoned to\nthe sentiment of discontent, and his passions were absorbed in the\nmorbid feeling of ennui. Homer was an exact painter of the human\npassions. The picture which he draws of Achilles,[1] receiving the\nsubsequent deputation from the Greeks, illustrates our subject exactly.\nIt was in vain for the hero to attempt to sooth his mind with the\nmelodies of the lyre; his blood kindled only at the music of war; it was\nidle for him to seek sufficient pleasure in celebrating the renown of\nheroes; this was but a vain effort to quell the burning passion for\nsurpassing them in glory. He listens to the deputation, not tranquilly,\nbut peevishly. He charges them with duplicity, and avows that he loathes\ntheir king like the gates of hell.[2] He next reverts to himself: The\nwarrior has no thanks, he exclaims in the bitterness of\ndisappointment--\"The coward and the brave man are held in equal honour.\"\nNay, he goes further, and quarrels with providence and fixed\ndestiny.--\"After all, the idler, and the man of many achievements, each\nmust die.\"[3] To-morrow, he adds, his vessels shall float on the\nHellespont. The morning dawned; but the ships of Achilles still lingered\nnear the banks of the Scamander. The notes of battle sounded, and his\nmind was still in suspense between the fiery impulse for war and the\nhaughty reserve of revenge.\n\nWhen Bruce found himself approaching the sources of the Nile, a thousand\nsentiments of pride rushed upon his mind; it seemed to him, that destiny\nhad marked out for him a more fortunate and more glorious career, than\nfor any European, kings or warriors, conquerors or travellers, that had\never attempted to penetrate into the interior of Africa. This was a\nmoment of exultation and triumphant delight. But when that same\ntraveller had actually reached the ultimate object of his research, he\nhas himself recorded the emotions which were awakened within him. At the\nfountain-head of the Nile, Bruce was almost a victim to sentimental\nennui.\n\nIn this anecdote of the Abyssinian traveller, we have an example of the\nrapidity with which ennui treads on the heels of triumph, and banishes\nthe feelings of exulting joy. We will cite another, where misery was\nfollowed and consummated by ennui. The most eloquent of the Girondists\nwas Vergniaud. It was he that in the spirit of prophecy compared the\nFrench revolution to Saturn, since it was about to devour successively\nall its children, and finally to establish despotism with its attendant\ncalamities. The rivalship of the Mountain in the Convention, the\nunsuccessful attack on Robespierre, the trial and condemnation of Louis\nXVI., the defection of Dumourier and its consequences, had doubtless\nroused the mind of the fervent but unsuccessful orator to the highest\nefforts which the decline of power, and the consciousness of wavering\nfortunes, and the menace of utter ruin, patriotism, honour, and love of\nlife, could call forth. At last came the day, fraught with horrors, when\nthe clamours of a despotic and inexorable mob, claimed of the convention\nVergniaud and his associates, the little refuse of republican sincerity,\nto be the victims of their fiendish avidity for blood. Who will doubt,\nthat during that fearful session the mind of Vergniaud was agitated in\nthe extreme, that the highest possible excitement called him into the\nhighest possible activity? Here there was no room for listlessness, and\nquite as little for happiness. The guarantees of order were failing, and\nthe friends of order were to be buried under the same ruins with the\nremains of regular legislative authority. Vergniaud retired from the\nscenes where the foulest of the dogs of war were howling for their prey,\nand when Gregoire found him out in his hiding-place, the republican\norator, though robbery and massacre were triumphant in the city, was\ndiscovered reading Tacitus. Why? From affectation? Surely not;\nGregoire's visit was unexpected. From cool philosophy? still less, for\nit was the season of peril for an irritable man. The studies of\nVergniaud on that day were the studies of one suffering from ennui.\n\nEnnui was the necromancer which conjured up the ghost of Caesar on the\neve of the battle of Philippi. And when Brutus esteemed that battle\nlost, which in truth had been won, he had yet to wrestle with that\nunseen enemy, and enter on a new contest, where he was sure to be\noverthrown. The execution of Madame Roland was a scene, as far as she\nwas concerned, of intense and unmitigated suffering; but when Brutus\ndared to despair of virtue, the atrocious sentiment was dictated, not by\nthe spirit that had dared to plan the liberties of the world, but by the\ndemon of ennui, which in an evil hour had possessed himself of the\npatriot's soul.\n\nFinally, for we have surely made ourselves intelligible, if it is\npossible for us to do so--the timid lover, whose affections are moved,\nyet not tranquillized, who gazes with the eyes of fondness on an object\nthat seems to be of a higher world, and admires as the stars are\nadmired, which are acknowledged to be beautiful yet are never possessed;\nthe timid lover, neither wholly doubting, nor wholly hoping, the sport\nalternately of joy and of sorrow, full of thought and full of longing,\nfeeling the sentiment of rapture yield to the faintness of uncertain\nhope, is half his time a true personification of ennui.\n\nThat ennui is a principle of action widely diffused, will hardly be\ndenied by any careful observer of human nature. No individual can\nconscientiously claim to have been always and wholly free from its\ninfluences, except where there has been a life springing from the purest\nsources, sanctified by the early influence of religious motives, and\nprotected from erroneous judgments by the constant exercise of a\nhealthful understanding. For the rest, though few are constantly\nafflicted with it as an incurable evil, there are still fewer who are\nnot at times made to suffer from its influence. It stretches its heavy\nhand on the man of business and the recluse; it makes its favourite\nhaunts in the city, but it chases the aspirant after rural felicity,\ninto the scenes of his rural listlessness; it makes the young\nmelancholy, and the aged garrulous; it haunts the sailor and the\nmerchant; it appears to the warrior and to the statesman; it takes its\nplace in the curule chair, and sits also at the frugal board of old\nfashioned simplicity. You cannot flee from it; you cannot hide from it;\nit is swifter than the birds of passage, and swifter than the breezes\nthat scatter clouds. It climbs the ship of the restless who long for the\nsuns of Europe; it jumps up behind the horseman who scours the woods of\nMichigan; it throws its scowling glances on the attempt at present\nenjoyment; it scares the epicurean from his voluptuousness, and when the\nascetic has finished his vow, it compels him once more to repeat the\ntale of his beads.\n\nTo the influence of ennui must be traced the passion for strong\nexcitement. When life has become almost stagnant, when the ordinary\ncourse of events has been unable to excite any strong interest, ennui\nassumes a terrific power over the mind, and clamours for emotion, though\nthat emotion is to be purchased by scenes of horror and of crime. \"What\na magnificent spectacle,\" said the Parisian mob, \"how interesting a\nspectacle to see a woman of the wit and courage of Madame Roland on the\nscaffold!\" And it is precisely the same power, which excites the\nsensitive admirer of works of fiction to ransack the shelves of a\nlibrary for works of thrilling and \"painful\" interest.\n\nTo the same kind of restless curiosity we have to ascribe the passionate\ndeclamations of the tragic actor, and the splendid music of the opera;\nthe cunning feats of the village conjuror, and the lascivious pantomime\nof the city ballet-dancers; the disgusting varieties of bull-fights, and\nthe celebrated feats of pugilism; the locomotive zeal of the great\npedestrians, and the perfect quiescence of the \"pillar saints.\"\n\nThe habits of ancient Rome illustrate most clearly the extent to which\nthis passion for strong sensations may hurry the public mind into\nextravagances, and repress every sentiment of sympathy and generosity.\nAmbition itself is not so reckless of human life as _ennui_; clemency is\nthe favourite attribute of the former; but ennui has the tastes of a\ncannibal, and the sight of human blood, shed for its amusement, makes it\ngreedy after a renewal of the dreadful indulgence. No one need be\ninformed, that the shows of ancient gladiators were attended by an\ninfinitely more numerous throng than is ever gathered by any modern\nspectacle. And let it not be supposed, that the life of one of these\ncombatants was the more safe, because it depended on the interposition\nof the Roman fair. The fondness for murderous exhibitions finally raged\nwith such vehemence, that they were at length introduced as an\nattraction at a banquet, and the guests, as they reclined at table in\nthe luxury of physical ease, have been wet by the life-blood from the\nveins of the wounded gladiators.\n\n Quinetiam exhilarare viris convivia caede\n Mos olim, et miscere epulis spectacula dira\n Certantum ferro, saepe et super ipsa cadentum\n Pocula, _respersis non parco sanguine mensis_.\n\nTime would fail us were we to illustrate the various horrors which\nattended these amusements, designed to entertain the most refined\npopulation of Rome. Time would fail us were we to enumerate the various\nclassifications in the art of murder on the stage, the signals which\nwere made by the multitude in token of relenting clemency, the more\nusual signal, made by virgins and matrons, demanding the continuance of\nthe combat unto death. Do we not call Titus the delight of the human\nrace? Do we not praise his commonplace puerility, _perdidi diem_, the\nexclamation of conceit, rather than of manliness? And yet it was this\nphilanthropist, this favourite of humanity, who caused the vast\namphitheatre to be erected, as it were a monument to all ages of the\nbarbarous civilization of the capital of his empire. And as to the\nnumbers who appeared on these occasions, do we suppose it was a pair? or\na score? We will not ask after the horrors commended and consummated by\na Tiberius or a Caligula. Was not Trajan a moderate prince? Was he not\ndisposed to introduce habits of a reasonable industry? Yet the active\nTrajan kept up a succession of games to cheat the population of Rome of\nennui, during a hundred and twenty-three days, in which time ten\nthousand gladiators were decked for sacrifice.\n\nThus the vehemence of this passion is evident from the atrocity of the\nresources by which its cravings are satisfied. We may also remark, that\nsuperstition itself, interwoven as it is with all the fears and\nweaknesses of humanity, subjects the human mind to a bondage less severe\nand less permanent than that of the terrific craving after something to\ndissipate the weariness of the heart. At Rome the sacrifices to the\nheathen deities were abolished before the games of the gladiators were\nsuppressed; it was less difficult to take from the priests their spoils,\nfrom the altars their victims, from the prejudices of the people their\nreligious faith, than to rescue from ennui the miserable wretches whose\nlives were to be the sport of the idle. The laws already forbade the\noffering the bull to Jove, when the poet still had to pray that none\nmight perish in the city under the condemnation of pleasure,\n\n Nullus in urbe cadat, cujus sit poena voluptas.\n\nPhilosophy itself offers no guarantee against the common infirmities of\nlistlessness. Many a stoic has resisted the attacks of external evils\nwith an exemplary fortitude; and has yet failed in his encounters with\ntime. Strange indeed that time should be an encumbrance to a sage!\nStrange indeed, that, when life is so short, and philosophy boundless,\nand time a gift of the most precious nature, dealt out to us in\nsuccessive moments, a possession which is most coveted, and can the\nleast be hoarded, which comes, but never returns, which departs as soon\nas given, and is lost even in the receiving,--strange indeed that such a\ngift, so precious, so transient, so fleeting, should ever press severely\nupon a philosopher!\n\nAnd yet wisdom is no security against ennui. The man who made Europe\nring with his eloquence, and largely contributed to the spirit of\nrepublican enthusiasm, wasted away for months in a state of the most\nfoolish languor, under the idea that he was dying of a polypus at his\nheart.[4] Nay, this philosopher, who presumed to believe himself skilled\nin the ways of man, and an adept in the character of women, who dared to\nexpound religion and proposed to reform Christianity, who committed and\nconfessed the meanest actions,--and yet, as if in the presence of the\nSupreme Arbiter of life and before the tribunal of Eternal Justice,\narrogated to himself an equality with the purest in the innumerable\ncrowd of immortal souls,--he, the proud one, would so far yield to\nennui, as to put the final and eternal welfare of his soul at issue on\nthe throw of a stone. La Harpe, no correct writer, nor sound critic,\naffirms, that Rousseau undertook to decide the question of a\nSuperintending Providence by throwing stones at a tree. That would have\nbeen not merely an imbecile but a blasphemous act. As the case stood,\nJean Jacques must be acquitted of any charge worse than that of\nexcessive and even ridiculous weakness. \"_Je m'en vais_,\" he says to\nhimself, \"_je m'en vais jeter cette pierre contre l'arbre qui est\nvis-a-vis de moi: si je le touche, signe de salut; si je le marque,\nsigne de damnation._\"\n\nBut Jean Jacques passes for an inspired madman. What shall we say to the\ntemperate Spinoza, whose life was not variegated by the brightness of\ndomestic scenes, and who, being cut off from active life and from social\nlove, necessarily encountered a void within himself. It was his\nfavourite resource against the visits of ennui, to catch spiders and\nteach them to fight; and when he had so far made himself master of the\nnature of these animals, that he could get them as angry as game cocks,\nhe would, all thin and feeble as he was, break out into a roar of\nlaughter, and chuckle to see his champions engage, as if they, too, were\nfighting for honour.\n\nPoor Spinoza! It may indeed be questioned, whether his whole philosophy\nwas not a sort of pastime with him. It may be, that after all he was\ningenious because he could not be quiet, and wrote his attacks on\nreligion from a want of something to do. At any rate it has fared\nstrangely with his works. The world had well nigh become persuaded, that\nSpinoza was but a name for a degraded atheism, and now we have him\nzealously defended, and in fact we have seen him denominated a saint.[5]\nSo near are extremes: the ridiculous borders on the sublime; and the\nsame man is denounced as a parricide of society, and again extolled as a\nmodel of sanctity.\n\nBut we have a stronger example than either of these. The very\nphilosopher, who first declared experience to be the basis of knowledge,\nand found his way to truth through the safe places of observation, gives\nin his own character some evidences of participation in the common\ninfirmity. He said very truly, that there is a foolish corner even in\nthe wise man's brain. Yet, if there has ever appeared on earth, a man\npossessed of reason in its highest perfection, it was Aristotle. He had\nthe gift of seeing the forms of things, undisturbed by the confusing\nsplendour of colours; his mind, like the art of sculpture, represented\nobjects with the most precise outlines and exact images; but the world\nin his mind was a colourless world. He understood and has explained the\nsecrets of the human heart, the workings of the human passions; but he\nperforms all these moral dissections with the coolness of an anatomist,\nengaged in a delicate operation. The nicety of his distinctions, and his\ndeep insight into the nature of man, are displayed without passion,\nwhile his constant effort after the discovery of new truth, never for\none moment betrays him into mysticism, or tempts him to substitute\nshadows for realities. One would think, that such a philosopher was the\npersonification of self-possession; that his unruffled mind would always\ndwell in the serene regions of intelligence; that his step would be on\nthe firm ground of experience; that his progress to the sublime temple\nof truth and of fame, would have been ever secure and progressive; that\nhappiness itself would have blessed him for his tranquil and\ndispassionate devotedness to exalted pursuits.\n\nBut perhaps the clear perception of the realities of life is not the\nsecret source of contentment. Many a scholar has shrunk from the contest\nof transient interests, and sought happiness rather in the world of\ncontemplation; and perhaps the studies of antiquity derive a part of\ntheir charm, from their affording us a place of refuge against the\nclamours and persecutions which belong to present rivalries. If the view\nof human nature, adopted by a large portion of our theologians, is a\njust one, the heart must recoil with horror from the true consideration\nof the human world in its natural unmitigated depravity, and throw\nitself rather into the hopes that belong to the future, and the mercies\nthat attach to the Supreme Intelligence, for relief against the apathy\nwhich so cold a contemplation of unmingled evil might naturally produce.\n\nIn the mouth of Pindar, life might be called a dream, and it would but\npass for the effusion of poetic melancholy. But when the sagacious\nphilosopher asserts it, that all hope is but the dream of waking man, a\nlatent discontent broken from the concealment of an unsatisfied\ncuriosity, a baffled pursuit; when his mind had arrived at that state,\nnothing but its remarkable vigour could have preserved him from settled\ngloom.\n\nAgain the venerable sage examined into the sources of happiness. It does\nnot consist, he affirms, in voluptuous pleasures, for they are\ntransient, brutalizing, and injurious to the mind; nor in public\nhonours, for they depend on those who bestow them, and it is not\nfelicity to be the recipient of an uncertain bounty; nor yet does\nhappiness consist in riches, for the care of them is but a toil; and if\nthey are expended, it is plainly a proof, that contentment is sought for\nin the possession of other things. In the view of the Stagyrite,\nhappiness consists in the pursuit of knowledge, and in the practice of\nvirtue, under the auspices of mind, and nature, and fortune. He that is\nintelligent, and young, and handsome, and vigorous, and rich, is alone\nthe happy man. Did the world need the sublime wisdom, the high mental\nendowment of the Stagyrite, to learn, that neither the poor, nor the\ndull, nor the aged, nor the sick, can share in the highest bounty of\nthe Universal Father? When it is remembered that Aristotle was favoured\nabove all his contemporaries in intellectual gifts, we ask the reader to\ndraw an inference as to the state of his mind, which still demanded the\nbeauties of personal attractions, and the lavish liberality of fortune.\n\nWhen asked what is the most transient of fleeting things, the\nphilosopher made but a harsh answer, in naming \"gratitude;\" but his mind\nmust have been sadly a prey to ennui, when he could exclaim, \"my\nfriends! there are no friends.\"\n\nHe could not be content to sit or stand, when he gave lessons in moral\nscience, but walked to and fro in constant restlessness; and, indeed, if\ntradition reports rightly, he could not wait the will of Heaven for his\nrelease from weariness, but in spite of all his sublime philosophy, and\nall his expansive genius, he was content to die as the fool dieth.\n\nBut ennui kills others beside philosophers. It is not without example,\nthat men have committed suicide, because they have attained their utmost\nwishes. The man of business, finding himself possessed of a sufficient\nfortune, retires from active life; but the habit of action remains, and\nbecomes a power of terrific force. In such cases, the sufferer sits away\nlistless hours of intense suffering; the mind preys upon itself, and\nsometimes madness ensues, sometimes suicide is committed.\n\nSaul went out to find his father's asses. With the humble employment he\nseems to have been reasonably pleased, and probably made search with a\nlight heart and an honest one. But, seeking asses, he found a kingdom;\nand contentment fled when possession was full. In him, the reproofs of\nconscience and discontent with the world produced a morbid melancholy,\nand pain itself would have been to him a welcome refuge from ennui.\n\nWe detect the same subtle spirit at work, in the slanders in which\ngossips find relief. Truth is not exciting enough to those who depend on\nthe characters and lives of their neighbours for all their amusement;\nand if a story is told of more than common interest, ennui is sure to\nhave its joy in adding a few embellishments. If time did not hang heavy,\nwhat would become of scandal? Time, the common enemy, must be passed, as\nthe phrase is, and the phrase bears its own commentary; and since the\ndays of gladiators are passed, where can be the harm of blackening the\nreputation of the living? To the pusillanimous and the idle, scandal is\nthe condiment of life; and while back-biting furnishes their\nentertainment abroad, domestic quarrelling fills up the leisure hours at\nhome. It is a pretty general rule, that the _medisante_ is a termagant\nin her household; and, as for our own sex, depend upon it, in nine cases\nout of ten, the evil tongue belongs to a disappointed man. In the tenth\ncase, the man is an _imbecile_.\n\nFashion, also, in its excess, is but a relief against ennui; and it is\nrather strong evidence of the universal prevalence of listlessness, that\na change in dress at Paris, can, within a few months, be imitated in St.\nLouis. Yet, in the young and the fair, a milder sentiment influences\nconduct. In them, the latent consciousness of beauty, the charm of an\nexistence that is opening in the fulness of its attractions, the\nbecoming loveliness of innocence and youth, the simple cheerfulness of\ninexperience, lead to a modest and decorous display. Broadway, the\nunrivalled Broadway, is not without its loungers; yet the young and the\ngay are not discontented ones. They move in the strength of their own\nbeauty, like the patriot statesman, neither shunning, nor yet courting\nadmiration; and tripping along the brilliant street, half coveting half\nrefusing attention,\n\n \"They feel that they are happier than they know.\"\n\nFrom Broadway we pass to the crowded haunts of business. Is there ennui\nthere? Do the money changers grow weary of profits? Is business so dull\nthat bankers have nothing to do? Are doubtful notes so uncommon, that\nthere is no latitude for shaving? Have the underwriters nothing at sea\nto be anxious about? Do the insurers on life omit to look after those\nwho have taken out policies, and exhort them to temperance and exercise?\nThese are all busy enough; too much engaged, and too little romantic to\nbe much moved by sentimental regrets. But there are those, who plunge\nheadlong into affairs from the restlessness of their nature, and who\nhurry into bold speculations, because they cannot endure to be idle.\nNow, business, like poetry, requires a tranquil mind. But there are\nthose, who venture upon the career of business, under the impulse of\nennui. How shall the young and haughty heirs of large fortunes rid\nthemselves of their time, and acquit themselves in the eye of the public\nof their imagined responsibilities? One writes a tale for the Souvenirs,\nanother speculates in the stocks. The former is laughed at, yet hoards\nan estate; the latter is food for hungry sharks. Then comes bankruptcy;\nsober thought repels the fiend that had been making a waste of life, or\nthe same passion drives its possessor to become a busy body and zealot\nin the current excitement of the times; or absolute despair, ennui in\nits intensity, leads to insanity.\n\nFor the mad house, too, as well as the debtor's gaol, is in part peopled\nby the same blighting power, and nature recovers itself from a state of\nlanguid apathy, only by the terrific excitement of frenzy. Or a passion\nfor suicide ensues; the mind revels in the contemplation of the grave,\nand covets the aspect of the countenance of death as the face of a\nfamiliar friend. The mind invests itself in the sombre shades of a\nmelancholy longing after eternal rest--a longing which is sometimes\nconnected with unqualified disbelief, and sometimes associates itself\nwith an undefined desire of a purely spiritual existence.\n\nWe might multiply examples of the very extensive prevalence of that\nunhappy languor of which we are treating. Let us aim rather at observing\nthe limit of its power.\n\nIt was a foolish philosophy, which believed in ennui as an evidence and\na means of human perfectibility. The only exertions which it is capable\nof producing, are of a subordinate character. It may give to passion a\nfearful intensity, consequent on a state of moral disease; but human\nvirtue must be the result of far higher causes. The exercise of\nprinciple, the generous force of purified emotions, cheerful desire, and\nwilling industry, are the parents of real greatness. If we look through\nthe various departments of public and of intellectual action, we shall\nfind the mark of inferiority upon every thing which has sprung from\nennui. In philosophy, it might produce the follies of Cynic oddity, but\nnot the sublime lessons of Pythagoras or Socrates. In poetry, it may\nproduce effusions from persons of quality, devoid of wit, but it never\ncould have pointed the satire of Pope. In the mechanic arts it may\ncontrive a balloon, but never could invent a steam-boat. In religion, it\nstumbles at a thousand knotty points in metaphysical theology, but it\nnever led the soul to intercourse with heaven, or to the contemplation\nof divine truth.\n\nThe celebrated son of Philip was a man of exalted genius; and political\nwisdom had its share in his career. Ennui could never have produced\nMacedonia's madman, but it may well put in its claim to the Swede. Or\nlet us look rather for a conqueror, who dreamed that he had genius to\nrival Achilles, and yet never had a settled plan of action. The famous\nking of Epirus has seemed to be an historical puzzle, so uncertain was\nhis purpose, so wavering his character. Will you know the whole truth\nabout him? Pyrrhus was an _ennuye_.\n\nWhen a painter, in the pursuit of his vocation, is obliged to give a\nlikeness of a person that has neither beauty nor soul, he may perhaps\ndraw figures in the air, or spoil his picture by an inconsiderate\nflourish of his pencil. He dislikes his task, and his work will show it.\n\nWhen a poet writes a song for hire, or solely to be sung to some\nfavourite air, it is more than probable his verses will be languid, and\nhis meaning doubtful. Thus, for example,--\n\n \"The smiles of joy, the tears of wo\n Deceitful shine, deceitful flow.\"\n\nThis is sheer nonsense. Joy smiles in good earnest, and many an aching\nheart knows too well the deep truth of distress.\n\nThe fervent eloquence of true piety springs from conviction, and reaches\nthe heart; but we have sometimes listened to a dull sermon, which\nproceeded from weariness more than from zeal, and belonged to ennui more\nthan to the stirring action of eloquent religion. The lawyer, too, is\nsometimes overborne in his plea by disgust with his work, and in his\ntiresome repetitions you may plainly see how he loathes--\n\n \"To drudge for the dregs of men,\n And scrawl strange words with the barbarous pen.\"\n\nThe life of Napoleon, in its busiest period, presents a remarkable\ninstance of ennui. While the allies were collecting around him in their\nutmost strength, he was himself wavering in his purposes, and reluctant\nto decide on the retreat to Leipsic. Strange, that at such a time he\nshould have given way to an overwhelming and almost childish languor.\nYet an eyewitness relates, \"I have seen him at that time, seated on a\nsofa, beside a table on which lay his charts, totally unemployed, unless\nin scribbling mechanically large letters on a sheet of white paper.\"\nSuch was the power of ennui over Napoleon, at a time, when, in his own\nlanguage, nothing but a thunderbolt could save him.\n\nIt is dangerous for a man of superior ability to find himself thrown\nupon the world without some regular employment. The restlessness\ninherent in genius being thus left undirected by any permanent\ninfluence, frames for itself occupations out of accidents. Moral\nintegrity sometimes falls a prey to this want of fixed pursuits; and the\nman who receives his direction in active life from the fortuitous\nimpulse of circumstances, will be very apt to receive his principles\nlikewise from chance. Genius, under such guidance, attains no noble\nends; but resembles rather a copious spring, conveyed in a falling\naqueduct; where the waters continually escape through the frequent\ncrevices, and waste themselves ineffectually on their passage. The law\nof nature is here, as elsewhere, binding; and no powerful results ever\nensue from the trivial exercise of high endowments. The finest mind,\nwhen thus destitute of a fixed purpose, passes away without leaving\npermanent traces of its existence; losing its energy by turning aside\nfrom its course, it becomes as harmless and inefficient as the\nlightning, which, of itself irresistible, may yet be rendered powerless\nby a slight conductor.\n\nThese remarks apply perhaps in some measure even to Leibnitz, whose\nsublime intelligence and mental activity were the wonder of his age. He\nattained a celebrity of reputation, but hardly a contented spirit; at\ntimes he descended to the consideration of magnitudes infinitely small,\nand at times rose to the belief that he heard the universal harmony of\nnature; for years he was devoted to illustrating the antiquities of the\nfamily of a petty prince; and then again he assumed the sublime office\nof defending the perfections of Providence. Yet with all this variety of\npursuit, the great philosopher was hardly to be called a happy man; and\nit almost fills us with melancholy to find, that the very theologian who\nwould have proved this to be absolutely the best of all possible worlds,\ndied after all of chagrin.\n\nYet the name of Leibnitz is one which should rather excite unmingled\nadmiration; for the rich endowments of Heaven distinguished him as one\nof the most favoured in that intellectual superiority which is the\nchoicest gift of God. Our subject is more fully illustrated in the case\nof a less gifted, though a notorious man; one whose qualities have been\nrecently held up to admiration, yet for whom we find it impossible to\nconceive sentiments of respect. We mean Lord Bolingbroke.\n\nHis talents as a writer have secured to him a very distinguished place\nin the literature of England; and his political services, during the\nreign of Queen Anne, have rendered him illustrious in English history.\nBut though he was possessed of wit, eloquence, family, wealth, and\nopportunity, he never displayed true dignity of character, nor real\ngreatness of soul. He seemed to have no fixed principles of action; and\nto have loved contest more than victory. Wherever there was strife,\nthere you might surely expect to meet St. John; and his public career\nalmost justifies the inference, that apostacy (if indeed a man who has\nno principles can be called an apostate) would have seemed to him, after\nhis defeat, a moderate price for permission to appear again in the\nlists. But as he had always coveted power with an insatiable avidity, he\nnever could rest long enough to acquire it. On the stormy sea of public\nlife, he was for ever struggling to be on the topmost wave; but the\nwaves receded as fast as he advanced; and fate seemed to have destined\nhim to waste his life in fruitless efforts and as fruitless changes.\n\nIn early life he sought distinction by his debaucheries; and from the\naccounts of his biographer, it would seem, that he succeeded in becoming\nthe most daring profligate in London. Tired of the excess of\ndissipation, he attempted the career of politics, and found his way into\nParliament under the auspices of the whigs. When politics failed, he put\non the mask of a metaphysician. Tired of that costume, he next attempted\nto play the farmer. Dissatisfied with farming, he wrote political\npamphlets. Still discontented with his condition in the world, he strove\nto undermine the basis of religion.\n\nHe began public life as a whig; but as the tories were in the ascendant,\nhe rapidly ripened into a tory; he ended his political career by\ndeserting the tories and avowing the doctrines of staunch and\nuncompromising whigs. He tried libertinism, married life, politics,\npower, exile, restoration, the House of Commons, the House of Lords, the\ncity, the country, foreign travel, study, authorship, metaphysics,\ninfidelity, farming, treason, submission, dereliction,--but ennui held\nhim with a firm grasp all the while, and it was only in the grave that\nhe ceased from troubling.\n\nTo an observer who peruses his writings with this view of his character,\nmany of his expressions of wise indifference and calm resignation, have\neven a ludicrous aspect. The truth breaks forth from all his attempts at\ndisguise. The philosopher's robes could not hide the stately wrecks of\nhis political passions. They say, that round Vesuvius, the lava of\nformer eruptions has so entirely resolved itself into soil, that\nvineyards thrive on the black ruins of the volcano; and that the ancient\ndevastation could hardly be recognised, except for an occasional dark\nmass, which, not yet decomposed, frowns here and there over the\nsurrounding fertility. Something like this was true of St. John; he\nbelieved his ambition extinct, and attempted to gather round its ruins\nall the beauties and splendour of contented wisdom; but his nature was\nstill ungovernably fierce; and to the last, his passions lowered angrily\non the quiet scenes of his literary retirement.\n\nThere is no clue to his character, except in supposing him to have been\nunder the influence of ennui, which was perpetually terrifying him into\nthe grossest contradictions. He could not be said to have had any\nprinciples, or to have belonged to any party; and to whatever party he\nrallied, he was sure to become utterly faithless. He was not less false\nto the Pretender than to the King, to Ormond than to Walpole. He was\nfalse to the tories and false to the whigs; he was false to his country,\nfor he attempted to involve her in civil war; and false to his God, for\nhe combated religion. He was not swayed by a passion for glory, for he\ndid not pursue it steadily,--nor by a passion for power, for he\nquarrelled with the only man by whose aid he could have maintained it.\nHe was rather driven to and fro by a wild restlessness, which led him\ninto gross contradictions \"for his sins.\" Nor was his falsehood without\nits punishment. What could be more pitifully degrading, than for one who\nhad been a successful British minister of state, and had displayed in\nthe face of Europe his capacity for business and his powers of\neloquence, to have finally stooped to accept a seat in the Pretender's\ncabinet, where pimps and prostitutes were the prime agents and\ncounsellors?\n\nThere exists a very pleasant letter from Pope, giving an account of\nBolingbroke's rural occupations, during his country life in England,\nafter the reversal of his attainder. He insisted on being a farmer; and\nto prove himself so, hired a painter to fill the walls of his parlour\nwith rude pictures of the implements of husbandry. The poet describes\nhim between two haycocks, watching the clouds with all the apparent\nanxiety of a husbandman; but to us it seems, that his mind was at that\ntime no more in the skies than when he quoted Anaxagoras, and declared\nheaven to be the wise man's home. His heart clung to earth, and to\nearthly strife; and his uneasiness must at last have become deplorably\nwretched, since he could consent to pick up stale arguments against\nChristianity, and leave a piece of patchwork, made up of the shreds of\nother men's scepticism, as his especial legacy to posterity, in proof of\nthe masterly independence of his mind.\n\nThus we have endeavoured to explain the nature of that apathy which is\nworse than positive pain, and which impels to greater madness than the\nfiercest passions,--which kings and sages have not been able to resist,\nnor wealth nor pleasures to subdue. We have described ennui as a power\nfor evil rather than for good; and we infer, that it was an absurd\nphilosophy which classed it among the causes of human superiority, and\nthe means of human improvement. It is the curse pronounced upon\nvoluptuous indolence and on excessive passion; on those who decline\nactive exertion, and thus throw away the privileges of existence; and on\nthose who live a feverish life, in the constant frenzy of stimulated\ndesires. There is but one cure for it: and that is found in moderation;\nthe exercise of the human faculties in their natural and healthful\nstate; the quiet performance of duty, in meek submission to the\ncontrolling Providence, which has set bounds to our achievements in\nsetting limits to our power. Briefly: our ability is limited by\nHeaven--our desires are unlimited, except by ourselves--ennui can be\navoided only by conforming the passions of the human breast to the\nconditions of human existence.\n\nIn pursuing this investigation, which we now bring to a close, we have\nnot attempted to exhaust the subject; we refer it rather to the calm\nmeditations of others, who will find materials enough within themselves.\nAnd lest the impatient should throw aside our essay with the disgust of\nsatiety, or the persevering should by our prolixity be vexed with the\nvery spirit which we would rather teach them to exorcise, we here take a\nrespectful leave, with our sincerest wishes, that life may be to the\nreader a succession of pleasant emotions, and death a resting place\nneither coveted nor feared.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] Iliad, ix. 187-190.\n\n[2] Iliad, ix. 310-320.\n\n[3] Iliad. Pope renders this--Alike regretted in the dust he lies. But\nit is an expression of discontent with destiny, which sets a common\nlimit to life, and not to men, whose regrets may be unequal.\n\n[4] Jean Jacques Rousseau. Confessions, p. 1. l. vi.\n\n[5] We remember perfectly well the beginning of an apostrophe to the\nJewish philosopher; \"Du _heiliger_ Spinoza.\" Herder, too, has a good\ndeal to say in defence of him.\n\n\n\n\nART. III.--_Travels in Kamtchatka and Siberia; with a Narrative of a\nResidence in China._ By PETER DOBELL. 2 vols. 12mo. 1830.\n\n\nMr. Dobell, the author of these volumes, is an American gentleman, who\nformerly resided in the city of Philadelphia, where he was known as an\nenterprising and intelligent merchant. Commercial business led him to\nmake several voyages, beyond the Cape of Good Hope; and circumstances at\nlength induced him to prolong his residence in Asia. He established\nhimself at Canton, where he lived for some years, and undertook, from\ntime to time, trading expeditions to various ports on the shore of the\nPacific Ocean. In the course of these, frequent opportunities were\nafforded of noticing the manners, country, and state of society in\nChina, superior to such as occur to ordinary travellers; and much too of\nthe remote people of Eastern Russia, who are very little known to those\ninhabiting the civilized portions of the world. These voyages were\nsucceeded by more than one journey across the country to St. Petersburg,\nin which he observed, with an attentive eye and inquisitive disposition,\nthe extensive regions forming the _penetralia_ of that vast empire. His\nintelligence and exertions were noticed and rewarded by the confidence\nof the government, who conferred on him the office of Consul at some\nEastern port, and he was subsequently raised to the post of \"Counsellor\nof the court\" of his Imperial Majesty, a rank which he still retains,\nhaving probably relinquished the intention of returning to his own\ncountry.\n\nThe account of China, which, in the natural order, would form the first\nportion of his narrative, is comprised in a sort of supplement to the\ntravels in Siberia, and contains in a more compendious form, a good\nsketch of the manners and state of society in that singular country. The\nmeans of observation, and of obtaining information, are indeed greatly\ndiminished, by the well known jealousy of the Chinese towards strangers,\nand the extreme vanity and exaggeration with which they speak of\nthemselves and their country; but the pursuits of Mr. Dobell, together\nwith the recurrence of the opportunities by which he profited, give to\nhis account a considerable degree of novelty, and certainly entitle it\nto more than ordinary confidence.\n\nOn his first arrival at Canton, he was struck with the new and\ninteresting scene that presented itself. Islands, hills, canals, and\nrivers, were scattered around. The verdure was lively, the population\nexcessive, the vegetation and general appearance of the country totally\ndifferent from those he had elsewhere beheld, and the waters glittered\nwith innumerable fleets of boats of various sizes and descriptions. The\nboatmen and pilots addressed him in a language which he afterwards\nfound to prevail extensively at Canton, and which was called English; it\nis, in truth, a bad dialect of that language, the composition and\npronunciation of which are so curious and difficult, that a residence of\na year or two is necessary for its acquisition. None of the Chinese,\nrich or poor, understand those who speak plain English. The first\nintercourse of a foreigner with the natives, displays that imposition\nand venality which are more strongly exhibited, during every month of\nhis residence among them. He is at once surrounded by persons, called\n_compradors_, who offer their assistance in supplying him with\nprovisions of every description; they serve him without wages, although\nthey are obliged to pay the Mandarins for the privilege of affording\ntheir generous aid to strangers; the consequence is, they take especial\ncare to remunerate themselves handsomely at the expense of those to whom\nthey extend their kindness. Besides this, as they bribe the custom-house\nofficers, they are able to offer many facilities, and to carry on an\nextensive contraband commerce. Those officers are sent to a vessel\nimmediately on her arrival, and their boats, called hoppoo-boats are\nconstantly attached to her stern while she remains in port; their\nconsciences, however, are easily satisfied by the liberality of the\ncomprador, and they pass their time in smoking, sleeping, and playing at\ncards; indeed, if any extraordinary smuggling is desired to be\naccomplished, they protect the offender against the officious\ninterference of other officers: they keep shops on board of their boats,\nwhere they exercise their expertness in cheating, and, as every thing is\nsold by weight, it is necessary to weigh for yourself what you buy, to\navoid the tricks which they always endeavour to play.\n\nUndoubtedly, the venality of the Chinese has been increased by the\nintroduction of commerce from beyond the Cape of Good Hope; but there is\nno doubt also, that its existence is of very old date, and that it is\nowing to the nature and conduct of the government, more than to the\ncharacter of the people. There are so many prohibitions and enormous\nduties to tempt their prevailing passion, avarice, that vast numbers\nengage in the contraband trade, as being the most profitable; moderate\nduties, and freedom of importation, would destroy the temptation, and\nrender smuggling dangerous and unprofitable; at present it has become an\norganized system of plunder, protected by the Mandarins themselves.\n\n \"The opium trade,\" says Mr. Dobell, \"with the exception of ten\n chests of that pernicious drug, that are allowed to be imported\n into Macao, for medicinal purposes, is entirely conducted by\n smugglers. In defiance of an annual edict from the Emperor,\n making it death to smuggle opium, the enormous quantity of\n nearly _four thousand chests_ is imported every year to Macao\n and Whampoa; the greater part, however, goes to the former\n place. When I inform my readers that each chest weighs a\n _pecul_, that is to say, 133-1/3 English pounds, and that it\n sells for twelve to fifteen hundred, and sometimes two thousand\n Spanish dollars a chest, they may form some judgment of the\n value and extent of smuggling in China. It is a business that\n all the inferior Mandarins, and some of the higher ones, their\n protectors, are engaged in; so that opium is carried through\n the streets of Macao, in the most bare-faced manner, in the\n open day. The opium dealers at Whampoa, formerly took it away\n by night, but latterly I have seen them go to the ship, with\n the linguist of the Whampoa custom-house officer, and take it\n out in the day time. Sixty Spanish dollars is the bribe paid\n for each chest of opium sold at Macao; and if it goes to\n Canton, it pays sixty more on its arrival there. Large boats\n armed, and having from thirty to forty men, called opium boats,\n ply between Macao and Canton, when that market offers an\n advantage in price. These boats carry this drug, and are\n sanctioned by the custom-house officers, who, of course,\n receive for this business likewise, a good bribe.\"\n\nThe only attempts made to suppress this practice, are on the initiation\ninto office of new _foo-yunes_, or governors, who have not yet perfectly\nlearned the established usages, or who have not been propitiated by the\nnecessary gratuities. In these cases, a terrible revolution occurs in\nthe peaceful and quiet frauds of the smugglers; their shops are broken\nup, their property confiscated without mercy, and all the terrors of the\nlaw invoked upon the persons of such, who indeed are few, as have not\nalertness and foresight enough to keep out of the way. This excess of\nvirtue does not endure long however; and the liberal generosity of the\ntraders generally contrives, in a month, to overcome the scruples of the\nmost resolute.\n\n \"During my residence, however,\" says Mr. Dobell, \"a _foo-yune_\n arrived, who proved incorruptible, and he almost destroyed the\n smugglers, as well as the profits of his colleagues; which\n latter, becoming tired of his persecutions, united together,\n and by their intrigues had him advanced to a much higher\n station. Being a man of talent, he got another step again in a\n short time, and at length came back to Canton as Tsan-tuk or\n viceroy. The opium dealers and smugglers were greatly alarmed,\n shut up their shops, and secreted themselves for some time. It\n appeared their fears were groundless. This artful man, who\n formerly persecuted them from political motives, to insure his\n advancement, was now as mild and propitious as possible. Having\n arrived at an elevated station, with the certainty of rising\n still higher, he sought to enrich himself, in order to be more\n sure of gratifying his ambition. Accordingly, he proved kind to\n his colleagues, and polite to Europeans; and by his affability\n of deportment, contrived to amass the largest fortune that ever\n fell to the share of a viceroy of Canton. He was afterwards\n made a member of the emperor's council at Pekin.\"\n\nThe robbery of the government, if conducted with sufficient skill and\nboldness, seems to be as successful as smuggling--indeed, it is a maxim\nwith those in power, never to risk a defeat, and that it is best to\naccomplish their ends, by a crafty and cautious delay until a favourable\nmoment for executing them arrives. The salt trade is one of the most\nlucrative, important, and extensive, and is conducted entirely under\nspecial licenses from Mandarins, appointed by the crown. Some years\nsince, the pirates on the coast intercepted the salt-junks, and\ncompelled the monopolists to negotiate with them, and pay a certain sum\nfor the safe passage of every vessel. After a while, this intercourse\nled to a regular trade, by which the captains of the salt-junks supplied\nthe pirates with arms and ammunition, and the government discovering it,\nan entire stop was put to the salt trade. The pirates, however, were not\nto be so easily frightened or defeated; their admiral, Apo-Tsy,\nforthwith commenced an offensive warfare; assembled an immense fleet of\njunks and a force of upwards of twenty thousand men, invaded the country\nnear Macao, cut all the ripe rice, and carried it off, as well as a\ngreat number of women, whom he presented to his followers. In vain did\nthe viceroy attack the piratical fleet,--he was defeated in every\nengagement, and the affair was only terminated by making Apo-Tsy\ngovernor of the province of Fokien, and pardoning all his followers!\nMatters however did not stop here; in some of his battles, Apo-Tsy had\ntaken prisoner an admiral nearly related to the heir to the crown, and\ncut off his head; as soon as the relative ascended the throne, he\ndespatched a polite message to the governor of Fokien, to say, that the\nlaws of the empire required blood for blood, and that his excellency's\nhead was therefore required instead of the admiral's. There was no\nexcuse to be made, and the twenty thousand pirates were no longer at\nhand, so that Apo-Tsy's head was conveyed to Pekin.\n\nThis salt trade is very extensive; no less than twenty thousand tons of\nshipping being occupied in it alone. Indeed the great commerce of the\nChinese appears to be that carried on by their own junks to the\nIndo-Chinese islands. One of these vessels will carry a cargo of from\nthree to five thousand dollars value, in earthenware, silks, nankeens,\nironmongery, tea, and other productions and manufactures of the Chinese.\nThey have settlements on all these islands, and are certainly invaluable\ncolonists, as they have sufficiently proved wherever they are\nestablished. They work the mines, plant cotton, make indigo and sugar,\nand acquire large fortunes among the slothful and careless Malays.\nThough they intermarry with these people, they never adopt their habits\nor religion, but remain, as well as their descendants, a distinct race;\nand wherever found, their settlements present a complete miniature\npicture of China. It is indeed a gross error to consider China a country\nwholly agricultural and manufacturing; on the contrary, the Chinese are\none of the most commercial nations of the globe. It is true, they affect\nthemselves to hold the trade which they carry on with distant nations,\nas comparatively unimportant, and assert that with the contiguous\nislands to be infinitely more lucrative; yet this is to be ascribed to\ntheir habit of decrying other countries; and it is not to be doubted\nthat the revenue derived from the commerce they thus contemn, is very\ngreat. The importations into Canton from England, America, Holland,\nFrance, Sweden, Denmark, Manilla, and India, in European and American\nships, in money and merchandise, must be annually from thirty to forty\nmillions of dollars. The bad policy which occasions the immense\ncontraband trade in opium, deprives the government of duties, annually,\nto the amount of four or five millions of dollars. Their commercial\nsystem with foreigners, shows a great deal of deep cunning, but it is\nrepulsive to wisdom and good policy, and by no means calculated to\nafford them the advantages they might derive from that intercourse.\n\nThe highly wrought principles and moral maxims, which abound in the\nwritings of the lawgivers and philosophers of China, have been sometimes\ncited to prove the existence of a superior system of institutions and\nlaws. Theoretical speculations, vanity, and self adulation, are one\nthing; wise administration, and practical justice, are another. The\ndoctrines of Confucius are worthy to be placed with those of Solon; the\nrescripts of the celestial emperor, abound in common-places of unbending\nintegrity and the sternest equity; but notwithstanding all this, the\nmorals of the people are debased, the very foundations of virtue are\nsapped by bribery and corruption, with all their concomitant vices; the\nsword of justice is arrested; and license is widely given to the\nviolation of public and private rights. Some instances of this\nunblushing venality are mentioned by Mr. Dobell.\n\n \"By the law of homicide, life must atone for life; and, if a\n person dies suddenly, the master of the house is treated in the\n same manner as if he had been guilty, until he proves the fact.\n This keeps the Chinese always on their guard, and ready to\n deceive the mandarins, or to bribe them, if necessity should\n require. A person of my acquaintance related to me, that he had\n a large garden, where there were some nice fruits, which were\n often stolen; and although his servants had frequently watched,\n they could not detect the offender. He therefore determined to\n watch with them; and, having armed himself with a pike,\n accompanied his two servants in the night, to try and detect\n the thief. Not long after he had placed himself at his post, he\n saw a naked man approach the trees near where he stood. He\n called to him to stand still or he would kill him. The fellow,\n frightened at this summons, made off with all speed; and the\n master of the house, seeing him about to escape, threw his pike\n at him, which killed him on the spot. He was much alarmed at\n the accident; but recollecting himself, he promised his\n servants a handsome present to keep the affair secret; and with\n their assistance, threw the dead body over the wall, into his\n neighbour's garden. This, too, was managed in so careful\n manner, as to render it impossible to discover whence the body\n came. His neighbour, who was a very rich tea-merchant, felt no\n less alarmed than astonished, on the following morning, when\n his servants informed him that a dead man had been found in the\n garden, who to all appearance had been murdered. The story soon\n reached the mandarin of the district, who proceeded, in all due\n form, to execute the duties of his office, and examine the\n body; not a little delighted to have to deal with such a man as\n the rich tea-merchant. A corpse found in this way cannot be\n touched or removed until the police-mandarin of the district\n comes and inquires into the manner of the person's death; and\n if there is any thing suspicious, he will not suffer the dead\n man to be taken away, before he has had some satisfactory\n proofs of the cause of his death. As none such could be\n elicited from the merchant, who, conscious of his innocence,\n thought the mandarin could do him no harm, the latter\n commenced a regular process, and made him daily visits, besides\n sending for him frequently, and thus perplexed him exceedingly.\n All this time the dead man was left in the garden, which being\n near the house, and the body beginning to putrefy, such an\n odour was caused as became almost insupportable. At length, the\n merchant, overpowered by the bad smell, and alarmed by the\n measures the mandarin was preparing to prove him culpable, was\n happy to compromise the affair, and have the dead body removed,\n on paying the sum of four thousand five hundred Spanish\n dollars!\"\n\nNor was this the end of the adventure, which reminds one of the story of\nthe Little Hunch-back, in the Arabian Nights Entertainments:--\n\n \"A few years after, the person who put the dead man into the\n merchant's garden, had himself a disagreeable affair, though it\n cost him less trouble and money to get rid of it. In the street\n where he lived, and not far from his house, was an eating house\n for the lower classes. A beggar, who had been half-starved,\n receiving from some compassionate person enough to purchase\n himself a very ample repast, repaired to this eating house, and\n called for several things at the same moment, which he ate most\n voraciously. The owner of the eating house requested him to\n stop a while before he ate again, as he perceived it must have\n been some time since he had satisfied his hunger. The beggar,\n however, would not listen to reason; he demanded food for his\n money till it was all expended, and then dropped down dead.\n This happened towards evening; and when the host perceived that\n it was dark, he and his servants took up the dead mendicant,\n and placed him at the door of the person before mentioned. On\n the following morning, the beggar-mandarin of the district came\n to him, and was very troublesome, declaring the beggar had been\n killed by some of his family, and that he should institute a\n process against him immediately. The accused, however, had the\n good fortune to find a witness, who had seen the keeper of the\n eating house and his servants put the body at his door.\n Although the beggar-mandarin could now do nothing against him\n in law, he refused to take the corpse away; and he was obliged\n to pay him two hundred dollars to have it removed before it\n became offensive. No doubt he got a good fee likewise from the\n master of the eating house.\"\n\nThe accounts we have of the population of China, greatly exaggerate it\nin the opinion of Mr. Dobell. The persons by whom these statements are\ngiven, have been generally ambassadors, missionaries and others, who\nwere, from political motives, as well as convenience of travelling,\nconducted in boats on the canals and rivers which intersect the richest,\nbest cultivated and most populous parts of the empire. But it is\nridiculous to calculate the number of inhabitants, by assuming, as the\nbasis, the population of a square league so settled, and to imagine that\nall the land is equally well cultivated. The truth is, that all the rice\ngrounds of the empire--and the whole population eats rice--would be\nutterly insufficient to afford the necessary quantity, for any thing\napproaching to the numbers which it is currently asserted to contain.\n\nThe system of husbandry, too, is defective, though the cultivators of\nthe soil are industrious; about Canton and Macao, they transplant every\nstalk of rice by hand with great regularity, and make two crops in the\nyear; one in July, the other in October. In the cultivation of\nvegetables of all sorts, they are not surpassed by any nation of the\nglobe. Rents are usually paid in cattle, hogs, fowls, rice, and the\nvarious productions of the soil, and the tenure is a species of feudal\none, derived primarily from the emperor, who is considered theoretically\nas the actual proprietor of all the soil.[6] Fruits are so plentiful,\nthat there is less attention paid to them than in colder climates;\nalmost every month of the year has its peculiar fruits; but those most\nesteemed are the oranges, mangoes, and lichees. Of the productions of\nthe soil, however, that most prized by foreigners, as well as most used\nand esteemed in China, is tea. To the history of this celebrated plant,\nMr. Dobell has devoted a whole chapter, but we confess that we have\nfound it less perspicuous, except as to the commercial value of the\nvarious qualities offered for sale, than we desired or expected, after\nthe opportunities of observation which he possessed. We infer, that he\nagrees with the prevailing opinion, that there is but one species of the\ntea plant. He speaks of four _stocks_, by which he seems to mean the\nvarieties arising from a difference of cultivation, soil, or\ntemperature. These four stocks are _Bohea_, _Ankay_, _Hyson_, and\n_Singlo_--names derived from the places in which they are particularly\ncultivated. From the two former are prepared what we call _black_ teas,\nfrom the two latter _green_ teas. According to the season at which the\nleaves are gathered, and the manner in which they are subsequently\nprepared, is the excellence of each kind. Of _black_ teas, the Bohea\nkinds are superior to the Ankay; thus, the simplest or commonest sort of\nthe first, sells at Canton for twelve to fourteen taels per pecul,[7] of\nthe other for eight to ten; and the finest sort of the first, Bohea\nPecho, brings from forty to one hundred and twenty taels; but of the\nlatter, Ankay Pecho, only thirty-two to forty-two taels. In like manner\nof _green_ teas, the Hyson kinds are superior to the Singlo; thus the\ncommonest sort of the first, called Hyson Skin, sells for twenty-six to\nthirty taels, while that of the latter, called Singlo Skin, sells at\ntwenty-two to twenty-five taels; and the finest sort of the first, or\nHyson Gunpowder, brings eighty to one hundred and twenty taels, while\nSinglo Gunpowder brings only fifty to eighty taels. As the subject is\none of considerable interest, we have condensed into a short table the\ncomparative qualities and values of the different kinds of teas, so far\nas we can do so from the remarks of Mr. Dobell:--the value is reduced to\nour own currency, and the quantity to our own weights; the price is that\nof the Canton market.\n\n_Black Teas._\n\nCommon Bohea, 21 dollars per 133-1/3 pounds\nBohea Congou, 33 \" \" \"\nBohea Campoi, 34 \" \" \"\nBohea Souchong, 60 \" \" \"\nBohea Pecho, 133 \" \" \"\nCommon Ankay, 15 \" \" \"\nAnkay Congou, 27 \" \" \"\nAnkay Campoi, 38 \" \" \"\nAnkay Souchong, 41 \" \" \"\nAnkay Pecho, 61 \" \" \"\n\n_Green Teas._\n\nHyson Skin, 46 dollars per 133-1/3 pounds\nHyson Young-hyson, 63 \" \" \"\nHyson, 91 \" \" \"\nHyson Gunpowder, 166 \" \" \"\nSinglo Skin, 39 \" \" \"\nSinglo Young-hyson, 47 \" \" \"\nSinglo Hyson, 78 \" \" \"\nSinglo Gunpowder, 108 \" \" \"\n\nTea is the common beverage of all classes, and is always drunk warm,\neven in the hottest weather, and at all hours of the day. It is prepared\nby putting a small quantity of the leaves in a fine porcelain cup;\nboiling water is then poured on it, and it is covered immediately with\nanother cup fitting closely: as soon as the flavour of the tea is\nslightly extracted, it is sipped hot, as it is, great strength being\navoided; the cup is then filled again with boiling water, until all the\nflavour of the herb is exhausted. Mechanics and labourers, who cannot\nafford to drink it in this manner, draw it in a large block-tin tea-pot,\ncased with wood, and having cotton wool put between the wood and the\nvessel to preserve the warmth longer. The extreme heat of the tea, as\npreferred by the Chinese, is one of the causes, perhaps, that tend to\nproduce the relaxation, weakness of digestion, and languor of nerve,\nwith which they are much afflicted.\n\nThe perfection of many of the mechanic arts in China, which cannot be\ndenied in some instances, results less from any scientific skill, than\nfrom the laboured experience of ages brought slowly to a certain point.\nBeyond that, no discoveries of modern knowledge have led them. Thus, the\nbrightness and permanence of colouring in their silk manufactures, are\nnot produced by any secret mordents or process, but derived from a very\nnice experience of the climate, and certain concurrent circumstances.\nFor instance, great numbers of persons are employed, so that great\nrapidity in the execution of the process is assured. The north wind,\ncalled Pak-fung, is the only period at which the silks are dried. And\nwhen they are packed up for exportation, great care is taken to avoid a\ntime when there is the slightest dampness.\n\nNothing has ever been more exaggerated, than the state of civilization\nand social advancement among the Chinese. They are, in general, a\nfrugal, sober, and industrious people; but the accounts of their\ngovernment, sciences, religion, public institutions, and improvement in\nmorals and arts, are both false and ridiculous. The administration of\npublic affairs, is such as would disgrace any country on the globe; and\nthe code of laws which is expressed in such high flown metaphors, and\nboasts such wonderful wisdom in its doctrines, serves, in truth, but as\na cloak to hide injustice and oppression. In former times, the mandarins\nor nobles were said to be chosen from amongst the best of the nation, by\nwise men sent for that purpose by the emperor; at present, money wins\nits way more easily than talent or virtue, to the hearts of these\nelectors. The poorer classes live in a state of extreme wretchedness;\ntheir houses are low, confined, and filthy, and they crowd together in\ngreat numbers; on the coasts, those who live in boats,--and they are\nstated to amount at Canton to sixty or eighty thousand souls,--have much\ncleaner and more commodious habitations. There is said to be more\ndeformity among them than among any other people; and all classes are\nsubject to the complaints which result from debauchery and the use of\nopium. In the latter, they appear to find an almost inexpressible\ndelight. The Chinese have no surgeons, and are almost totally ignorant\nof anatomy; the first physicians of Canton, have none but the most\nconfused notions of the circulation of the blood; they believe it flows\ndifferently on the right and left sides of the body, and they therefore\nfeel both pulses when they visit a patient.\n\nAt Canton, during the summer months, the thermometer varies from 82 deg. to\n92 deg.. There is but little frost in winter, and not much rain. The streets\nare only made for foot passengers. The mandarins ride in sedan-chairs of\nlarge size, with glass windows, carried on the shoulders of four, six,\nten, or twelve men; several fellows run before with whips, which they\napply without mercy to any one obstructing the way; others beat gongs to\nwarn the crowd; whilst some cry out, with a shrill voice, like the\nhowling of dogs. The Chinese, indeed, though supposed to be a grave\nnation, are remarkably fond of personal display; few countries abound\nmore with s. The dress of an exquisite is very expensive, being\ncomposed of the most costly crapes or silks; his boots or shoes are of a\nparticular shape, and made of the richest black satin of Nankin, with\nsoles of a certain height; his knee caps are elegantly embroidered; his\ncap and button are of the neatest cut; his pipes elegant and\nhigh-priced; his tobacco of the best manufacture of Fokien; an English\ngold watch; a tooth-pick hung at his button, with a string of valuable\npearls; and a fan from Nankin, scented with _chulan_ flowers--such are\nhis personal appointments. He is attended by servants in costly\nliveries; and, when he meets an acquaintance, his studied manners and\nceremonial are as carefully displayed, as the airs of the most\naccomplished dandy in Christian countries.\n\nAll amusements are anxiously sought after. Theatrical exhibitions\nconstantly take place after dinner in the houses of the rich. Cards and\ndice abound every where. Besides these, they have many other sports and\ngames of chance, peculiar to the country. Cricket fighting and quail\nfighting are very common. To make two male crickets fight, they are\nplaced in an earthen bowl, about five or eight inches in diameter; the\nowner of each, tickles his cricket with a feather, which makes them both\nrun round the bowl different ways, frequently jostling one another as\nthey pass. After several meetings in this way, they at length become\nexasperated, and fight with great fury until they literally tear each\nother limb from limb.\n\nQuails for fighting are prepared with great care. Every one has a\nseparate keeper, who has his bird confined in a small bag, which he\ncarries with him wherever he goes. The poor prisoner is rarely permitted\nto see the light, except when he is fed, or it is deemed necessary for\nhis health; he is then held by the keeper on his hand, sometimes for\nhours. When two quails are brought to fight, they are placed in a thing\nlike a large sieve, in the centre of a table, round which the spectators\nstand to witness the battle and make their bets. Some grains of millet\nseed are put into the sieve, and the quails are taken from the bags and\nplaced near it, opposite to each other. If they are birds of courage,\nthe moment one begins to eat he is attacked by the other, and they fight\nhard for a few minutes. The quail that is beaten flies up, and the\nconqueror remains to eat the seed. The best fights seldom last more than\nfive minutes. Immense sums of money are lost and won on them, for they\nare very uncertain; sometimes one quail has been known to win several\nhundred battles, and then suddenly to be beaten by a new and untutored\nbird.\n\nNext to quail fighting, the flower-boats occupy most of a Chinese\ngentleman's leisure hours. They are the residence of women, generally of\nagreeable conversation and lively manners, but not of the purest\ncharacter. The vessels are so called, from having the sides, windows,\nand doors, carved in flowers, and painted green and gilded. They are\ndivided into rooms, which are well ventilated and fitted up with\nverandas, galleries, and all the conveniences of comfort, luxury, and\ndissipation. The gentlemen go to them in the afternoon; parties are\nformed; they all sit round a large table, well furnished, and eat,\ndrink, sing, and play, until morning. It is said that from forty to\nfifty thousand dollars are spent daily in the flower-boats of Canton. By\nan ancient custom, the Hong-merchants there, when making their contracts\nfor tea, (which is generally done a year in advance,) are obliged to\ninvite the persons with whom they wish to contract, to partake of a\nrepast in one of those boats. The bargain is always easy in proportion\nto the sumptuousness and splendour of the supper, during which it is\nconcluded; and although very expensive, is fully repaid by the\nadvantages gained in the contract.\n\nWhen a Chinese gives a ceremonious dinner, it is done with great\nsplendour. Several days before, a large red paper is sent to the guests,\non which the invitation is written in the politest terms of the\nlanguage. On the day preceding the party, another invitation is sent on\nrose paper, to remind them of it, and to ascertain whether they\nare coming. Again, on the next day, a short time before the hour\nappointed, the invitation is repeated, to inform them that the feast is\nprepared and awaits them. A great number of dishes are served on small\nebony tables, and dressed in the most piquant manner; there are several\ncourses; and, in addition to various wines, cordials of a fiery nature\nare offered from time to time. When two persons wish to pledge one\nanother, they leave the tables, go into the middle of the room, and take\ncare to place the cups to their lips exactly at the same instant. They\nare not apt to become intoxicated. Between the courses they rise from\nthe table and walk about. The most expensive delicacy they can offer is\n_birds' nest soup,_ with pigeons' or plovers' eggs floating on it. The\nbirds' nests, so used, are formed of a mucilage supposed to be collected\nfrom certain weeds floating on the sea, by the swallows of the Indian,\nChinese, and Pacific oceans; some of the best come from Batavia and the\nNikobar Islands; they are sold by weight, and a catty (one pound and\nthree quarters) of the best parts, sells for the enormous price of\nforty-five to sixty dollars.\n\nThe Chinese do not appear to be governed by fixed and solid principles\nof religion, such as the Christian faith, produced by conviction or\nreason. They have a superstitious reverence for certain ceremonies,\nrights, and ancient customs, which have prevailed for ages; and these\nserve, in many respects, to cover various vices and habits which are\nprevalent. They seem, however, to believe in a Supreme Being, called the\n_Great Joss_, or _Yook-Chee_, represented only to the mind, and not\nallowing his image to be made on earth; and they say, should any one be\nrash enough to make a statue of him, he would be immediately struck\ndead. He is, however, described on paper, holding the little finger of\nhis right hand across the first joint of the middle finger, the\nfore-finger resting on the point of the little finger, and the third\nfinger bent round it, whilst the thumb is also bent upwards, a very\ncurious and difficult position to place the fingers in. They believe\nthat when he opens his hand, the world and mankind are to be destroyed;\nand they consider all the other deities and spirits, to whom, however,\nthey do not pay a very great adoration, as sent by him to the world.\nThese are supposed to preside over rain, crops, dreams, &c., and have\nvarious attributes, which it would require volumes to explain. The\nChinese have no regular priesthood, supported by the government; it\ndepends on voluntary contributions and endowments of the rich; it has\nits monasteries, where numbers of both sexes devote themselves to\ncelibacy; but, in general, it seems, as a body, to have less influence\nthan in most countries. In all rich families, there is a shing-shang, or\nastrologer, who is consulted on all occasions; he is the tutor, and\ngenerally the writer; and thus becomes a man of much importance. The\nfunerals are objects of great attention; and, where it is possible,\ngreat expense is bestowed on them; every care is taken to choose a lucky\nspot for interment, and the tombs are made very splendid.\n\nThese are a few of the facts we have noted with regard to the Chinese,\nin perusing Mr. Dobell's volumes; and but a very few. Those who are\ndesirous to obtain a fuller account of the country, manners, and state\nof society of that singular people, than our limited space will permit\nus to give, may turn to them with great profit. He has evidently devoted\nmuch attention to the collection of information; and, resulting as it\ndoes, from the observations of a number of years, with an opportunity of\ncorrecting and comparing accounts and impressions, received at various\ntimes and under various circumstances, we believe that just and great\nreliance may be placed on it. We must now leave China, however, and\nfollow him on his expedition to the north of Asia.\n\nLeaving Canton, and proceeding along the western shore of the Pacific\nocean, he landed at the harbour of St. Peter and St. Paul, on the 25th\nof August, 1812. He describes the bay of the Avatcha, which forms the\nport, as forty versts in circumference, encompassed by forest-covered\nmountains and extensive meadows. It is so capacious and safe, that large\nfleets may securely lie there; and it affords a combination of\npicturesque beauty, grandeur, and security, rarely equalled in other\nparts of the globe. Immense tracts of low ground extend along the outlet\nof the river Avatcha, which present the appearance of having been banked\nout in former times, to prevent their being overflowed. So numerous,\nindeed, are these embankments, and so far beyond the necessities or\nability of such a population as the present, to erect, that they are by\nmany of the inhabitants supposed to be natural mounds. This conjecture,\nhowever, Mr. Dobell was convinced was incorrect, from repeated\nobservation.\n\n \"Evident marks remain,\" he observes, \"where the earth has been\n dug out and thrown up; the holes, which were very deep, are now\n ponds, whilst the shallower ones have been filled up with soft\n mud, and have a thick surface of turf upon them, resembling\n what is called a shaking bog. There is no doubt of their being\n the work of man; but when and how it was performed was what I\n could not discover. The Kamtchatdales themselves could have had\n no inducement to undertake such a laborious task; as, when they\n were first known, they had neither horned cattle nor horses.\n They were probably made after the conquest of that country by\n the Russians, when domestic animals were introduced; as they\n are evidently intended to preserve the low lands for hay and\n pasture. This has been so well accomplished, that the greater\n part of them are still actually in good order.\"\n\nAfter passing a few days at Avatcha, and gratifying the inhabitants with\na ball on board of his vessel, Mr. Dobell set out, on the first of\nSeptember, for Nijna Kamtchatsk, a town seven hundred and fifty miles\ndistant, the residence of the governor, whom it was necessary for him to\nsee, in order to make the commercial arrangements he desired. He\nascended the Avatcha river, the banks of which are for the most part\ncomposed of fine meadow land, or hills thickly covered with birch. Early\non the following day, the party left their boats, and proceeded on\nhorseback over two or three very steep mountains, and amid clouds of\nmosquitoes, which tormented them exceedingly. The houses at which they\nstopped, from time to time, were in general black, smoky, and dirty, but\nthe inhabitants kind and hospitable beyond measure, though poor. The\nuniversal food is fish--men, dogs, bears, wolves, and birds of prey, all\nlive upon them, and indeed they abound, in quantities fully sufficient\nto supply all; they are seen in the streams sporting about by thousands,\nand even the shores are covered with dead ones thrown up by the current.\n\nThe dwelling of the Kamtchatdales is of two kinds--for the summer and\nthe winter. The former, which is called a _ballagan,_ is a building of a\nconical form, composed of poles fourteen or fifteen feet long, laid up\nfrom the edge of a circle, ten or twelve feet in diameter, the tops\nmeeting at the centre, and tied there by ozier twigs or ropes. The\noutside of these is covered with birch or pine bark, over which there is\nsometimes a thatching of coarse grass, fastened down by other poles and\noziers. This kind of hut is generally erected in the centre of a square\nplatform, elevated ten or twelve feet, upon large posts planted deep in\nthe ground. Poles are again placed in rows under the building and\nbetween the posts, where they dry their fish, which the hut serves to\ncover from the weather, as well as to store and preserve them when\ndried. The door of the ballagan is always opposite to the water; the\nfire-place on a bed of earth outside, at one corner of the platform. A\nlarge piece of timber, with notches cut in it instead of steps, and\nplaced against the platform at an angle of forty-five degrees, is the\nmethod of ascending and descending, particularly unsafe and inconvenient\nfor those not accustomed to so uncouth a staircase.\n\nThe winter house, or _jourta_, is a sort of subterranean dwelling. It\ngenerally consists of a frame of timber, put into a square hole four or\nfive feet deep, and within the frame a quantity of stakes are set close\ntogether, inclining a little inwards, and the earth thrown against them.\nThe stakes are left round on the outside, but hewn within, and the top\nis framed over in the same manner and arched and supported by\nstanchions. In the centre of the roof is a square hole, which serves the\ndouble purpose of a door and a chimney, the inhabitants passing in or\nout by means of a piece of timber with notches cut in it, such as we\nhave before described. The top and sides of the jourta are covered\noutside with a quantity of earth and sodded. At one end, there is a\nlarge hole with a stopper to it, which is opened when the oven is\nheating, to force the smoke out at the door. When once heated, and the\nstopper closed, jourtas are warm, and, were it not for the smoke, would\nbe comfortable. The description of such subterranean habitations, and of\nthe lives led by these rude people during their long and bitter winters,\ncannot be read without reviving in the memory those lines of Virgil,\nwhich describe a race similar in all respects--even to the acid liquors\nthey distil; but dwelling in regions far less remote from the warm skies\nof Italy.--\n\n \"Ipsi in defossis specubus secura sub alta\n Otia agunt terra; congestaque robora, totasque\n Advolvere focis ulmos, ignique dedere.\n Hic noctem ludo ducunt, et pocula laeti\n Fermento atque acidis imitantur vitea sorbis.\n Talis hyperboreo septem subjecta trioni\n Gens effraena virum Riphaeo tunditur Euro\n Et pecudum fulvis velantur corpora setis.\"\n\nThe increase of civilization, wealth, and intercourse with other\nnations, has however effected a great change in the mode of life among\nthis remote people. Cottages, made generally of logs, are substituted\nfor these ruder mansions, especially in the neighbourhood of the\nsea-ports; and a traveller occasionally meets with much that reminds him\nof fairer climes, and a state of society less primitive.\n\n \"On reaching Sherrom, a cottage was pointed out to us as the\n habitation of the Toyune, the outward appearance of which was\n too engaging not to excite anticipations of good cheer within.\n As it was a low building, I put my head into one of the windows\n that was open, and was quite surprised to see so neat and\n clean a dwelling in that country. The name of the owner, who\n was Toyune of Sherrom, was Conon Merlin. He and his wife were\n absent fishing, but we were not less hospitably received by his\n daughter and daughter-in-law, two clean dressed pretty young\n women, who welcomed us with their smiles, and made us imagine,\n that, instead of Kamtchatka, we had got into the land of\n enchantment. Every thing about them seemed in unison with their\n appearance. The tables and stools were of poplar white as snow;\n no vermin was to be seen on the walls, which were hewn smooth\n and whitened; and the whole presented a picture of neatness,\n cleanliness, and comfort, such as we had not yet seen in\n Kamtchatka. In fifteen minutes after our arrival, a refreshing\n cup of tea was prepared, with fresh butter, cream, and milk;\n and their being served up in so neat a manner, made them taste\n more delicious than usual. Our hostess being a well-behaved\n young woman, we requested her to do the honours of the table,\n which she performed with the utmost cheerfulness and\n politeness, just as if she had been bred in a city. In the\n evening the old Toyune and his wife returned from fishing, and\n seemed quite overjoyed to see us, as such guests, they said,\n were not common; and they certainly took uncommon pains to\n treat and to please us. The old man appeared between sixty and\n seventy years of age, with a long white beard and moustachios,\n which, added to a mild, sensible, and prepossessing\n countenance, gave him a most sage and respectable appearance,\n and personified to my imagination the wise enchanter whose name\n he bore. Conon Merlin had been educated by the famous Mr.\n Evashkin, a Russian nobleman, who was banished to Kamtchatka\n during the reign of Catharine II., and is since dead; but who\n was well known to former travellers in Kamtchatka. Our Toyune,\n therefore, could write and read Russian well, knew most of the\n dialects of Kamtchatka, and was certainly the most intelligent\n man I ever met among the natives.\"\n\nOn the morning of the 13th, soon after leaving the village of Klutchee,\nthey beheld the majestic volcano of Klootchefsky, rearing its awful and\nflaming head far above the clouds. This huge mountain, towering to the\nskies, is a perfect cone, decreasing gradually from its enormous base to\nthe summit; its top is whitened by perpetual snow, and the flame and\nsmoke, for ever issuing from its crater, are seen shading the sky at the\ndistance of many miles. Sometimes quantities of ashes are thrown out, so\nfine as to impregnate the atmosphere, and be inhaled in breathing; and,\nit is said, that occasionally a white clammy substance, resembling,\nperhaps, the honey dew elsewhere observed, has flowed from the crater,\nsweet to the taste, and very adhesive when touched. Altogether, this\nmountain is one of the most picturesque and sublime of the volcanoes\ndescribed by travellers, though from its remote situation it has been,\nand probably long will be, visited but by few.\n\nMr. Dobell reached Nijna Kamtchatsk on the 14th of September, and was\nmost kindly received and treated by the governor, General Petrowsky,\nwith whom he made all the arrangements he desired, and, after a visit of\nsix days, returned to St. Peter and St. Paul. He describes the town of\nNijna Kamtchatsk as one of eighty or ninety houses, and between four and\nfive hundred inhabitants. Its situation is not good, the ground being\nlow and moist. It is on the bank of the river Kamtchatka, about\nthirty-five versts from the sea. Since the period we allude to, the\nseat of government has been removed to St. Peter and St. Paul, and the\ntown has lost nearly all its population, there being but five or six\nfamilies left there.\n\nOn his way back he again visited his kind host, the Toyune of Sherrom,\nwhom he found laying in his winter stock of provisions, which offered a\ngood example of the economy, wants, and supplies of a Kamtchatdale\nfamily. He assured Mr. Dobell that himself and his sons had killed\ntwelve bears, eleven mountain sheep, several reindeer, a large number of\ngeese, ducks, and tiel, and a few swans and pheasants. \"In November,\"\nsaid he, \"we shall catch many hares and partridges; and I have one\nthousand fresh salmon, lately caught, and now frozen for our winter's\nstock. Added to this, in my cellar there is a good supply of cabbages,\nturnips, and potatoes, with various sorts of berries, and about thirty\npoods of sarannas, the greater part of which we have stolen from the\nfield mice, who collect them in large quantities for the winter.\" In the\nspring, the Kamtchatdales supply themselves with the skins of the hair\nseals and other sea animals, from whose fat also they obtain oil. The\nhunting of these is therefore a matter of no small importance, and\ncarries many of the Kamtchatdales down to the coast. It is accompanied\nwith great fatigue and occasional risk.\n\n \"The Toyune of Malka,\" says Mr. Dobell, \"related to me a\n curious adventure that occurred to him and two of his friends.\n They repaired in the latter part of April to their usual\n hunting place, where they found the sea still covered with ice\n for a considerable extent. Each had a sledge and five dogs, and\n although the wind blew strongly off shore, they did not\n hesitate to go on the ice in search of seals, as it seemed\n firmly attached to the shore, and they observed some\n Kamtchatdales hunting on it farther up the coast. They\n discovered some seals at a considerable distance out, and\n repaired thither to kill them. Already had they killed two, and\n were preparing to tie them with thongs on their sledges, when\n one of the party, who staid a little behind, came to them of a\n sudden, crying that the ice was moving, and that all the other\n Kamtchatdales had gone to the shore! This news alarmed them so\n much, that they left their seals on the ice, and seating\n themselves on their sankas or sledges, pushed their dogs at\n full speed to regain the shore. Unfortunately they arrived too\n late; the ice had already separated from the land to the extent\n of a hundred yards; and as it began to break into pieces, they\n were obliged to return to the part that appeared to them the\n strongest and thickest. As the wind now blew extremely hard,\n they were soon driven out to sea, where the swell being very\n heavy, the ice began to break again all round them, leaving\n them at last on a solid clump, from forty to fifty feet in\n circumference, that was of great thickness and kept entire.\n They were now out of sight of land, driven before a gale of\n wind and a heavy sea, and their icy vessel rolled so dreadfully\n that they had much difficulty to keep themselves on its\n surface. However, being furnished with ostals, (poles pointed\n with iron,) they made holes and planted them firmly in the ice;\n and then tied themselves, their dogs, and sankas, fast to them.\n Without this precaution, the Toyune said they would all have\n been thrown into the sea. They were sea-sick and disheartened;\n but nevertheless, said Spiridon, (the Toyune,) 'I had hopes,\n and I told my comrades I thought we should be thrown on some\n coast.' It was now two days they had been at sea, and towards\n evening the wind abated a little, the weather cleared off, and\n they saw land not far off, which one of them, who had been\n formerly at the Kurile islands, knew to be Poromochin, and\n they now fully expected to be drifted on its shores. However,\n as the night approached, the wind changed to the very opposite\n direction, and blew even more violently than before. The clump\n of ice was tossed about in a most uneasy manner, and several\n times the ostals and the thongs were in danger of being broken\n by the violent concussion of the waves against the ice.\n\n \"All that night and all the next day the storm continued with\n unceasing violence. On the morning of the fourth day, before\n daylight, they found that their clump had been driven amongst\n other cakes of ice, and was closely surrounded on all sides.\n When the day broke, how great was their joy and astonishment to\n perceive themselves near the land, and within about twenty\n versts of the place whence they had been driven! They had\n suffered much from thirst, as they found the ice salt as well\n as the water. Not having either eaten or drunk during all the\n time, they found themselves so weak that they had the greatest\n difficulty in preparing their sledges, and in getting from the\n ice to the land. The moment they landed, they offered up their\n prayers and thanks to God. Spiridon charged his companions not\n to eat snow or drink much water at a time, although they were\n almost dying with thirst; as they could soon get to an ostrog\n that was only about twenty or thirty versts distant. They had\n not proceeded far before Spiridon saw the tracks of some\n reindeer; he therefore made his companions stop, and, taking\n his gun, walked gently round a high bluff on the coast, whither\n the deer had gone, and had the good fortune to shoot one of\n them. His companions no sooner heard the noise of the gun than\n they came to him. They cut the throat of the deer immediately,\n and drank his blood while warm. Spiridon said that they felt\n their strength revived almost immediately after drinking the\n blood. Having given some of the meat to the dogs, they rested\n themselves about an hour, and then set off for the ostrog,\n where they arrived safely. One of them, who indulged too much\n in eating at first, died a short time after; the other two\n survived; but Spiridon said he had ever since been afflicted\n with a complaint in his breast and shortness of breath.\"\n\nOn the 21st of October the winter set in, and made the travelling much\nmore difficult and uncomfortable. The cold, however, in Kamtchatka, is\nby no means so severe as is generally supposed. About the sea coast, the\nthermometer rarely passes 15 deg. to 20 deg. of Reaumur, and in the interior,\nseldom exceeds 20 deg. to 25 deg.; and even this but for a short time. The\nordinary cold is about 8 deg. to 10 deg..\n\nAfter remaining nearly three months at St. Peter and St. Paul, Mr.\nDobell set out on his expedition to Russia. He left the former place on\nthe 15th of January, with the determination to proceed along the\nAleuters or north-east coast of the peninsula of Kamtchatka, thence\ncross over to Kammina at the head of the sea of Ochotsk, and proceed\nalong the eastern shore of that large bay to the town of Ochotsk itself.\nHe was accompanied by two Chinese servants, and proceeded in sledges\ndrawn by dogs. He had frequent occasions to confirm the sentiments he\nhad previously entertained of the hospitable and honest character of the\ninhabitants of the peninsula of Kamtchatka; and he found the climate and\nnatural resources of the country far superior to what he had been led to\nexpect. He combats the opinion, long prevalent, that it is a barren and\ndesolate country, depopulated of the aborigines through the extreme\npoverty of its resources; and contends that few parts of the world would\nmore amply repay the industry of the inhabitants, if well peopled and\nwisely governed.\n\nThe dogs displayed all the sagacity, perseverance, and swiftness for\nwhich they have been celebrated by travellers in northern regions, and\nhe had frequent opportunities of observing the instinct or skill with\nwhich they pursued their way in the midst of the most violent storms,\nwhen every trace of the road had disappeared. He gives them a decided\npreference over the reindeer, though he states that the latter are more\nfleet, when put to their full speed. They are not docile however. When\nthe snows are deep, and the roads difficult, if the reindeer be pressed\nto exert himself he becomes restive and stubborn, and neither beating\nnor coaxing will move him. He will lie down and remain in one spot for\nseveral hours, until hunger presses him forward; and if at the second\nattempt he is again embarrassed, he will lie down and perish in the snow\nfor want of food. Reindeer consequently require a great deal of care and\nmanagement, and should never be treated too roughly, or they become\ntotally unmanageable. Besides, great attention must be paid to them in\nsummer, and their pastures often changed, or they contract diseases and\ndie fast.\n\nAt Veyteway, the most northern point on the eastern coast visited by Mr.\nDobell, he found a Toyune who had come a hundred and fifty versts, from\nmotives of curiosity, to meet him. Though he had never before seen any\none adopting the customs of civilized life, he behaved with great\npropriety, and did not seem in the least embarrassed. Some of the trunks\nwhich were covered with lackered leather and full of brass nails,\nexcited his astonishment, and indeed proved a fund of amusement for the\nnatives on all the road. Bets were made constantly as to the number of\nnails on each trunk, and they were counted over and over, a hundred\ntimes, with the greatest care. From this point Mr. Dobell struck across\nthe peninsula, and reached Kammina, at the head of the sea of Ochotsk,\non the 24th of March.\n\nIn proceeding southwardly along the coast, the hardiness of his dogs was\nstrongly put to the test. An insufficient supply of provisions had been\nlaid in, and some time before they reached Igiga, the first town where a\nfresh stock could be obtained, they were reduced to an allowance of half\na fish each, daily. When the dried fish were consumed, they were fed on\nreindeer meat and biscuit, of which but a very small supply was left;\nbut it refreshed and strengthened them, so that one of the party, whose\ndogs were strongest, was enabled to go on more rapidly to Igiga, to beg\nfrom the commandant assistance and food for the rest of the party. When\nthe poor creatures who were left perceived the dogs coming to assist\nthem, nothing could exceed their joy. They sprang into the air, barked\naloud, and set forward with such eagerness to meet them, that restraint\nwas impossible. When they came up, they jumped and fawned upon them, and\nlicked them with an expression of pleasure and satisfaction which it was\nimpossible to mistake. As they approached the town, it was utterly in\nvain to hold them back, they set off at full speed, and if it had not\nbeen for the assistance of several of the inhabitants, who ran and\ncaught hold of them, the sledges would have been upset, and every thing\nbroken to pieces.\n\nLeaving Igiga, Mr. Dobell continued his journey by Yamsk and Towisk,\nthrough the country of the Tongusees. He found these people active,\npersevering, and obliging; those whom he employed performing every sort\nof service with cheerfulness. They are men of small stature, slightly\nmade, and resembling the northern Chinese in features. Their\ncountenances generally were indicative of a tractable mild disposition,\nand bore a strong Asiatic cast of character, which is indeed found\namongst all the natives throughout Siberia. Their fidelity, however, was\nnot on an equality with their other good characteristics, as our\ntravellers had soon an opportunity of learning, by an event which placed\ntheir lives in most imminent peril. The provisions laid in at Towisk\nwere nearly consumed, and the time at which they should have reached the\nnext town had arrived, when the native guides confessed that they had\nmistaken the road, and there was every prospect of the whole party\nperishing in the desert. What were the feelings of Mr. Dobell, when\nawaking one morning, in this situation, he found that the Tongusees were\nno longer with him; the rascals had gone off in the night, not leaving a\nsingle deer for food, and deserting a party of five in number, all\nstrangers, on one of the highest mountains of Siberia, in a wild and\nuninhabited country! In this emergency Mr. Dobell displayed great\nfirmness, resolution, and all the energy and resources of an experienced\ntraveller; indeed the portion of his volumes which contains the account\nof his escape from the perilous situation in which he was left, and of\nthe sufferings he endured, and the expedients to which he was obliged to\nresort, is peculiarly and highly interesting. With the aid of a partial\nmap of Kamtchatka, and a pocket compass, he set out to regain the sea\ncoast, from which they were, as he supposed, not very far distant.\nLeaving all their clothes, and every article with which they could\npossibly dispense, they put the rest of their baggage on two sleds,\nwhich they dragged with them. They limited their nourishment to the\nleast possible quantity of food, drinking tea, of which they had a small\nsupply, twice in twenty-four hours, and in the morning taking some thin\nrice water, with a small lump of chocolate each, to make it palatable.\nThey were obliged to construct bridges of logs over numerous rivulets,\nswelled with the snows, which crossed their path, and they were exposed\nto a succession of furious storms. On the twentieth day they arrived at\nwhat they supposed a long narrow lake, and determined there to pass the\nnight. Having left his companions to make what preparations for so doing\ntheir wretched situation afforded, Mr. Dobell went to examine the lake.\nOn approaching the bank, he discovered two small ducks, quite near the\nshore, and had the good fortune to shoot them both at one shot. \"Running\nto the water to pick them up,\" he says, \"God only knows the\ninexpressible joy that filled my heart, at beholding the water move, and\nfinding that we were on the banks of a large river.\" They all set to\nwork actively the next day, and had soon completed a raft on which they\nembarked, and trusted themselves to the current to reach the ocean, so\nlong and eagerly desired.\n\n \"We had\" says Mr. Dobell, \"a most unpleasant time, but anxious\n to arrive at the ocean, would not lie by--particularly as the\n stream increased greatly in rapidity, and hurried us along with\n considerable swiftness. About one o'clock on the 10th of June,\n although we were nearly in the middle of the river, which was\n here upwards of a verst wide, we were suddenly seized by a\n whirlpool, and in spite of our utmost efforts, having nothing\n but poles to guide the raft, were drawn violently towards the\n left bank, and forced under some large trees which had been\n undermined by the water and hung over the surface of the\n stream, the roots still holding them fast to the shore. I\n perceived the danger to which we were exposed, and called out\n to every one to lie flat on his face and hold fast to the\n baggage. The branches were so thick it was impossible for all\n to escape, and there being barely room to admit the raft under\n them, they swept off the two Chinese, the Karaikee, my tin-box\n with all my papers and valuables, our soup-kettle, &c. Nothing\n now remained but a small tea-kettle, and a few other things\n that happened to be tied fast with thongs. The Karaikee and one\n of the Chinese seized hold of the branches that swept them off,\n and held their heads above water, but the youngest of the\n Chinese having floated away with the current, the Cossack and\n myself had the greatest difficulty in paddling the raft up to\n him. We came just in time to poke our poles down after him as\n he sunk for the third time, which he fortunately seized, and we\n drew him upon the raft half drowned. As the current was running\n at the rate of six or seven miles an hour, we were carried more\n than half a verst down before we gained the shore; the other\n Chinese and the Karaikee crying out for assistance. I ran up\n the shore as quickly as possible, taking a long pole with me,\n and leaving the Cossack to take care of the raft and the young\n Chinese. When I arrived at the spot, my Chinese cook informed\n me he had seized my tin-box with one hand, and was so tired of\n holding with the other, that if I did not come soon to his\n assistance he must leave it to the mercy of the current. Whilst\n I attempted to walk out on the body of the tree whose branches\n they were holding, one of the roots broke and very nearly\n separated it from the shore; I was therefore obliged to jump\n off and stride to one that was nearly two feet under water,\n hauling myself along by the branches of the others, and at\n length I got near enough to give the Chinese the pole. He\n seized fast hold and I pulled him between two branches,\n enabling him to get a leg over one and keep his body above\n water. Thus placed he tied the tin-box with his handkerchief to\n the pole, and I got it safely ashore. I was now obliged to\n return and assist the Karaikee, who held by some branches far\n out, and where there were no others near enough for him to\n reach in order to draw himself in. After half an hour's labour\n I got them both on the bank, neither of them knowing how to\n swim, and both much exhausted by the cold, and the difficulty\n of holding so long against a rapid current.\"\n\nThey continued for several days longer buffeting with the stream, and\nexposed to all the inclemencies of the weather. Their food depended on\nthe scanty supplies of wild fowl they could shoot, and their stock of\ncooking utensils was reduced to a small tea-kettle and the lid of the\ntin box saved by the Chinese.\n\nBetween two and three o'clock in the afternoon of the seventh day since\nthey had embarked on board their frail vessel, and nearly a month since\nthey had been deserted on the mountains by the treacherous Tongusees,\nthey found themselves in a fine wide channel, with a moderate current,\nand on a beach not far below descried a man and two boys mending a\ncanoe. The effect the sight of human beings had upon them was deeply\ninteresting. Every soul shed tears of joy, and when the natives\napproached to assist them in landing, they were unable for some minutes\nto reply to their inquiries, and could only answer by hasty signs. The\nelder person proved to be a Yakut who had seen Mr. Dobell before; as\nsoon as he recognised him, he sprung into the raft, clasped him in his\narms, and shed tears in abundance, exclaiming \"thank God, thank God! you\nare all saved!\" He informed them that the Tongusees having returned and\nconfessed their treachery, an old chief living near Towisk had\ndespatched his son with a party in search of them, but that every one\nthere had given them up for lost, knowing how difficult it was to\nprocure food on those deserted plains and mountains in the spring of the\nyear. The miraculous escape of the party, after having been left in such\na wilderness, was indeed a matter of surprise to every one; and they had\nparticular reason to rejoice in having taken the route they did, as they\nfound on inquiry that had they pursued any other they must infallibly\nhave perished.\n\nAfter remaining three days with the hospitable people whom they so\nfortunately encountered, and recovering their baggage which had been\nleft on the mountain, by means of the party sent in search of them from\nTowisk, they resumed their journey, and reached Ochotsk without further\naccident, on the 4th of July.\n\nOchotsk, the capital of the Russian province of the same name, which\nembraces the most easterly portion of that vast empire, is a town\ncomposed of between two and three hundred houses, and about two thousand\ninhabitants. It is situated in north latitude 59 deg. 20' 22\", and east\nlongitude from Greenwich 143 deg. 20' 23\", on a small island or sand bank,\nthree versts and three hundred paces in length, and two hundred in\nbreadth, where the town stands. The admiralty, marine stores, magazines,\nand workshops, were examined by Mr. Dobell, and found to be disposed in\nperfectly good order, and prepared for service in the best possible\nmanner. In the admiralty, there are a school, and shops for coopers,\nturners, and blockmakers. There are also large forges, ropewalks, and\nall the establishments necessary for a complete naval arsenal. Whilst\nMr. Dobell was there, a large cable was prepared for the frigate Diana,\nin the course of four or five days, and appeared quite as well made as a\nEuropean cable. The flour magazines are large, and well supplied by\nYakut convoys, which constantly arrive and discharge their loads there.\nThese convoys consist generally of ten to thirteen horses, having seldom\nmore than two men to take care of them. Each horse carries on his back\nsix pood weight of rye flour, packed in two leathern bags, called in\nRussian _sumas_, impenetrable to all sorts of weather, and extremely\nconvenient for carriage, hanging one on each side of the horse. These\nbags are of green hide, without the hair; the flour is forced as tightly\nas possible into them while they are damp, and when dry the surface is\nas hard as stone. On opening them, the flour, for about half an inch\ndeep, is attached in a hard cake to the bag, and, if originally good, is\npreserved in a very perfect state, and will keep for a great length of\ntime. Some of them have been known to remain all the winter under the\nsnow without being damaged; nor does it seem possible to carry over land\nthis important article of life, by any other method so safely and\nconveniently as in sumas. Notwithstanding, however, all the attention\nwhich is thus exhibited on the part of the Russian government to make\nOchotsk a complete and valuable naval station; and the care paid to its\narrangement and furnishing supplies, there yet exists an insuperable\nobstacle to all their efforts, from the fact that it has not a good\nport. No vessel of any great burthen, carrying guns, can enter or be\nwintered there, without incurring the risk of being bilged by the ice of\nthe river Ochota, which flows into or forms the harbour.\n\nOn the 19th of July Mr. Dobell left Ochotsk. He now turned inland, and\nleaving the shores of the Pacific ocean, directed his course westerly to\nYakutsk, which was distant six hundred and fifty miles. He was\naccompanied a short distance by a young officer named Ivan Ivanovitch\nKruz, who was forest-master at the first station called Maitah,\nfifty-four versts off. Such a companion was not less unexpected than\nagreeable, in so remote a corner of the world. He was a very good\nbotanist, and understood French and Latin; a modest, sensible, genteel\nyoung man, and what must appear a little singular, perfectly happy and\nsatisfied with his situation. Even in those wild regions he filled up\nhis leisure hours with study and the chase, and said that he never found\nthe time hang heavy on his hands.\n\nOn the road they met many convoys of horses carrying provisions to\nOchotsk; and were obliged to keep a strict watch, in order to guard\nagainst the depredations of the Yakuts, by whom they were conducted.\nThese people are in the habit of stealing horses for food, whenever a\ngood opportunity offers on the road, being fonder of horse flesh than of\nany other. When they get possession of a horse, they contrive to decamp\nsuddenly, and ride several versts off, where they kill the animal, bury\nhis bones, and conceal the flesh in their bags, before the person robbed\ndiscovers the theft. They are men generally of small stature, light, and\nvery active when they choose to exert themselves; indefatigable on the\nroad, and surpassing every other people in conducting and taking care of\nhorses. In features they resemble strongly the Chinese of Nankin. The\nTongusees, on the other hand, bear a striking resemblance to the Tartars\nwho conquered China. The Yakuts and Tongusees however wear very much the\nsame costume. The hair of the women, which hangs in two or three braids\nbehind, is stuck over with small copper or silver plates, more or less\nrich in proportion to the fortune of the wearer. Sometimes a silver or\ncopper plate is placed on the forehead. They occasionally wear a close\ncap, adorned likewise with plates and beads, and often ornament their\nboots with beads of various colours, having much the appearance of the\nwork on the wampum belts of our Indians. The dress of the Tongusee men\nis a close coat, fitting tight round the body, with skirts reaching half\nway down the legs, and resembling a frock coat. It is composed of deer\nor dog skin, with the hair inward. In very cold weather they wear a\nshorter coat over this, as well as parkas and kokclankas or riding\ncoats, which are nothing more than loose jackets or cloaks of skin, with\nsleeves reaching below the knees. The Yakut dress is made in the same\nway, but usually of horse or cow hide.\n\nOn the 25th, the party crossed the ridge of mountains which extends from\nthe great central chain of Asia, towards the north-east, and divides the\nwaters falling into the sea of Ochotsk, from those flowing through the\nmore central parts of Siberia, towards the west and the north. On the\nwestern side of the ridge they passed a large lake, the source of the\nriver Udama, surrounded by mountains, and three or four versts in\nlength. The Udama is a fine river, and though not abounding either with\nfish or water in summer, is plentifully supplied with both in spring and\nautumn, and then navigable for boats of a considerable size. It falls\ninto the Maia; the Maia into the Aldan; the Aldan into the Lena, one of\nwhose branches ascends to within three hundred and fifty versts of\nIrkutsk, and which flows into the Northern ocean. A navigation is thus\nafforded through the very centre of Siberia for more than two thousand\nmiles. It is also well adapted to the introduction of steam navigation;\nand flat bottomed boats drawing little water might be successfully used\non most of these streams during a considerable portion of the year. The\nadoption of such a system would tend immensely to the improvement of a\nvast country, where the population is thin, but of which the natural\nresources and advantages are very great. It is a mistake to suppose, as\nis usually done, that it is an ungrateful wilderness, fit only for the\nreception of criminals, or the home of wandering savages; no where is\nnature more profusely grand and magnificent than in Siberia; and she has\noffered many attractions to human industry and improvement in those\nremote regions. It cannot be denied that there are some parts totally\nincorrigible, owing to the severity of climate, bad soil, and other\ncauses; but there is ample testimony that by far the largest portion of\nthat country possesses resources, soil, and climate, very superior to\nwhat is generally believed, and that it would advance rapidly if well\ngoverned and better peopled.\n\nOn the 5th of August Mr. Dobell reached the river Aldan, one of the\nprincipal tributaries of the Lena, and found it a very deep stream,\nabout a verst and a half wide, abounding with fish. On the western shore\nhe saw several jourtas beautifully situated, and on inquiry was informed\nthey contained a colony of banished men, sent there by order of the\ngovernment. They appeared very well off, having comfortable houses, with\ncattle, an abundant supply of fish, and good pastures, so that they\ncould never suffer from want, unless too indolent to secure the\nnecessaries of life. They call themselves Possellencies or colonists,\nbut are stiled Neshchastnie Loodie, or unfortunate people, by the\nnatives, who avoid, even by a name, to remind them of their unhappy\nfate.\n\n \"Banishment, then,\" remarks Mr. Dobell, \"to such a country as\n Siberia, is certainly no such terrible infliction, except to a\n Russian, who, perhaps, of all beings upon earth, possesses the\n strongest attachment to the soil on which he grows--taking root\n like the trees that surround him, and pining when transplanted\n to another spot, even though it should be a neighbouring\n province, better than his own. Too much praise cannot be\n bestowed on the humane system adopted by the Russian government\n in saving the lives of criminals without distinction, and\n transporting them to Siberia, to augment the population of a\n fine country, much in want of inhabitants, where their morals\n are strictly watched, and where they soon become useful, good\n people. Death, in fact, is so transitory a punishment, that\n unless a man has religion, and a perfect idea of rewards and\n penalties in a world to come, it may have no terrors for him,\n nor will its anticipation ever prevent the commission of crimes\n so well as the idea of banishment and long suffering. I would\n not be thought to be the advocate of cruelty; on the contrary,\n I warmly espouse the principle of producing a perfect\n contrition and change of sentiments and actions in the\n criminal, ere we send him into the presence of his God. To\n bring about this in an effectual manner, and be satisfied it\n springs from a thorough conviction of his error, we must not\n confine him in chains, with a priest praying at his side, until\n the moment he is launched into eternity. He should be made, as\n he generally is in Siberia, so far a free agent, as to have the\n power of again doing wrong; else his firmness and resolution\n are never put to the test; nor can that repentance be called\n sincere, which springs from the imperious necessity of\n immediately making his peace with his offended God, before\n whose awful tribunal his merciless government sends him\n suddenly to appear, with all his crimes fresh upon him. There\n are certainly instances in Siberia, where convicts have again\n committed crimes, and some of them even murder, and such are\n confined to the mines for life; but there are few examples of\n this sort, and the majority of the convicts acquire habits of\n industry and good conduct superior to the same class of people\n in Russia. Having seen the good effects of the Russian penal\n code, what I say on the subject is no more than what truth and\n justice demand; and I wish, that for humanity's sake, so bright\n an example, which sheds a ray of unsullied glory on her\n sovereignty, may be followed with equal success by every nation\n of the earth.\"\n\nThe route of Mr. Dobell continued to lead him through the country of the\nYakuts, a pastoral and industrious people, sufficient in numbers to\nrelieve his mind from the painful idea that so fine a country should be\ndestitute of inhabitants. Their whole attention is turned to the rearing\nof horned cattle and horses. Milk, prepared in various ways, is their\nprincipal sustenance; fish and water-fowl they obtain in abundance,\nexcept in the depth of winter; but pigs, sheep, or poultry, are never\nseen. On the 14th of August, he descended into an immense and fertile\nplain, through which he beheld the noble Lena flowing along, and reached\nthe town of Yakutsk early in the evening.\n\nThis town was, at that time, composed of two hundred and seventy houses,\nand two thousand five hundred Russian inhabitants, besides a very\nconsiderable population of Yakuts, in and about it; since then, however,\nit is much increased and improved in every way. As regards climate, it\nis in winter the coldest spot in all Siberia, the frost often exceeding\n40 deg. of Reaumur; the average heat of summer is not beyond 16 deg., though\nthere are periods at which it is as hot as in the torrid zone. The\npublic buildings are well constructed, and kept in excellent order.\nThere is an ancient citadel of wood, built by the Cossacks nearly two\nhundred years ago, which still forms a strong and good defence; and\naffords evidence of the courage, perseverance, and intelligence, of the\nconquerors of Siberia, who, with a handful of men, could erect such a\nfortress in the heart of an enemy's country, and during their daily\nattacks.\n\nAt Yakutsk, Mr. Dobell fell into the track of the carrying trade over\nland, which is pursued to so immense an extent through the Russian\nempire. The equipage, consisting of the pack-saddles, mats, girths, &c.,\nis the manufacture of the Yakuts themselves, for the most part, and\nthough exceedingly light, is not so constructed as to enable the horse\nto carry his burthen with ease. From this circumstance, great numbers of\nhorses are lost in their long journeys. The Yakuts, however, are\nthemselves excellent grooms, and, in general, kind and attentive to\ntheir animals. They seldom beat them, and many instances are exhibited\nof strong attachment between them. It is so much so, that a herd of\nhorses will not proceed without their master, should he stop and leave\nthem. They are turned out to feed at night, and are always collected in\nthe morning by hallooing to them. Should any of them get out of\nhearing, the Yakut jumps on one of the others, who is sure to find his\ncompanions in a very short time. When the Yakut calls, the first horse\nthat hears answers by neighing, and immediately the whole herd begin to\nneigh and run to the keeper.\n\nMr. Dobell speaks of the society of Yakutsk as hospitable, kind, and\ngay. He was at several balls; found the belles well-mannered, and their\ndress, like that of their fair countrywomen farther west, an object of\npeculiar study. He describes the ceremonies of a Siberian wedding, which\nmay amuse the votaries of Hymen, whose matrimonial customs are varied by\nhalf the circumference of the globe.\n\n \"In the evening, the Governor waited on me, and invited me to\n accompany him to a house, to see a ceremony performed,\n previously to a wedding that was to take place the next day. We\n repaired to the house, where we found a large party of\n gentlemen and ladies assembled. The bride and her attendants\n occupied one end of the room, near a large table, on which were\n placed fruits, cakes, wines, &c. Tea and coffee were then\n served. Afterwards, I was called to look at a procession from\n an opposite building or store, called in this country an\n _anbar_, where every sort of provisions, effects, &c. are kept.\n I saw several low, four-wheeled vehicles, each drawn by a\n single ox, loaded with furniture, bedding, clothing, &c. &c.\n for the new married couple. Lights were carried before them,\n and a number of young girls, assembled near the door of the\n anbar, sang in concert, as each vehicle was loaded with the\n effects of the bride. This ended, the party returned to the\n house, when dancing commenced, and was kept up with spirit the\n whole night. Before quitting the house, the parents of the\n young bridegroom requested me to come the following morning,\n and witness the ceremony of his taking leave of them,\n previously to his going to church. At twelve o'clock, on the\n 22d, we attended at the father's house, where a number of the\n friends of the bridegroom were collected: several large tables\n were laid for dinner, and at the principal one, near the\n images, which in a Russian house are always at the eastern\n corner of the room, sat the bridegroom and his attendants. A\n female relative, representing the bride, was placed in the\n chair on the left hand of the bridegroom; and the father and\n mother sat at the opposite side of the table. Three dishes of\n cold meat were placed before the principal attendant, and wine\n and watky being at the same time handed round, he cut a large\n cross on the first one, placing it aside; then the second, then\n the third, in the same way; and, at the cutting of each, wine\n and watky were handed round to the company, who rose, and drank\n to the wedding party. Nothing was eaten, this being merely a\n ceremony to prepare the feast for the young couple when they\n should return from the church. After this, the bridegroom went\n round to the opposite side of the table, holding the image of\n the Virgin in his hand, and crossed himself on his knees, and\n bowed his head three times to the ground, before his father,\n who, when he rose, took the image from him, kissed him, and\n crossed him with it on his head. The same homage was paid to\n his mother, on which she delivered the image to another person,\n who preceded the bridegroom and his party to the church, where\n they met the bride and her attendants; and the couple were then\n led to the altar, and united in the holy bands of wedlock, by\n the Protopope, or Chief of the Clergy. The ceremony resembles\n that of the Catholic church, except that, towards the close,\n the priest places a hymeneal crown on the heads of the man and\n woman, and they walk three times round a table, where lie the\n cross and the Bible. This part of the proceeding is regarded as\n alternately binding them in strict allegiance to each other\n during the rest of their lives. There are also two rings used,\n which are exchanged, from the man to the woman, during the\n ceremony. The whole party now returned to the house of the\n bridegroom's father, where a repast was prepared for them,\n resembling all large entertainments of this sort. The healths\n of the principal persons of the place were drunk, and followed\n by a salute of three guns after each toast. The evening was\n crowned with an illumination, and a ball, at which, as a\n stranger, I had the honour of leading off the bride.\"\n\nAt Yakutsk Mr. Dobell embarked in a large covered boat on the Lena,\nwhich he ascended on his way to Irkutsk. He left the former place on the\n29th of August, being drawn by horses, with the assistance of six\npeasants, whom he hired to go fifteen hundred versts to Kiringee, and\nwho were employed at places where it was difficult for the horses. The\nbanks of the river were varied and picturesque; sometimes steep cliffs\nand uncouth heaps of rock, in the most fantastic shapes, rose to a great\nheight; sometimes the shores sloped away into mountains covered with\nthick forests of pine and spruce.\n\nOn the 5th of October he arrived at Olekma, a town six hundred versts\nabove Yakutsk, in latitude 60 deg. 22', and east longitude 89 deg. 15' from St.\nPetersburg. He found it to contain four or five hundred inhabitants. It\nwas, in former times, the place whence the Cossacks set out, when they\nwaged their wars against the Chinese, and carried their depredations as\nfar as the Amour. It is said, that three hundred and fifty of these\nbarbarian warriors were once besieged in a fortress by twenty-two\nthousand Chinese, and held out against them a whole year, until a\ncapitulation was agreed upon, at a period when their force was reduced\nto one hundred and fifty men.\n\nAt Olekma, the season had become so cold, and there was so much floating\nice in the Lena, as to render it impossible to proceed any longer by\nwater. The road lay along the shores of the river, frequently obstructed\nby half frozen torrents rushing into it, and occasionally cut off by\npoints and precipices which compelled the party to venture on the ice.\n\n \"At Matcha, I found a clean, comfortable dwelling, and a\n hospitable reception from the hostess, an old woman, who said\n she had been seventeen years in Siberia, having been sent by\n the Government from Archangel, to assist in increasing the\n population; but she thanked God, at the same time, that she had\n not been banished for misconduct. She told me she had always\n lived much better than she did in Russia, and had been so\n happily situated as to have never felt a wish to return. Having\n received from her a fine fat fowl, some cream, vegetables, &c.\n I asked her in the morning what I must pay for them. She\n replied, 'a little tea and sugar, a piece of soap, and above\n all, a few glasses of watky--though I would not have you\n suppose I am addicted to liquor, for I only take a little now\n and then to preserve my health.' Her emaciated frame and sallow\n countenance belied her assertion. Complying with her request, I\n begged her to preserve her health by using as little of the\n spirit as possible, as it often had the opposite effect to that\n of assisting the health. She laughed, and drinking a bumper to\n my advice, wished me a safe journey.\"\n\nPassing Veeteem and Kiringee, two considerable towns on the Lena, Mr.\nDobell found the country improve gradually, and the post-houses\nthroughout comfortable, clean, and convenient; much more so than could\nhave been expected in remote Siberia. The horses were also furnished\nwith great alacrity, and the inhabitants generally were kind and\nhospitable. On the 30th of October he passed Katchuk, the place where\nall the merchandise is embarked in the spring for Yakutsk and other\ntowns on the Lena. The river is generally free enough from ice by the\n5th to the 12th of May, and but fourteen days are required for the\nvoyage. From Katchuk to Irkutsk, the road leaves the Lena, and passes\nthrough a fine extensive plain, bounded on either side by well\ncultivated hills, and having villages and farm houses dispersed over it\nin all directions. This plain is principally inhabited by a horde called\nBurettas, who are, for the most part, Christians, and have taken to\nagriculture with a great deal of industry and zeal. The richer class\nlive in log houses, but the great part dwell in cabins, similar to the\nwinter jourtas of the more eastern hordes. Their clothing consists of a\npelisse of dressed goat or sheep skin, with the wool inside, trimmed\nwith fur, and painted in black and white stripes round the shoulders.\n\nIrkutsk, the capital of eastern Siberia, is in latitude 52 deg. 16' 41\", and\neast longitude from St. Petersburg, 73 deg. 51' 48\". It is built on the\nmargin of the river Angarra, and contains a population now probably\nexceeding twenty thousand souls. The markets are good, the society is\npleasant, and a traveller finds in the very heart of Siberia almost all\nthe luxuries of life. In visiting the public works, the governor took\nMr. Dobell to an immense brick building, where he found the workshops of\nthe exiles.\n\n \"In that large range, one sees joiners, carpenters,\n carriage-makers, saddlers, blacksmiths, and in short, all sorts\n of tradesmen, busily occupied, and all provided with\n comfortable apartments, clean clothing, and wholesome food.\n From this we passed to the cloth factory, the contemplation of\n which afforded me much pleasure, when I recollected that those\n beings before me, who were once the victims of depravity,\n exhibited no longer any thing to inspire me with the idea of\n their having been criminals. All was gaiety and cheerfulness.\n There I saw men, women, and children, all industriously\n employed in weaving, spinning, carding, picking wool, &c. They\n were arranged in several large, clean, warm, and comfortable\n apartments; and they really appeared as contented as any\n labourers I ever saw; for they looked fat and healthy.\n\n \"The cloth is made from the wool and hair of the Buretta sheep,\n camels, and goats. It stands the Government in about a rouble\n the arshin, and sells for two roubles. This profit, after\n paying the expenses of the manufactory, leaves a surplus that\n is used to furnish the hospitals, and for other laudable\n purposes. Such an institution does honour to any country; nor\n can there be a more praiseworthy application of the industry of\n those exiles than that which operates to relieve the sick, the\n fatherless, and the widow.\n\n \"There is every reason to conclude, from the examples which\n have been furnished by those countries which have adopted this\n system, that the idea of confinement and hard labour is a more\n powerful preventive of the commission of crimes than the fear\n of death.\"\n\nAt the public ship yard, Mr. Dobell saw a brig on the stocks, destined\nto navigate the Baikal. The vessels generally used on that sea are built\non its shores, on account of the difficulty of ascending against the\ncurrent of the Angarra. Those belonging to the government are employed\nprincipally to carry convicts and stores to Nerchinsk, where there are\nmines of silver, gold, and precious stones, as well as a fine grain\ncountry. The neighbourhood of Irkutsk is fertile and prolific, and the\npopulation increasing. The climate is the mildest of Siberia, the\nthermometer of Reaumur seldom exceeding 30 deg. to 34 deg. of cold, and that but\nfor short intervals.\n\nOn the 25th of November, having taken leave of his hospitable\nacquaintances, Mr. Dobell left Irkutsk on his journey towards St.\nPetersburg. He had fresh occasion to notice the kindness and simplicity\nof the people, which his subsequent visits to the country tended to\nconfirm. On one occasion, at the village of Krasnoyesk, in this\nprovince, he took, at the recommendation of the governor, instead of the\nusual Cossack guides, two soldiers, one a grenadier of the guards of the\nregiment of Moscow, and the other of the Semenofsky, who, having been\nallowed a certain time to go and see their friends in Siberia, from whom\nthey had been absent eleven years, were anxious to return to St.\nPetersburg, and had not money to hire a conveyance.\n\n \"They had travelled from Russia on foot, near five thousand\n versts, to see their relations. The elder of the two had a wife\n and two children. He related to me that when he returned to his\n family, his wife, who knew him immediately, was so frightened\n that she fell into a swoon; and it was nearly an hour before\n she recovered her senses. His parting with his wife and\n children again affected us exceedingly; but he seemed to bear\n it with firmness, and said, 'God bless you, put your trust in\n God: I shall return to you.' Both those men, but particularly\n the married one, were the most faithful, obedient, well-behaved\n men I ever saw, and proved of infinite service to me on the\n road, as I travelled not with the post-horses, but with those\n of the common peasants. This gives me an opportunity of\n expatiating again on the moral and religious character of the\n Siberians, as well as their intelligence, generosity, and\n hospitality. I found on the road, even amongst the peasants, a\n sympathy, a kindness and attention to the wants of my family\n and myself, and a disinterestedness, that I have no where else\n experienced. Many times it occurred that we lodged in a house\n for the night, were furnished with bread, milk, cream, and a\n supper for four servants, and I had a difficulty to make the\n man of the house accept of a couple of roubles. The demand was\n fifty to seventy kopeks; and sometimes payment was refused\n altogether. I met a carrier who was conveying goods from Tumen\n to Tomsk, a distance of about one thousand five hundred versts,\n for two and a half roubles per pood! On questioning him, how he\n could possibly afford to take merchandise at so cheap a rate,\n he said, 'the people of my country are kind and hospitable. I\n live about Tomsk, so that I must return thither; and I get a\n man and a horse found a whole day for fifteen kopeks.' The\n grenadier also assured me that the only expense his journey on\n foot to see his family had cost him, was about twenty-five\n roubles; and those were spent between St. Petersburg and\n Ecatherineburg. 'After getting fairly into Siberia,' said he,\n 'no one would ever receive a kopek from me for either food or\n lodging.'\n\n \"After we got into Russia, and began to suffer certain\n impositions which are put upon travellers on the great roads in\n every country, he would often exclaim, 'God be with me and my\n beloved Siberia! There people have their consciences and their\n hearts in the right place!'\"\n\nTomsk is fifteen hundred versts from Irkutsk, and four thousand five\nhundred from St. Petersburg, being in latitude 56 deg. 29' 6\", and longitude\n54 deg. 50' 6\" from the latter place. Its population is about ten thousand.\nIt has many manufactories, and a number of handsome houses, with a\npleasant though small society. After leaving it, the traveller passes\nthe vast and fertile plain of Baraba, where he is whirled along at the\nrate of two hundred and seventy versts a day.\n\nThe first place of importance which he reaches after crossing it, is\nTobolsk, the chief town of the province of that name, and formerly of\nSiberia. Its latitude is 55 deg. 11' 14\", and its longitude 37 deg. 46' 14\" east\nfrom St. Petersburg, from which, and from Irkutsk, it is distant three\nthousand versts. Fourteen years ago its population amounted to thirty\nthousand inhabitants, since when it has in all probability very much\nincreased. Its manufactories are numerous; its society is agreeable, and\ngives evidence of the same hospitality which is witnessed so generally\nand so gratefully by the traveller, in those remote regions; but has it\nnot in its very name a charm to the reader who peruses an account of it,\nin its connexion with those incidents, fictitious or true, which have\nbeen formed into one of the most simple, beautiful, and touching tales,\nthat have ever flowed from the imagination or the heart?\n\nFrom Tobolsk, Mr. Dobell passed rapidly through the surrounding district\nof the same name, visited Ecatherineburg, where he admired, so far\nbeyond the ordinary limits of the arts, works in marble, agate, and\nprecious stones, which would have done honour to Italian artists; and\narriving at the geographical boundary that divides Siberia from Russia,\ncloses the narrative of his travels, which we would willingly have seen\ncontinued to the gates of the imperial capital of the north.\n\n \"I assure the reader,\" he says at the close of his truly\n interesting account, \"that in my humble attempt to describe\n what I have seen and experienced, I have been governed by no\n partial motives whatever. On the contrary, I have laboured to\n represent every object faithfully as it has affected my senses.\n I am, however, conscious at the same time, that it requires an\n abler pen than mine to delineate adequately the sublime and\n majestic works of nature in the regions I have been describing,\n and to portray them to the imagination in all their simplicity,\n beauty, and grandeur. Siberia does not possess the climate of\n Italy, nor the luxurious productions of India; but she\n possesses a fertile soil, a climate much better than is\n generally believed, and natural resources of the highest value;\n and she presents to the traveller such a magnificent picture of\n natural objects, as is no where to be equalled except on the\n immense continent of America. There is no longer any doubt but\n the greater part of her territory is susceptible of high\n cultivation, having a strong fertile soil, covered with superb\n forests, and intersected by fine rivers, or watered by numerous\n lakes, many of which may fairly be called seas.\n\n \"The race of men produced there, are uncommonly tall, stout,\n and robust; certainly the best looking people I have ever seen,\n particularly those of the Western parts. My readers will now, I\n am sure, agree with me, that this country, hitherto considered\n the _Ultima Thule_, or the _finis mundi_, has been highly\n gifted by its Creator, and only wants population and\n improvement to render it the most valuable portion of his\n Imperial Majesty's dominions.\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[6] The old English lawyers puzzled themselves greatly in tracing the\norigin of the feudal tenures. The truth is, they may be found in the\nincipient stages of society in nearly every nation. They existed, in\nfact, in Hindostan, China, and many other countries, for centuries\nbefore the time of the _comites_ of the German princes, mentioned by\nTacitus, who are supposed to have founded them. The services of the\ntenant varied according to the character and condition of the\npeople--the principle was every where the same.\n\n[7] The tael is $1.66; the pecul, 133-1/3 pounds.\n\n\n\n\nART. IV.--_Precis de la Geographie Universelle ou Description de toutes\nles parties du Monde, sur un plan Nouveau D'apres les grandes divisions\nNaturelles du Globe, &c._ Par MALTE-BRUN: Bruxelles, 1829.\n\n\nWe place at the head of our article, which we mean to devote to Physical\nGeography, the title of the latest edition that we have seen of the\ngreat work of Malte-Brun. This, which has already become well known to\nour American public in translation, has received some additions from its\nBelgian editors, but has not been fully brought up to the present state\nof Science, nor does it contain all the new discoveries which have been\nmade in that part, namely, physical geography, to which our attention is\nmore immediately directed. We shall, however, endeavour to supply these\ndeficiencies so far as lies in our power.\n\nPhysical geography stands in immediate connexion with subjects which\nhave already been presented to the readers of this journal, namely with\nCelestial Mechanics,[8] and with the Phenomena of our Atmosphere.[9] It\nshall be our endeavour to proceed from the facts laid down in the first\nof the two articles to which we have referred, to the more particular\nconsideration of the state, the structure, and the condition of the\nglobe we inhabit.\n\nThe earth is a planet of the solar system, the third in distance from\nthe sun, revolving upon its own axis, and around that central body\nattended by a satellite; circumstances which affect in a most important\nmanner the phenomena that are observed upon its surface. Composed of\nmaterial substances that mutually attract each other, each particle of\nwhich has a greater or less centrifugal force in proportion to its\ndistance from the axis of rotation, it has a figure that is consistent\nwith a state of equilibrium under the joint action of these two forces,\nand which is such as would have been assumed by a fluid body actuated by\nthem. The figure that fulfils these conditions is an oblate spheroid,\nthe axis of the generating ellipse coinciding with the polar diameter of\nthe body. Had the earth a figure absolutely spherical, or less flattened\nthan is consistent with the conditions of equilibrium, the ocean, by\nwhich so large a part of its surface is covered, would have arranged\nitself in a meniscoid zone around its equatorial regions; were the\nfigure, on the other hand, one of greater oblateness, the waters would\nhave been divided and accumulated at either pole, leaving the\nequatorial regions dry. But did its figure fulfil the conditions of\nequilibrium, the fluid mass would tend to distribute itself equally over\nthe whole surface, unless prevented by irregularities in the solid mass.\nThe last is the actual state of things; the ocean occupies a bed formed\nof cavities, lying below the mean surface of the spheroid, and the land\npresents to us those asperities and elevations, which rise, although to\na comparatively small height, above the general level.\n\nWas then the earth originally in a fluid state, and has it assumed its\npresent form under the strict action of mechanical laws, on a body of\nthat class? are the bed of the ocean and the continents merely crusts\nformed upon the surface of a liquid globe? Does the interior still\nremain liquid, or has the induration proceeded until the whole internal\nmass has become solid? Nay, may not the interior be hollow, as we have\nrecently seen gravely maintained, and heard sage legislatures recommend\nto the public attention?\n\nMathematical investigations of incontrovertible evidence, show us that\nwere the earth of equal density throughout, the flattening at the poles\nwould be 1/234 of the equatorial diameter; that in the hypothetical case\nof infinite density at the centre, and infinite rarity at the surface,\nthe flattening would be no more than 1/578; while, were the surface more\ndense than the interior, or did a cavity exist within, the oblateness\nmust be greater than 1/234. Actual measurements of portions of the\nsurface, the variation in the length of the pendulum which beats seconds\nin different latitudes, and the effect of the earth's figure on the\nlunar motions, show us that the earth cannot be flattened more than\n1/289, nor less than 1/312, or may, at a mean, be considered as a\nspheroid, whose polar and equatorial diameters are in the relation of\n299 to 300.\n\nAstronomers have ascertained the deflection of plumb lines from the\nvertical, by the action of mountains. The attraction of a projecting\nmass of known bulk and density, with one whose bulk alone is known, is\nthus determined, and hence the density of the latter may be calculated.\n\nEven comparatively small masses of matter may be placed under such\ncircumstances at the surface of the earth, that their mutual action can\nbe observed uninfluenced by the preponderating attraction of the earth,\nand thus a new means of comparison obtained.\n\nThe pendulum whose vibrations ought to vary according to a definite law,\nas we recede from the surface of the earth, has that law affected by the\nelevated ground on which it is placed, and here again a comparison may\nbe instituted between the general and local attractions.\n\nAll these modes of investigation concur in, and confirm the general\nresult, that the mean density of the earth is about five times as great\nas that of water. Now as a great portion of the surface is composed of\nthat fluid, and as the general density of the land is little more than\ntwice as great as that of water, it follows incontestably that the\ninterior of the earth is far more dense than its outer covering.\n\nAll material substances are capable of assuming, under proper\nmodifications of latent heat, either the solid, the liquid, or the\ngaseous form; yet all are beyond doubt composed of atoms, solid, hard,\nand incapable of further division. Under their own mutual attraction\nthese particles tend to unite, and cohere in solid masses, and to this\nattractive force the repulsive power of heat is constantly opposed,\ntending to prevent their aggregation, and retaining them, according to\nits intensity, in the gaseous or liquid form.\n\nThe heat necessary to maintain these states of existence in bodies, may\nbe produced in various ways. Our usual experience leads us to consider\nit as more generally arising from two causes, radiation from the sun,\nand the chemical action causing combustion. The former could never have\nproduced the temperature known to exist at present upon the surface of\nthe globe, for the earth radiates as well as the sun, and is constantly\nthrowing off heat into the surrounding space. We know that these two\nactions have for twenty centuries exactly balanced each other, and that\nthe mean temperature of the earth has neither increased nor diminished\nin all that period. Had the solar radiation been, previously to that\nepoch, in excess, it must at the more recent periods, counted backwards,\nhave been but slightly so, and ages unnumbered must have elapsed, before\nthe state of equilibrium which now exists could have been reached. The\nearth too, at distant periods, must have been colder than at present,\nwhile that the contrary is true is shown by numerous observations.\n\nNeither could chemical action have had any great agency in establishing\nthe present temperature of the earth. The substances which burn are but\na small portion of the crust of the earth, and their combustion, if all\nfired at a time, would cause no perceptible effect on the sensible heat\nof the surface of our globe. Were combustible bodies even infinitely\nmore abundant, the supporters are insufficient to keep up their\ncombustion for any length of time, without sensible diminution, and this\nwould be the case, even were the whole of the oxygen that now exists as\na component of the waters of the ocean added to their present amount. It\nis indeed possible that the outer shell of the earth, which is no more\nthan a crust of oxidated matter, may have existed at first in the\nmetallic state, but that crust has long intervened, and prevented any\ncontact between the air or ocean, and the metallic bases of the earths,\nthat in this case must lie beneath.\n\nIn spite of these obvious objections to their theory, some geologists\nhave madly fancied to themselves a great internal fire, maintained by\nactual combustion, a fancy but little more rational than that which\nseeks, in the present order of things, precipitation from some vast\nquantity of a liquid menstruum, every trace of whose existence has now\nvanished.\n\nThere is, however, yet another source of heat, if indeed solar heat be\nnot a mere case of its general action, far more general and universal,\nwhich has its origin in the bodies themselves, and has no reference to\nany extrinsic cause. All bodies are sensibly heated when condensed, and\nlose sensible heat when they expand, so that their temperatures vary\nwith the greater or less distance of their particles. The atmosphere of\nthe earth furnishes a marked illustration of this fact. Of nearly\nuniform chemical composition throughout, its elastic nature, conflicting\nwith its gravity, renders it more dense in its lower than in its higher\nregions. The former are in consequence warmer than the latter, and the\nmean temperature of our climates is in fact due to this character of our\natmosphere. But this mean temperature could not be maintained, were not\nthat of the earth itself in harmony with it. The surface might, no\ndoubt, be cooled or heated by the adjacent air, but the heat, if given\nout from an earth warmer than the atmosphere, would be rapidly replaced\nfrom within, and a constant accumulation ensue in the air, while, if the\nearth were cooler, a diminution, equally constant, of the temperature of\nthe atmosphere, must take place. The earth is, however, itself subject\nto the same law. All the materials of which it is composed, are capable\nof compression, in a greater or less degree, and of being heated by\ncompression. The tendency of all material substances to the centre of\nattraction, loads the parts nearest to that centre with the whole weight\nof the superincumbent mass. And in the depth of four thousand miles,\nwhich intervenes between the centre and the surface, the heat must be\nfar more than equal to that obtained by the compound blow-pipe or\ngalvanic deflagrator, under whose intense energies the most refractory\nsubstances liquefy. Hence it may be inferred as a fact, as certain as\nany in physical science, that the interior of the earth is at present in\na state resembling igneous fusion, not produced, however, by any of the\nmore familiar sources of heat, but by the intense pressure the upper\nmasses exert upon those nearer to the centre.\n\nHere, then, we find the reason of the earth's having assumed a figure\nconsistent with the equilibrium of a fluid mass, whose particles are\nendued with a mutual attraction, and which has a motion around an axis.\n\nLet us suppose all the particles which now constitute the earth, to have\nbeen originally disseminated throughout a vast space, and to have\napproached their common centre of gravity by the force of mutual\nattraction; the consideration thus caused would have produced the state\nof intense heat that is now kept up within by pressure; and the\nconducting power of the bodies would have propagated the heat nearly\nequal throughout the mass. The surface would then have existed in a\nliquid state as well as that beneath. But as the radiation from the\nsurface of a heated body is in exact proportion to its temperature, this\ncause of cooling would have been intense, and a crust must soon have\nformed upon the outer surface; this crust would have increased in\nthickness so long as the heat thrown off by radiation exceeded that\nreceived from the sun. When this state of equilibrium was finally\nattained, all the great phenomena which a body thus heated could\nexhibit, would cease, and the subsequent changes would become due only\nto forces such as we now see acting upon the surface, or would be the\ncompletion of actions commenced during the previous state.\n\nWe know, from astronomical investigations, that this state of\nequilibrium has existed for upwards of twenty centuries, while analogy\nwould lead us to infer that it must have been attained at no long period\nafter the last great catastrophe to which our planet was subjected.\n\nLet us now see whether the fact of the interior of the globe being more\nintensely heated than its surface, can be inferred in any other manner\nthan from the course of reasoning whose principles are here cited. The\nfeeble power of man, feeble at least compared to the size of the globe\nhe inhabits, has been able to penetrate to but small depths in its outer\nshell, but even at these small depths, an increase of temperature has\nbeen remarked, and so frequently and carefully observed, as to leave no\ndoubt of its being a general law. This increase, too, appears exactly\nconsistent with that which it might be inferred ought to take place. But\nwe, even to the present day, occasionally see the igneous fluid from\nbeneath forced up to the surface, and spreading from volcanic craters\nover great regions. Observation shows us that at remote epochs such\nphenomena were much more frequent than at present. We want no more\npositive proofs that the interior of the earth is still intensely\nheated, and that the bed of the ocean and the solid land are mere crusts\nformed upon the surface of a mass in a state analogous to that of\nigneous fusion.\n\nWere the surface, as we have inferred it must have been, ever itself\nintensely heated, the volatile and gaseous matters which now constitute\nour atmosphere and oceans, must have united to form an atmosphere of far\ngreater extent than it is at present. The aqueous matter rising into\nregions where the rarity of the air would cause cold sufficient to\ncondense it, would have been in a state of constant motion, boiling in\nthe lower regions, being precipitated in the higher, and acting most\nenergetically to promote the general cooling. And so soon as the surface\nbecame cooler than 212 deg., the water would begin to settle upon its\nsurface, forming at first lakes in its basins or cavities, and finally\nextending itself into one vast ocean, covering the whole or parts of the\nsolid crust according to its greater or less degree of uniformity.\n\nThe conversion of the igneous liquid surface into solid matter, could\nonly have taken place in successive shells or concentric layers; hence\nwould arise a stratified character. And as the cooling proceeded,\nlowering the mean temperature of the whole mass, a consequent diminution\nof bulk must have taken place, according to the well known law of\nexpansion by heat and contraction on cooling. Such diminution in bulk\nmust have broken the strata into fragments, through the fissures of\nwhich, according to the laws of hydrostatics, the fluid mass beneath\nwould rise until the equilibrium of rotation would have been obtained,\nand the strata, originally concentric, would be dislocated and turned in\nevery possible direction, pierced with veins and dikes of all possible\nmagnitude, from slender threads to mountain masses, caused by the\ncooling and consolidation of the rising fluid, and occasionally\nspreading in overlying currents, congealed and fixed in ridges and\nchains. These veins and s would present different characters,\naccording to the dates of their elevation. If raised at a period when\nthe surface was still of high temperature, they must have crystallized\nslowly, and in a perfect manner; at diminished temperatures, the\ncrystallization would be less complete; if raised into the mass of\nocean, they would assume one character; if coming in contact with air,\nanother. A breaking of the bed of the ocean, and bringing its waters in\ncontact with the liquid mass beneath, might produce consequences\nextending in their action to districts of the globe, the most remote\nfrom those in which the convulsion occurred; for the water, rising into\nvapour, would tend to extend itself in one uniform atmosphere over the\nwhole surface of the globe, and might be precipitated in unusual\nabundance wherever causes of condensation existed. Thus, partial, or\neven total deluges, may have occurred, great portions of the ocean being\nhurried in vapour from its bed, and precipitated upon the land whose\ntemperature is not affected by the distant catastrophe.\n\nThe waters might, in some cases, flow directly back to the ocean, in\nothers might accumulate in basins and form lakes, fresh at first, and\ngradually becoming saline. These in turn might burst their bounds,\ncarrying ruin and devastation in their course, or might by evaporation\nbe dried up, and be again filled by a recurrence of the original cause\nof supply.\n\nSuch violent and rapid action would finally be exhausted by the gradual\ncooling of the earth, but the outer crust would still press on the\nigneous fluid beneath, and although far less liable to rupture, its\nfluid action might yet enable it to force its way occasionally to the\nsurface, but at distant intervals, and with diminished energy. Now, a\nnew series of phenomena must occur, similar to the more familiar of\nthose we see acting at present; at first more intense, but finally, when\nthe state of equilibrium of temperature is reached, exactly such as we\nnow find them both in kind and in energy.\n\nTo see how far such a view of what might have occurred, under the action\nof well known causes, in case of a certain original order of things, is\ncorrect, let us examine the appearances our globe actually presents.\n\nTo a systematized and general examination, it presents the appearance of\na great ocean, covering about three-fourths of its whole surface, and\nsurrounding two great, and a number almost infinite of smaller islands.\nThe two great islands are the old and the new continents; the largest of\nthose that remain is New-Holland. To exhibit this great ocean in its\nmost general aspect, take an artificial globe, raise the south pole 50 deg.\nabove the horizon, and bring New-Zealand to the meridian. The hemisphere\nabove the horizon will now be wholly of water, with the exception of the\nsouthern part of South America on the one side, and New-Holland, with\nthe Indian archipelago, on the other. These bear, when united, but a\nsmall proportion to the entire hemisphere. The opposite hemisphere\ncontains more land than water; and when it is in its turn placed above\nthe horizon, the Atlantic will be seen lying almost wholly on the\nwestern side of the meridian, and forming, with the Arctic ocean, a\nspecies of channel, narrowing from the latitude of the Cape of Good Hope\ntowards the northern pole, and communicating with the great ocean which\nlies principally in the opposite hemisphere by Behring's straits. On\nthis hemisphere are also seen parts of the Pacific and Indian oceans,\nwhich are considerably more than equal in surface to the lands which\nproject into the opposite one.\n\nIf we turn our attention to the land, we find it unequal in its surface;\nand although compared with the whole diameter of the earth, the\ninequalities be very small, yet, compared with our own stature, they\noften present an imposing magnitude. These greater elevations are\nmountains; and we find them sometimes united in chains, sometimes\nisolated, and at other times uniting to form elevated plains or table\nlands. These table lands sometimes outwards, at others they are\nsurrounded by eminences that prevent the efflux of the waters, or only\nadmit them to pass through apertures made by their own action. Upon our\ncontinent, table lands of the latter description are to be found of\ngreat magnitude, entering as parts of the great system of the\nCordilleras or Andes; in Europe they are rare, but in Tartary, Persia,\nand in central Africa, they occur, forming regions of great extent. In\ngeneral, the greater part of the mountains of a continent appear to have\na connexion more or less obvious; it has even been conceived that they\nform the skeleton upon which the rest of the land has been deposited,\nand which has determined the form of the continent. Thus we speak\nhabitually of chains of mountains. Mountains, however, do not always\npresent a continuous ridge, from which the peaks or more elevated\nsummits rise, but occasionally, the groups we call chains, are composed\nof separate mountains divided by valleys; such are the mountains of\nScotland, of Sweden, and Norway; and such is the general structure of\nthe chain of mountains called in the state of New-York the Highlands, of\nwhose connexion and grouping we shall hereafter speak.\n\nThis being understood, namely, that by a chain or ridge of mountains we\ndo not necessarily intend a continuous elevation, the term may be\nconveniently used in order to express the configuration of mountains.\nThese chains surround or border upon greater or less basins, which are\neach distinguished by the name of the principal stream that conveys its\nsurface waters to the ocean, or they may, as has been stated, envelop a\ntable land, whence there is no issue for the waters, or no more than a\nmere passage sufficient to afford them an outlet. Even if a map contain\nno expression of the position of mountains, we can, by mere inspection\nof the courses of rivers, determine the lines in which the chains are\ndirected, and, from the size of the rivers, judge in some measure of the\nelevation of the district. Thus, on inspection of the map of Europe, we\nfind four of its greatest rivers rising at no great distance from each\nother, the Rhine, the Rhone, the Danube, and the Po; here, then, we\nmight infer a great elevation, and here we accordingly find its highest\nmountains, the Alps. In another part of this continent, we see the\nDwina, the Nieper, and the Volga, diverge from points not far distant\nfrom each other, and here accordingly we find an elevated table land,\ntwo hundred miles in length by fifty in breadth, marked however by no\nmountain summits. In central Asia, we see a vast space inclosed by lines\njoining the sources of a number of mighty rivers, the Indus, the Ganges,\nthe Barrampooter, the Irrawaddy, the Houng Ha, and Kiang Ku, the Amour,\nthe Lena, the Yermisir, and the Oby; accordingly, here we find the\ngreatest table land surrounded by the highest mountains of the globe.\nStill, however, the instance we have cited of the rivers of Russia\nshows, that the land whence great rivers take their rise, is not\nnecessarily mountainous; in this case the ascent is almost\nimperceptible, and the summit offers the aspect of a level and marshy\nplain. Such also occurs in the famous boundary between the United\nStates and Canada, where the highlands that figured in two successive\ntreaties have disappeared, and in their supposed place has been found a\nseries of swamps.\n\nAttempts have been made to arrange the chains of mountains into\nconnected systems. Of these the most successful is that of Malte-Brun.\n\n \"If we draw a line from the centre of Thibet, across Chinese\n Mongolia towards Ochotsk, and thence towards Cape Tchutscki,\n the eastern promontory of Asia, this line will in general\n coincide with a great chain of mountains which runs from the\n south-west to the north-east, and which every where descends\n rapidly towards the Indian and Pacific oceans, while on the\n contrary, it extends itself towards the Frozen ocean in high\n plains and secondary hills. It is probable that we may some day\n refer to the same rule the chain of Lapata, called the backbone\n of the world, in Africa; at any rate this chain runs from the\n Cape of Good Hope to that of Gardafui, in a direction\n south-east and north-west, and therefore in nearly the same\n direction as the great chain of Asia, but we are ignorant of\n the disposition of the s of these mountains. We may regard\n the mountains of the Happy Arabia, which are both steep and\n lofty, as the link that connects the mountains of Lapata with\n the table lands and mountains of Persia, which proceed from the\n mountains of Thibet.\n\n \"If we follow the western coasts of America, from Behring's\n straits, which hardly form a sensible interruption, to Cape\n Horn, we find an uninterrupted chain of mountains. From time to\n time this chain retires a little into the interior, but more\n frequently it immediately borders upon the great ocean, in\n immense cliffs, and often by frightful precipices. On the other\n side of it, the manner in which the lakes discharge themselves,\n and the direction of the great rivers, show sufficiently, that\n the surface of America inclines gently towards the Atlantic\n ocean.\n\n \"It results from a combination of these observations, that the\n greatest chains of mountains on our globe, are ranged in an arc\n of a circle around the great ocean, and the sea of India; that\n they seem to present rapid descents towards the immense basin\n they surround, and gentle s on their opposite sides; in\n fine, from the Cape of Good Hope to Behring's straits, and\n thence to Cape Horn, the eye of the most timid observer cannot\n fail to see some trace of an arrangement, as surprising from\n its uniformity, as from the vast extent of ground which it\n embraces.\n\n \"Let us pause for an instant to consider this great fact of\n physical geography. If we conceive ourselves placed in New\n South Wales, with our face turned towards the north, we have\n America on our right hand, Africa and Asia on our left. These\n continents, which we hardly before ventured to approach in our\n imagination, considered in this point of view, form a\n consistent system, whose structure, as far as we are acquainted\n with it, presents in its great features an astonishing\n symmetry. A chain of enormous mountains surrounds an enormous\n basin; this basin, divided into two by a vast collection of\n islands, often bathes with its waves the feet of this great\n primary chain of the earth.\"\n\nIn this chain lie the greatest mountains of the globe. One peak of the\nHimmalayah rises nearly five miles above the level of the sea; another\nhas a height of 25,500 feet; and a third of 22,217 feet. In South\nAmerica are Soratu, in height 25,250 feet.\n\n Illimani, 24,000\n Chimborazo, 21,400\n\nnot to mention Antisana, Mauflos, Chillau, Cotopaxi, all of which exceed\nin height any mountains that do not lie in this great system. Nay, did\nnot the great Volcano of Owyhee enter into the order with a height of\n18,000 feet, the list of those surpassing the other mountains of the\nglobe, might be very much extended.\n\nWe shall have occasion hereafter to speak of the volcanic energies still\nexerted in this vast stony girdle, and shall therefore confine ourselves\nstrictly to mere external form.\n\nThe arms and branches of mountain chains enclose as has been seen,\nbasins marked by rivers which convey their surface waters to the ocean.\nThe rains which fall on the sides of mountains and hills, unite in\ntorrents and streams, which follow the lines of most rapid in\ntheir course to the sea.\n\nThe greater rivers mark the lowest part of a principal basin, on each\nside of which, at a greater or less distance, are to be found rising\ngrounds, themselves hollowed out into lateral secondary basins,\ncontaining courses of water less considerable than the first, into which\nthey cast themselves, and whose branches they are. The borders of these\nsecondary basins are again hollowed out into basins of a third order,\nwhose s also contain water courses less considerable than the\npreceding, into which they in turn discharge themselves. This\nramification continues until we reach the smallest ravines of the\nboundary mountains, and the map appears, as it were, covered with a net\nwork of rivers and lesser streams. The great valley of the Mississippi\nand Missouri, forms perhaps the most striking instance of this sort,\nupon the surface of our globe.\n\nRivers and streams are constantly exerting a mechanical action on the\nsurfaces over which they run; abrading and tearing off fragments even of\nthe hardest rocks, they roll them in their course until the velocity\nbecomes insufficient to transport them farther. At diminished velocities\nthey move fragments of less size, down to the smallest pebbles; at still\nless velocities, they transport sand, and finally earthy matter, in the\nmost minute division. These are deposited in succession in positions\ncorresponding to the rapidity of the stream, and hence the beds of\nrivers present at each of their different sections, materials of\nmagnitude and quality corresponding to the rate at which the stream\nusually flows. The increase in the magnitude of streams, due to violent\nrains and the melting of the snows, changes the position of the\nsubstances that compose their bed, and the more easily suspended\nmaterials are often held until the stream actually meets the ocean. In\nsuch sudden increases, the streams often overflow their usual banks, and\nmake their deposits laterally, until the constant succession of such\ndeposits raises the adjacent ground high enough to set bounds to the\nfurther spreading of the stream. This deposit is remarkable for its\ntaking place in greatest quantity close to the usual bed of the stream;\nand thus it speedily opposes natural s to its own redundant waters.\nThis action is most conspicuous at points where marked changes take\nplace either permanently or periodically in the rapidity of running\nwater: when streams descend from mountains into lines of less descent, a\ndeposit uniformly takes place, forming _flats_ or _intervals_, as they\nare styled in the United States, of which we have such beautiful\ninstances in the valleys of the Connecticut and Mohawk, and that part of\nthe Hudson near Albany; again, where rivers meet the sea, they are\ninterrupted in their course by the rise of the tides of the ocean, and\nhere again deposits take place, sometimes forming shoals and banks in\nthe ocean itself; at other times, bars and obstructions at their own\nmouths; and again, deltas of solid land, constantly encroaching upon the\nsea. This action, which is continually going forward, is called\nalluvial. The delta of greatest fame, and from which the others have\nderived their generic name, is that of the Nile; this we have evidence,\nalmost historic, to prove to be wholly the gift of the river. And if it\nno longer increase as rapidly as in former ages, the cause is obvious,\nfor the alluvion has been pushed so far forward as to meet a strong\ncurrent that sweeps along the African coast, and must carry off much of\nthe earth the Nile discharges into the Mediterranean. The great rivers\nof Asia and of America carry still greater quantities of solid matter,\nbut we have not the same distant traditions to refer to for the amount\nof the increase they have caused; still, however, we know that the mouth\nof the Mississippi has been advanced into the Gulf of Mexico several\nleagues since the settlement of Louisiana; and that islands of great\nextent are frequently formed, in the course of a single year, by the\ndeposits of the Ganges.\n\nWe however find traces of aqueous action far more extensive and powerful\nthan those which are now taking place under our eyes by fluviatile\naction. There is no part of the globe that has been examined, which does\nnot show that it has been subjected to the action of water, in floods\nfar more powerful than any we now are in the habit of seeing. Every\nwhere, except in the case of rocky cliffs, and steep mountains, or where\nwe see obvious evidence of a recent elevation, we find the surface\nstrewn with the deposits of water: boulders of greater or less size,\nbeds of gravel, sand, and clay, form the present outer coating of the\ngreatest part of the land. These deposits were long confounded with the\nalluvial, but have at length been proved, by incontrovertible evidence,\nto be the results of an action, which if not contemporaneous, must have\nbeen universal. We have seen an able attempt to show that this species\nof deposit did not take place at one and the same period, but was merely\nthe general consequence of similar causes acting at different epochs.\nOur impression, we must however confess to be, that the action was not\nonly co-extensive with the globe, but contemporaneous. It at any rate\nexhibits proofs the most satisfactory, that the last great and\nextensive change which our earth has undergone, was effected by the\nagency of water, in a state of rapid and violent motion. Ascribing this\ndeposit to a single flood, it has been styled diluvial.\n\nThere are cases where alluvial deposits rest upon the diluvium, and from\nthe depth of these it has been attempted to calculate the time that has\nelapsed since the former of these actions was resumed. The diluvium has\nalso been found in caverns lying upon an ancient stalagmite, and covered\nagain with a new formation of that modification of carbonate of lime.\nThe thickness of the latter deposit has also been made the basis of a\ncalculation, and although neither of these methods is to be considered\nas approaching to an accuracy more perfect than some hundreds of years,\nthe two methods confirm each other in the general result, which is,\nthat, at a date not more remote than fifty or sixty centuries, there\nmust have taken place a total submersion of all the land, except,\nperhaps, the tops of high mountains, did they then exist. We have in the\nsacred volume, a record of such a catastrophe, the flood of Noah, and\nfrom that time to the present, no convulsion, equally extensive in its\ninfluence, has devastated the globe. Have not then the geologists who\nhave seen in these indications the convincing evidence of that\noccurrence, been warranted in their inference, of the identity of an\nevent pointed out by undeniable physical evidence, with one recorded in\na history to which one of the most confirmed sceptics has recently\nadmitted the merit of truth?\n\nThe diluvial deposits are found not only in the lower grounds, but on\nthe tops and sides of lofty mountains; we have ourselves noted them\ndistinctly characterized at high elevations upon the Kaatskills; they\nare found among the Alps at Valorsine, 6000 feet above the level of the\nsea, and in another place at more than 7000 feet. The excavations made\nin the extension of the city of New-York at Corlaer's Hook, have laid\nopen a vast mass of diluvium, and afforded means for studying it with\ngreat facility. It in fact presented the appearance of a great cabinet\nof specimens of primitive and transition rocks, and it was possible in\nmany cases to determine the very mountain whence the fragments had been\ntorn. The most remarkable boulder, for instance, of a weight of at least\nan hundred tons, was distinctly recognisable as identical in every\nrespect with the granitic syenite of Schooley's mountain, distant at\nleast forty miles. Others had no known type nearer than Connecticut, in\nthe opposite direction, while the gneiss and mica slate of the island of\nNew-York, with their various embedded minerals, the serpentine and many\nof the magnesian minerals of Hoboken, with sandstone and trap of the\nPallisadoc range, were distinctly recognisable. In this great\nexcavation, where a region of a mile square was wholly removed, to a\ndepth, in many places, of thirty feet, no animal remains, as far as can\nbe learnt, were detected; thus marking a most important difference\nbetween these deposits and those of the Old continent. Such is the\nremark of an intelligent geologist, whom we are proud to reckon as our\n_collaborateur_, and to whom that branch of Natural History is under no\nsmall obligations.\n\n \"Fragments of granite and other primitive rocks, cast here and\n there upon stratified formations, and interpersed in\n diluvium,[10] present a fact as certain as it is astonishing.\n All the chains of Mount Jura, all the mountains that precede\n the Alps, the hills and plains of Germany and Italy, are strewn\n with blocks of granite, often of a great dimension, and always\n of a composition as pure, and as perfect a crystallization, as\n the granites of the higher Alps. The same phenomenon is\n repeated in the plains of Russia, of Poland, of Prussia, of\n Denmark, and of Sweden. From Holstein to Eastern Prussia,\n diluvial[11]grounds, sand and clay, are covered with an immense\n number of blocks of granite. Near the island of Usedom, several\n points of granite rock rise from the bottom of the Baltic. We\n see in like manner, Scania and Jutland so filled with these\n fragments, that they construct of them enclosures, houses and\n churches. In the Lymfiord, a gulf of Jutland, and at some\n places on the western side of that peninsula, great points of\n granite rise from the bottom of the waters. But what is still\n more remarkable, is to see immense masses of granite lying on\n the tops of Roeduburg and Osmond, which are more than 6000\n feet in height, and are therefore among the highest mountains\n in the North of Europe.\"\n\nBeneath the diluvial deposit, we find beds and strata of substances of\ndifferent character, and which appear on a cursory view to be involved\nin inextricable confusion. Long and careful examination has at length\nbeen efficient in ascertaining that in this apparent disorder are to be\nseen the traces of an order, as perfect as that of any other mechanism\nof nature, and of a succession of changes by which the earth has been\nfinally fitted for the habitation of man. These strata have been finally\narranged into five distinct classes, differing in their characters and\nposition. These have been so fully described in a former article in this\nJournal, by the distinguished associate whom we have already quoted,\nthat no more remains for us to say, than what is merely necessary to\nkeep up the connexion of our subject.\n\nThese stratified rocks or formations are remarkable for the regular\norder in which they succeed and overlie each other, furnishing distinct\nand indisputable evidence of their having been formed in succession. The\nfirst set of strata, which are never covered by any of the others, and\nhence are conceived to be of most recent formation, lie inclined at a\nsmall angle to the horizon. In many cases they do not assume the\ncharacter of rocks, but although distinctly stratified, are often soft\nand friable, presenting beds of marle and clay, and thick deposits of\nsand. In some cases their appearance is so similar to diluvial or even\nalluvial deposits, that they might be mistaken for them, were it not\nfor their more regular stratification. These are the tertiary formations\nof the German school, the superior order of Coneybeare and Philips.\n\nIssuing from beneath these, and forming in their turn a considerable\nportion of the surface of the earth, rising occasionally into\nconsiderable hills, are strata of less uniform and regular inclination,\nforming basins and cavities in which the tertiary deposits are often\nfound to lie, curved to conform to the bottoms of these basins.\n\nThe third and fourth series issue in their turn from beneath the\npreceding, as does the fifth from beneath the fourth. Each is marked in\nsuccession, by a greater degree of confusion or distortion in the\nstratification, until the last, which is apparently upheaved and thrown\nabout without any regularity, its strata being occasionally found in\npositions almost vertical. Not only is the succession of the five\ndifferent orders of rocks constant, but so is that in which the several\nrocks of each series overlie each other. This regularity of succession\nis, however, subject to this law; namely, that rocks of particular\norders, or even the whole order itself, may be wanting in particular\ndistricts; thus, tertiary formations may be directly upon the lower\norder, and the second, third, and fourth, may not be present; or any one\nof the higher orders may lie directly upon any one of those we have\nstated to be inferior to it; but it has never been observed that the\narrangement itself has been inverted, or that a rock which is in one\nplace inferior, becomes, in its turn, superior in another.\n\nThe fifth, or inferior order, is uniformly found beneath one or all of\nthe others; and, we may infer, that it in fact underlies the whole\nsurface of the globe, forming not only the foundation of the solid land,\nbut the original bottom on which the present bed of the sea is\ndeposited. The rocks that compose this series are all highly crystalline\nin their character, are mostly composed of substances wholly or nearly\ninsoluble in water, are wholly devoid of organic remains, and are in\nfact such substances as might be supposed to have been formed by slow\ncooling, from a state of igneous fusion. Is it then assuming too much to\ninfer, that they are in fact the crust which has been first formed upon\nthe surface of the earth, intensely heated by its own condensation,\nunder the action of the gravitating force, that, communicated to it by\nthe hand of the Creator, determined its figure, and still maintains its\nequilibrium. We do not include in this class, as is usually done, the\ncrystalline rocks not stratified, as we conceive them to have been\nformed in another manner, to which we shall hereafter refer. All the\nfour higher series of strata show, in the most evident manner, that\ntheir formation has been due to the action of water; the grauwacke is,\nperhaps, the only rock that exists among them, in which the question\ncould, even on simple inspection of specimens, appear doubtful; but this\nrock lies at the base of the old red sandstone, and upon the limestone\nof the submedial order, or transition, as it is styled by the\nWernerians, and is equally regular in its stratification with either; we\ncannot, therefore, admit any other cause of its formation than what is\ncommon to them.\n\nSome of these strata are obviously mechanical, others chemical deposits;\nthus, the sandstones and conglomerates are certainly the products of the\ndisintegration of older rocks by a violent abrasion of running water,\nand have settled when the currents have ceased to flow; all calcareous\nrocks, except the limestones of the inferior or fifth order, the\nprimitive of Werner, on the other hand, appear to have been products of\nchemical precipitation; while there are a few cases, as in the beds of\nrock salt, where the deposit must have been due to evaporation.\n\nOf all these rocks and formations, the primitive, as has already been\nstated, and the sandstones, are wholly devoid of organic remains. And\neven the last rule is to be received as not wholly free from exception;\nfor vegetable impressions have been found, as we are credibly informed,\nin sandstone, at Nyack on the Hudson, and near Belleville in New-Jersey,\nbesides some other similar cases we shall hereafter note. All the other\nstrata present a greater or less abundance of the traces of the organic\nkingdoms, from the slate, which lies lowest of the fourth order, to the\nmost recent beds of the tertiary, and to so much of the diluvium as has\nbeen examined in the old continent. And although in the isolated case of\nthe diluvium at New-York, no fossil remains have been found, we are yet\nunprepared to admit this as more than an exception, and are inclined to\nthink that the remains of the mastodon, for instance, must be diluvian,\nor pre-diluvian. In this opinion, however, we know that we are opposed\nby high authority, and therefore do not express it without hesitation.\n\n \"Organized fossil remains belong to three different classes:\n the remains that have preserved their natural state, at least\n in part; petrifactions; and impressions.\n\n \"The remains of the first class are principally bones, and even\n entire skeletons, which, after having been stripped of the skin\n and flesh that covered them, have remained, some buried in the\n earth, others hidden in deep caverns. They are, sometimes,\n calcined in whole or in part, without having lost their\n configuration; they at others preserve, not only their texture,\n but even some traces of their hair and skin. They are also\n occasionally seen covered with a calcareous crust.\n\n \"Petrifactions, to use this word in its familiar sense, include\n all stony bodies that have the figure of an organized body.\n There are cases in which a strong solution has penetrated into\n a cavity formed by an organic body that has disappeared. Then\n the strong substance has occupied the cavity that has been left\n empty, and has taken the external form of the body that\n formerly existed there. If this body were, for instance, a\n branch or trunk of a tree, the stone will have at its surface\n its knots and asperities; but within, it will present all the\n characters of a true stone; it will be no more, to use the\n language of Hauy, than the statue of the substance that it has\n replaced.\n\n \"At other times, a vegetable or animal substance, while\n undergoing decomposition in a successive manner, and by obvious\n degrees, is pressed by the petrifying liquid that already\n surrounds it. As soon as an organic particle has disappeared,\n its place is occupied by one of stone.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\n \"Metallized bodies, and those which have been changed into\n bitumen or carbon, belong to this system of formation; thus,\n the turquoises, for instance, are the teeth of a great marine\n animal; a metallic substance has penetrated them, and has\n gradually replaced the softer parts of the bones.\n\n \"Impressions are often found between the plates of slaty rocks;\n they are relievos or intaglios representing the skeletons of\n animals, particularly fish, leaves, seeds, and entire plants,\n of which the most common kind belong to the forus.\"\n\nThe impressions of vegetables are most abundant in the shales that\naccompany coal formations; those of leaves and branches are the most\ncommon, but there are a few instances in which they retain the delicate\nstructure of the flowers. All analogy leads to the inference, that those\nnow found in temperate climates, are of such a character as could only\nexist in tropical regions; and when, as in some of the newer formations,\nthe species are identical with those which now exist, the living type is\nonly found within the torrid zone. A still more curious fact, is their\nidentity in similar formations in different parts of the world. At the\npresent day, the same soil in Pennsylvania and England produces plants\nof very different characters, and those which are native to each are of\nwholly distinct genera and species, while the fossils that accompany the\ncoal in the two countries are precisely similar. But even those brought\nby Parry from the polar region of Melville island, are identical with\nthose of England, and of course with those of this distant part of the\nsame hemisphere in which the former are formed, although the character\nof the climate is so diverse. At the epoch of the coal formation, there\nexisted plants, of genera, which, in temperate climates, at present\nrarely rise to more than a few inches in height, and which were at that\nremote period of enormous size. Thus, the forus must have attained the\nheight of from fifty to sixty feet. At present, the forus assume the\nsize of a tree only in the very warmest climates, and even there, are\nfar inferior in magnitude to those of the coal formation. Now, it is\nwell known, that the large size of the living species is due to great\nand constant heat, and copious moisture. Hence we may fairly infer that\nsimilar circumstances existed even at Melville island, where, at the\npresent time, for the greater part of the year, the thermometer is below\nthe freezing point.\n\nAs further instances of the same kind, we may quote the following facts.\nFaujas St. Fond found, in a marly slate, covered by lava, in France, the\ntree cotton, the liquid amber styrax, the cassia fistula, and other\nplants of tropical regions. The same observer found the fruit of the\narcea palm near Cologne. The elastic bitumen of Derbyshire in England,\nis identical with the caoutchouc, which now grows only in the warmer\nparts of South America; and the amber of Prussia appears to be a fossil\ngum, similar to the Copal.\n\nAmong the more recent in formation of fossil vegetables, are the\nbituminized woods; these are often buried to great depths by diluvian\naction, but are never found in perfect rock. The most remarkable\ninstance of this kind is at Bovey-Heathfield, in England, and beneath is\nfound the retinasphaltum, that seems to be no more than the expressed\nviscorous juice of the trees. Coal is a similar formation, but due to a\nmore ancient period. The mines of Pennsylvania occasionally furnish\nspecimens, in which the fibre of the wood is as distinctly visible as in\nrecently prepared charcoal. However these vast beds may have been\nformed, no doubt whatever can exist in respect to their vegetable\norigin.\n\nAmong animal remains found in the fossil state, shells and zoophytes are\nthe most abundant. They form the principal parts of rocks which often\noccupy considerable districts. They are most frequent in calcareous\nstrata, from the transition limestones to the highest of the marles. A\nremarkable fact is observed in respect to these shells, and the other\nfossils which accompany them; those which are found in the oldest, or\ntransition formations, are more different from those that now exist,\nthan those in the more modern deposits. Thus the transition limestones\nand slates contain terrebratulites, with encrinites, pentacrinites, and\ntrilobites; in those of the submedial and medial series we find\nbelemnites and the cornu ammonis; many of which are extinct genera, and\nsome of which are of families that are no longer found living on our\nglobe, while even where the genus is now to be met with, the species at\nleast has become extinct; while in the latest of the tertiary or\nsuperior formations, we find ostracites, pectinites, buccinites,\nchamites, and many other genera that are still abundant, and even types\nof living species.\n\nBy far the greater part of the animals whose remains are found in the\nolder strata are aquatic, and the vast extents over which they are\ndistributed, show, that the waters must at one time have covered a very\ngreat proportion of what is now dry land. Nor has this change been\nproduced by any gradual subsidence, for we find no coincidence in the\nlevels of those portions of the land that contain similar fossils; some\nfor instance are still lower than the level of the present ocean;\nothers, again, of similar character, rest upon the tops or sides of the\nhighest mountains. In Europe, the tops of the highest of the Pyrenees,\nrising 11000 feet above the level of the sea, are of limestone,\ncontaining numerous fossil remains, while Humboldt found a rock,\nsimilarly characterized, among the Andes, at the height of 14000 feet.\n\nThe ancient philosophers, who, in other departments of physical science,\nwere far behind the moderns, seem in this alone to have pursued a\nprocess of inductive reasoning, which led to results far more accurate\nthan any attained by the moderns, until within a very few years. The\ndogmatism which determined to find in every fossil aquatic remain a\nproof of the particular Noachic deluge, and the timidity of those whose\nresearches had made them better informed, left the world wholly in the\ndark as to the real inferences to be drawn from a study of the structure\nof the earth; but what modern geologist could better express what are\nnow admitted opinions, than the words which the Roman poet puts in the\nmouth of Pythagoras.\n\n \"Vidi ego, quod quondam fuerat solidissima tellus,\n Esse Fretum. Vidi factas ex aequore terras:\n Et procul a pelago conchae jacuere marinae;\n Et vetus inventa est in montibus anchora summis.\n Quodque fuit campus, vallem decursus aquarum\n Fecit: et eluvie mons est deductus in aequor:\n Eque paludosa siccis humus aret arenis;\n Quaeque sitim tulerant, stagnata paludibus hument.\n Hic fontes Natura novos emisit, at illie\n Clausit: et antiquis concussa tremoribus orbis\n Flumina prosiliunt; aut exaecata resident.\"\n\nThe order in which fossil remains are found to succeed each other in the\nsuccessive formations that are to be traced from the oldest rocks to the\ndiluvial deposit, are well illustrated in the words of a late\ndistinguished philosopher, whom we shall quote.\n\n \"In those strata which are deepest, and which must consequently\n be supposed to be the earliest deposited, forms, even of\n vegetable life, are rare; shells and vegetable remains are\n found the next in order; the bones of fishes and oviparous\n reptiles exist in the following class; the remains of birds,\n with those of the same genera mentioned before, in the next\n order; those of quadrupeds of extinct species in a still more\n recent class; and it is only in the loose and slightly\n consolidated strata of gravel and sand, and which are usually\n called diluvial formations, that the remains of animals such as\n now people the globe are found, with others of extinct species.\n But in none of these formations, whether called secondary,\n tertiary, or diluvial, have the remains of man, or any of his\n works, been discovered: and whoever dwells upon this subject,\n must be convinced that the present order of things, and the\n comparatively recent existence of man as the master of the\n globe, are as certain as the destruction of a former and\n different order, and the extinction of a number of living\n forms, which have types in being. In the oldest secondary\n strata there are no remains of such animals as now belong to\n the surface; and in the rocks which may be regarded as most\n recently deposited, these remains occur but rarely, and with\n abundance of distinct species;--there seems, as it were, a\n gradual approach to the present system of things, and a\n succession of destructions and creations preparatory to the\n existence of man.\"\n\nWe have stated that the zoophytes and shell-fish have left the most\nnumerous fossil remains. Those of other families are not however rare.\nFish, for instance, are found in great abundance, near Glarus in\nSwitzerland, in clay slate; in Germany, at Papenheim, in a slaty marle,\nin the cupriferous slate of Eisleben, in the fetid limestone of\nOehningen. They are also found in Egypt, and we have specimens of the\nsame sort from Lyria, in a limestone apparently belonging to the oolitic\nor Jura formation. China and the coast of Coromandel have also fossils\nof this sort, but by far the greatest quantity have been procured from\nMount Bolea, near Verona. A splendid suite from the last locality are to\nbe seen in the Gibbs' Cabinet at New-Haven. Besides the impressions of\nentire fish, separate portions are very abundant, and perhaps the most\nfrequent of these are the teeth of sharks, which are sometimes of a\nmagnitude vastly greater than those of any living species. Animals of\nthe class of amphibia appear not to have existed until after the aera\nthat gave birth to fish. The oldest are probably the tortoises, of which\na specimen has been found in sandstone near Berlingen. They have also\nbeen found in England, in the Netherlands near Brussels, at Aix in\nProvence, and in the quarries near Paris. The most remarkable fossils of\nthis class belong, however, to the lizard family. Of these the most\nremarkable are the plesiosaurus, the megalosaurus, the iguanodon, and\nthe crocodile of Maestricht, all belonging to extinct species.\n\nThe marine animals that are met with in a fossil state, are in great\npart foreign to the climates in which they are found buried. It has been\nshown that the fish of Bolea have their nearest living prototypes in the\nseas of Otaheite. The perpites of Gothland have been supposed to be\npetrifactions of the medusae of India. The madrepores, so abundant in\nRussia and in the frozen deserts of Siberia, only live now in seas\nwithin the tropics. Shells analogous to a great part of those found\nfossil in England, are only to be seen in the Atlantic, in a living\nstate, on the coasts of Florida and Cuba. A shell-formed fossil at Havre\nis only to be met with recent at Amboyna.\n\nOf the shells found in Italy, fossil in the sub Appenine hills, many are\ncommon to the Mediterranean and the Indian oceans. But while those in\nthe fossil slate and the recent specimens from the tropics correspond in\nsize, individuals of the same species from the Mediterranean are\ndwarfish and degenerate.\n\nThus then the remains of aquatic and amphibious animals appear to\nconfirm the conclusion drawn from vegetable fossils, that a climate of\ntemperature as elevated as that now found in the tropics, once extended\ninto high northern latitudes. It has been seen that the fossil remains\nand impressions of shells have been found at great heights upon the\nsides, and even upon the tops of mountains; and that in the older of the\nstrata no trace is to be found of any but aquatic animals. Thus before\nour existing mountains and the minerals they contain had arisen above\nthe general surface; before diluvial and alluvial deposits, or even the\ngreat formations of sandstone and conglomerate had arisen from their\ndisintegration, the globe was covered, in a great degree, and as it\nappears from considerations we have not space to enter into, by various\nsuccessive eruptions, with waters, sometimes fresh, sometimes saline.\nThese waters have, it could be readily made to appear, often rested long\non the surface in a quiet state, after having been in violent agitation;\nand long ages of tranquillity have been succeeded and closed by\nconvulsions of the most violent character.\n\nIn all the regularly stratified formations, animals of the mammiferous\nor cetaceous classes are wholly wanting; at least we have no proof that\ncan be relied upon of any having been found in formations which took\nplace prior to the last great deluge, that covered so much of the land\nwith diluvium. In this last formation, however, they are often found in\ngreat abundance. Some of them are of recent, others of extinct species.\nAmong the most remarkable of the latter are, the palaeotherium, and\nanoplotherium, found near Paris; the megalonyx, an animal of the sloth\ngenus, but of the size of an ox, found in Virginia; a still larger\nsloth, called the megatherium, found near Buenos Ayres; the fossil\nelephant, as different from the living elephants of India or Africa, as\nthe horse is from the ass, and which has been found in Europe, in Asia,\nand in America. The mastodon, of which several species have been\ndiscovered on the banks of the Hudson, in Kentucky, in Louisiana, in the\nplains of Quito, in France, and finally on the borders of the Irrawaddy.\n\nThe bones of rhinoceroses, bears, elephants, and hyaenas, have been found\nmixed in confusion in caverns; and it has been shown by Buckland that\nthe latter animal had inhabited these caverns, and drawn thither the\ncarcasses of the others as his prey, in one of the most perfect\ninductive arguments which has been produced, since Bacon propounded the\nrules of that species of reasoning.\n\n \"The moveable earths that fill the bottoms of valleys, and\n which cover the surface of great plains, have furnished us in\n the above two orders, of pachidermata and elephants, the bones\n of twelve species, to wit: one rhinoceros, two hippopotami, two\n tapirs, an elephant, and six mastodons. All these twelve\n species are now absolutely extinct in the climates in which\n their bones are found. The mastodons alone may be considered as\n forming a separate genus, now unknown, but closely approaching\n to the elephant. All the others belong to genera now existing\n in the torrid zone. Three of these living genera are now found\n only in the ancient continent, to wit: the rhinoceros, the\n hippopotami, and the elephant; the fourth, that of the tapirs,\n only exist in the new. The distribution of the fossil species\n is different; the tapirs have been found only upon the old\n continent, while elephants have been discovered in the new.\"\n\nThe fossil species, although belonging to known and existing _genera_,\nare essentially different in _species_ from those which now live upon\nthe earth. The former are not mere varieties, but have marked specific\ndifferences. This at least is beyond all doubt in respect to the\nsmaller of the hippopotami, and the gigantic tapir, as well as the\nfossil rhinoceros, and is extremely probable in respect to the elephant\nand the smaller tapir. If there be any question of the fact, it is only\nin respect to the greater hippopotamus.\n\n \"These different bones are buried in all different places in\n beds that resemble each other. They are often mixed\n indiscriminately with those of other animals, identical with\n those which exist at present. These beds are generally\n moveable, sandy, or marly, and always within a short distance\n of the surface. It is therefore probable that these bones have\n been enveloped by the last catastrophe of the globe. In a great\n number of places, they are accompanied by the accumulated\n spoils of marine animals; in other places, but these are less\n numerous, the remains of marine animals are not found, and\n sometimes the sand or marle that covers them contains only\n fresh-water shells. Although a small number of shells attached\n to fossil bones indicate that, they have remained some time\n under water, yet is there no authentic account of their having\n been found covered with regular stony beds, filled with marine\n remains, nor, in consequence, is there any proof of the sea\n having made a long and peaceable stay above them.\n\n \"The catastrophe that has covered them, would appear then to\n have been a great marine inundation, of no long duration, were\n it not that they are found upon the tops of high mountains,\n whither the waters of our present ocean could never have\n reached in their most violent agitations. On the other hand,\n these bones presenting no appearance of having been rolled,\n being occasionally only fractured, as the remains of our\n present domestic animals may occasionally be, and being\n sometimes found in entire skeletons, and accumulated as if in a\n common cemetery, demonstrate that the living beings to which\n they have belonged, must have met their fate in the very parts\n of the globe in which we now find the fossil monuments of their\n existence.\"\n\nAll the animals of which we have particularly spoken, are of genera now\nonly found in the torrid zone, and the abundance of food which their\ngreat size would have caused them to require, renders their existence in\nnumbers only possible in a warm climate. Their remains are, however,\nfound in almost polar regions, whence we obtain a third link in the\nchain of evidence, that before the last great catastrophe to which the\nglobe was subjected, its surface must have been warmer than at present.\n\nWe have seen in a former place, that such a change of temperature may\nhave gradually occurred in consequence of a cooling of the external\nsurface of the globe by an excess of its radiation above the quantity of\nheat received from the sun. The final cooling of its solid crust, down\nto the mean temperature at which we now find it, might, as is obvious,\nhave been effected by a great irruption of waters, like that of which we\nhave distinct evidence in the diluvial deposits, and the animal remains\nupon its surface. From that time, a state of equilibrium in the action\nof solar and terrestrial radiation having been attained, while the mean\ntemperature still continues to depend upon the internal structure and\nnature of the globe, the distribution of heat upon the surface, and the\nvicissitudes of the seasons, have been solely influenced by the varying\nrelation between these two radiations, which if equal to each other in\ntheir total amounts, differ in every different latitude, for every\nsuccessive day in the year, and during each varying hour of the day.\n\nIt has been attempted to explain this change that has unquestionably\ntaken place in the temperature of climate, by conceiving a change in the\nsituation of the earth's axis. This hypothesis, however, is shown to be\nuntenable by the calculations of physical astronomy: no other cause then\nremains but an actual change in the condition of the earth itself.\n\nThe most remarkable of all the phenomena which the earth presents, are\nthe great changes of weight that have taken place in identical\nformations which must have arisen from the prevalence of water, and\ntherefore nearly if not exactly upon the same level. The primitive or\nlowest stratified rocks, probably had not water for their cause; still,\nhowever, they must have been in the fluid state, and these are not only\nfound beneath all other rocks, and in the lowest places to which the\nindustry of man has penetrated, but they also rise and form the greatest\npart in bulk of many of the highest mountains; indeed, if we except\nvolcanic mountains, of all the more elevated masses. The transition and\nsecondary formations are subject to similar although less changes of\nlevel, rising, as has been seen, to the tops of the Pyrenees, and to\neven a greater height on the sides of the Andes. The tertiary or\nsuperior formations are found in Italy and Sicily, forming mountains\nseveral thousand feet in height, while the latest of all, the diluvial\nwith its embedded mammalia, exists in the lofty table land of Quito. The\ninference is irresistible, that we do not now find these deposits at the\nlevels where they were left by the ocean, as in the case of the\nprimitive rocks by their own crystallization from a fluid state, but\nthat they have been altered in their positions by actions of a character\ntotally distinct from that by which they were originally formed.\n\nThis inference is still further confirmed by the great and sudden\nchanges of level that are frequently to be seen in similar strata,\nfaults, as they are styled by miners, in which the same bed has its\nlevel sometimes changed hundreds, nay even thousands of feet. These\nfaults, if in greatest abundance in the more ancient rocks, are to be\nfound even in the newest, and sometimes affect several formations\nincumbent on each other, of ages the most different. Thus, then, we have\ndistinct and conclusive evidence, that as we inferred from theory, the\nsolid crust of the globe has been shattered and fractured repeatedly,\nand at all the different epochs of its history. This fracturing and\ncracking we have shown, must, in conformity with strict mechanical laws,\nhave been attended with the rise of the molten liquid from beneath,\nwhich ought in some cases to have formed veins and s, in the places\nwhere the fractures occurred. It is however possible, that the rise of\nthe fluid from beneath, may not have taken place where the pressure\noccurred; but it would then have been compelled by hydrostatic pressure,\nto issue at some other point, breaking and tearing the weaker parts of\nthe solid crust, in order to afford itself a vent.\n\nThe latter class of phenomena are still in action, and we have evident\ntraces of their occurrence in all the different stages of the world's\nexistence; of the former it will also be seen there is conclusive\nevidence.\n\nThe visible effects of a subterranean heat, are most frequently met with\nat the present day in the form of volcanoes. Of these, there are not\nonly a great number in activity, but there are still more that have been\ncertainly active since the last great change that the surface of the\nearth has undergone.\n\nThat part of the great group of mountains which we have before\ndescribed, which lies in the new continent, contains many active\nvolcanoes, and others but recently extinct. Terra del Fuego, as its very\nname imports, is the seat of many; Chili has several; in Peru are to be\nnoted Arequipa, Pichinca, and Cotapaxi; while Chimborazo is obviously\none that has become extinct at a period not remote. Passing the Isthmus\nof Panama, we find the volcanoes of Guatimala and Nicaragua almost\ninfinite in number. In Mexico, are Orezaba, Popocatepetl, and Jorullo;\nthe last of which first rose from beneath the surface in 1759.\nCalifornia has five active volcanoes; and we know, from the observations\nof La Perouse and Cook, that they also exist along the north-western\ncoast of America. Mount St. Elias, in particular, was seen in a state of\neruption. These mountains connect those of Mexico with the volcanoes of\nthe Aleutian islands and of the peninsula of Alaska, which continue the\nsystem towards Kamtschatka, in which peninsula there are three of great\nviolence. We have seen some proofs, that there are active volcanoes to\nthe north-west of China, but none now exist in Thibet; and the action\nthat once took place there has sought new vents, in regions more near to\nthe present bed of the ocean. Thus, Japan has eight volcanoes, Formosa\nseveral, and, in proceeding to the south, the land of volcanic action\nwidens, and becomes of immense extent. It embraces the Philippine,\nMarian, and Molucca islands, Java, Sumatra, Queen Charlotte's islands,\nand the New-Hebrides. The active volcanoes of Europe and western Asia\nare few in number; but those that are extinct form a great system, in\nwhich the active ones are included, and which seems to spread in the\nform of a belt, from the Caspian sea to the Atlantic. Volcanic action\nstill occurs on the shores of the Caspian. In the chain of Elburg is a\nlofty mountain that still emits smoke, and around whose base are several\ndistinct craters. Syria and Palestine abound in volcanic appearances, of\nwhich the great crater that has swallowed up the waters of the Jordan,\nand forms the Dead sea, is the most remarkable. Greece and the Grecian\nArchipelago have been, almost within historic times, the seat of a\nvolcanic action, of great extent and violence, and which has not wholly\nexhausted itself. In Sicily, AEtna has burnt for 3300 years, and is yet\nsurrounded by extinct craters of more ancient date. The Lipari islands\nare wholly volcanic. Vesuvius, that had long before intermitted its\neruptions, and broke forth again in the great one that destroyed\nHerculaneum and Pompeii, is not the only volcanic mountain of Naples. An\nextinct one of much greater size is to be found near Roccafina. The\ncatacombs of Rome are excavated in lava, and Tuscany contains strong\nevidences of volcanic action. Volcanic indications can be traced near\nPadua, Verona, and Vicenza, extending into Dalmatia. A district of\nHungary was suspected of containing the seeds of subterranean fire, and\nthe suspicion has been confirmed by an actual eruption. Germany and\nBohemia contain a great number of extinct volcanoes, as does the south\nof France, and particularly Auvergne. In Spain, too, the proofs of a\nvolcanic agency are clear and decisive.\n\nGreenland and Iceland present a third group of volcanoes; in the latter\nisland, a single volcano was in a state of continuous eruption for five\nor six years. The Azores, the Canaries and Madeiras, also contain\nnumerous volcanoes, both active and extinct, as do the Caribbean\nislands.\n\nIn comparing together volcanoes that are in present activity, and others\nin which the crater and the streams of emitted lava are too distinct to\npermit a doubt of their having arisen from the same cause, differences\nare observed that only have arisen from great differences in the\ncircumstances under which the eruption has taken place. In many of the\nancient volcanoes, we find the emitted streams are arranged in prismatic\nforms, constituting basalt, and frequently passing into what under other\ncircumstances would be styled _trap_ by the Wernerians. Now, we know\nthat when streams of lava enter the sea, they spontaneously assume the\nprismatic structure. Hence we may infer, that these ancient volcanoes\noriginally gave vent to their craters beneath the level of the sea, at a\ntime when the rocks through which they penetrated, and over which their\nstreams have passed, were beds of the primitive ocean. The trap rocks\nthemselves may have been formed in a similar manner, by upward pressure\nof the igneous fluid beneath, through the veins and fissures formed on\nthe breaking of the solid crust. Trap traverses, in s of unknown\ndepth, many formations, and is occasionally seen forming beds between\nsuccessive strata. It frequently occurs in faults, and sometimes in\nextensive overlying masses. Close observation, and a just course of\nanalogy, lead to the irresistible conclusion, that all the trap rocks,\nhowever situated or arranged, grow out of the same great cause, the\nrising of the liquid interior of the earth to its surface. An action\nsometimes taking place through veins and fissures in the solid crust,\nand sometimes by the eruption of volcanoes, both occurring during the\npressure of water upon the surface. One of the most extensive groups of\ntrap-rocks is to be seen in the north-eastern part of the state of\nNew-Jersey. The Hudson is bordered for nearly forty miles by a great\nridge of columnar rock, lying upon sandstone. When this is surveyed with\nan eye to its analogy to volcanic action, it appears as if it were the\noutpourings of a crater, whose basin is now occupied by the lake in\nwhich the Hackensack river takes its rise, and whence a great stream of\nlava has run over the sandstone rock, as far as the strait that\nseparates Staten Island from the main land. The two Newark mountains are\nridges of the same description, of even greater extent; other smaller\nridges of the same kind are also distinctly visible, and the whole of\nthis last system appears to have proceeded from a crater now filled by\nthe alluvion of the Passaic, but which is bordered by a ridge still\noccupying two-thirds of a circle, and showing conclusive marks of\nigneous action, that goes by the name of the Hook mountain. The\nphenomenon of a of trap is well exhibited in the quarries near\nHartford in Connecticut, where this rock has been laid bare for a\nconsiderable depth, as it rises through a sandstone rock, instead of\noverlying it, as it is seen to do on the Hudson.\n\nThe trap-rocks, which are, generally speaking, of the character called\nby mineralogists greenstone, vary in this district of New-Jersey, from a\ncompact basalt of homogeneous structure, to one of regular and distinct\ncrystallization, not distinguishable in hand specimens from primitive\nsyenite. A rock of this last character is to be found in the mountain\nthat extends from Morristown to Mount Kemble, which is columnar in its\nstructure, but almost identical, in mere external characters, with\nstratified rocks of gneiss containing hornblende, that are found in the\nprimitive ridges within a few miles.\n\nThus then the older volcanic rocks gradually pass in character into\nthose which, under the general name of granitic, form the apparent\nnucleus of gneiss and mica slate mountains, and penetrate them, and the\nprimitive limestones, in veins. One of the best instances of veins of\ngranite with which we are acquainted, are those which occur in the\nquarries of white marble at Kingsbridge, which are traversed in every\ndirection by thin veins of a rock, principally composed of a white fetid\nfelspar, mixed with spangles of silvery mica, and small grains of\nquartz, interspersed with occasional masses of tourmaline. The famous\nlocality of chrysoberyl, beryl, and other interesting minerals, at\nHaddam, in Connecticut, is said to occur in a granitic vein passing\nthrough strata of gneiss.\n\nIn all these cases we cannot fail to see evidence of igneous eruptions,\ntaking place, however, under circumstances widely different from those\nof our present terrestrial volcanoes, or of the submarine craters of\nmore remote dates, but which can be readily explained by supposing,\neither that the penetration took place when the surface of the earth was\nso intensely heated as to admit of the injected veins being slowly\ncooled, and therefore more perfectly crystallized; or that the issuing\nmass was so great as to retain its heat for a great length of time.\n\nIt might at first sight appear difficult to explain how volcanic\nenergies should still continue in activity, now that the mean\ntemperature of the earth has become constant, and the outer crust can be\nno longer subject to the shrinking, and consequent cracking which it\nmust have undergone while cooling. The phenomena that attend volcanic\neruptions furnish a full explanation of this, for they are attended in\nalmost all cases with the evolution of great quantities of gaseous\nmatters, and steam, which must therefore exist in a state of intense\ncompression, and at elevated temperatures, in the mass whence the\nvolcanic flood issues. Their elastic energies are sufficient to account\nfor all the striking effects that attend the action of volcanoes.\n\nThe earthquake is a phenomenon connected with volcanic eruptions, and\narising from the same great cause; but while the latter are confined to\ncertain mountains, and restricted within narrow limits at the present\nday, an earthquake is sometimes found to prevail over a very large\nportion of the earth's surface. To omit the more usual phenomena of\nearthquakes, we shall speak of but one, which has in some cases been\nobserved, that throws a great light upon the manner in which the\nstratified rocks have had their levels changed, and been dislocated and\ndistorted in the manner we now find them. We allude to the sudden\nraising of countries of greater or less extent. Of this we shall quote\nthree several instances from a paper of Arago's.\n\n \"During the night of the 28th September 1759, a district of\n three or four square miles, situated in the Intendency of\n Valladolid, in Mexico, was raised up, like an inflated bladder.\n The limits where the elevation ceased may still be determined\n at the present day, by the fracture of the strata. At these\n limits the elevation of the ground above its primitive level,\n or that of the surrounding plain, is no more than thirty-seven\n feet; but towards the centre of the lifted district, the total\n elevation is not less than five hundred feet.\n\n \"This phenomenon had been preceded by earthquakes that lasted\n nearly two months; but when the catastrophe occurred, all\n seemed tranquil; it was announced only by a horrible\n subterranean noise, that took place at the moment when the\n ground was lifted. Thousands of little cones, of from six to\n ten feet in height, called by the natives ovens, arose in every\n direction; finally six great projections were suddenly formed\n along a great crevice lying in a north-east and south-west\n direction, all of which were elevated from 1200 to 1600 feet\n above the adjacent plains. The greatest of these small\n mountains has become a true volcano, that of _Jorullo_, and\n vomits forth lava.\n\n \"It will be seen that the most evident and well characterized\n volcanic phenomena accompanied the catastrophe of Jorullo; that\n they were perhaps its cause; but this did not prevent an\n extensive plain, old and well consolidated, upon which the\n sugar-cane and indigo were cultivated, from being, in our own\n days, suddenly raised far above its primitive level. The escape\n of inflamed matter, the formation of the ovens and of the\n volcano of Jorullo, far from having contributed to produce this\n effect, must on the contrary have lessened it; for all these\n openings must have acted like safety valves, and permitted the\n elevating cause to have dissipated itself, whether it were a\n gas or a vapour. If the ground had opposed a greater\n resistance; if it had not given way in so many points, the\n plain of Jorullo, instead of becoming a simple hill five\n hundred feet in height, might have acquired the relief of the\n neighbouring summits of the Cordilleras.\n\n \"The circumstances that attended the formation of a new island\n near Santorin, in the Greek Archipelago, seem to me also well\n fitted to prove that subterranean fires not only contribute to\n elevate mountains by the aid of ejections furnished by the\n craters of volcanoes, but that they also sometimes lift the\n already consolidated crust of the globe.\n\n \"On the 18th and 22d May 1707, there were slight shocks of an\n earthquake at Santorin.\n\n \"On the 23d, at sun-rise, there was seen between the great and\n little Rameni (two small islands) an object that was taken for\n the hull of a shipwrecked vessel. Some sailors proceeded to the\n spot, and on their return reported, to the great surprise of\n the whole population, that it was a rock that had risen from\n the waves. In this spot the sea had formerly a depth of from\n 400 to 500 feet.\n\n \"On the 24th, many persons visited the new island, and\n collected upon its surface large oysters that had not ceased to\n adhere to the rock. The island was seen sensibly to increase in\n size.\n\n \"From the 23d May until the 13th or 14th June, the island\n gradually increased in extent and elevation, without agitation\n and without noise. On the 13th June it might be about half a\n mile in circuit, and from 20 to 25 feet in height. Neither\n flame nor smoke had issued from it.\n\n \"From the first appearance of the island, the water near its\n shores had been troubled; on the 15th June it became almost\n boiling.\n\n \"On the 16th, seventeen or eighteen black rocks rose from the\n sea between the new island and the little Rameni.\n\n \"On the 17th they had considerably increased in height.\n\n \"On the 18th smoke arose from them, and great subterranean\n noises were heard for the first time.\n\n \"On the 19th all the black rocks had united and formed a\n continuous island, totally distinct from the first; flames,\n columns of ashes, and red-hot stones arose from it.\n\n \"The volcanic phenomena still continued on the 23d May 1708.\n The black island, a year after its appearance, was five miles\n in circuit, a mile in breadth, and more than 200 feet in\n height.\n\n \"On the 19th November 1822, at a quarter past ten in the\n evening, the cities of Valparaiso, Melipilla, Quillota, and\n Casa Blanca, in Chili, were destroyed by a terrible earthquake\n that lasted three minutes. The following day several observers\n discovered that the coast, for an extent of thirty leagues, had\n been visibly elevated, for upon a coast where the tide never\n rises higher than five or six feet, any rise in the land is\n easily detected.\n\n \"At Valparaiso, near the mouth of the Coucon, and to the north\n of Quintero, rocks were seen in the sea, near the bank, that no\n person had before perceived. A vessel that had been stranded on\n the coast, and whose wreck had been visited by the curious, in\n boats, at low water, was left, after the earthquake, perfectly\n dry. In traversing the shore of the sea, for a considerable\n distance near Quintero, Lord Cochran, and Mrs. Maria Graham,\n found that the water, even at high tide, did not reach rocks,\n on which oysters, muscles, and shells still adhered, the\n animals inhabiting which, recently dead, were in a state of\n putrefaction. Finally the whole banks of the lake of Quintero,\n which communicates with the sea, had evidently mounted\n considerably above the level of the water, and in this locality\n the fact could not escape the least attentive observers.\n\n \"At Valparaiso the country appeared to be raised about three\n feet, near Quintero about four. It has been pretended, that at\n a distance of a mile inland, the rise had been more than six\n feet; but I do not know the particulars of the measures that\n led to this last inference.\n\n \"In this case there was no volcanic eruption, no lava poured\n forth, no stones or ashes projected, into the atmosphere, and\n unless it be maintained that the level of the ocean have\n fallen, it must be admitted that the earthquake of 19th.\n November 1822, has raised the whole of Chili. Now the last\n consequence is inevitable, for a change of level in the ocean\n would have manifested itself equally along the whole extent of\n the coast of America, while nothing of the kind was observed in\n the ports of Peru, such as Paytu and Callao.\n\n \"If this discussion had not already carried us so far, the\n preceding observations, from which it results, that in a few\n hours, and by the effect of a few shocks of an earthquake, an\n immense extent of country rose above its former level, might\n have been compared with those which show, that there exists in\n Europe, a great country (Sweden and Norway) whose level is also\n rising, but in a gradual manner, and by a cause that acts\n unceasingly, but which cause is unknown.\"\n\nThus, then, to whatever portion of the earth's surface we turn our eyes,\nwe find the proofs of igneous action; our existing volcanoes, protruding\nthemselves through the newer stratified formations, and even the\ndiluvium, being in some cases more recent in their origin than the last\ngreat catastrophe to which the earth has been subjected; those of more\nancient date forcing their way through the upper and lower secondary and\ntransition formations, which are also cut and intersected by s of\ntrap, while granite from the size of mountain masses down to their\nveins, has upheaved and penetrated the oldest stratified rocks. We also\nfind great extents of country rising, sometimes gradually, sometimes\nsuddenly, above their former level.\n\nMountains, then, are not the nucleus on which our continents and islands\nhave been deposited, but are of subsequent origin, and have in their\nrise elevated the land to such a height as to be no longer accessible to\nthe waters of the ocean. We may, even by examining through what strata\nthe mountains have been raised, or those which compose their sides and\ncrests when the elevating agent has not pierced through to the surface,\ninfer the geological age which gave them birth. A research of this sort\nhas been recently attempted and conducted with great ability by M. E. De\nBeaumont.\n\nWe shall quote an abstract of his reasoning from the \"_Annuaire,\"_ for\n1830, in the words of Arago, which will also serve to illustrate various\nother points upon which we have touched.\n\n \"Among the formations of so many different kinds that form the\n crust of our globe, there is a class which has been called\n sedimentary (_terrains de sediment_). Those formations to which\n this name is properly applied, are composed wholly, or in part,\n of _detritus_, carried by water like the mud of our rivers, or\n the sands of the beaches of the sea. These sands, in a state\n of greater or less division, and agglutinated by siliceous or\n calcareous cements, form the rocks called sandstones.\n\n \"Certain calcareous formations may also be reckoned in the same\n class, even when they are wholly soluble, as is however rare,\n in nitric acid; for the fragments of shells which they contain,\n show, in another and perhaps better manner, that their\n formation has also taken place in the bosom of the waters.\n\n \"Sedimentary formations are always composed of successive\n layers, that are very distinctly marked. The more recent of\n them may be arranged into four great divisions, which, in the\n order of their antiquity, are\n\n \"The oolitic series or limestone of Jura;\n\n \"The system of greensand and chalk;\n\n \"The tertiary series; and finally\n\n \"The diluvian deposits.\n\n \"Although all these formations have been deposited by water,\n and although they may all be found in the same locality lying\n upon each other, the passage from the one to the other is never\n made by insensible gradations. A sudden and marked change is\n always to be perceived in the physical nature of the deposit,\n and in that of the organized beings whose remains are found in\n it. Thus it is evident, that between the epoch at which the\n limestone of Jura was deposited, and that of the precipitation\n of the system of greensand and chalk which covers it, there has\n been upon the surface of the globe a complete change in the\n state of things. The same may be said of the epoch that\n separates the precipitation of the chalk from that of the\n tertiary formations; as it is also evident that in every place\n the state or nature of the liquid, whence the earths were\n precipitated, must have changed completely between the time of\n the formation of the tertiary strata, and that of the diluvium.\n\n \"These considerable variations, sudden, and not gradual, in the\n nature of the successive deposits formed by the waters, are\n considered by geologists as the effects of what they call '_The\n Revolutions of the Globe_.' And even although it is very\n difficult to say exactly in what these revolutions consisted,\n their occurrence is not the less certain on that account.\n\n \"I have spoken of the chronological order in which these\n different sedimentary strata have been deposited: I must\n therefore state that this order has been determined by\n following, without interruption, each different formation, to\n those regions in which it could be ascertained beyond question,\n and over a great horizontal space, that some particular layer\n was above some other. Natural excavations, such as the cliffs\n that border the sea, common wells, and Artesian fountains, with\n the excavation of canals, have furnished powerful aid in this\n inquiry.\n\n \"I have already remarked, that all these sedimentary formations\n are stratified. In level countries, as might be expected, the\n disposition of the layers is nearly horizontal. In approaching\n mountainous countries, this horizontality, generally speaking,\n ceases; finally, on the sides of mountains, some of these\n layers are very much inclined; they even sometimes attain a\n vertical direction.\n\n \"May not the inclined deposits that we see upon the s of\n mountains, have been deposited in inclined or vertical\n positions? Or is it not more natural to suppose, that they\n originally formed horizontal beds, like the contemporaneous\n beds of the same nature with which the plains are covered, and\n that they have been lifted up and assumed new directions at the\n moment of the elevation of the mountains on whose sides they\n rest?\n\n \"As a general principle, it does not appear impossible that the\n crests of mountains may have been incrusted _in place_, and in\n their actual position, by sedimentary deposits, since we daily\n see the vertical sides of vessels, in which waters charged with\n sulphate of lime evaporate, covered with a saline crust, whose\n thickness is continually augmented; but the question before us\n does not present this general aspect, for it is merely required\n to determine whether the _known_ sedimentary formations can\n have been thus deposited. To this question we must reply in the\n negative, as can be shown by two species of considerations,\n wholly different from each other.\n\n \"Incontestable geological observations have shown, that the\n calcareous layers which constitute the summits of Buet in\n Savoy, and Mount Perden in the Pyrenees, elevated 11,000 or\n 12,000 feet above the level of the sea, have been formed at the\n same time with the chalk of the cliffs that border the British\n channel. If the mass of water whence these strata were\n precipitated had risen 11,000 or 12,000 feet, the whole of\n France would have been covered, and analogous deposits must\n have existed upon all heights not exceeding 9,000 or 10,000\n feet; now, it is found, on the contrary, that in the north of\n France, where these deposits appear to have undergone little\n change, the chalk never reaches a height of more than 600 feet\n above the level of the present sea. They present precisely the\n disposition of a deposit formed in a basin filled with a liquid\n whose level has never reached any points that are at the\n present day elevated more than 600 feet.\n\n \"I pass to the second proof, borrowed from Saussure, and which\n appears even more convincing.\n\n \"Sedimentary formations often contain pebbles rounded by\n attrition, and of a figure more or less elliptical. In the\n places where the stratification is horizontal, the longer axes\n of these pebbles are all horizontal, for the same reason that\n an egg cannot stand upon its point. But where the strata are\n inclined at an angle of 45 deg., the greater axes of many of these\n pebbles form this same angle with the horizon; and when the\n layers become vertical, the greater axes of many of the pebbles\n become vertical also.\n\n \"This observation, in respect to the position of the axes of\n the pebbles, _demonstrates,_ that the sedimentary formations\n have not been deposited in the position they now occupy; they\n have been raised in a greater or less degree, when the\n mountains, whose sides they cover, have arisen from the bosom\n of the earth.\n\n \"This being proved, it is evident that these sedimentary\n formations, whose strata present themselves upon the s of\n mountains, in inclined or vertical directions, existed before\n these mountains arose. The formations of the same class that\n are prolonged horizontally, until they meet the same s,\n must be on the contrary of a date posterior to the formation of\n the mountain; for it cannot be conceived, that, in rising from\n the mass of the earth, it should not have elevated at the same\n time all previously existing strata.\n\n \"Let us introduce proper names into the general and simple\n theory which we have developed, and the discovery of M. de\n Beaumont will be announced.\n\n \"Of the four species of sedimentary formations that we have\n distinguished, three, and these are the uppermost, the nearest\n to the surface of the globe, or the most modern, extend in\n horizontal layers, from the Cote d'Or and from Forez, to the\n mountains of Saxony; and only one, which is the oolite or\n limestone of Jura, shows itself elevated within this district.\n\n \"Therefore the Hartz, the Cote d'Or, and Mount Pilus of Forez,\n have risen from the globe since the formation of the Jura\n oolite, and before the deposit of the three other formations.\n\n \"On the s of the Pyrenees and Appennines, two of the\n formations are raised up, namely, the oolite and the greensand\n and chalk; the tertiary formations, and the diluvium that\n covers them, have preserved their primitive horizontality. The\n Pyrenees and Appennines are, therefore, more modern than the\n limestone of Jura, and the greensand which they have raised,\n and more ancient than the tertiary strata and the diluvium.\n\n \"The western Alps, and among them Mount Blanc, have, like the\n Pyrenees, raised the limestone of Jura, and the greensand, but,\n in addition, they have also raised the tertiary formations; the\n diluvium is alone horizontal in the vicinity of these\n mountains.\n\n \"The date of the elevation of Mount Blanc must, therefore,\n inevitably be placed between the epoch of the formation of the\n tertiary strata and the diluvium.\n\n \"Finally, upon the sides of the central Alps, (Mount St.\n Gothard,) and of the mountains of Ventorix and Liberon, near\n Avignon, no one of the sedimentary formations is horizontal;\n all the four have been raised up. When these mountains arose,\n the diluvium itself must have already been deposited.\"\n\n \"The sedimentary formations appear, from their nature, and the\n regular disposition of their layers, to have been deposited in\n times of tranquillity. Each of these formations being\n characterized by a particular system of organized beings, both\n vegetable and animal, it is indispensable to suppose, that\n between the epochs of tranquillity, corresponding to the\n precipitation of two of these overlying formations, there must\n have been a great physical revolution upon the globe. We now\n know that these revolutions have consisted in, or at least been\n characterized by, the raising of a system of mountains. The two\n first liftings-up pointed out by M. de Beaumont, not being by\n any means the greatest of the four he has succeeded in\n classing, it will be seen that we cannot infer that the globe,\n in growing older, becomes less fit to experience this species\n of catastrophe, and that the present period of tranquillity may\n not be terminated like those that have preceded it, by the\n elevation of some immense mountain chain.\"\n\nM. de Beaumont next attempted, by a fancied arrangement of zones and\nparallels to great circles, to classify the mountains he had not an\nopportunity of examining, with those in respect to which he had obtained\nthe above satisfactory conclusions. We fear, however, that he has\nproceeded to theorize too speedily, and before he had obtained a\nsufficient number of facts. We are certain, that in respect to the great\nAlleghany group of the United States, which he classes with the Pyrenees\nand Appennines, he must be mistaken, for no formations later than the\ntransition limestone are to be found in their vicinity. In respect to\nthe highlands of the state of New-York, and their branch of primitive\nrocks, which extends along the Hudson to the island of New-York, the\nsandstone of New-Jersey appears to continue horizontally until it\nreaches their bases, and no rocks appear to have been raised on the\nsouth-eastern side of the highlands, which are the easternmost of the\nfive parallel ridges of the Alleghanies, older than the slate; but on\ntheir north-western side the transition limestone appears to have been\nraised. They therefore are older than any mountains examined by M. de\nBeaumont, and were we to hazard a conjecture, we should class them with\nthe Grampians of Scotland, and the mountains of Wales, in both of which\nslate is the only rock of the transition series that appears to have\nbeen elevated.\n\nTo complete our subject, it would be necessary that we should enter into\na discussion of the manner in which the ocean is now acting, by its\ncurrents and tides, to distribute and deposit in its bed the sediment\nwhich rivers and streams are constantly hurrying into it; and that we\nshould form some estimate, from what occurs within our reach, of the\neffects produced in these deposits by the vast number of organized\nbeings that must people them, the deposits of vegetable matter, and the\nexuviae, of animals. Such discussion would, however, be in a considerable\ndegree purely conjectural, and we therefore shall not enter into it. It\nis sufficient to say, that formations analogous to those which the\nelevation of the continents has exposed to our view, must be now taking\nplace in the bed of the ocean, whence they may be in their turn raised,\nto task the ingenuity of future races of reasoning beings.\n\n * * * * *\n\nInquiries into the history of the changes which our earth has undergone,\nas they lead with infallible evidence to the proof of an existence of\nthis globe at a period almost infinitely more remote than that at which\nman became its inhabitant, have been stigmatized as impious. The\nintolerant theologian, adhering with pertinacity to his own system of\ninterpretation, fulminates anathemas against all who find in natural\nappearances convincing evidence, that the earth was not suddenly and by\na single fiat called into existence in the exact, state in which we now\nfind it. Timid geologists have bent to the storm, and have endeavoured\nto reconcile natural appearances with the arbitrary interpretations that\nhave been deduced from scripture. But neither is the inquiry itself less\nholy than any of those which consider natural phenomena, exhibiting in\ntheir progress convincing proofs of infinite wisdom and power in the\nCreator, justifying the ways of God to man; nor is any one of the\nresults of the inquiry in the slightest degree opposed to the texts of\nthe sacred volume. The impiety rests with the interpreter, and not with\nthe physical inquirer. The former unwisely links to his spiritual belief\nan interpretation at variance with natural appearances; and the latter,\nif he do not inquire for himself, and believe on the evidence of the\nformer, that the truth or falsehood of the two distinct propositions are\ninseparably connected, must, as he sees the one to be inconsistent,\nhesitate with respect to the other. Some geologists, then, may have been\nsceptics; but could the secrets of the heart be laid open, we cannot\nhelp believing, that those who have most earnestly endeavoured to\nreconcile the phenomena we know to exist, with the interpretation of\nscripture, from which they appear to vary, have been at bottom the least\nsincere in their religious faith.\n\nFor ourselves, we see no difficulties, no discrepancies between the\nrecord of direct revelation, and the sublime passages of the book of\nnature. We believe that \"in the beginning God created the heavens and\nthe earth;\" that he called at once into existence the whole material\nworld; but we also believe that he then impressed matter with laws,\nunder the action of which that material world must maintain its\nexistence, and secure its permanence, until the same almighty power\nshall annihilate it. We are not of those who judge of the works of the\nDeity from the conditions of the works which can alone be effected by\nthe power of man. However perfect or complete be human mechanism, it can\nonly move by the application of some power inherent in matter; did not\nan elastic spring expand itself after being coiled, the chronometer\nwould be a dead and lifeless mass; did not fluids obey the force of\ngravitation, and currents in the atmosphere the expansive power of heat,\nthe water-wheel and wind-mill would be useless; did not water form\nvapour at elevated temperatures, and condense when cooled, the still\nmore powerful agency of steam would be wanting. Not only are machines of\nno value unless impelled by natural agents, but they themselves are\nsubject to rapid decay, and require perpetual attention. Such is not the\ncase with the machinery of the universe; its motions are perpetually\nvarying, but yet in their variations invariable; continually oscillating\non each side of mean rates, yet never losing or gaining in intensity.\nSuch too is the case on the surface of our globe; the seasons\nalternately clothe the forests with verdure, and strip them of their\nleaves; seed time and harvest recur with invariable precision; the whole\nof existing vegetables perish, and animals die and decay, yet the race\nis perpetuated. Shall we set bounds to the exertion of almighty power,\nand say, that races, that families, that species and genera, nay that\nwhole natural kingdoms may not in their turn decay and die, after\nproviding for the repeopling of the earth by new inhabitants? The\ncatastrophes of our planet are not yet at an end; the time will and must\ncome, as we may guess from natural appearances, and as we find predicted\nin scripture, when the heavens shall be rolled up like a scroll, and the\nearth shall melt with fervent heat; and in the new system of\nappearances, the new heaven and earth shall succeed--the corruptible\nbodies that are now sown in dishonour, shall be raised in honour and\nincorruptible.\n\nThe present surface of our globe is to our limited views slowly\nchanging; to him who compares time with the immeasurable duration that\nhas preceded and must succeed our existence, it is rapidly hastening to\napparent ruin. The waters raised from the ocean, falling in greatest\nabundance on the land, tear and wear away the surface, and deposit it in\nthe bed of the sea. Deltas form at the mouths of rivers by this action;\nthe basin of the ocean is gradually elevated, and, in addition, islands\nand archipelagos are raised from its bed. The surface of the sea is for\nthe present lessening under the influence of these causes, but the time\nmust come, unless it be prevented by some catastrophe, when the ocean\nmust in its turn encroach upon the land, when the plains and valleys\nshall become bays and gulfs, or even unite in continuous expanses of\nwater, and the greater mountains alone, diminished in bulk by continued\nabrasion, shall stand as islands in the vast abyss. The earth would then\nagain be without form and void of inhabitants, as it was before the\ncreation of man. Such, however, will not be the termination of the\npresent order of things; we are taught to look for this in an igneous\neruption, the source of which now slumbers almost quiescent beneath our\nfeet.\n\nNot only does revelation, but science, teach us that the earth must have\nbeen covered with water, and void of animate life, previous to its\nbecoming the habitation of man. But they read their scriptures\ndifferently from us who think that this state of things was the actual\nbeginning. There is no necessary connexion between the first verse of\nGenesis and the succeeding. The beginning of the existence of matter,\nand the state of vacuity and darkness whence the present order of things\nemerged, may have been, so far as the text is concerned, and were, as we\nknow from appearances, separated from each other by unnumbered ages.\n\nNeither is it necessary that we accept the literal meaning of the\npassage, and conceive the Deity speaking with human voice, and calling\ncreation forth by audible fiat. The voice of the Deity is that unheard\nand silent command which nature hears and obeys throughout all his\nworks. The pious and sincere believer sees an overruling providence\npreserving him in kindness when it saves him from shipwreck, or\nchastening him in mercy when it deprives him of friends or relations, as\ndistinctly as if he beheld the prince of the air stayed in his furious\ncourse, or the angel of destruction taking his visible stand beside the\npillow of departing life. No miracles are necessary to him who sees in\nthe rising and setting of the sun, in the order and beauty of the\nuniverse, in the absolute perfection of its mechanical laws, in his own\nfearful and wonderful structure, the evidence of infinite wisdom in\ndesign, and infinite power in execution; and the examination of the\nstructure and character of our globe, is as well calculated as any other\nphysical study to exhibit in full and brilliant light these attributes\nof the Deity.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[8] See American Quarterly, Vol. V.\n\n[9] See American Quarterly, Vol. III.\n\n[10] Our author has \"alluvion.\"\n\n[11] Alluvial in our author.\n\n\n\n\nART. V.--AUTO-BIOGRAPHY OF THIEVES.\n\n\n1.--_The American Trenck; or the Memoirs of Thomas Ward, now in\nconfinement in the Baltimore Jail, under a sentence of ten years'\nimprisonment for robbing the United States Mail._ Baltimore. 18mo: 1829.\n\n2.--_Memoirs of James Hardy Vaux, a Swindler and Thief, now transported\nto New South Wales, for the second time, and for life. Written by\nhimself._ London. 18mo: 1829.\n\n3.--_Memoirs of Vidocq, principal Agent of the French Police, until_\n1827, _and since, Proprietor of the Paper Manufactory at St. Maude.\nWritten by himself. Translated from the French._ London. 4 vols. 18mo:\n1829.\n\n\n\"One half of the world does not know how the other half lives:\"--so says\nthe adage, and says truly. Men of reading, however, who direct their\nattention to biography, and especially to auto-biography, and who\ncombine with their reading attention to the varied pursuits of mankind,\nmay attain tolerably correct notions of the habits, modes of reasoning,\nand peculiarities of others, though living in evidently different\nstations, and engaged in occupations the most various. In this view, the\nvolumes above announced are valuable. They furnish a remarkably clear\ninsight of the ways and actings of professional thieves, and of the men\nwith whom they often become connected,--police officers and jailers. But\nwhat assurance have we, it may be inquired, that they speak the truth?\nHow can the evidence of such characters be received? These queries must\nbe answered by considering several particulars. In the first place,\nthen, the verity of a narrative may be partly established by its\ncoherence and probability. When the events related have a manifest\ncorrespondence with each other, and are such as may be credited, we\nnecessarily attach to them a degree of belief, which we cannot extend to\nthose of an opposite character. The evidence from this source is,\nhowever, exceedingly imperfect, since many narratives, almost entirely\nfictitious, appear so natural, as to impose upon the reader with all the\nstrength of unvarnished truth. Robinson Crusoe has deceived thousands,\nand Damberger's Travels in Africa were not suspected to be otherwise\nthan true, for a considerable time after their publication; but they\nwere at length proved to be a complete fabrication. Accordingly, in\njudging of doubtful works, we must resort to additional means; one of\nwhich is a comparison of works of a similar description with each other.\n\nWhen an account appears to be too wonderful for credence, we are, of\ncourse, disposed to rank the author with romance-writers; but when we\nfind that divers accounts, equally extraordinary, are related by others\nas happening under similar circumstances, we then begin to suppose that\nwe may have judged erroneously. Captain Riley's Narrative of his\nCaptivity in Africa was rejected by many as half-fictitious: his\nsufferings were greater than human nature could bear, and the Arabs of\nthe desert could never lead the life described. But since it has been\nfound that the sufferings undergone by the crew of the French frigate,\nthe Medusa, were no less horrible, and of the same kind, and that\nClapperton and others who have subsequently crossed the Sahara,\nconfirmed his statements respecting the Arabs,--he has been regarded\nvery differently. And it may be supposed, that if Sir Walter Scott had\nknown of the remarkable confirmation given by Benyouski, to Drury's\naccount of Madagascar, he would not have expressed his doubts of the\nlatter's veracity.[12] When writers, unacquainted with each other's\nproductions, are found, by incidental allusions, to agree in minute\nparticulars, the evidence is almost irrefutable. Paley has made an\nadmirable use of this species of proof in his _Horae Paulinae_.\n\nAnother mode of judging of an author's credibility is sometimes\nfurnished, by learning whether any of his alleged facts have been\ncontradicted by persons acquainted with them, especially if they are\nsuch as these persons would be glad to contradict. If a person is\ncharged with being an accomplice in a crime, and he fails to rebut the\naccusation, we may infer that he is unable to do so. Or, if the narrator\ngive place and date to certain memorable transactions, which, if false,\nmight easily be shown to be so, a similar inference may be deduced, when\nit can be shown that others are interested in such exposure.\n\nNow, on bringing the works under notice to these different tests, we\nshall have tolerably strong presumptive evidence of their being, in the\nmain, worthy of credence. Vaux's Memoirs contain nothing that may not be\ncredited on the score of probability, while the circumstances detailed\nare remarkably coherent; they seem to arise naturally from each other.\nVidocq's, on the contrary, contain so many marvellous escapes from\nprisons, so many perils from contests with ruffians and bravoes, and\nsuch varied turns of fortune, that the reader is necessitated to\nask,--can this be true? Here, however, both Vaux and Ward offer him some\nassistance; the similarity of their accounts, though destitute of so\nmany wonders, corroborating the probability of his. The three narratives\nare quite in keeping. We find in each the same restlessness, the same\nblind passion impelling to deeds of vice and desperation, and the same\nproofs of treachery amongst their companions. Each, too, has furnished\nso many means of detection, by names of persons, dates, and places,\nthat,--no attempt at refutation having been made by persons\nimplicated,--we are to believe that they must, at any rate, contain much\nthat is true. Neither Ward's nor Vidocq's Memoirs are so connected as\nVaux's; but in Ward's case, this may be attributed to a want of\nscholarship, as he is evidently an ignorant man; and in Vidocq's, to a\nfondness for the marvellous, in consequence of which he has introduced\nmany episodes. These episodes, accordingly, detract from the merit of\nthe work, considered as a veritable narrative, they being garnished with\nmore of the romantic than the regular account of his own performances.\n\nAfter all, a degree of suspicion will attach to each of them, from the\nconsideration that they are all avowed liars. If, indeed, there was\nproof, either external or internal, that they had become reformed\ncharacters, and, of course, abhorrers of deceit, we might value their\nself-condemnation as evidence of truth; for what man of moral feeling\nwould proclaim that he had been an habitual liar, except conscious that\nthe avowal was incumbent on him to substantiate the truth? This was done\nby Bunyan, the author of the Pilgrim's Progress, and by Cowper, the\ntruly Christian poet:--they are respected accordingly. But in these\nnarratives, except a little cant in Ward's, we find nothing approaching\nto a sense of shame or remorse. Vidocq, like Homer's Ulysses, has a lie\nready for every occasion, and appears, like that hero, to regard himself\nas \"the man for wisdom's various arts renowned.\" Vaux is almost equal to\nhim in this respect, and exults in the success of his deceptions. If\ncunning were wisdom, Ulysses, Vidocq, and Vaux, would form a trio of\neminently wise men. But this sort of wisdom, how much soever valued by\npagans, must be regarded by Christians, enlightened by the Gospel, as\nutterly unjustifiable, even when employed as a means for the attainment\nof some good; since they are never to do evil that good may come.\nAccordingly, those persons who make lies their refuge, must be liable to\nbe doubted, even when they speak the truth. Still, it is possible, that\na man's conscience may be so obdurate, as not to perceive the pravity of\nmendacity, when exercised for his supposed benefit, while he yet retains\na regard for truth when engaged in relating his exploits to others.\nThis, we think, is partly the case with our heroes. Their acknowledgment\nof their disregard of truth, while prosecuting illegal measures, is,\nindeed,--so inconsistent is human nature,--some guarantee for the\nfidelity of their narratives. A solitary vice is a thing unknown; as\nLillo expresses it, in his tragedy of George Barnwell,--\"One vice as\nnaturally begets another, as a father begets a son.\" Who, then, could\nbelieve a practised villain, if he professed himself untainted by\nmendacity? But if, after a plain avowal of his constant resort to it, we\nfind nothing contradictory in his relation, we may reasonably yield a\nqualified assent to it; since, as Lord Bacon remarks in his Essays,\nwhich \"come home to men's business and bosoms,\" a liar had need possess\na good memory to prevent his contradicting himself. Where he is\nconsistent throughout a long narrative, the natural deduction is, that\nhe has mainly depended on his memory, rejecting, for the occasion, his\ntemptation to beguile.[13]\n\nAfter these preliminary considerations, the relevancy of which is\nobvious, we proceed to furnish our readers with a few extracts; not\ndoubting, that to such of them as lead domestic, retired lives, it will\nafford gratification to learn something of the ways of others, who are\nentirely opposite in their habits,--as opposite as the two electric\npoles, and, like them, \"repelling and repelled.\" One of the most\nobservable points in these volumes, is the contamination of jails. When\nmen are thrown together in a place where reputation is valueless, they\nhave no inducement to conceal their vices. What is the consequence? They\ndelight in recounting to each other their nefarious exploits: thus\nconscience is more and more corrupted, and the young and inexperienced\nare initiated into the skilful manoeuvres of adepts. Whoever has read\nthe _first_ edition of Ellwood's Life, (for the subsequent editions do\nnot contain the passage,) may remember the amusing account he has given\nof the state of the common side of Newgate in the reign of Charles II.\nEllwood was imprisoned in that persecuting reign, for adherence to his\nreligious convictions as a Quaker, and had an opportunity of becoming\nacquainted with the ordinary behaviour and conversation of thieves in\njail. He saw and lamented the evils incident to a promiscuous assemblage\nof old and young, of hardened villains and juvenile delinquents; but the\nremedy was reserved for the present age. That the remedy ought not to\nhave been so long deferred, will be evident to every one who attends to\nVaux's account of his first incarceration.\n\n \"On entering the gates of the gloomy receptacle to which I was\n now consigned, and which, on many accounts, has not been\n unaptly named the Bastile, the sensations I felt may be more\n easily felt than described. Besides that this was the first\n prison I had ever entered, every thing around me had an air of\n unspeakable horror. After being viewed and reviewed by the\n surly Cerberuses of this earthly Hell, I was conducted up some\n stairs to a long gallery, or passage, six feet wide, having on\n either side a number of dismal cells, each about six feet by\n nine, formed entirely of stone, but having a small grated\n window near the roof, at the further end, which admitted a\n gloomy light, and overlooked a yard, in which other prisoners\n were confined; there was also a similar grate over the door;\n but, owing to their height, both these apertures were very\n difficult of access. The cells on the other side the passage\n were exactly similar, but overlooking another yard, and the\n doors were immediately opposite to each other. The only\n furniture of these dreary apartments was an iron bedstead, on\n which were a bed, blanket, and rug, but all of the coarsest\n kind. My conductor having given me a pitcher of water, without\n vouchsafing a word, locked the door, and left me in utter\n darkness.\n\n \"In order to amuse my mind during this solitary week, I climbed\n up to the grated aperture over the door of my cell, and\n listened to the conversation of the neighbouring prisoners;\n and, from their discourse, I acquired a more extensive\n knowledge of the various modes of fraud and robbery, which, I\n now found, were reduced to a regular system, _than I should\n have done in seven years, had I continued at large_. I was\n indeed astonished at what I heard; and I clearly perceived\n that, instead of expressing contrition for their offences,\n their only consideration was, how to proceed with more safety,\n but increased vigour, in their future depredations. And here I\n was struck with the fallacious notions entertained by the\n projectors of this prison, which was reputed to be upon the\n plan of the benevolent and immortal Howard, who had recommended\n the confinement of offenders in separate cells, in order to\n prevent the effects of evil communication among persons who had\n not all attained an equal degree of depravity. This object,\n however, was not effected here; for, being within hearing of\n each other, they could, by sitting up over the door as I have\n described, converse each with his opposite neighbour, and even\n form a line of communication, where the discourse became\n general, from one end of the gallery to the other. As a proof\n of what I have advanced, I knew several of the prisoners, then\n confined with me in this passage, who were at that time but\n striplings, and novices in villainy, and who, after several\n years continuance in their evil courses, at length became\n notorious offenders, and, having narrowly escaped a shameful\n death, are now prisoners for life in this colony.\"\n\nAs this subject is of great importance, we shall give a few more\nextracts connected with it. Crime, as Mr. Buxton has shown in his\nvaluable Inquiry, is promoted, instead of being repressed, by such\nindiscriminate association. Corruption spreads by it, as surely as\ndecomposition is assisted by heat and moisture. Ward thus describes the\nBaltimore jail:--\n\n \"About this time, I was ordered by the sheriff to be put into\n the criminal apartment, along with untried prisoners, hardened\n offenders, debtors, and among characters of the most abandoned\n and vicious stamp;--men of all nations and all colours. Among\n this mass of vile and depraved men, I had to take up my abode.\n There was no example of moral rectitude here exhibited _but\n that of my own_! No restraint was put by our keepers, on their\n profane and vile language and conduct. Every one indulged to an\n excess in every species of the most disgusting practices,\n profaning and scandalizing every thing holy.\"\n\nVidocq's description of the Bagne at Brest, corresponds with the\nabove:--\n\n \"The Bagne is situated in the bosom of the bay; piles of guns,\n and two pieces of cannon, mounted at the gates, pointed out to\n me the entrance, into which I was introduced, after having been\n examined by the two guards of the establishment. The boldest of\n the condemned, however hardened, have confessed, that it is\n impossible to express the emotions of horror, excited by the\n first appearance of this abode of wretchedness. Every room\n contains twenty night camp couches, called bancs (benches,) on\n which lie six hundred fettered convicts, in long rows, with\n red garbs, heads shorn, eyes haggard, dejected countenances,\n whilst the perpetual clank of fetters conspires to fill the\n soul with horror. But this impression on the convict soon\n passes away, who, feeling that he has here no reason to blush\n at the presence of any one, soon identifies himself with his\n situation. That he may not be the butt of the gross jests and\n filthy buffoonery of his fellows, he affects to participate in\n them; and soon, in tone and gesture, this conventional\n depravity gets hold of his heart. Thus, at Anvers, an ex-bishop\n experienced, at first, all the outpourings of the riotous jests\n of his companions; they always addressed him as _monseigneur_,\n and asked his blessing in their obscenities; at every moment\n they constrained him to profane his former character by\n blasphemous words, and, by dint of reiterating these impieties,\n he contrived to shake off their attacks. At a subsequent\n period, he became the public-house keeper at the Bagne, and was\n always styled _monseigneur,_ but he was no longer asked for\n absolution, for he would have answered with the grossest\n blasphemies.\"\n\nTo complete the picture, we shall now transcribe Vaux's account of his\nbeing on board a prison-ship, with what he witnessed there.--\n\n \"I had now a new scene of misery to contemplate; and, of all\n the shocking scenes I had ever beheld, this was the most\n distressing. There were confined in this floating dungeon,\n nearly six hundred men, most of them double ironed; and the\n reader may conceive the horrible effects arising from the\n continual rattling of chains, the filth and vermin naturally\n produced by such a crowd of miserable inhabitants, the oaths\n and execrations constantly heard amongst them; and above all,\n from the shocking necessity of associating and communicating\n more or less with so depraved a set of beings. On arriving on\n board, we were all immediately stripped, and washed in large\n tubs of water; then, after putting on each a suit of coarse\n slop-clothing, we were ironed and sent below; our own clothes\n being taken from us, and detained, till we could sell, or\n otherwise dispose of them, as no person is exempted from the\n obligation to wear the ship-dress. On descending the hatchway,\n no conception can be formed of the scene which presented\n itself. I shall not attempt to describe it; but nothing short\n of a descent to the infernal regions, can be at all worthy of a\n comparison with it. I soon met with many of my old Botany Bay\n acquaintances, who were all eager to offer me their friendship\n and services; that is, with a view to rob me of what little I\n had; for, in this place, there is no other motive or subject\n for ingenuity. All former friendships and connexions are\n dissolved; and a man here will rob his best benefactor, or even\n messmate, of an article worth one half-penny. If I were to\n attempt a full description of the miseries endured in these\n ships, I could fill a volume; but I shall sum up all by\n stating, that, besides robbery from each other, which is as\n common as cursing and swearing, I witnessed, among the\n prisoners themselves, during the twelvemonth I remained with\n them, one deliberate murder, for which the perpetrator was\n executed at Maidstone, and one suicide.\"\n\nThese horrible accounts must, we suppose, convince every one of the\nnecessity of keeping criminals separate from each other. In vain do you\nhope by classification, labour, discipline, and moral instruction, to\nreclaim men from their vices in prison, so long as you allow them to\nassociate freely together. No compromise will do, short of preventing\ntheir conversing with each other. Whether solitary confinement, as\npractised in Pennsylvania, or public labour in silence, as in New-York,\nbe the better mode of punishment, may admit of argument; but that either\nis incomparably superior to promiscuous intercourse, is unquestionable.\nAnd we do conjure magistrates and legislators in every part of the\nUnited States, to rouse themselves from apathy on this momentous\nsubject. It is due to their country and to posterity, to strive to\nremove an evil, which, like the Upas, extends its pestiferous influence\nin every direction. Let them reflect that the object of punishing\ncriminals is to protect society. This object may be promoted by the\nreformation of the transgressor; but if he is placed in a situation\nwhere contagion is inevitable, the punishment, however severe, is not\nconducive to that result. A severe punishment may, indeed, be\ninfluential in deterring others from pursuing similar courses; but if\nhe, on obtaining his release, instead of being disposed to conform to\nregularity of conduct, is only determined to practise more skilfully the\nvery crime that was the cause of his commitment; or if, from his moral\nsense being deadened, in consequence of having heard others boast of\ntheir villainous exploits, he is ready to engage in new and more\ndesperate attempts, the influence which his punishment may have had on\nothers, is in danger of being overbalanced. What, in such a case, does\nsociety gain by the severity of the law? Is it not clear, that all the\nexpense, trouble, and loss of time attendant on the prosecution, are\nalmost fruitlessly bestowed? And here, it is impossible not to lament\nthe accumulated evils arising from the slow operation of law. A man is\ncharged, perhaps innocently, with petty larceny. The tribunal before\nwhich he is to be arraigned is not in session; accordingly, unable to\nprocure bail, he is committed to jail, there to lie for three, or\nperhaps six months, and all the time uncertain whether he is to be\nacquitted or condemned. In the mean time, his character has deteriorated\nwhile his enjoyment has been abridged. Can such a method be consistent\nwith civilization? Would it not be preferable, at the hazard of some\ninjustice, to revert to the summary process of barbarism? Can it be\nright, that a magistrate shall be empowered to incarcerate a man for\nmonths, while he is debarred from pronouncing definitively on his guilt\nor innocence? There is an incongruity in all this, of which savages\nmight be ashamed. We trust that the time is approaching when a better\nsystem will be established. Consolatory is it to consider, that in\nvarious countries of Europe, as well as in America, the subject of\nprison discipline, and of criminal jurisprudence, occupies the attention\nof philanthropists and statesmen to a degree never before witnessed, as\nfrom their simultaneous exertions much good may be anticipated. One of\nthe causes assigned by Dr. Robertson and other historians, for the\nresuscitation of Europe from the intellectual degradation of the middle\nages, is the discovery at Amalfi, in the twelfth century, of the\nPandects of Justinian. Would it not then be irrational to conclude, that\nthe improvements now taking place in law, will not be followed by a\ncorrespondent amelioration in society, since it is obvious that a much\nhigher degree of civilization is attainable by man, than any country has\nyet exhibited?\n\nTo those who wish for information on the subject of prison discipline,\nwe recommend a perusal of the correspondence between Mr. R. Vaux of\nPhiladelphia, and Mr. Roscoe of Liverpool; also of the account of the\nAuburn prison contained in Captain Hall's travels in the United States.\nIn reference to the latter work, it gives us satisfaction to say, that\nthe chapter referred to is unexceptionable. We wish we could say as much\nfor the rest.\n\nWe now proceed to furnish some specimens of the modes of life which\nthieves and swindlers fall into, that our _honest_ readers may have an\nopportunity of contrasting them with their own. In so doing, they will\ndoubtless congratulate themselves on the possession of moral principle,\nsatisfied that predatory propensities would have disturbed that calm\nwhich belongs only to virtue. The following is Ward's account of his\nfirst act of dishonesty.--\n\n \"Finding it impossible, as I thought, to withstand the\n impetuosity of my inclinations and desires for freedom and\n pleasure, I resolved, even against my better judgment, to leave\n Mr. Pusey and seek my fortune. My hopes were raised to the\n highest and most pleasing prospects of independence, ease, and\n affluence; and having in my earliest life cultivated the\n principle, that in all cases which require secrecy, we should\n never divulge to a friend what we wish to conceal from an\n enemy, I concealed my intentions from every body, determining\n to embrace the first opportunity favourable for prosecuting my\n first, long-cogitated, and, as I thought, exceedingly cunning\n plan. Accordingly, during the autumn of 1806, on a Sabbath\n afternoon, I determined to execute my scheme. Near home, there\n was a store kept by Mr. Kinsey, in copartnership with Mr.\n Pusey. I was on terms of the greatest harmony and friendship\n with Mr. Kinsey; and, taking advantage of this confidence, I\n had ascertained where his cash was kept. I entered the store,\n and found no difficulty in obtaining every cent. All the family\n being from home, I concluded to let the house take care of\n itself, as, having done thus much, I must inevitably make my\n departure. Having saddled Mr. Pusey's best horse, I mounted,\n and, with saddle-bags and clothing, started from the house.\n Being certain I should be pursued as soon as the robbery was\n discovered, I thought it would be proper to take a course, on\n which I could most advantageously travel by night as well as by\n day. I accordingly took my way towards Lancaster; but about\n four miles from home, I was seen by some person who knew me.\n Now I was likely to be defeated in all my calculations. At\n dark, I arrived at Witmer's Bridge, within two miles of\n Lancaster, having ridden sixteen miles in two hours. I stopt\n there only a few minutes to water and feed my horse, and,\n remounting, I rode to near daylight next morning, when I\n arrived at Anderson's Ferry on the Susquehanna. There I was\n detained some time by the negligence of the boatmen; and I had\n not proceeded more than half way across the river, when I heard\n the horn blow as a signal for them to hurry back. Although I\n trembled at the dread sound and alarm of the approach of my\n pursuers, I vainly hoped it was impossible for them to be so\n close after me. However, I determined now that I would give\n them every trouble, let them take me or not. I did not stop for\n breakfast, and as I had ridden the whole night, my horse became\n fatigued and slow, so that about noon I was overtaken by\n another horseman, whom I found to be my own cousin. He desired\n me to stop immediately and return, he himself having been\n suspected of the very act I had committed. As my horse was\n tired down, I sprang with all my might, to secure myself by\n taking to the woods. Here again my hopes were frustrated; for\n my foot caught in the stirrup, and I was forced to yield to\n superior strength. On our way back, he explained the cause of\n his overtaking me. Having ridden his horse down, he had hired\n fresh ones at regular distances. This mode of pursuit I had not\n thought of; but, alas! I was told of it now, when it was too\n late! Every measure that I had thought most fitly adapted for\n my clearance, seemed now only to aggravate my folly. Shame for\n my guilt filled my mind with the keenest remorse.\n\n Mr. Pusey sent for a constable, and informed me I must go to\n jail. Attended by the constable, and another as an assistant, I\n started with a heavy heart. We travelled on foot, and very\n slowly, so that when night came on, we had eight or nine miles\n yet to go. The constable being negligent, permitted me at times\n to be twenty or thirty yards from him; and of these\n opportunities I designed to avail myself. Accordingly, on\n reaching a place where the road made a short turn, I dashed\n from them into the bushes, where I hid myself. After they had\n passed me unnoticed, I cut a large club, and travelled my own\n way a short distance, when I met a man who eyed me in a\n scrutinizing manner. I immediately asked him, whether he had\n seen a fellow running that way from the constables who were\n taking him to jail? He answered that he had, and that he\n believed I was the very fellow! 'Well,' said I, 'if you think\n so, you are welcome to take me.' But fearing my large club, he\n left me to pursue my journey. Travelling a little distance, I\n came to a tavern, and looking through the window, saw the\n constable and his assistant eating their supper. Their horses\n resting under a shed, I was about to take one; but seeing a\n barn at a short distance from me, I abandoned my intention. I\n went into it, and retired to rest for the night. I arose next\n morning after a refreshing sleep, and pursued my journey to my\n father's, and arrived at Strasburgh about breakfast time. On\n entering the tavern, I saw an elderly lady who had lived with\n Mr. Pusey. She asked me how I was, and where I was going? I\n told her to visit my parents. She answered, that she really\n believed I was running away! Apprehensive of danger, I resumed\n my journey towards my father's, and on the road I met him. From\n my relation of the affair, he gave it as his opinion that it\n would be imprudent in me to return again; for he had not the\n least doubt that I should be arrested, and dealt with according\n to my offence; so, after remaining at his house a short time, I\n bent my course to Reading. I confidently believe, to this very\n day, that if I had not escaped punishment for this crime, I\n never should have committed another in my whole life.\"\n\nAnother of his escapes we shall here insert, premising that he had been\napprehended for stealing a horse.\n\n \"He brought with him a blacksmith, who had a load of chains\n upon his shoulder. The smith put a collar round my neck, and\n shackles on my ankles. Between these was a small chain for the\n purpose of making me fast to any thing by a padlock. Mounted on\n horseback, this chain was passed to the one attached to my\n collar, and there locked; besides this I was hand-cuffed. Thus\n equipped, we repaired towards Georgia, through a country mostly\n inhabited by Indians. On arriving within two days' journey of\n home, we took lodging at a public house, the first we had seen.\n Dismounting, my chain was in part wrapped round one of my legs,\n and the others around my neck. In this situation we took supper\n with the family, and sat a considerable time after the table\n was removed. As it was determined we should remain here for the\n night, which was dark and rainy, I had hopes that I could some\n way or other make my escape. Having called to a servant to\n bring me a basin of water to wash my feet, I took care to wind\n the chain closely around my leg. I then asked her to open the\n front door for me, as though I intended only to throw out the\n dirty water; this I did, and finding there were no fears of my\n going out, I walked a few times across the floor. This gave me\n a chance to put on my hat unnoticed, when, taking the advantage\n of a minute, I dashed out and jumped the yard fence; but in so\n doing, I lost my hat. Having no time to lose, I made a straight\n course from the house. I soon heard them all in confusion, and\n saw some of them out of doors with a light. The landlord having\n a large dog, they brought him in pursuit of me. He took my\n track, and had nigh taken me when I just reached a creek, into\n the waters of which I waded some distance, turning with the\n stream from the place I entered at. Here I stood, leg deep, for\n some time, hearing all their conclusions respecting me.\n Thinking I had crossed there, they gave me up, and returned to\n the house again. I immediately made my retreat from a place\n surrounding and threatening me with so many dangers. After\n running and walking about four miles, fatigued and lost, I lay\n down and slept till morning. I then steered my course across\n the country, avoiding houses and settlements, hoping to see\n some slaves in the fields to help me to take off my irons, but\n could see none. Near noon, I came in sight of an old house\n which I discovered was inhabited. I approached it at the side\n where there was no window. I went to a wagon, and taking from\n it an iron bolt and a linchpin, I made to the woods, where,\n with much difficulty, I succeeded in extricating myself from my\n collar and chains. I placed them in a pile at the root of a\n large tree, near which I lay down and slept till evening, being\n afraid to travel in the day-time. At dark I arose, and made my\n way towards South Carolina, walking the whole night, and by\n morning was thirty miles from where I started. My greatest\n difficulty was having no hat. Coming, however, to a river, I\n saw a bridge that crossed it a little below me. I went on it,\n and stood leaning over its wall, till I saw a traveller coming\n the other way. As soon as he approached me, I told him, with\n much concern, that I had met with bad luck; for I had just been\n looking over the wall when my hat fell off, and went rapidly\n down the stream, the sides of which were so dangerous I could\n not possibly get it again:--would he be so kind as to tell me\n where I could buy another? He told me he would conduct me to a\n store; I went with him and purchased one.\"\n\nThe life of a thief is one of perpetual anxiety, yet with many it\nbecomes a sort of passion. The earnings of honest industry, even when\nsufficient to keep them in comfort, are not sufficient to keep them\nsatisfied. The recollection of dangers escaped, the chance of similar\nfortune again, the prurience of activity,--all urge to a renewal of\ntheir lawless pursuits; and as a thoroughbred sportsman despises the\npractice of catching game by snares, deeming it unworthy of a skilful\nmarksman, so, we suspect, do thieves regard the reward of industry, when\ncompared with the booty of a dangerous encounter. In Vaux's Memoirs we\nfind much to lead us to this conclusion. Several times was he well\nsettled in the way of obtaining, not only an honest livelihood, but of\nparticipating in elegancies, luxuries, and agreeable society. Still, as\nif impelled by destiny, he continually risked the loss of all, to\ngratify his bad propensity. Ward, on the contrary, had been perpetually\nunfortunate in realizing his visionary hopes; he was entreated by his\nwife to forsake his evil courses; but it was all in vain. \"Resorting\noccasionally,\" he says, \"to the company of some adepts in crime, _it\nseemed to afford me pleasure_.\" And in the narratives of the other two,\nwe find evident delight manifested at the success of a hazardous,\nfraudulent undertaking, while the guilt of the action, and the pain and\nmisery it may have occasioned, are overlooked or lightly regarded, just\nas a military hero, exulting in a victory, laments the loss of neither\nfriends nor foes. Human happiness, in truth, is connected in the minds\nof different persons with the most opposite deeds and qualities.\nDiogenes in his tub, and Alexander at the head of an army, was each\npursuing his gratification; and who shall decide which was the more\nsuccessful? Hume, in one of his Essays, remarks, that there is no\nquestion that a boarding-school miss has often experienced as exquisite\ndelight on finding herself the idol of a ball-room, as an orator when\nreceiving the rapturous applauses of a delighted audience; and Colley\nGibber says, that on hearing an old actor express admiration at one of\nhis early performances on the stage, he felt so proud of the\ncommendation, that he doubted whether \"Alexander himself, or Charles\nXII., when at the head of their first victorious armies, could feel a\ngreater transport in their bosoms.\" After reading this, some may perhaps\nthink that Pope's epigram on Cibber[14] was not unmerited; but when they\nconsider that thieves feel a similar exultation, they may rather be\ninclined to pity poor human nature. In exemplification of what we have\nadvanced, we request attention to the following extract from Vaux. Some\nof his acquaintances in Newgate had informed him that Mr. Bilger, a\njeweller and goldsmith, was a _good flat_.\n\n \"About 5 o'clock in the evening, I entered his shop, dressed in\n the most elegant style, having a valuable gold watch and\n appendages, a gold eye-glass, &c. I had posted my old friend\n and aid-de-camp, Bromley, at the door, in order to be in\n readiness to act as circumstances might require, and\n particularly to watch the motions of Mr. Bilger and his\n assistants on my quitting the premises. On my entrance, Mrs.\n Bilger issued from a back parlour behind the shop, and politely\n inquiring my business, I told her I wished to see Mr. Bilger;\n she immediately rang a bell, which brought down her husband\n from the upper apartments. He saluted me with a low bow, and\n handed me a seat. I was glad to find no other person in the\n shop, Mrs. Bilger having again retired. I now assumed the air\n of a Bond-street lounger, and informed Mr. Bilger, that I had\n been recommended by a gentleman of my acquaintance to deal with\n him, having occasion for a very elegant diamond ring, and\n requested to see his assortment. Mr. Bilger expressed his\n concern that he happened not to have a single article of that\n description by him, but if I could without inconvenience call\n again, he would undertake in one hour to procure me a selection\n from his working-jeweller, to whom he would immediately\n despatch a messenger. I affected to feel somewhat disappointed;\n but, looking at my watch, after a moment's reflection, I said,\n 'Well, Mr. Bilger, I have an appointment at the Cannon\n coffee-house, which requires my attendance, and if you will,\n without fail, have the articles ready, I may probably look in a\n little after six.' This he promised faithfully to do, declaring\n how much he felt obliged by my condescension; and I sauntered\n out of the shop, Mr. Bilger attending me in the most obsequious\n manner to the outer door. After walking a short distance,\n Bromley tapped me on the shoulder, and inquired what conduct I\n meant next to pursue; for he had viewed my proceedings through\n a glass-door in the shop, and saw that I had not executed my\n grand design. I related to Bromley the result of my\n conversation with Mr. Bilger, and added that I meant to retire\n to the nearest public-house, where we could enjoy a pipe and a\n glass of negus, until the expiration of the hour to which I had\n limited myself. We accordingly regaled ourselves at a very snug\n house, nearly opposite Bilger's, until about half after six,\n when I again repaired to the scene of action, leaving Bromley,\n as at first, posted at the door. Mr. Bilger received me with\n increased respect, and producing a small card box, expressed\n his sorrow that his workman had only been enabled to send three\n rings for my inspection, but that if they were not to my taste,\n he should feel honoured and obliged in taking my directions for\n having one made, and flattered himself he should execute the\n order to my satisfaction. I proceeded to examine the rings he\n produced, one of which was marked sixteen guineas, another nine\n guineas, and the third six guineas. They were all extremely\n beautiful; but I affected to consider them as too paltry,\n telling Mr. Bilger that I wanted one to present to a lady, and\n that I wished to have a ring of greater value than the whole\n three put together, as a few guineas would not be an object in\n the price. Mr. Bilger's son, who was also his partner, now\n joined us, and was desired by his father to sketch a draught in\n pencil of some fancy rings, agreeable to the directions I\n should give him. The three rings I had viewed, were now removed\n to the end of the counter next the window, and I informed the\n young man that I wished to have something of a cluster, a large\n brilliant in the centre, surrounded with smaller ones; but\n repeated my desire that no expense might be spared to render\n the article strictly elegant, and worthy a lady's acceptance.\n The son having sketched a design of several rings on a card, I\n examined them with attention, and appeared in doubt which to\n prefer, but desired to see some loose diamonds, in order to\n form a better idea of the size, &c. of each ring described in\n the drawing. Mr. Bilger, however, declared he had not any by\n him. It is probable he spoke truth, or he might have lost such\n numbers by showing them, as to deter him from exhibiting them\n in future. Without having made up my mind on the subject, I now\n requested to see some of his most fashionable brooches, or\n shirt-pins. Mr. Bilger produced a show-glass, containing a\n great variety of articles in pearl, but he had nothing of the\n kind in diamonds. I took up two or three of the brooches, and\n immediately _sunk_ a very handsome one, marked three guineas,\n in my coat sleeve. I next purloined a beautiful clasp for a\n lady's waist, consisting of stones set in gold, which had the\n appearance and brilliancy of real diamonds, but marked only\n four guineas. I should probably have gone still deeper, but at\n this moment a lady coming in, desired to look at some\n ear-rings, and the younger Mr. Bilger immediately quitted his\n father to attend upon her at the other end of the shop. It\n struck me that now was my time for a decisive stroke. The card\n containing the diamond rings, procured from the maker, lying\n very near the show-glass I was viewing, and many small articles\n irregularly placed round about them, the candles not throwing\n much light on that particular spot, and Mr. Bilger's attention\n being divided between myself and the lady, to whom he\n frequently addressed himself, I suddenly took the three rings\n from the card, and committed them to my sleeve, to join the\n brooch and lady's clasp; but had them so situated, that I\n could, in a moment, have released and replaced them on the\n counter, had an inquiry been made for them. I then looked at my\n watch, and observing that I was going to the theatre, told Mr.\n Bilger that I would not trouble him any further, as the\n articles before me were too tawdry and common to please me, but\n that I would put the card of draughts in my pocket-book, and if\n I did not meet with a ring of the kind I wanted, before Monday\n or Tuesday, I would certainly call again, and give him final\n directions. I was then drawing on my gloves, being anxious to\n quit the shop while I was well; but Mr. Bilger, who seemed\n delighted with the prospect of my custom, begged so earnestly\n that I would allow him to show me his brilliant assortment of\n gold watches, that I could not refuse to gratify him, though I\n certainly incurred a great risk by my compliance. I therefore\n answered,--'Really, Mr. Bilger, I am loath to give you that\n unnecessary trouble, as I have, you may perceive, a very good\n watch already, in point of performance; though it cost me a\n mere trifle, only twenty guineas; but it answers my purpose as\n well as a more valuable one. However, as I may probably, before\n long, want an elegant watch for a lady, I dont care if I just\n run my eye over them.' Mr. Bilger replied, that the greater\n part of his stock were fancy watches, adapted for ladies, and\n he defied all London united, to exhibit a finer collection. He\n then took from his window a show-glass, containing about thirty\n most beautiful watches, some ornamented with pearls or\n diamonds, others elegantly enamelled, or chased in the most\n delicate style. They were of various prices, from thirty to one\n hundred guineas, and the old gentleman, rubbing his hands with\n an air of rapture, exclaimed,--'There they are, sir,--a most\n fashionable assortment of goods; allow me to recommend them;\n they're all a-going, sir--all a-going.' I smiled inwardly at\n the latter part of this speech, and thought to myself,--'I wish\n they were going, with all my heart, along with the diamond\n rings.' I answered, they were certainly very handsome, but I\n would defer a minute inspection of them till my next visit,\n when I should have more time to spare. These watches were\n ranged in exact order, in five parallel lines, and between each\n watch was placed a gold seal or other trinket appertaining to a\n lady's watch. It was no easy matter, therefore, to take away a\n single article without its being instantly missed, unless the\n economy of the whole had been previously deranged. I contrived,\n however, to displace a few of the trinkets, on pretence of\n admiring them, and ventured to secrete one very rich gold seal,\n marked six guineas. I then declared I could stay no longer, as\n I had appointed to meet a party at the theatre; but that I\n would certainly call again in a few days, and lay out some\n money in return for the trouble I had given. Mr. Bilger\n expressed his thanks in the most respectful terms, and waited\n upon me to the door, where he took leave of me with a low\n _conge, a la mode de France_, of which country he was a native.\n I now put the best foot foremost, and having gained a remote\n street, turned my head, and perceived Bromley at my heels, who\n seized my hand, congratulating me on my success, and\n complimenting me on the address I had shown in this exploit;\n for he had witnessed all that passed, and knew that I had\n succeeded in my object, by the manner in which I quitted the\n shop. He informed me that Mr. Bilger had returned to his\n counter, and without attending to the arrangement of the\n articles thereon, had joined his son, who was still waiting\n upon the lady, and that he, Bromley, had finally left them both\n engaged with her.\"\n\nWho can fail to perceive, in the above narrative, the satisfaction of\nthe author in displaying his adroitness? His vanity seems to be as much\ngratified, as if he had been relating some performance meriting\napprobation. The feeling of shame is altogether alien to him. And thus,\nby Vidocq's account, it always is with thieves, they glorying as much in\ndetailing their successful exploits, as if no ignominy could attach to\nthem. Amongst his confederates too, and all of the same class, his\nreputation is proportionate to his daring and skill. Of this, take the\nfollowing instance related by Vidocq.--\n\n \"The incredible effrontery of Beaumont, almost surpasses\n belief. Escaped from the Bagne at Rochefort, where he was\n sentenced to pass twelve years of his life, he came to Paris,\n and scarcely had he arrived there, where he had already\n practised, when, by way of getting his hand in, he committed\n several trifling robberies, and when, by these preliminary\n steps, he had proceeded to exploits more worthy of his ancient\n renown, he conceived the project of stealing a treasure. No\n one will imagine that this was in the Central Office, now the\n Prefecture of Police!! It was already pretty difficult to\n procure impressions of the keys, but he achieved the first\n difficulty, and soon had in his possession all the means of\n effecting an opening; but to open was nothing; it was necessary\n to open without being perceived, to introduce himself without\n fear of being disturbed, to work without witnesses, and go out\n again freely. Beaumont, who had calculated all the difficulties\n that opposed him, was not dismayed. He had remarked that the\n private room of the chief officer, M. Henry, was nigh to the\n spot where he proposed to effect his entrance; he espied the\n propitious moment, and wished sincerely that some circumstance\n would call away so dangerous a neighbour for some time, and\n chance was subservient to his wishes. One morning, M. Henry was\n obliged to go out. Beaumont, sure that he would not return that\n day, ran to his house, put on a black coat, and in that\n costume, which, in those days, always announced a magistrate,\n or public functionary, presents himself at the entrance of the\n Central Office. The officer to whom he addressed himself,\n supposed of course that he was at least a commissary. On the\n invitation of Beaumont, he gave him a soldier, whom he placed\n as sentinel at the entrance to the narrow passage which leads\n to the depot, and commanded not to allow any person to pass. No\n better expedient could be found for preventing surprise. Thus\n Beaumont, in the midst of a crowd of valuable objects, could,\n at his leisure, and in perfect security, choose what best\n pleased him; watches, jewels, diamonds, precious stones, &c. He\n chose those which he deemed most valuable, most portable, and\n as soon as he had made his selection, he dismissed the sentinel\n and disappeared.\n\n \"This robbery could not be long concealed, and the following\n day was discovered. Had thunder fallen on the police, they\n would have been less astonished than at this event. To\n penetrate to the very sanctuary! The holy of holies! The fact\n appeared so very extraordinary, that it was doubted. Yet it was\n evident that a robbery had taken place, and to whom was it to\n be attributed? All the suspicions fell on the clerks, sometimes\n on one, sometimes on another, when Beaumont, betrayed by a\n friend, was apprehended, and sentenced a second time. The\n robbery he had committed might be estimated at some hundred\n thousand francs, the greater part of which were found on him.\n\n \"Beaumont enjoyed amongst his confraternity a colossal\n reputation; and even now, when a rogue boasts of his lofty\n exploits,--'Hold your tongue,' they say, 'you are not worthy to\n untie the shoe-strings of Beaumont!' In effect, to have robbed\n the police was the height of address.\"\n\nWe now proceed to make the reader acquainted with the habits and\nexertions of police-officers, who perform exploits equal in craft and\ndanger to those of thieves. In order to detect the latter, they often\nresort to the vilest places, and associate with the vilest of mankind;\nassume various characters and occupations; and sometimes,\nperhaps,--stimulated by the hope of reward,--lead others to commit\ncrimes in order to entrap them. Vidocq, however, professes in every case\nto have acted without any desire to entice. He says that he himself\nnever proposed any scheme of robbery; but took care to concur in such as\nwere proposed by others. This declaration must, we suppose, be received\nwith some qualification, as without an occasional suggestion, he would\nprobably have been suspected in his designs. Be that as it may, he was\neminently successful in securing villains; for having practised villainy\nhimself, he knew their ways and devices, thus verifying the propriety of\nthe maxim,--\"Set a thief to catch a thief.\" Some of the convicts at\nBotany Bay make the best police-officers. Of this we have an instance\nin Barrington, the famous London pick-pocket, who rendered such\nessential services to the colony, that in his old age he was pensioned\nby the government. By what means Vidocq, after all his devotion, came to\nlose his office, he has not mentioned; an omission rather singular,\nwhich lays his character open to suspicion, especially as he has given\nthe circumstances that first led him to offer himself to the police.\nThese circumstances it may be proper to glance at, as they exhibit a\nview of the dangers attendant on a lawless course of life.\n\n \"At this period, it seemed as if the whole world was leagued\n against me; I was compelled to draw my purse-strings at every\n moment, and for whom? For creatures who, looking on my\n liberality as compulsory, were prepared to betray me as soon as\n I ceased to be a certain source of reliance. When I went home\n from my wife's, I had still another proof of the wretchedness\n affixed to the state of a fugitive galley-slave. Annette and my\n mother were in tears. During my absence, two drunken men had\n asked for me, and on being told that I was from home, they had\n broke forth in oaths and threats, which left me no longer in\n doubt of the perfidy of their intentions. By the description\n which Annette gave me of these two individuals, I easily\n recognised Blondy, and his comrade, Deluc. I had no trouble in\n guessing their names; and besides, they had left an address,\n with a formal injunction to send them forty francs, which was\n more than enough to disclose to me who they were, as there were\n not in Paris any other persons who could send me such an\n intimation. I was obedient, very obedient; only in paying my\n contribution to these two scoundrels, I could not help letting\n them know how inconsiderately they had behaved. 'Consider what\n a step you have taken,' said I to them; 'they know nothing at\n my house, and you have told them all. My wife, who carries on\n the concern in her name, will perhaps turn me out, and then I\n must be reduced to the lowest ebb of misery.'--'Oh! you can\n come and rob with us,' answered the two rascals. I endeavoured\n to convince them, how much better it was to owe an existence to\n honest toil, than to be in incessant fears from the police,\n which, sooner or later, catches all malefactors in its nets. I\n added, that one crime generally leads to another; that he would\n risk his neck who ran straight towards the guillotine; and the\n termination of my discourse was, that they would do well to\n renounce the dangerous career on which they had entered. 'Not\n so bad!' cried Blondy, when I had finished my lecture, 'not so\n bad.' 'But can you, in the mean time, point out to us any\n apartment that we can ransack? We are, you see, like Harlequin,\n and have more need of cash than advice;' and they left me,\n laughing deridingly at me. I called them back, to profess my\n attachment to them, and begged them not to call again at my\n house. 'If that is all,' said Deluc, 'we will keep from\n that.'--'Oh yes, we'll keep away,' added Blondy, 'since that is\n unpleasant to your mistress.' But the latter did not stay away\n long: the very next day, at night-fall, he presented himself at\n my ware-house, and asked to speak to me privately. I took him\n into my own room. 'We are alone?' said he to me, looking round\n at the room in which we were; and when he was assured that he\n had no witnesses, he drew from his pocket eleven silver forks,\n and two gold watches, which he placed on a stand. 'Four hundred\n francs for this would not be too much--the silver plate and the\n gold watches.--Come, tip us the needful.'--'Four hundred\n francs!' said I, alarmed at so abrupt a total,--'I have not so\n much money.'--'Never mind; go and sell the goods.'--'But if it\n should be known!'--'That's your affair; I want the ready; or if\n you like it better, I'll send you customers from the\n police-office;--you know what a word would do;--come,\n come,--the cash, the chink, and no gammon.' I understood the\n scoundrel but too well: I saw myself denounced, dragged from\n the state in which I had installed myself, and led back to the\n Bagne. I counted out the four hundred francs.\"\n\nConsidering the danger in which Vidocq was placed, his offer to serve\nthe police was judicious. What could be more trying than to lie at the\nmercy of rascals? Obliged to be continually supplying them with\nhush-money, and yet always afraid of being betrayed by them, he was in\nperpetual torment; but, his services once accepted by the police, all\nthis was at an end. He must have felt himself like a man escaped from a\nwreck, and from the horrors of contending elements; like Ulysses, to\nwhom we have before compared him, when, having accepted the mantle\noffered him by Leucothea, he reached the friendly shore of Pheacia. Like\nhim, too, his toils were to be renewed. He had enemies to cope with and\nsubdue, and who required to be encountered with as much subtlety and\nresolution as Penelope's suitors. The following is his account of his\nfirst capture.--\n\n \"One morning I was hastily summoned to attend the chief of the\n division. The matter in hand was to discover a man named\n Watrin, accused of having fabricated and put in circulation\n false money and bank-notes. The inspectors of the police had\n already arrested Watrin, but, according to custom, had allowed\n him to escape. M. Henry gave me every direction which he deemed\n likely to assist me in the search after him; but,\n unfortunately, he had only gleaned a few simple particulars of\n his usual habits and customary haunts. Every place he was known\n to frequent was freely pointed out to me; but it was not very\n likely he would be found in those resorts, which prudence would\n call upon him carefully to avoid: there remained, therefore,\n only a chance of reaching him by some bye-path. When I learnt\n that he had left his effects in a furnished house, where he\n once lodged, on the boulevard of Mont Parnasse, I took it for\n granted, that, sooner or later, he would go there in search of\n his property; or, at least, that he would send some person to\n fetch it from thence; consequently I directed all my vigilance\n to this spot; and after having reconnoitred the house, I lay in\n ambush in its vicinity, night and day, in order to keep a\n watchful eye upon all comers and goers. This went on for nearly\n a week, when, weary of not observing any thing, I determined\n upon engaging the master of the house in my interest, and to\n hire an apartment of him, where I accordingly established\n myself with Annette, certain that my presence could give rise\n to no suspicion. I had occupied this post for about fifteen\n days, when, one evening, at eleven o'clock, I was informed that\n Watrin had just come, accompanied by another person. Owing to a\n slight indisposition, I had retired to bed earlier than usual;\n however, at this news I rose hastily, and descended the\n staircase by four stairs at a time; but whatever diligence I\n might use, I was only just in time to catch Watrin's companion;\n him I had no right to detain, but I made myself sure that I\n might, by intimidation, obtain further particulars from him. I\n therefore seized him, threatened him, and soon drew from him a\n confession, that he was a shoemaker, and that Watrin lived with\n him, No. 4, _Rue des Mauvais Garcons_. This was all I wanted to\n know: I had only time to slip an old great coat over my shirt,\n and, without stopping to put on more garments, I hurried on to\n the place thus pointed out to me. I reached the house the very\n instant that some person was quitting it: persuaded that it was\n Watrin, I attempted to seize him; he escaped from me, and I\n darted after him up a staircase; but at the moment of grasping\n him, a violent blow, which struck my chest, drove me down\n twenty stairs. I sprung forward again, and that so quickly,\n that, to escape from my pursuit, he was compelled to return\n into the house through a sash-window. I then knocked loudly at\n the door, summoning him to open it without delay. This he\n refused to do. I then desired Annette, who had followed me, to\n go in search of the guard; and, whilst she was preparing to\n obey me, I counterfeited the noise of a man descending the\n stairs. Watrin, deceived by this feint, was anxious to satisfy\n himself whether I had actually gone, and softly put his head\n out of the window, to observe if all was safe. This was exactly\n what I wanted. I made a vigorous dart forwards, and seized him\n by the hair of his head: he grasped me in the same manner, and\n a desperate struggle took place: jammed against the\n partition-wall which separated us, he opposed me with a\n determined resistance. Nevertheless, I felt that he was growing\n weaker; I collected all my strength for a last effort; I\n strained every nerve, and drew him nearly out of the window\n through which we were struggling; one more trial, and the\n victory was mine; but in the earnestness of my grasp, we both\n rolled on the passage floor, on to which I had pulled him. To\n rise, snatch from his hands the shoemaker's cutting knife with\n which he had armed himself, to bind him and lead him out of the\n house, was the work of an instant. Accompanied only by Annette,\n I conducted him to the prefecture, where I received the\n congratulations, first of M. Henry, and afterwards those of the\n prefect of police, who bestowed on me a pecuniary recompense.\"\n\nThe next account we shall transcribe, is one of his freeing the\ncommunity of a receiver of stolen goods. This man had been long watched\nby the police; but all attempts to convict him had failed. Accordingly\nM. Henry was desirous that Vidocq should use his endeavours, which he\nreadily did as follows.\n\n \"Posted near the house of the suspected dealer in stolen\n property, I watched for his going out; and, following him when\n he had gone a few steps down the street, addressed him by a\n different name to his own. He assured me I was mistaken; I\n protested to the contrary; he insisted upon it I was deceived;\n and I affected to be equally satisfied of his identity,\n declaring my perfect recognition of his person, as that of a\n man who, for some time, had been sought after by the police\n throughout Paris and its environs. 'You are grossly mistaken,'\n replied he warmly; 'my name is so and so, and I live in such a\n street.' 'Come, come, friend,' said I, 'excuses are useless; I\n know you too well to part with you so easily.' 'This is too\n much,' cried he, 'but, at the next police station, I shall\n probably be able to meet with those who can convince you, that\n I know my own name better than you seem to do.' This was\n exactly the point at which I wished to arrive. 'Agreed,' said\n I, and we bent our steps to the neighbouring guard-house. We\n entered, and I requested him to show me his papers; he had none\n about him. I then insisted upon his being searched, and, on his\n person, were found three watches, and twenty-five double\n Napoleons, which I caused to be laid aside till he should be\n examined before a magistrate. These things had been wrapped in\n a handkerchief, which I contrived to secure, and, after having\n disguised myself as a messenger, I hastened to the house of\n this receiver of stolen goods, and demanded to speak with his\n wife. She, of course, had no idea of my business, or knowledge\n of my person, and seeing several persons besides herself\n present, I signified to her, that my business being of a\n private nature, it was important that I should speak to her\n alone; and in token of my claims to her confidence, produced\n the handkerchief, and inquired whether she recognised it?\n Although still ignorant of the cause of my visit, her\n countenance became troubled, and her whole person was much\n agitated, as she begged me to let her hear my business. 'I am\n concerned,' replied I, 'to be the bearer of unpleasant news;\n but the fact is, your husband has just been arrested, every\n thing found on his person has been seized, and, from some words\n which he happened to overhear, he suspects he has been\n betrayed; he therefore wishes you to remove out of the house\n certain things, you are aware would be dangerous to his safety\n if found on the premises. If you please, I will lend you a\n helping hand, but I must forewarn you that you have not one\n moment to lose.' The information was of the first importance.\n The sight of the handkerchief, and the description of the\n objects it had served to envelope, removed from her mind every\n doubt as to the truth of the message I had brought her; and she\n easily fell into the snare I had laid to entrap her. She\n thanked me for the trouble I had taken, and begged I would go\n and engage three hackney coaches, and return to her with as\n little delay as possible. I left the house to execute my\n commission, but on the road, I stopped to give one of my people\n instructions to keep the coaches in sight, and to seize them,\n with their contents, directly I should give the signal. The\n vehicles drew up to the door, and, upon re-entering the house,\n I found things in a high state of preparation for removing. The\n floor was strewed with articles of every description;\n time-pieces, candelabra, Etruscan vases, cloths, cachemires,\n linen, muslin, &c. All these things had been taken from a\n closet, the entrance to which was cleverly concealed by a large\n press, so skilfully contrived, that the most practised eye\n could not have discovered the deception. I assisted in the\n removal, and, when it was completed, the press having been\n carefully replaced, the woman begged of me to accompany her,\n which I did; and no sooner was she in one of the coaches, ready\n to start, than I suddenly pulled up the window, and, at this\n previously concerted signal, we were immediately surrounded by\n the police. The husband and wife were tried at the assizes,\n and, as may be easily conceived, were overwhelmed beneath the\n weight of an accusation, in support of which there existed a\n formidable mass of convicting testimony.\"\n\nWe must extract one more account from Vidocq, to show the desperate\nhazards which police-officers sometimes run, in capturing criminals;\nhazards which, when surmounted, they naturally exult in. Information had\nbeen received at the police-office, that one Fossard, who had several\ntimes effected escapes from jail, was living with his mistress in a\ncertain district of Paris; that the windows of his apartment had yellow\ncurtains; and that a hump-backed seamstress lived in the same house.\nThis was very indefinite; for neither the street, nor the number of the\nhouse was known, and curtains might be changed. However, Vidocq was not\ndeterred from undertaking a search; accordingly, disguised as an\nold-fashioned gentleman, he began the enterprise. He went from street to\nstreet; ascended staircase after staircase till his limbs ached; called\nat the doors of scores of seamstresses, but no hump-backed damsel\nappeared;--all were as straight as arrows! Not more ardently, he says,\ndid Don Quixote pant for Dulcinea, than he for Humpina. Days rolled on\nunsuccessfully: he began to despair. At length he resolved to change his\nmeasures, and, instead of clambering up flights of steps, to station\nhimself near the stand of a gossiping milk-woman, and watch her\ncustomers. Numbers of women came to buy their milk in the morning, but\nnot one adorned with the delectable hump. At length, in the evening, he\ncaught sight of one whose back had the desired ornament. He followed her\nfrom the milk-woman's to the grocer's, from the grocer's to the\ntripe-shop, and, finally, to her home; but when he got there, no yellow\ncurtains were to be seen. What was to be done? He resolved to speak to\nher at all events; so, feigning himself to be a deserted husband, he\ninquired of her whether Fossard and his mistress were occupants of any\npart of the house? Her reply was disheartening:--they had quitted their\nlodgings, and were gone, she knew not where. Still, the case did not\nappear hopeless. He had employed a porter to carry his goods, and might\nnot that porter be found? A new search was requisite, and it terminated\nsuccessfully, by his tracing Fossard to a vintner's. Considering, then,\nthat it was advisable to have the vintner on his side, he called on him\nin his usual dress, and informed him, from the police, that his lodgers\nmeditated robbing him. He and his wife were in consternation at the\nintelligence; but Vidocq having pacified them, arranged his plans. The\ngrand difficulty to be overcome, arose from Fossard's always carrying a\nloaded pistol in his hand, and which, they knew from his character, he\nwould assuredly discharge at the first man that laid hands on him. Here\nVidocq must tell his own tale, we premising, that Fossard's mistress\nstyled herself Madame Hazard.--\n\n \"At an early hour, on the 29th of December, I betook myself to\n my station. It was desperately cold; the watch was a protracted\n one, and the more painful as we had no fire. Motionless,\n however, and my eyes fixed against a small hole in the shutter,\n I kept my post. At last, about three o'clock, he went out. I\n followed gladly, and recognised him; for, up to that period, I\n had my doubts. Certain now of his identity, I wished, at that\n moment, to put into execution the order for his apprehension;\n but the officer who was with me, said he saw the terrible\n pistol. That I might authenticate the fact, I walked quickly\n and passed Fossard, and then returning, saw clearly that the\n agent was right. To attempt to arrest him would have been\n useless, and I resolved to defer it. On the 31st of December,\n at eleven o'clock, when all my batteries were charged and my\n plans perfect, Fossard returned, and, without distrust,\n ascended the staircase shaking with cold; and, twenty minutes\n after, the disappearance of the light indicated that he was in\n bed. The moment had now arrived. The commissary and gend'armes,\n summoned by me, were waiting at the nearest guard-house until I\n should call them, and then enter quietly. We deliberated on the\n most effectual mode of seizing Fossard, without running the\n risk of being killed or wounded; for they were persuaded, that,\n unless surprised, this robber would defend himself desperately.\n My first thought was, to do nothing till daybreak, as I had\n been told that Fossard's companion went down very early to get\n the milk; we should then seize her, and, after having taken the\n key from her, we should enter the room of her lover; but might\n it not happen that, contrary to his usual custom, he might go\n out first? This reflection led me to adopt another expedient.\n The vintner's wife, in whose favour, as I was told, M. Hazard\n was much prepossessed, had one of her nephews at her house, a\n lad about ten years of age, intelligent beyond his years, and\n the more desirous of getting money, as he was a Norman. I\n promised him a reward, on condition that, under pretence of his\n aunt's being taken suddenly ill, he should go and beg Madame\n Hazard to give him some Eau de Cologne. I desired the little\n chap to assume the most piteous tone he could; and was so well\n satisfied with the specimen he gave me, that I began to\n distribute the parts to my performers. The denouement was near\n at hand. I made all my party take off their shoes, doing the\n same myself, that we might not be heard whilst going up stairs.\n The little snivelling pilot was in his shirt; he rang the\n bell;--no one answered: again he rang;--'Who's there,' was\n heard.--'It is I Madame Hazard; it is Louis: my poor aunt is\n very bad, and begs you will be so very obliging as to give her\n a little Eau de Cologne.--Oh! she is dying!--I have got a\n light.' The door was opened; and scarcely had Madame Hazard\n presented herself, when two powerful gend'armes seized on her,\n and fastened a napkin over her mouth to prevent her crying out.\n At the same instant, with more rapidity than the lion when\n darting on his prey, I threw myself upon Fossard; who,\n stupified by what was doing, and already fast bound and\n confined in his bed, was my prisoner before he could make a\n single movement, or utter a single word. So great was his\n amazement, that it was nearly an hour before he could\n articulate even a few words. When a light was brought, and he\n saw my black face and garb of a coalman, he experienced such an\n increase of terror, that I really believe he imagined himself\n in the devil's clutches. On coming to himself, he thought of\n his arms,--his pistols and dagger,--which were upon the table;\n and, turning his eyes towards them, he made a struggle, but\n that was all; for, reduced to the impossibility of doing any\n mischief, he was passive.\"\n\nFrom the above extracts, a tolerably correct idea may be formed of\nthieves and police-officers;--men who co-exist in every civilized\ncommunity, but who lead lives requiring the cunning and personal bravery\nof savages. The thief exults in the success of a daring exploit, and\nprides himself on his skill in avoiding the meshes of magistrates and\nlawyers: the police-officer is no less vain of his skill, in detecting\nand dragging to justice the man who boasts of his superiority in\nartifice, while he almost defies the arm of vengeance. In order that the\nnumber of such characters may be reduced, all reasonable attempts should\nbe made to reclaim juvenile delinquents; prisons should be not only\nplaces of terror, but places where the spread of corruption is\neffectually prevented, by the prohibition of intercourse amongst the\ninmates; and, above all, education, founded on a moral and religious\nbasis, should be extended throughout society. Facts bear us out in\nasserting, that crimes of the greatest magnitude, such as murder,\nburglary, and arson, considerably diminish with the spread of\ncivilization, which operates, like the circle formed by the pebble\nthrown into water, in extending its influence in proportion to its\ncircumference. As philanthropists in many different countries are\nlabouring simultaneously to promote this great end, we are justified in\nconsidering the present age as the harbinger of a better; and we may\nrejoice in the anticipation. The progressive improvement of the human\nfamily is a delightful subject for meditation, giving us, perhaps, a\nprelibation of the joys of futurity, and animating us to contribute our\naid, trifling as it may be, to the melioration of the condition of our\ncountry.\n\nBefore closing this article, we can scarcely forbear remarking, that the\ntranslator of Vidocq has used various words which have been considered\nby English writers as Americanisms; such as _to progress_, _to\napprobate_, and _lengthy_; also _chicken-fighting_ for cock-fighting.\nWhether he is an American or an Englishman we know not; but certain we\nare, that nearly every one of the alleged peculiarities in language,\nadopted by Americans, may be found either in old English authors, or are\nknown to have been used in one or other of the provincial brogues of\nEngland. Captain Basil Hall notices the substitution of _fall_ for\nAutumn; but he might have known, that though nearly obsolete in England,\nit is still current in the west of England amongst the vulgar.[15] Even\nthe much laughed at _I guess_, is in vogue in Lancashire; so that with\nthe exception of _to tote_ for to carry, which, as Dr. Webster remarks,\nwas introduced by the s into the southern states, we do not know\nwhether a single word or expression supposed to be peculiar to the\nUnited States, may be found, which cannot be traced to Great Britain or\nIreland. In the volume on Insect Architecture, issued by the Society for\nthe Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, we notice the word _sparse,_ which,\ntill then, we had supposed to be of American formation; and a late\nwriter in Blackwood's Magazine says, that the New-England word\n_tarnation_, is current in the county of Suffolk in old England. The\nprobability of its being introduced into Massachusetts from that part of\nEngland, is confirmed by the great number of towns in Massachusetts\nbearing the same names as towns in the counties of Suffolk and Essex,\nand by the correspondence remarked by travellers between the dialects of\nthe two districts. Every one may have observed, that the\nNew-Englanders,--many even of the educated amongst them,--pronounce the\nparticiple _been_, as if written _ben_; and this peculiarity, we are\nassured, is prevalent in the part of England just mentioned.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[12] See the second series of Tales of a Grandfather.\n\n[13] Since the above was written, we have met with an old schoolfellow\nof Vaux's, and who also knew him in after life; and from him we have\nlearnt that Vaux's Memoirs have strong claim to credence, from the\ncircumstance that the account of his early life appears to be correctly\ngiven, as also that part of his subsequent career which is known to our\ninformant. He added, that his manners were quite fascinating.\n\n[14] As many of our readers may not recollect it, we here insert it.\nCibber, it should be borne in mind, was poet-laureate.\n\n\"In merry old England, it once was a rule, That the king had his poet,\nand also his fool; But the times are so altered, I'd have you to know\nit, That Cibber will serve both for fool and for poet!\"\n\nCibber seems so little to have minded this, and the rest of Pope's\nsatire on him in the Dunciad, that he wrote another epigram nearly as\npungent on himself! We give the following stanzas as a specimen of it.\n\n \"When Bayes thou play'st, thyself thou art;\n For that by nature fit,\n No blockhead better suits the part,\n Than such a coxcomb wit.\n\n In Wronghead, too, thy brains we see\n Who might do well at plough;\n As fit for Parliament was he,\n As for the laurel thou.\"\n\n[15] See A Summary View of America. By an Englishman. 8vo. London: 1824.\n\n\n\n\nART. VI.--TOBACCO.\n\n1.--\"_Counterblaste to Tobacco._\" By KING JAMES I. _of England._ Works,\nfol. from 214 to 222.\n\n2.--_A Dissertation on the Use and Abuse of Tobacco._ By The Rev. ADAM\nCLARKE. pp. 32. October: 1798.\n\n3.--_Observations upon the influence of the habitual use of Tobacco upon\nHealth, Morals, and Property._ By BENJAMIN RUSH, M.D. Essays. p. 263 to\n274. 1798.\n\n4.--_Notices relative to Tobacco._ By DR. A. T. THOMSON. _Appendix (Note\nB) to Mrs. A. T. Thomson's Life of Sir Walter Ralegh._ pp. 24: 1830.\n\n\nThe annals of literature furnish abundant examples of authors, who,\nthrough wantonness, whimsicality, a desire to say something, where many\ncould say nothing, and few could say much, or from some other impulse,\n(for which it were now unprofitable to search,) have adopted themes\neither insignificant in themselves, or repugnant to truth; subjects\nbarren, or improbable, or laborious, or palpably absurd. Thus Homer has\ncelebrated the battle of the Frogs and Mice; Virgil sung of Bees;\nPolycrates commended Tyranny; Phavorinus sets forth the praises of\nInjustice; and Cardan pronounced the eulogy of Nero. The Golden Ass of\nApulcius is well known; Henry Cornelius Agrippa has employed his wit and\nlearning on an elaborate \"Digression in praise of the Asse.\" Other\nauthors have discovered virtues and excellencies in this animal, though\nthe generality of mankind have agreed in supposing it possessed nothing\nremarkable but dulness and obstinacy. Lucian exercised his genius on a\nfly; and Erasmus has dignified Folly in his _Encomium Moriae_, which, for\nthe sake of the pun, he inscribed to Sir Thomas More. The subject of\nMichael Psellus is a Gnat; Antonius Majoragius took for his theme Clay;\nJulius Scaliger wrote concerning a Goose; Janus Dousa on a Shadow; and\nHeinsius (_horresco referens_) eulogized a Louse. This last animal\nelicited some fine moral verses from Burns; Libanus thought the Ox\nworthy of his pen; and Sextus Empiricus selected the faithful Dog.\nAddison composed the Battle of the Pigmies and Cranes; Rochester\nversified about Nothing; and Johannes Passeratius made a Latin poem on\nthe same subject, which is quoted at full length by Dr. Johnson at the\nend of his Life of Rochester. The Jeffreidos were written to commemorate\nthe perils to which Sir Jeoffrey Hudson was exposed; Sir William Jones\nthought Chess worthy of the epopee; and at the foot of this list of\negregious triflers, we place Dr. Raphael Thorius, who wrote a much and\noften praised Latin poem on the Virtues of Tobacco.\n\nNow, to most of our readers, this last theme would seem to offer fewer\ninducements to the poet's pen than any of those thus enumerated; and\ngenius could scarcely have selected one, which seemed less ennobling in\nitself, or rather, which at once presented such palpable\ndiscouragements, from the coarse associations connected with it, and the\ncureless vulgarity and nauseousness with which the whole subject appears\nto be invested. In opposition to so many obstacles and dissuasives, this\ngreat man yielded to the impulse of his muse, and obtained an\nimmortality to which no other action of his life would have entitled\nhim. It is with unaffected regret that we are compelled to state, that,\nto procure a sight of this celebrated poem, we have ransacked our\nlibraries without the least success. How painful is the reflection, that\nperhaps this work has never yet reached the United States! What a\nreproach to our republic, that a poem whose object was to celebrate the\nvirtues of the most incomparable of all our native plants, should be\ntotally unknown in that new world, with whose discovery it was nearly\ncontemporaneous! But perhaps our Jeremiad may be premature; for in some\nobscure corner in Virginia, (the garden of this weed,) a copy of the\npoem may at this very moment exist, like unobtrusive merit, disregarded\nand despised. For the honour of our country, we hope this may prove\ntrue; since it may lessen the odium with which men habitually load poor\nrepublics, a name which has long been the by-word and synonime of\ningratitude.\n\nWe are fully aware of the contemptuous manner in which Doctor Clarke\nspeaks of this production, and its English translation by the Rev. W.\nBerwick, declaring them to be \"of equal merit, and that they scarce\ndeserve to be mentioned.\" But to the merit of this work we have\ntestimony infinitely higher than the opinion of the Reverend Doctor.\nThus, Howell, in his inimitable \"Familiar Letters,\" a book which cannot\nbe too highly commended, or too often read, says, \"if you desire to read\nwith pleasure all the virtues of this modern herb, you must read Dr.\nThorius's Potologis, an accurate peece, couched in a strenuous heroic\nverse, and continuing its strength from first to last; insomuch that for\nthe bignes it may be compared to any piece of antiquity, and in my\nopinion is beyond [Greek: Batzachomnomachia] or [Greek:\nGaleomnomachia].\"[16] The learned Mr. Bayle speaks of the same\nproduction in very commendatory language.[17] Bayle tells an excellent\nstory of Thorius, which, as it illustrates the character of the great\ntobacco poet, deserves to be read. He was extremely fond of his glass of\nwine, and had, beside, that hydrophobic distaste, which has been\nimagined essential to the true poet. Being one day seated at the dinner\ntable, in company with the celebrated Peireskius, in the festivity of\nthe occasion, he was urging the latter to quaff off a bumper of wine,\nand after the most importunate intreaties, Peireskius at last agreed to\ndo it upon one condition, which was, that Thorius should immediately\nafterwards drink a bumper himself. No condition could be more\nacceptable, no penalty more easy; but what was the surprise and horror\nof Thorius, when his turn came, to find that he was called upon to drink\na bumper, not of wine, but of water!--which insipid and unaccustomed\nbeverage, after sundry efforts and awry faces, he contrived to get down,\namidst peals of laughter from his hilarious and learned friends.\n\nWe classed Thorius's poem among the extravagant vagaries of genius; but\nthe more we reflect upon the subject matter of this poem, the more the\nconviction fastens upon our minds, that it is by no means a trivial or\nundignified topic; that considered in what light it may, tobacco must be\nregarded as the most astonishing of the productions of nature, since,\nalthough unsightly, offensive, and, perhaps, in every way pernicious, it\nhas, in the short period of about three centuries, subdued not one\nparticular nation, but the whole world, Christian and Pagan, into a\nbondage more abject and irremediable than was ever known to tyranny or\nsuperstition. Kings have forbidden it; popes have anathematized it; and\nphysicians have warned against it. Even ministers of the gospel have\nlifted up their voices, and thundered their denunciations from the\npulpit; but all has been in vain; its use has increased, is increasing,\nand will increase, as long as the earth continues to yield this\nmiraculous vegetable to the unnatural appetite of man.\n\nThat what is persecuted should thrive the more in consequence of\npersecution, can excite no surprise in any one at all skilled in the\nhistory of human nature; but this is altogether inadequate to account\nfor that preternatural eagerness with which men seek after this\nwonderful plant. In fact, there appears to be some occult charm\nconnected with it--some invisible spirit, which, be it angel, or be it\ndevil, has never yet been, and perhaps never will be, satisfactorily\nexplained. To those who have never revelled in this habit, and\nconsequently can neither comprehend its nature or strength, the\nhyperbolical language which most authors use when they speak of tobacco,\nmust appear, in an eminent degree, burlesque and overstrained.\n\"Tobacco,\" says the Anatomist of Melancholy, \"divine, rare,\nsuperexcellent tobacco, which goes far beyond all their panaceas,\npotable gold, and philosophers' stones, a soveraign remedy to all\ndiseases--A good vomit, I confess, a vertuous herb, if it be well\nqualified, opportunely taken, and medicinally used; but as it is\ncommonly abused by most men, which take it as tinkers do ale, 'tis a\nplague, a mischief, a violent purger of goods, lands, and health;\nhellish, devilish, and damned tobacco; the ruine and overthrow of body\nand soul.\"[18] So in his valedictory to tobacco, Mr. Lamb is not less\nextravagant and contradictory. The health of the poet it appears had\nsuffered seriously from the immoderate use of tobacco, which had been in\nconsequence interdicted by his physician. Compelled to surrender his\nfavourite enjoyment, he vents his feelings in a very spirited \"Farewell\nto Tobacco,\" which exhibits a singular mixture of opposite sentiments,\nand of violent struggles between his propensity to the habit and his\nacquiescence in the necessity which severs him from it, together with\nfeeble attempts to curse that, without which, life to the unhappy poet\nseemed scarcely endurable.\n\n \"Stinking'st of the stinking kind,\n Filth of the mouth and fog of the mind,\n Africa that brags her foyson,\n Breeds no such prodigious poison,\n Henbane, nightshade, both together,\n Hemlock, aconite----\n ----Nay, rather\n Plant divine, of rarest virtue;\n Blisters on the tongue would hurt you;\n 'Twas but in a sort I blamed thee,\n None e'er prospered who defamed thee.\"\n\nBut tobacco has had enemies of exalted station, whose persecution has\nbeen uniform, and whose hatred has been unmixed. Such was James the\nFirst of England, who is not less remarkable for his sagacity in\ndiscovering the gunpowder plot, and having supported the divine right of\nkings, than for having written a \"Counterblaste to Tobacco.\"[19] But let\nthe king speak for himself:--\n\n \"Tobacco,\" says he, \"is the lively image and pattern of hell,\n for it hath, by allusion, all the parts and vices of the world\n whereby hell may be gained; to wit. 1. It is a smoke; so are\n all the vanities of this world. 2. It delighteth them that take\n it; so do all the pleasures of the world delight the men of the\n world. 3. It maketh men drunken and light in the head; so do\n all the vanities of the world, men are drunkards therewith. 4.\n He that taketh tobacco can not leave it; it doth bewitch him;\n even so the pleasures of the world make men loath to leave\n them; they are for the most part enchanted with them. And,\n farther, besides all this, it is like hell in the very\n substance of it, for it is a stinking loathsome thing, and so\n is hell.\"\n\nThe mythological fable which existed among the Indians as to the manner\nin which this plant was first bestowed upon mankind, is extremely\nwhimsical, somewhat discreditable, and withal of such a nature as to\npreclude the propriety of our introducing it in this place to the\nacquaintance of our readers. But writers are not wanting who have\ncarried the original of tobacco into the Grecian fabulous ages, and\nattributed to Bacchus the glory of having discovered and disclosed to\nmortals its virtues. Thorius, as Dr. Clarke tells us, very ominously\nascribes the discovery and first use of this herb to Bacchus, Silenus,\nand the Satyrs, (drunkenness, gluttony, and lust,) and yet, continues\nthe Doctor, with a sneer, this poem was written in praise of it. Mr.\nLamb, in the poem before quoted, has the same thought, and he farther\nadds a belief, that the tobacco plant was the true Indian conquest for\nwhich the jolly god has been so celebrated. He moreover intimates, that\nthe Thyrsus of that deity was afterwards ornamented with leaves of\ntobacco, instead of ivy. Even the name of the plant has been derived\nfrom Bacchus. This is particularly mentioned by Mr. Joseph Sylvester,\nquoted by Dr. Clarke, who wrote a poem on tobacco which he inscribed to\nVilliers, Duke of Buckingham. The title of this tirade is very quaint,\nviz. \"Tobacco battered, and the Pipes shattered (about their Ears who\nidly idolize so base and barbarous a Weed; or at least-wise overlove so\nloathsome a Vanity) by a Volley of holy Shot from Mount Helicon.\"\n\n \"For even the derivation of the name\n Seems to allude and to include the same;\n Tobacco as [Greek: toBakcho] one would say\n To cup-god Bacchus dedicated ay.\"\n\nNor should all this appear so extraordinary, when we consider that\nCharlevoix, with the utmost seriousness, discusses the question, whether\nthe calumet of the North American Indians was the same as the caduceus\nof Mercury.[20] It is however beyond all doubt, that tobacco has always\nbeen regarded by the Indians with religious veneration, and employed by\nthem in all religious ceremonies. Mr. Stith informs us, that they\nthought this plant \"of so great worth and virtue that the gods\nthemselves were delighted with it; and therefore they sometimes made\nsacred fires, and instead of a sacrifice, threw in the dust of tobacco;\nand when they were caught in a tempest, they would sprinkle it into the\nair and water--upon all their new fishing nets they would cast some of\nit, and when they had escaped any remarkable danger, they would throw\nsome of this dust into the air, with strange distorted gestures,\nsometimes striking the earth with their feet in a kind of time and\nmeasure, sometimes clapping their hands and throwing them up on high,\nlooking towards the heavens, and uttering barbarous and dissonant\nwords.\"[21]--Sir Hans Sloan tells us, also, that the Indians employ\ntobacco in all their enchantments, sorceries, and fortune-tellings; that\ntheir priests intoxicate themselves with the fumes, and in their\necstacies give forth ambiguous and oracular responses.[22]\n\nA few words will now be devoted to the subject of the numerous names\nwhich have belonged to tobacco; many persons conceiving the title of any\nthing, to be of equal importance with the christening of a person; and\nsurely where the etymology of a name of either person or thing can throw\nany light upon their respective histories, the time employed thereon can\nhardly be looked upon as either lost or misspent. But it unfortunately\nhappens, as is almost always the case in regard to persons and things\nbelonging to mythological eras, that the greatest confusion and\nperplexity exist in regard to the Indian titles which have been bestowed\nupon tobacco; and as we frankly confess ourselves utterly unversed in\nOccidental philology, we shall, with whatever reluctance, be obliged to\nomit even the mention of many appellations, whose true meaning and value\nhave passed into obscurity, with the languages and nations from which\nsuch appellations were derived.[23]\n\nSir Hans Sloan informs us, that the name was originally picielt, and\nthat tobacco was given it by the Spaniards.[24] Several authors say,\nthat it was called by the inhabitants of the West India islands\nyoli--but that on the continent they gave it the name of paetum, peti,\npetunum, or petun.[25] Some say it was sent into Spain from Tabaco, a\nprovince of Yucatan, where it was first discovered, and from whence it\ntakes its common name. Pourchot declares, that the Portuguese brought it\ninto Europe from Tobago, an island in North America; but the island\nTobago, says another, was never under the Portuguese dominion, and that\nit seems rather to have given its name to that island. The inhabitants\nof Hispaniola call it by the name cohiba, or pete be cenuc, and the\ninstrument by which they smoke it tabaco, and hence, say they, it\nderived its name. Stith, in his History of Virginia, speaks of one Mr.\nThomas Harriot,[26] a domestic of Sir Walter Ralegh, a man of learning,\nwho was sent by Ralegh to Virginia chiefly to make observations, which\nwere afterwards published. Now this Harriot, speaking of tobacco, says\nit was called, by the Indians of Virginia, uppowoc.[27] But the\nprincipal names by which this article is now known, either in common\nparlance or scientific discourse, are three, viz.--paetum, which seems to\nbe its poetical title--tobacco, its vulgar and most intelligible\nname--and nicotiana, its scientific and botanical name; which latter we\nwill explain more fully hereafter.[28]\n\nThe Abbot Nyssens thought it was the Devil who first introduced tobacco\ninto Europe. We do not design to discuss so important a question,\nconcerning which there must needs be a contrariety of opinions; but we\ncannot forbear to observe, that to give the Devil more than his due, is\nby no means new or uncommon in ecclesiastical inquiries. We have\nsomething parallel to this in the history of Hercules, though springing\nmost probably from a very different source; for to him the ancients were\nwont to attribute any great action for which they could not find a\ncertain author. We are informed that this plant was first seen smoked by\nthe Spaniards, under Grijalva, in 1518. In 1519, the illustrious Cortez\nsent a specimen of it to his king, and this was the date of its\nintroduction into Europe. Others say, one Roman Pane carried it into\nSpain. By the Cardinal Santa Croce it was conveyed to Italy. It should\nbe observed, however, that the ancestors of the Cardinal already enjoyed\nthe reputation of having brought into Italy the true cross, and the\ndouble glory which attaches to the Santa Croce family in consequence, is\nwell described in the following Latin lines, taken from Bayle's\nDictionary.[29] These verses are valuable in another respect, since they\ncontain a full enumeration of the real or supposed virtues of the herb.\nThey are also copied by the Reverend Dr. Clarke; and the English verses\nwhich accompany them, are by the Dr. attributed to M. de Maizeaux.--\n\n \"Nomine quae sanctae crucis herba vocatur ocellis\n Subvenit, et sanat plagas, et vulnera jungit,\n Discutit et strumas, cancrum, cancrosaque sanat\n Ulcera, et ambustis prodest, scabiemque repellit,\n Discutit et morbum cui cessit ab impete nomen,\n Calefacit, et siccat, stringit, mundatque, resolvit,\n Et dentium et ventris mulcet capitisque dolores;\n Subvenit antiquae tussi, stomachoque rigenti\n Renibus et spleni confert, ultroque, venena\n Dira sagittarum domat, ictibus omnibus atris\n Haec eadem prodest; gingivis proficit atque\n Conciliat somnum: nuda ossa carne revestit;\n Thoracis vitiis prodest, pulmonis itemque,\n Quae duo sic praestat, non ulla potentior herba.\n Hanc Sanctacrucius Prosper quum nuncius esset,\n Sedis Apostolicae Lusitanas missus in horas\n Huc adportavit Romanae ad commoda gentis,\n Ut proavi sanctae lignum crucis ante tulere\n Omnis Christiadum quo nunc respublica gaudet,\n Et Sanctae crucis illustris domus ipsa vocatur\n Corporis atque animae nostrae studiosa salutis.\"\n\nWe subjoin the following \"faithful but inelegant translation,\" which is\ngiven by M. de Maizeaux in his translation of Bayle.\n\n \"The herb which borrows Santa Croce's name\n Sore eyes relieves, and healeth wounds; the same\n Discusses the king's evil, and removes\n Cancers and boils; a remedy it proves\n For burns and scalds, repels the nauseous itch,\n And straight recovers from convulsion fits.\n It cleanses, dries, binds up, and maketh warm;\n The head-ach, tooth-ach, colic, like a charm\n It easeth soon; an ancient cough relieves,\n And to the reins and milt, and stomach gives\n Quick riddance from the pains which each endures;\n Next the dire wounds of poisoned arrows cures;\n All bruises heals, and when the gums are sore,\n It makes them sound and healthy as before.\n Sleep it procures, our anxious sorrows lays,\n And with new flesh the naked bone arrays.\n No herb hath greater power to rectify\n All the disorders in the breast that lie\n Or in the lungs. Herb of immortal fame!\n Which hither first by Santa Croce came,\n When he (his time of nunciature expired)\n Back from the court of Portugal retired;\n Even as his predecessors great and good,\n Brought home the cross, whose consecrated wood\n All Christendom now with its presence blesses;\n And still the illustrious family possesses\n The name of Santa Croce, rightly given,\n Since they in all respects resembling Heaven,\n Procure as much as mortal men can do,\n The welfare of our souls and bodies too.\"\n\nIt is agreed on all hands, that tobacco was introduced into France by\nJohn Nicot, (whence it obtains its common name Nicotiana) Lord of\nVillemain and Master of Requests of the household of Francis the Second.\nHe was born at Nismes, and was sent as embassador to the Court of\nPortugal in 1559, from whence, on his return, he brought to Paris this\nherb. From Nicot, it was also called the embassador's herb. The\nquestion, whether it was known in France before it was carried into\nEngland, was long agitated, and is perhaps not settled yet, since the\nprecise epocha of its introduction into any particular country, cannot\nwith absolute certainty be fixed. The French writers, generally, are of\nopinion that Sir Francis Drake conveyed it to England before Nicot made\nit known in France. Thevet, who has discussed the subject, is thought by\nthem to have settled it in favour of the English. A French writer, Jean\nLiebault, says tobacco grew wild in France long before the discovery of\nthe New World. Mr. Murray inclines to the belief, that tobacco existed\nin Europe before the discovery of America, but he thinks it proceeded\nfrom Asia.[30] Mr. Savary asserts, that among the Persians it was known\nat least five hundred years since, but that they obtained it from Egypt,\nand not from the East Indies, where its cultivation was but recent. But,\nwhat has not been said of this extraordinary plant? It has often been\ncalled a Nepenthe, and we are under belief that some have even imagined\nthat the tobacco leaf forms a principal ingredient in the wondrous and\npotent mixture which Helen prepares for her guests in the fourth\nOdyssey.--\n\n [Greek: \"Phazmachon\n Nependes t' acholon te kakon epilethon apanton.\"]\n\n \"Of sovereign use to assuage\n The boiling bosom of tumultuous rage;\n To clear the cloudy front of wrinkled care,\n And dry the tearful sluices of despair.\"\n\nIn the same passage, Homer tells us that Helen learned the nature of\ndrugs and herbs from the wife of Thone, King of Egypt. Now, by\nconsidering this latter fact, in conjunction with what is asserted by\nMr. Savary, some verisimilitude seems to be imparted to the hypothesis\nof the tobacco plant having sprung originally from Egypt. We are not\naware of any author (though we think it not improbable that such may\nexist) who has carried matters so far as to assert that tobacco was the\ntree of Paradise, \"whose mortal taste brought death into the\nworld,\"--nor would this appear for a moment extravagant, if one only\ncalls to mind the strange traditions which the Rabbinnical writers have\nhanded down upon theological points of far more importance, or the\nequally absurd and monstrous notions which the modern history of\nsectarianism furnishes. From what has been said, however, it appears\nvery clear, that Satan has had too much to do with tobacco. If it be\nverily the tree of knowledge, it must be admitted that he has preserved\nit with infinite care, as if grateful for the mighty mischief which was\nwrought in Eden, and as a fit instrument for those injuries in future to\nthe human family, which so many authors assure us it is producing at the\npresent day. How tobacco ever got to America is a difficulty of very\nlittle moment, when we remember that writers are not agreed in what\nmanner America was even peopled. Even were we to admit that the\naboriginal Americans were not descended from Adam and Eve, still if we\nconcede that Satan has had the especial care of tobacco, we cannot be\nsurprised at his finding the means, if he had the desire, of introducing\nit into America. We have before alluded to what the Abbot Nyssens says,\nand if in addition we call to mind what others have uttered about its\ndiabolical nature, and that the American Indians were wont to propitiate\nthe powers of darkness by making offerings to them of tobacco, we cannot\nhelp thinking that King James was nearer truth and propriety than he\nimagined, when he declared that if he were to invite the Devil to dine\nwith him, he would be sure to provide three things,--1. a pig,--2. a\npoll of ling and mustard,--3. a pipe of tobacco for digestion.\n\nIt is not certainly known whether tobacco grew spontaneously in\nVirginia, or whether it came originally from some more southern region\nof America. At all events, the English who first visited Virginia\ncertainly found it there, and Harriot is of opinion, that it was of\nspontaneous growth. Mr. Jefferson thinks it was a native of a more\nsouthern climate, and was handed along the continent from one nation of\nsavages to another.[31] Dr. Robertson informs us, that it was not till\nthe year 1616 that its cultivation was commenced in Virginia.[32]\nHowever this may be, the gallant and unfortunate Sir Walter Ralegh has\nthe credit of bringing it into fashion in England.[33] It is well known\nthat the colony planted in Virginia by Sir Walter, suffered many\ncalamities, and we are told, that Ralph Lane,[34] one of the survivers\nwho was carried back to England by Sir Francis Drake, was the person who\nfirst made tobacco known in Great Britain. This was in the 28th year of\nQueen Elizabeth, A. D. 1585.[35] Sir Walter himself is said to have been\nvery fond of smoking, and many humorous stories have been recorded\nconcerning it, particularly of a wager he made with Queen Elizabeth,\nthat he would determine exactly the weight of the smoke which went off\nin a pipe of tobacco. This he did by first weighing the tobacco which\nwas to be smoked, and then carefully preserving and weighing the ashes,\nand the queen paid the wager cheerfully, being satisfied that what was\nwanting to the prime weight must have been evaporated in smoke. Every\none remembers the story of the alarm of one of Sir Walter's servants,\nwho, coming into a room and beholding his master enveloped in smoke,\nsupposed him to be on fire.\n\nTo the devout and genuine worshippers of this weed, it may be\nsatisfactory to know, that a tobacco-box and some pipes, belonging\nformerly to Sir Walter, are still in existence, and all smokers who may\nfeel so disposed may perform a pilgrimage to them when they visit\nEngland, they being in the museum of Mr. Ralph Thoresby of Leeds,\nYorkshire.[36] We shall conclude our remarks upon Sir Walter, by a\npoetical tribute to his memory, which is both apposite and eloquent.\n\n \"Immortal Ralegh! were potatoes not,\n Could grateful Ireland e'er forget thy claim?[37]\n 'Were all thy proud historic deeds forgot,'\n Which blend thy memory with Eliza's fame;\n Could England's annals in oblivion rot,\n Tobacco would enshrine and consecrate thy name.\"\n\nWe cannot forbear to make a quotation concerning the Virginia colony, at\na more flourishing subsequent period, which, as it records a historical\nfact, cannot fail to be interesting, while at the same time it is\nsufficiently comic. \"The adventurers,\" says Malte-Brun, \"who increased\nfrom year to year, were reduced, in consequence of the scarcity of\nfemales, to import wives by order, as they imported merchandise. It is\nrecorded, that ninety girls, 'young and uncorrupt,' came to the Virginia\nmarket in 1620, and sixty in 1621; all of whom found a ready sale. The\nprice of each at first was one hundred pounds of tobacco, but afterwards\nrose to one hundred and fifty. What the prime cost was in England is not\nstated.\"[38]\n\nIn whatever manner tobacco found its way into Europe, it met with a very\nhostile reception from several crowned heads. Elizabeth published an\nedict against its use. James imposed severe prohibitory duties, and\nCharles, his successor, continued them.\n\n \"In 1590,\" says Dr. Thomson, \"Shah Abbas prohibited the use of\n tobacco in Persia, by a penal law; but so firmly had the luxury\n rooted itself in the minds of his subjects, that many of the\n inhabitants of the cities fled to the mountains, where they hid\n themselves, rather than forego the pleasure of smoking. In\n 1624, Pope Urban VIII. anathematized all snuff-takers, who\n committed the heinous sin of taking a pinch in any church; and\n so late as 1690, Innocent XII. excommunicated all who indulged\n in the same vice in Saint Peter's church at Rome. In 1625,\n Amurath IV. prohibited smoking as an unnatural and irreligious\n custom, under pain of death. In Constantinople, where the\n custom is now universal, smoking was thought to be so\n ridiculous and hurtful, that any Turk, who was caught in the\n act, was conducted in ridicule through the streets, with a pipe\n transfixed through his nose. In Russia, where the peasantry now\n smoke all day long, the Grand Duke of Moscow prohibited the\n entrance of tobacco into his dominions, under the penalty of\n the _knaut_ for the first offence, and death for the second;\n and the Muscovite who was found snuffing, was condemned to have\n his nostrils split. The Chambre au Tabac for punishing smokers,\n was instituted in 1634, and not abolished till the middle of\n the eighteenth century. Even in Switzerland, war was waged\n against the American herb: to smoke, in Berne, ranked as a\n crime next to adultery; and in 1653, all smokers were cited\n before the Council at Apenzel, and severely punished.\"[39]\n\nWe shall see hereafter what a host of enemies tobacco found also among\nmedical writers. We speak here particularly of the moderns; for many of\nthe older physicians extolled its healing virtues to the skies, and they\nwere giants in knowledge; but as an old author says, \"Pigmei gigantum\nhumeris impositi plusquam ipsi gigantes vident.\" Indeed it must be\nadmitted, as a very powerful argument against the efficacy of tobacco as\na medicine, that the physicians of our day have in many cases abandoned\nits use, and in others adopted some less dangerous succedaneum.\n\nIt may not be unamusing to the curious reader to know in what manner\nthis subject is handled by King James. The \"Counterblaste\" commences by\ndenouncing tobacco, because \"the vile and stinking custome comes from\nthe wilde, godlesse, and slavish Indians,\" by whom it was used as an\nantidote against the most dreadful of all diseases. Its use was\nintroduced \"neither by a king, great conqueror, nor learned Doctor of\nPhysicke, but by some Indians who were brought over;\" they died, but the\n\"savage custome\" survived. King James contents himself by examining only\nfour of the principal grounds or arguments upon which tobacco is used,\ntwo founded \"on the theoricke of a deceivable appearance of reason,\" and\ntwo \"upon the mistaken practicke of generall experience.\" Thus, \"1. An\naphorisme in the Physickes that the brains of all men being naturally\ncold and wet, all dry and hote things should be good for them.\" Ergo,\nthis \"stinking suffumigation.\"--2. The argument grounded on a show of\nreason, is \"that this filthy smoke, as well through the heat and\nstrength thereof, as by a natural force and quality, is able and fit to\npurge both the head and stomach of rhewmes and distillations, as\nexperience teacheth by the spitting and avoiding fleame immediately\nafter the taking of it.\"--3. That \"the whole people would not have taken\nso general a good liking thereof, if they had not by experience found it\nvery soveraigne and good for them.\"--4. That \"by the taking of tobacco,\ndivers and very many doe finde themselves cured of divers diseases; as\non the other hand no man ever received harme thereby.\" The King after\nhaving, as he trusts, sufficiently answered \"the most principal\narguments\" that are used in defence of this \"vile custome,\" proceeds \"to\nspeake of the sinnes and vanities committed in the filthy abuse\nthereof.\" And 1. As being a sinneful and shameful lust.--2. As a branch\nof drunkennesse.--3. As disabling both persons and goods. His majesty\nconcludes the \"Counterblaste\" by calling the smoking of tobacco \"a\ncustome loathsome to the eye, hateful to the nose, harmeful to the\nbrain, dangerous to the lungs, and in the blacke and stinking fume\nthereof, nearest resembling the horrible Stigian smoke of the pit that\nis bottomlesse.\"[40]\n\nLet it not be supposed that tobacco has been without friends, wise,\nlearned, and distinguished; but space forces us to pretermit the mention\nof many who have ascribed to it as many virtues as were ever ascribed to\nthe grand elixir of Alchemy. We shall content ourselves with two or\nthree miscellaneous testimonies.--Thus Acosta tells us it is a plant,\n\"which hath in it rare virtues, as amongst others it serves for a\ncounterpoison--for the Creator hath imparted his virtues at his\npleasure, not willing that any thing should grow idle.\"[41] Lord Bacon\nspeaks of its \"cheering and comforting the spirits,\" and that it\nrelieves in lassitude.[42] Again he says, \"doubtless it contributes to\nalleviate fatigues and discharge the body of weariness. 'T is also\ncommonly said to open the passages, and draw off humours; but its\nvirtues may be more justly attributed to its _condensing_ the\nspirits.\"[43] \"It is a good companion,\" says Howell, \"to one that\nconverseth with dead men, for if one hath bin poring long upon a book,\nor is toiled with the pen, or stupified with study, it quickeneth him,\nand dispels those clouds that usually oreset the brain. The smoke of it\nis one of the wholesomest sents that is against all contagious airs, for\nit oremasters all other smells; as _King James_ they say found true,\nwhen being once a hunting, a showr of rain drave him into a pigsty for\nshelter, where he caused a pipe full to be taken of purpose.\"[44] It\nwere easy to multiply quotations both in prose and verse, but it is to\nthe latter, most especially, that we must look for the most glowing\nascriptions--to poetry which has ever delighted.[45]\n\n \"To sing the praises of that glorious weed--\n Dear to mankind, whate'er his race, his creed,\n Condition, colour, dwelling, or degree!\n From Zembla's snows to parched Arabia's sands,\n Loved by all lips, and common to all hands!\n Hail sole cosmopolite, tobacco, hail!\n Shag, long-cut, short-cut, pig-tail, quid, or roll,\n Dark Negrohead, or Orinooka pale,\n In every form congenial to the soul.\"\n\nBefore we proceed to consider the use of tobacco as a habit, which\nmodern physicians are pleased to consider so pestiferous and baleful,\nlet us attend for a few moments to what has been said concerning its\nculture and manufacture. Mr. Jefferson, in his Notes, says that its\nculture is productive of infinite wretchedness; that it is found easier\nto make 100 bushels of wheat than 1000 pounds of tobacco, and that they\nare worth more when made.[46] Davies, in his History of the Carriby\nIslands, after giving an account of the culture and preparation of\ntobacco, adds, \"that if the people of Europe who are so fond of it, had\nthemselves seen the poor servants and slaves who are employed about this\npainful work, exposed the greatest part of the day to the scorching heat\nof the sun, and spending one half of the night in reducing it to that\nposture wherein it is transported into Europe; no doubt they would have\na greater esteem for, and think much more precious that herb which is\nprocured with the sweat and labours of so many miserable creatures.\"[47]\n\nNumerous medical writers, of the justest celebrity, have assured us,\nthat endless and dreadful evils are the portion of all who are engaged\nin the manufacture of tobacco; that the workmen are in general meagre,\njaundiced, emaciated, asthmatic, subject to colic, diarrheas, to\nvertigo, violent headach, and muscular twitchings, to narcotism, and to\nvarious diseases of the breast and lungs.[48] They have also declared\nthat some of these evils have befallen families from the fact alone of\nbeing in the neighbourhood of a tobacco manufactory.[49] Ramazzini says\nthat even the horses employed in the tobacco mills are most powerfully\naffected by the particles of the tobacco. Now if these things be true,\nwhen we call to mind the countless multitudes employed in this \"dreadful\ntrade,\" what a throng of evils present themselves upon the very\nthreshold of our subject.[50] In this view of the case, one could not\npass such a manufactory without an involuntary shudder, regarding it as\na charnel house, or rather as a Pandora's box, to those wretched beings\nwho are doomed to work or dwell within its pestilential precincts.[51]\nBut in spite of the various and respectable testimony which has been\nproduced by writers opposed to the use of tobacco, we cannot help\nregarding their statements as exceedingly exaggerated. We have not space\nto enter into a more minute examination of this portion of our subject,\nbut to such of our readers as may feel desirous of prosecuting the\ninquiry, we take great pleasure in recommending a very able memoir by\nMessieurs Parent-Duchatelet and D'Arcet,[52] in which the whole subject\nof the effects of tobacco upon the persons connected with its\nmanufacture, is most satisfactorily discussed, and the opinions and\nassertions of those who have gone so far as to declare that it was even\nnecessary to the public health that the manufactories of tobacco should\nbe removed out of large towns because of their great insalubrity, shown\nto be either without any just grounds, or the results of prejudice and\nignorance.\n\nThe fecundity of this plant is marvellous. Linnaeus has calculated that a\nsingle plant of tobacco contains 40,320 grains, and says that if each\nseed came to perfection, the plants of tobacco in vegetation in the\ncourse of four years, would be more than sufficient to cover the whole\nsurface of the earth. We are elsewhere informed that these seeds\npreserve their germinative properties for six years and even longer.\n\"Sir Thomas Browne observes,\" says Mather, \"that of the seeds of\ntobacco, a thousand make not one grain, (though Otto de Guericke, as I\nremember, says, fifty-two cyphers with one figure would give the number\nof those which would fill the space between us and the stars,) a plant\nwhich has extended its empire over the whole world, and has a larger\ndominion than any of all the vegetable kingdom.\"[53] Our readers may\nvery easily amuse themselves by making calculations on the immense\nconsumption and value of this plant. The following account from a French\nmedical writer,[54] will be sufficient. On a rough calculation, the\ntobacco sold yearly in France amounts to 40,000,000 pounds weight, which\nat three francs per pound, the ordinary price, will make the enormous\nannual sum of 120,000,000 francs. One-fourth of the French population\nuse tobacco, so that of 8,000,000 of human beings, each individual\nconsumes annually, in the various forms of snuffing, chewing, and\nsmoking, about six pounds. This quantity may seem too great for some\npersons, but it should be remembered that there are many who use a dozen\nor twenty pounds in the course of the year.\n\nIf we contemplate man in connexion with tobacco as a necessary, the\njuxtaposition cannot fail to strike us as exceedingly ludicrous. From\nthe earliest ages of philosophy, it has been a favourite employment of\nthe wise to propose such definitions of man as should fully distinguish\nhim from the rest of animated nature, and yet no definition of ancient\ntimes will, we are satisfied, appear so excellently discriminative as\none which grows out of our present subject, and which denominates him\nthe only tobacco loving animal, for (to pass over the tobacco-worm) the\nonly creature known beside man, whose nature does not abhor tobacco, is,\nas Dr. Rush informs us, the solitary rock goat of Africa, one of the\nwildest and most filthy of animals. \"Were it possible,\" says he, \"for a\nbeing who had resided on our globe, to visit the inhabitants of a planet\nwhere reason governed, and to tell them that a vile weed was in general\nuse among the inhabitants of the globe it had left, which afforded no\nnourishment; that this weed was cultivated with immense care, that it\nwas an important article of commerce, that the want of it produced real\nmisery, that its taste was extremely nauseous, that it was unfriendly to\nhealth and morals, and that its use was attended with a considerable\nloss of time and property, the account would be thought incredible.\"[55]\nIt is idle to speak of tobacco, as being \"extremely nauseous,\" that it\nis the \"meanest and most paltry of all gratifications,\" &c. Had not man\ndiscovered in it a delight and comfort which was to be derived from few\nother sources, the habitual use of tobacco would long since have been\nneglected. To say man uses tobacco for no other reason but its\noffensiveness, is a solecism; scarcely would it be more absurd to adopt\nthe habitual use of castor oil as a cordial, or assafoetida as a\nperfume. On this subject Mr. Chamberet[56] has a very interesting\npassage, which, as it is so well expressed by the author, we take the\nliberty of offering to our readers in his own language.\n\n \"Observons,\" says he, \"que l'homme, en vertu de son\n organization a sans cesse besoin de sentir, que presque\n toujours il est malheureux, soit par les fleaux que la nature\n lui envoie, soit par les tristes resultats de ses passions\n aveugles, de ses erreurs de ses prejuges, de son ignorance, &c.\n Le tabac exercant sur nos organes une impression vive et forte,\n susceptible d'etre renouvelee frequemment et a volonte, on\n s'est livre avec d'autant plus d'ardeur a l'usage d'un\n semblable stimulant qu'on y a trouve a la fois le moyen de\n satisfaire le besoin imperieux de sentir, qui caracterise la\n nature humaine, et celui d'etre distrait momentanement des\n sensations penibles ou douloureuses qui assiegent sans cesse\n notre espece, que le tabac aide ainsi a supporter l'accablant\n fardeau de la vie. Avec le tabac, le sauvage endure plus\n courageusement la faim, la soif, et toutes les vicissitudes\n atmospheriques, l'esclave endure plus patiemment la servitude,\n &c. Parmi les hommes qui se disent civilises, son recours est\n souvent invoque contre l'ennui, la tristesse; il soulage\n quelquefois momentanement les tourmens de l'ambition decues de\n ses esperances, et concourt a consoler, dans certains cas les\n malheureuses victimes de l'injustice.\"\n\nDr. Walsh says that tobacco used with coffee, after the Turkish\nfashion, \"is singularly grateful to the taste, and refreshing to the\nspirits; counteracting the effects of fatigue and cold, and appeasing\nthe cravings of hunger, as I have often experienced. Hearne, I think, in\nhis journey to the mouth of the Coppermine river, mentions his\nexperience of similar effects of tobacco. He had been frequently\nwandering without food for five or six days, in the most inclement\nweather, and supported it all, he says, in good health and spirits, by\nsmoking tobacco, &c.\"[57] Willis, as quoted by Mons. Merat, recommends\nthe use of tobacco in armies, as able to supply the necessaries of life\nto a great extent, and also as an excellent preventive against various\ndiseases.[58] And Dr. Rush relates that he was informed by Colonel Burr,\nthat the greatest complaints of dissatisfaction and suffering which he\nheard among the soldiers who accompanied General Arnold in his march\nfrom Boston to Quebec through the wilderness, in the year 1775, were\nfrom the want of tobacco. This was the more remarkable, as they were so\ndestitute of provisions as to be obliged to kill and eat their dogs.[59]\n\nTobacco possesses narcotic powers in common with many other substances,\nof which neither time nor space will permit us to make mention.\nNarcotics, when used to a due extent, become poisons, and hence tobacco\nholds a very high rank in toxicology. A thousand experiments, as well as\naccidents, show that it is a most deadly poison.[60] It has also been\ncalled a counterpoison, but those who have asserted this have been\ncontradicted by numerous writers. Dr. Rush affirms that repeated\nexperience in Philadelphia has proved, that it is equally ineffectual in\npreserving those who use it from the influenza and yellow fever. In the\nplague, it was said to be useful, but what has been advanced on this\nsubject is now shown to be without much foundation. Still it may be said\nof tobacco, that though it does not contain any specific antidote to\ncontagion, or possess antiseptic properties, it may nevertheless, as a\npowerful narcotic, by diminishing the sensibility of the system, render\nit less liable to contagion. It also moderates anxiety and fear, which\nwe are told quicken the activity of contagion. \"Thus,\" says Cullen, \"the\nantiloimic powers of tobacco are upon the same footing with wine,\nbrandy, and opium.\"[61]\n\nDr. Fowler has written a treatise upon the effects of tobacco in the\ncure of dropsies and dysuries. The Doctor seemed determined to discover\nvirtue in this plant, because he tells us in his preface, that he was\nnowise discouraged in his inquiries into the medicinal effects of\ntobacco, although the generality of writers on the materia medica have\nspoken of it with great caution and reserve, and for the most part have\ndeclared it either _obsolete_, or so _uncertain_, _violent_, and\n_deleterious_ in its effects, as to render its exhibition _unadvisable_.\nDr. Cullen says that he employed tobacco in various cases of dropsy, but\nwith very little success.[62] Even those who advocate the medicinal use\nof tobacco, admit that it is one of those violent remedies, which\nnothing but the most skilful management can render beneficial; such as\narsenic, prussic acid, and many other deadly poisons, which, if\ncautiously and properly administered, become excellent medicines. Thus\nthe liniment of tobacco, which has formerly been called one of the best\nin the dispensatory, is said, in a case mentioned by Mr. Murray, to have\ncaused the deaths of three children, who expired within twenty-four\nhours in convulsions, in consequence of its application for scald head.\nInnumerable instances are given of its deleterious effects, even when\nused medicinally, and with the greatest caution. In some cases it has\nentirely failed to give the anticipated relief, and in others been\nfollowed by the most deplorable consequences. We believe, however, that\neminent practitioners still continue to employ it, and find it\nserviceable in some diseases. We have indeed heard it remarked, by a\ndistinguished physician, that much of the medicinal effect which might\notherwise be derived from tobacco, is often lost by the habitual use of\nthe article, which renders the system less sensible to its influence.\n\nAs a vulnerary, tobacco was used by the Indians, and physicians say that\nit promotes the cicatrization and healing of inveterate ulcers. It has\nbeen used in most cutaneous disorders, and its smoke has been considered\nuseful in rheumatisms, gout, chronic pains, &c.; but in all these cases\nits virtue has also been denied, or it has been asserted that many other\nmedicines possess more certain efficacy. As an emetic it is considered\ndangerous, being extremely violent, and succeeded by too much distress\nand sickness. That it has been found useful in destroying insects, and\nin preserving old clothes laid by against the inroads of vermin, there\ncan be no doubt; but on the mosquito and fly, two pests to whose cruel\ntorments we are most exposed, it will be within the painful remembrance\nof many of our readers, that no quantity of tobacco smoke appears to\nhave the least effect.\n\nEven though we admitted and could prove tobacco to be a useful medicine,\nstill this fact would afford no argument in favour of its habitual use\nin a state of health. On the contrary, it would be the very reason for\nits non-use; for the habitual use will in time weaken and destroy its\nmedicinal powers. Many, after finding or fancying relief from its\noccasional, have fallen into its habitual use, and the remedy has thus\nvirtually proved worse than the disease. Besides, by this course,\npersons take away the hope of future benefit from the application, in\ncase of a recurrence of their disorder.\n\nThat this habit is entirely unevangelical, Dr. Clarke attempts to show\nwith much zeal. Let those who profess to renounce the lusts of the flesh\nread his tract, and determine, conscientiously, how far his arguments\nare worthy of attention. That the devout \"roll this sin as a sweet\nmorsel under the tongue,\" is fully evinced by every day's experience;\nand the following anecdote from Dr. Clarke forms a good illustration of\nthis text.\n\n \"An eminent physician,\" says he, \"gave me the following\n account:--'When I was at L----, in the year 1789, a certain\n religious people at one of their annual meetings made a rule,\n or rather revived one which had been long before made and\n established among them by their venerable founder, but had been\n in a great measure lost sight of, viz.--That no minister in\n their connexion should use snuff or tobacco, unless prescribed\n by a physician. This rule at once showed their prudence and\n good sense. Towards the conclusion of the meeting, having\n offered my assistance to as many as stood in need of medical\n help, several of them consulted me on the subject of taking\n tobacco in one form or other; and with very little variation\n their mode of address was as follows:--'Doctor, I am troubled\n frequently with such a complaint, (naming it,) I take tobacco,\n and have found great benefit from the use of it; I am sure were\n I to give it up I should be very ill indeed; and I am certain\n that you are too wise and too skilful a man to desire me to\n discontinue a practice which has been so beneficial to me.'\n After such an address what could I say? It was spoken with\n serious concern, and was properly _argumentum ad hominem_: I\n knew they were sincere, but I knew also they were deceived:\n however, to the major part of them I ventured to speak thus:\n 'gentlemen, you certainly do me honour in the confidence you\n repose in my skill, but you have brought me into a dilemma from\n which I cannot easily extricate myself; as I find I must either\n say as you say on the subject, or else renounce all pretensions\n to wisdom and medical skill. However, I cannot in conscience\n and honour prescribe to you the continued use of a thing which\n I know does many of you immense hurt.'\"\n\nBut the anti-christian nature of this habit is placed in a very strong\nlight, in a curious passage, by Dr. Rush.[63] \"What reception,\" says he,\n\"may we suppose, would the apostles have met with, had they carried into\nthe cities and houses to which they were sent, snuff-boxes, pipes,\nsegars, and bundles of cut, or rolls of hog, or pigtail tobacco?\"\n\nThe effects of tobacco upon the morals have been often animadverted\nupon, and in no particular more frequently, and with greater emphasis,\nthan in its obvious tendency to promote temulency. Charlevoix intimates\nthe near connexion which exists between intemperance and smoking, when\nhe assures us, that amongst many nations, to smoke out of the same pipe\nin token of alliance, is the same thing as to drink out of the same\ncup.[64]\n\n\"Smoking and chewing tobacco,\" says Rush, \"by rendering water and simple\nliquors insipid to the taste, dispose very much to the stronger stimulus\nof ardent spirits. The practice of smoking segars has, in every part of\nour country, been more followed by a general use of brandy and water as\na common drink, more especially by that class of citizens who have not\nbeen in the habit of drinking wine or malt liquors.\"[65] \"One of the\ngreatest sots I ever knew,\" says the same author, \"acquired a love for\nardent spirits by swallowing cuds of tobacco, which he did to escape\ndetection in the use of it; for he had contracted the habit of chewing,\ncontrary to the advice and commands of his father. He died of a dropsy\nunder my care, in the year 1780.\"[66] On this subject, a very late\nwriter is still more express. \"We consider tobacco,\" says he, \"closely\nallied to intoxicating liquors, and its confirmed votaries as a species\nof drunkards.\" Again. \"I have observed that persons who are much\naddicted to liquor, have an inordinate liking to tobacco in all its\ndifferent forms; and it is remarkable, that in the early stages of\nebriety, almost every man is desirous of having a pinch of snuff. This\nlast fact it is not easy to explain; but the former may be accounted for\nby that incessant craving after excitement, which clings to the system\nof the confirmed drunkard.\"[67]\n\nThe limits of our article will not allow us to embrace all the\nconsiderations which belong to this subject, and which have been\nbestowed upon it by various writers. We will therefore proceed to the\nfew remarks which we have to make upon the three chief modes of using\ntobacco, viz., snuffing, smoking, and chewing. Catherine de Medicis, the\npersonage said to have prompted the horrible massacre of St.\nBartholomew's day at Paris, is commonly regarded as the inventress of\nsnuff-taking. In Russia and Persia the penalty of death was annexed to\nthe use of tobacco in every form except that of snuff. For this lighter\noffence, the punishment was softened down to simple mutilation, no\ngreater severity being deemed necessary than that of cutting off the\nnose. We doubt exceedingly whether either penalty would deter the\ninveterate snuff-takers of the present day. Indeed, we are told\nsomewhere that it was very common among the Persians to expatriate\nthemselves, when they were no longer allowed to indulge in tobacco in\ntheir native country. One of the first effects of snuff is to injure the\nnerves of the nose, which are endowed with exquisite sensibility, and of\nwhich an incredible number are spread over the inner membrane of the\nnostrils. This membrane is lubricated by a secretion, which has a\ntendency to preserve the sense. By the almost caustic acrimony of snuff,\nthe mucus is dried up, and the organ of smelling becomes perfectly\ncallous. The consequence is, that all the pleasure we are capable of\nderiving from the olfactory organs, the _omnis copia narium_, as Horace\ncuriously terms it, is totally destroyed. Similar effects are also\nproduced upon the saliva, and hence it is that habitual snuff-takers are\noften unable to speak with proper distinctness; and the sense of taste\nfor the same reason is very much obtunded. A snuffer may always be\ndistinguished by a certain nasal twang--an asthmatic wheezing--and a\nsort of disagreeable noise in respiration, which is nearly allied to\nincipient snoring. Snuff also frequently occasions fleshy excrescences\nin the nose, which, in some instances, end in polypi. Individuals have\noftentimes a predisposition to cancer in little scirrhous\nintumescencies, which, if kept easy and free from every thing of an\nirritating character, will continue harmless, but which the use of snuff\nsometimes frets into incurable ulcers and cancers. By the use of snuff,\ntumours are also generated in the throat, which obstruct deglutition,\nand even destroy life. Dr. Hill saw a female die of hunger, who could\nswallow no nourishment because of a polypus which closed up the stomach,\nthe formation of which was attributed to the excessive use of snuff.\nSome portion of the snuff will involuntarily find its way into the\nstomach, where its pernicious properties soon manifest themselves, being\nfrequently followed by nausea, vomitings, loss of appetite, and impaired\ndigestion. The drain of the juices has a tendency to injure the muscles\nof the face, to render them flaccid, to furrow and corrugate the skin,\nand to give a gaunt, withered, and jaundiced appearance to \"the human\nface divine.\"\n\nWe are also informed that it embrowns the complexion, by withdrawing\nthose peculiar secretions which communicate the fine vermillion hue of\nbeauty. In our country, however, women do not abandon themselves to this\nimpure habit, till they are married, and have no farther desire to\nplease, or till they are somewhat _passees_, and find their faculties of\npleasing impaired. What a death-blow does snuffing give to all that\nromance with which it is the interest of refined society to invest the\nfair sex! How vulgar the thought \"that a sneeze should interrupt a\nsigh!\"--How unpoetical is snuff! The most suitable verses which a lover\ncould address to a snuff-taking mistress, would be imitations of\nHorace's lines to the Sorceress Canidia. What sylph would superintend\nthe conveyance of this dust to the nostrils of a belle? What Gnome would\nnot take a fiendish delight in hovering over a pipe-loving beauty?\n\n\"The only advantage,\" says Dr. Leake, \"of taking snuff, is that of\nsneezing, which, in sluggish phlegmatic habits, will give universal\nconcussion to the body, and promote a more free circulation of the\nblood; but of this benefit snuff-takers are deprived, from being\nfamiliar with its use.\" When the stimulus of snuff ceases to be\nsufficient, recourse is immediately had to certain admixtures, by which\nthe necessary excitement is procured; thus pepper, euphorbium,\nhellebore, and even pulverised glass, are made use of to give it\nadditional pungency. Snuffing is also a frequent cause of blindness.\nNature has appointed certain fluids to nourish and preserve the eye,\nwhich, if withdrawn, cause the sight to become prematurely old, impaired\nby weakness, and sometimes totally destroyed. We are also told that it\ndries up and blackens the brain, and gives the stomach a yellow hue;[68]\nthat it injures the moral faculties, impairs the memory, and, indeed,\ndebilitates all the intellectual powers, and that it taints the breath\n\"with the rank odour of a tobacco cask.\" \"We read in the Ephemerides des\nCurieux de la Nature, that a person fell into a state of somnolency, and\ndied apoplectic, in consequence of having taken by the nose too great a\nquantity of snuff.\"[69] In fine, snuffing is said to bring on\nconvulsions, promote pulmonary consumption, and to cause madness and\ndeath! Napoleon is thought to have owed his death to a morbid state of\nstomach, superinduced by snuffing to excess. Dr. Rush relates that Sir\nJohn Pringle was afflicted with tremors in his hands, and had his memory\nimpaired by the use of snuff; when, on abandoning the habit, at the\ninstance of Dr. Franklin, he found his power of recollection restored,\nand he recovered the use of his hands.[70]\n\nWhen the habit of snuffing is once contracted, it becomes almost\nimpossible to divest ourselves of it. It becomes as necessary as food,\nor any of those first wants of life \"quibus negatis natura doleat.\" The\nfollowing story we translate from a French medical writer:--\n\n \"I recollect, about twenty years since, while gathering simples\n one day in the Forest of Fontainebleau, I encountered a man\n stretched out upon the ground; I supposed him to be dead, when,\n upon approaching, he asked in a feeble voice if I had some\n snuff; on my replying in the negative, he sunk back\n immediately, almost in a state of insensibility. In this\n condition he remained till I brought a person who gave him\n several pinches, and he then informed us that he had commenced\n his journey that morning, supposing he had his snuff-box with\n him, but found very soon he had started without it; that he had\n travelled as long as he was able, till at last, overcome by\n distress, he found it impossible to proceed any farther, and\n without my timely succour he would have certainly\n perished.\"[71]\n\nThe consumption of time and great expense of this artificial habit,\nalmost surpass belief. \"A man who takes a pinch of snuff every twenty\nminutes,\" says Dr. Rush, \"(which most habitual snuffers do), and snuffs\nfifteen hours in four-and-twenty, (allowing him to consume not quite\nhalf a minute every time he uses the box,) will waste about five whole\ndays of every year of his life in this useless and unwholesome practice.\nBut when we add to the profitable use to which this time might have been\napplied, the expenses of tobacco, pipes, snuff, and spitting boxes--and\nof the injuries which are done to the clothing, during a whole life, the\naggregate sum would probably amount to several hundred dollars. To a\nlabouring man this would be a decent portion for a son or daughter,\nwhile the same sum saved by a man in affluent circumstances, would have\nenabled him, by a contribution to a public charity, to have lessened a\nlarge portion of the ignorance or misery of mankind.\" But Lord Stanhope\nmakes a far more liberal estimate than Dr. Rush; \"Every professed,\ninveterate, and incurable snuff-taker,\" says he, \"at a moderate\ncomputation, takes one pinch in ten minutes. Every pinch, with the\nagreeable ceremony of blowing and wiping the nose, and other incidental\ncircumstances, consumes a minute and a half. One minute and a half out\nof every ten, allowing sixteen hours to a snuff-taking day, amounts to\ntwo hours and twenty-four minutes out of every natural day, or one day\nof every ten. One day out of ten amounts to thirty six days and a half\nin a year. Hence, if we suppose the practice to be persisted in forty\nyears, two entire years of the snuff-taker's life will be devoted to\ntickling his nose, and two more to blowing it.\" The same author proposes\nin a subsequent essay to show, that from the expense of snuff,\nsnuff-boxes, and handkerchiefs, a fund might be formed to pay off the\nEnglish National debt!\n\nThe subject of snuffing having employed more of our time than we\nanticipated, the two following heads of smoking and chewing will be more\nbriefly noticed. On the subject of smoking, Mr. Beloe has preserved the\nfollowing old epigram.[72]\n\n \"We buy the dryest wood that we can finde,\n And willingly would leave the smoke behinde:\n But in tobacco a thwart course we take\n Buying the herb only for the smoke's sake.\"\n\nSmoking was the earliest mode of using tobacco,[73] (as might be\ninferred from the epigram) and for a long time the only mode in which it\nwas used in Europe. Certainly in our day it is the most general, and at\nthe same time the most expensive, and although several rivals contend\nwith Sir Walter Ralegh for the praise of having introduced tobacco into\nEngland, yet the \"bright honour\" of having taught his countrymen to\nimitate the Indians, in this particular, he \"wears without corrival.\"\nAlmost all the arguments which have been employed against the use of\ntobacco as a sternutatory, are more or less applicable to it when used\nin the way of fumigation.[74] Good old Cotton Mather, who was fully\naware of the disadvantages as well as sinfulness of this habit,\ndeprecates it with a qualification at which it is impossible to repress\na smile. It savours so much of \"beating the Devil round a bush.\" Thus he\nsays--\"May God preserve me from the indecent, ignoble, criminal slavery,\nto the mean delight of smoking a weed, which I see so many carried away\nwith. And _if_ ever I should smoke it, let me be so wise as to do it,\nnot only with moderation, but also with such employment of my mind, as I\nmay make that action afford me a leisure for!\"[75]\n\nThe effects of smoking on the breath, clothes, hair, and indeed the\nwhole body, are most offensive. What is more overpowering than the stale\nsmell remaining in a room where several persons have been smoking? When\nthe practice is carried to excess, it causes the gums to become lax and\nflabby, and to recede from the discoloured teeth, which appear long,\nunsightly, and at length drop out. Dr. Rush, in his \"Account of the life\nand death of Edward Drinker,\" tells us that that individual lost all his\nteeth by drawing the hot smoke of tobacco into his mouth. By the waste\nof saliva, and the narcotic power of tobacco, the digestive powers are\nimpaired, and \"every kind of dyspeptic symptoms,\" says Cullen, \"are\nproduced.\"[76] King James does not forget to note this habit as a breach\nof good manners. \"It is a great vanitie and uncleannesse,\" says he,\n\"that at the table, a place of respect, of cleanlinesse, of modestie,\nmen should not be ashamed to sit tossing pipes, and puffing of the smoke\nof tobacco one to another, making the filthy smoke and stinke thereof to\nexhale athwart the dishes and infect the aire, when very often men that\nabhorre it, are at their repast.\"\n\nWe come now to the subject of chewing. Whether the rock goat, the filthy\nanimal to which we have before adverted, or the tobacco worm, first\ntaught imitative man to masticate tobacco, we are ignorant. One thing,\nhowever, is most certain, that of all modes of using it, chewing seems\nmost vulgar and ungentlemanlike, and it is worthy of particular remark,\nthat in our country it is more used in this manner, among the better\nclass of society, than in any other part of the world.[77] All the worst\neffects which have been ascribed to it in the two former modes of using\nit, are, with increased severity, imputed to chewing. But tobacco used\nin this form is said to diminish hunger. \"We have been told,\" says Dr.\nLeake, \"that tobacco, when chewed, is a preservative against hunger; but\nthis is a vulgar error, for in reality it may more properly be said to\ndestroy appetite by the profuse discharge of saliva, which is a powerful\ndissolving fluid, essential both to appetite and digestion.\" In the use\nof the quid, or cud, accidents sometimes happen from swallowing\nportions, which must needs be very hurtful. Chewers are often taken by\nsurprise, and rather than be detected in the unclean practice, they\nwill, with Spartan fortitude, endure the horrible agonies of swallowing\nthe juice, and sometimes even the quid itself. But we must close our\nremarks upon this vile habit, which we do by the following quotation\nfrom a French writer. \"Quant a la coutume de chiquer le tabac, elle est\nbornee, je crois, a un petit nombre d'individus grossiers, et le plus\nsouvent voues a des habitudes crapuleuses, du moins si j'en juge par\nceux que j'y vois livres.\" We take the liberty of referring tobacco\nchewers to Dr. Clark's treatise, (p. 24,) for a quotation he makes from\nSimon Paulli, physician to the King of Denmark, who wrote a treatise on\nthe danger of using this herb, and also to a note at the foot of the\npage, both which we are unwilling to repeat.\n\nWe are almost prepared to assert, that there is scarcely a conceivable\nmode of applying tobacco to the human body, which has not been thought\nof and practised. In former times, it was used by the oculists. Howell\nsays \"that it is good to fortify and preserve the sight, the smoak being\nlet in round about the balls once a week, &c.\" We have even known snuff\nto be blown into the eyes to cure inflammation. This latter remedy\nshould be somewhat perilous, if what Sauvages relates be true, that a\nfemale was thrown into a catalepsy by a small portion of snuff which had\naccidentally entered her eye. The Rev. S. Wesley, speaking of the abuse\nof tobacco, intimates an apprehension that the human ear will not long\nremain exempted from its application.\n\n \"To such a height with some is fashion grown,\n They feed their very nostrils with a spoon,[78]\n One, and but one degree is wanting yet,\n To make their senseless luxury complete;\n Some choice regale, useless as snuff and dear,\n To feed the mazy windings of the ear.\"\n\nNow, as a medicine, at least, it has been used for the ear; for Sir Hans\nSloan positively affirms that the \"oyl or juice dropped into the ear is\ngood against deafness.\"[79] Another mode of using tobacco, and not very\ncommon we hope, is what is called plugging, that is, thrusting long\npellets or rolls of tobacco up the nose, and keeping them there during\nthe night. As a dentifrice it is used in many parts of the world. We\nhave had an opportunity of witnessing this fact in various parts of\nSouth America, but especially in Brazil, where respectable women do not\nscruple openly to use tobacco for this purpose. We have known several\nvery respectable individuals of both sexes in our own country, who use\nsnuff as a tooth powder, and with them its employment was just as much a\nhabit as any other mode of using tobacco. These have been generally West\nIndians, or persons who have resided much in the West India islands. In\nsome of our southern states, tobacco is much used among the ladies as a\ndentifrice. Indeed there appears to prevail generally, a very strong\nopinion, that it is an excellent preservative of the teeth, which is\ncertainly an error; though we think it probable that the stimulus of\ntobacco, to those who use it in excess, may become in a certain degree\nnecessary to their preservation.\n\nTobacco is truly a leveller. It equalizes the monarch and the hind, and\nis acceptable to the sage as well as the sailor. \"Its smoke,\" says\nThomson, \"rising in clouds from the idolatrous altar of the native\nMexican, opened the world of spirits to his delirious imagination,\"\nwhile it has \"even assisted in extending the boundaries of intellect, by\naiding the contemplations of the Christian philosopher.\" If we advert\nto the irrefragable proofs of the virulent properties of this plant, and\nthe various arguments which have been urged against its habitual use, we\ncannot fail to be struck with the extraordinary fact, that so large a\nportion of mankind should voluntarily struggle through its repugnant\nqualities, both of taste and effect, until by habit its stimulus grows\npleasurable, and the system becomes mithridated against its poison! It\nwould almost seem as if the use of some substance of this class were\nnecessary to the intellectual and physical economy of man, since no\nnation nor age, of which we have any account, has been found without. Of\nthe various masticatories which have been in general use, if we except\nopium, tobacco is unquestionably the most pernicious. Although its\nmoderate use may not shorten life, or prove perceptibly hurtful to\nhealth, yet its excessive employment certainly generates many formidable\ndisorders, particularly of the nerves and stomach, and subjects its\nvotary to innumerable inconveniences and sufferings. Our space will not\npermit us to expatiate any further; and we shall therefore conclude our\narticle by relating from Rush a very interesting anecdote of Dr.\nFranklin, which places the common-sense view of this matter in the\nstrongest possible light. _A few months before Franklin's death, he\ndeclared to one of his friends, that he had never used tobacco in the\ncourse of his long life, and that he was disposed to believe there was\nnot much advantage to be derived from it, for that he had never known a\nman who used it, who advised him to follow his example._\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[16] Epistolae Hoelianae, p. 405.\n\n[17] Critical and Historical Dictionary, article Thorius.\n\n[18] Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, fol. p. 235.\n\n[19] King James's Works, fol. p. 214.\n\n[20] Hist. North America, vol. i. p. 322.--See also Hennepin's Voyages,\np. 93 et seq.\n\n[21] Stith's Hist. of Virginia, p. 19.\n\n[22] Sloan's Nat. Hist. Jamaica, vol. i. p. 147.\n\n[23] This hiatus we are in some measure able to supply from a note in\nthe Appendix to Mrs. Thomson's Life of Ralegh, (Note B. Notices\nconcerning Tobacco by Dr. Thomson,) p. 458. \"In the Mexican or Aztuk\ntongue, it is called _yetle_; in Algonkin, _sema_; in the Huron,\n_ayougoua_; in the Peruvian, it is _sayri_; in Chiquito, _pais_; in\nVilela, _tusup_; Albaja, _nalodagadi_; Moxo, _sabare_; Omagua, _potema_;\nTumanac, _cavai_; Mayhure, _jema_; and in the Cabre, _sena_. The other\nsynonymes are, _tabac_, in French; _tabak_, in German, Dutch, and\nPolish; _tobak_, in Swedish and Danish; _tobaco_, Spanish and\nPortuguese; and _tobacco_ in the Italian. In the Oriental languages,--it\nis _tambacu_, in Hindostanee; _tamracutta_, in Sanscrit; _pogheielly_,\nin Tamool; _tambracco_, in the Malay tongue; _tambracco_, in Javanese;\n_doorkoole_, in Cingalese; and _bujjerhony_, in Arabic.\"\n\n[24] Nat. Hist. Jam. vol. i. p. 147.\n\n[25] Dr. Tobias Venner, in his \"Treatise of Tobacco,\" at the end of his\ncurious old work, entitled, \"Via recta ad longam vitam,\" says\nhumorously, that petum is the \"fittest name that both we and other\nnations may call it by, deriving it of peto, for it is far-fetched and\nmuch desired.\" p. 386.\n\n[26] This Harriot, or Herriot, was a distinguished mathematician, and\nthe instructer of Ralegh, in whom both himself and the celebrated\nRichard Hakluyt, the industrious and indefatigable compiler of voyages,\nfound a liberal friend and patron.--Mrs. A. T. Thomson's Life of Sir W.\nRalegh, pp. 46 and 48.\n\n[27] Stith, p. 17.\n\n[28] \"Le Cardinal de Sainte Croix, nonce en Portugal, et Nicholas\nTornabon, legat en France, l'introduisent en Italie ou elle recut les\nnoms d'herbe de Sainte Croix, et de Tornabonne; elle a encore porte\nd'autres noms fondes sur des proprietes vraies ou supposees, ou sur la\nhaute idee qu'on avait de ses vertus: c'est ainsi qu'on l'a appelee\nBuglose ou Panacee Antarctique, Herbe Sainte ou Sacree, Herbe a tous\nmaux, Jusquiame du Peron,\" &c. &c. Dictionnaire des Sciences Medicales,\nArt. Tabac, par Mons. Merat.\n\n[29] Article Santa Croce, where they are attributed to Victor Duranti.\n\n[30] M. Merat ut supra.\n\n[31] Jefferson's Notes on Virginia, p. 62.\n\n[32] Robertson's Hist. of America, vol. iv. p. 97.\n\n[33] It is said that Ralegh used to give smoking parties at his house,\nwhere his guests were treated with nothing but a pipe, a mug of ale, and\na nutmeg.--Thomson's Life of Ralegh, p. 471.\n\n[34] Ralph Lane was lieutenant of the fleet of Sir Richard Grenville,\nwhich had been sent to Virginia by Sir Walter Ralegh, in 1585, where he\nwas made governor.--Hakluyt's Voyages, vol. iii. p. 251.\n\n[35] Camden has the following passage: \"Et hi reduces,\" speaking of\nthose survivers who were carried home by Drake, \"Indicam illam plantam,\nquam tabaccam vocant et nicotiam, qua contra cruditates, ab Indis\nedocti, usi erant, in Angliam primi quod sciam, intulerunt. Ex illo sane\ntempore usu coepit esse creberrimo, et magno pretio, dum quamplurimi\ngraveolentem illius fumum, alii lascivientes, alii valetudini\nconsulentes, per tubulum testaceum inexplebili aviditate passim hauriunt\net mox e naribus efflant; adeo ut tabernae tabacanae non minus quam\ncervisiariae et vinariae,\" beer-houses and grog-shops, we presume, \"passim\nper oppida habeantur. Ut Anglorum corpora (quod salse ille dixit) qui\nhac planta tantopere delectantur in barbarorum naturam degenerasse\nvideantur; cum iisdem quibus barbari delectentur et sanari se posse\ncredant.\"--Camdeni Ann. Rer. Anglican. p. 415.\n\n[36] These valuables are thus described in a note to Cayley's Life of\nSir Walter Ralegh, vol. i. p. 81. \"Among Thoresby's artificial\ncuriosities, we have Sir W. Ralegh's tobacco-box, as it was called, but\nis rather the case for the glass wherein it was preserved, which was\nsurrounded with small wax candles of various colours. This is of gilded\nleather, like a muff-case, about half a foot broad and thirteen inches\nhigh, and hath cases for sixteen pipes in it.--Ducatus Leodensis, fol.\n1715, p. 485.\"\n\n[37] Ralegh is believed to have introduced the culture of the potato, as\nwell as tobacco, into Ireland. The latter on his own estate at Youghal,\nin the county of Cork.\n\n[38] Universal Geography, vol. iii. p. 223.\n\n[39] Appendix, p. 466.\n\n[40] King James's Works, fol. from page 214 to 222.\n\n[41] Naturall and Morall Historie of the Indies, p. 289.\n\n[42] Silva Silvarum--Lassitude.\n\n[43] History of life and death. Lord Bacon's Works, vol. iii. p. 377.\n\n[44] Howell's Epist. Hoel. or Familiar Letters, p. 405.\n\n[45] In the TEXNODAMIA or Marriage of the Arts, by Barten Holiday, 1680,\nthere is a singular poem on the subject of Tobacco, where, in successive\nstanzas, if is compared to a musician, a lawyer, a physician, a\ntraveller, a crittike, an ignis fatuus, and a whyffler. Beloe's\nSketches, vol. ii. p. 10.\n\n[46] Notes on Virginia, pp. 278, 279.\n\n[47] Davies' Hist. of the Carriby Islands, fol. p. 192.\n\n[48] Ramazzini also says that the breath of those who labour at tobacco\nis intolerably offensive, \"efficit, ut tabacariarum semper foeteant\nanimae.\"\n\n[49] \"Tanta enim ex illa tritura partium tenuim,\" says Ramazzini,\n\"aestate praesertim, diffunditur exhalatio, ut tota vicinia tabaci odorem,\nnon sine querimonia, et nausea persentiat.\"\n\n[50] Puellam hebraeam novi, quae tota die explicandas placentas istas ex\ntabaco incumbens, magnum ad vomitum irritamentum sentiebat, et\nfrequenter alvi subductiones patiebatur, mihique narrabat, vasa\nhemorroidalia multum sanguinis profudisse, cum super placentas illas\nsederet.\n\n[51] Tourtel, in his Elemens d'Hygiene tom. ii. p. 410, assures us it is\nvery dangerous to sleep in tobacco magazines. He cites an observation of\nBuchoz, who says that a little girl, five years old, was seized with\nfrightful vomitings, and expired in a very short time from this sole\ncause.\n\n[52] This memoir is entitled \"Influence du tabac sur la sante des\nouvriers,\" and is published in the \"Annales d'hygiene publique et de\nmedecine legale,\" first volume, April, 1829--p. 169.\n\n[53] Mather's Christian Philosopher, p. 128.\n\n[54] M. Merat.\n\n[55] Rush's Essays, p. 261.\n\n[56] Flore Medicale, tom. six. p. 205.\n\n[57] Journey from Constantinople to England, p. 4.\n\n[58] Dictionnaire des Sciences Medicales. Art. Tabac.\n\n[59] Essays, p. 267.\n\n[60] Brodie, Macartney, &c. See also Nancrede's Orfila, p. 289.\n\n[61] Materia Medica, vol. ii. p. 197.\n\n[62] Mat. Med. vol. ii. p. 198.\n\n[63] Essays, p. 271.\n\n[64] Hist. N. America, vol. i. p. 322.\n\n[65] Rush's Works, vol. i. p. 167.\n\n[66] Essays, p. 270.\n\n[67] Macnish's Anatomy of Drunkenness, p. 83.\n\n[68] \"Qu'on ne pense pas, malgre l'usage immense et presque general du\ntabac, qu'il n'y ait aucun inconvenient a s'en servir. Les auteurs\nrapportent des faits qui prouvent le contraire, et sans ajouter foi a ce\nque raconte Borrichius (dans un lettre ecrite a Bartholin) d'une\npersonne qui s'etait tellement desseche le cerveau a force de prendre du\ntabac, qu'apres sa mort, on ne lui trouva dans le crane, au lieu\nd'encephale, qu'un petit grumeau noir; ni meme a ce que dit Simon Pauli,\nque ceux qui fument trop de tabac ont le cerveau et la crane tout noirs,\nnonplus qu'a l'assertion de Van Helmont qui a vu, affirme-t-il, un\nestomac teint enjaune par la vapeur du tabac; tout le monde sait qu'il\naffaiblit l'odorat par suite de ses irritations repetees sur la membrane\nolfactive, qu'il nuit a l'integrite du gout, parce qu'il en passe\ntoujours un peu dans la bouche et jusque sur la langue. Ce que l'on\nn'ignore pas nonplus c'est qu'il derange la memoire, la rends moins\nnette, moins entiere; il produit de plus des vertiges, des cephalees et\nmeme l'apoplexie.\"--_Dictionnaire des Sciences Medicales, art. Tabac._\n\n[69] Orfila's Toxicology, p. 291.\n\n[70] Essays, p. 265.\n\n[71] M. Merat.\n\n[72] Sketches of Literature and Scarce books, vol. ii. p. 130.\n\n[73] Mr. Brodigan, in his treatise on the tobacco plant, quotes\nHerodotus, Strabo, Pomponius Mela, and Solinus, to prove that _tobacco_\nwas smoked in very ancient times, but the passages merely go to show\nthat the smoking of _herbs_ was common.\n\n[74] Venner gives ten precepts on the manner in which tobacco is to be\nused, and afterwards summarily rehearses the consequences to all who use\nit contrary to the order and way he sets down; viz. that \"it drieth the\nbrain, dimmeth the sight, vitiateth the smell, dulleth and dejecteth\nboth the appitite and stomach, destroyeth the concoction, disturbeth the\nhumours and spirits, corrupteth the breath, induceth a trembling of the\nlimbs, exsiccateth the wind-pipe, lungs, and liver, annoyeth the milt,\nscorcheth the heart, and causeth the blood to be adusted. Moreover it\neliquateth the pinguie substance of the kidneys, and absumeth the\ngeniture. In a word, it overthroweth the spirits, perverteth the\nunderstanding, and confoundeth the sences with a sudden astonishment and\nstupiditie of the whole body.\" Via recta ad longam vitam. p. 404.\n\n[75] Christian Philosopher, p. 136.\n\n[76] Materia Medica, vol. ii. p. 196.\n\n[77] In many parts of Europe it is almost impossible for a tobacco\nchewer to be regarded as a gentleman.\n\n[78] The fashionable snuff-taker was formerly accustomed to dip up the\nsnuff with a little spoon or ladle, \"which ever and anon he gave his\nnose.\"\n\n[79] Natural Hist. Jam. vol. i. p. 147.\n\n\n\n\nART. VII.--_Voyages and Discoveries of the Companions of Columbus._ By\nWASHINGTON IRVING: Philadelphia: Carey & Lea: 1831.\n\n\nWhen we noticed, three years since, a former production of Mr. Irving,\nwe took occasion to express an opinion of its merits, which has been\nfully confirmed. No work of the present era appears to have afforded\nmore general and unmingled gratification to its readers, than his Life\nof Columbus; and he has received, in the approbation, not only of his\nown countrymen, but of Europeans, the most gratifying reward an author\ncan desire. The fame which he had acquired, and that most justly, by the\nhappy works of fiction in which he was introduced to the public, is now\nchanged into one of higher character; and he becomes entitled to take\nhis stand among those writers who have done more than amuse the fancy,\nor even gratify the heart. He is to be classed with the historians of\ngreat events; for if the period of which he has treated is limited, or\nthe persons whose actions he has described are not numerous, yet the one\nincluded within it, short as it was, circumstances that have produced an\neffect which long ages have not always surpassed in importance or\nwonderful consequences; and the others embrace individuals whose actions\nhave more deeply affected the human race than many of the revolutions of\ngreat and populous nations.\n\nHaving these feelings in regard to the former work of Mr. Irving, we\nopen the present volume with mingled apprehension and pleasure. We\nrejoice that we are to follow again the same guide in adventurous\nvoyages among the clustering Antilles; but we almost fear that the\nnarrative may want much of that interest, novelty, and beauty, which\nmake the story of Columbus among the most attractive ever recorded. The\nfollowers of the Admiral were, it is true, brave, adventurous, gallant\nmen; the skies beneath which they sailed were as blue, clear, and\ntranquil as when he first admired their delightful serenity; the islands\nthey visited were as flowery and as fertile as when they first blessed\nthe sight of the enterprising sailor; if the iron hand of Christian\ncivilization had, here and there, broken down the gentle and benevolent\nspirit of the naked beings who wandered through a life of inglorious\nbliss, in their remote and peaceful regions, there were yet haunts\nundiscovered where they might roam in undisturbed security--there were\nyet bays over which they might dart unobstructed their light\ncanoes--green and shady forests beneath which they might chant their\nsongs, and rich valleys not yet searched for gold. But yet with all\nthis, he, the master spirit, is no longer among the voyagers. There is\nno longer the novelty of a vast discovery. The way has been opened by\nthe daring pioneer, and we are now only to follow in the plain track his\ngenius conceived, discovered, and marked out. We can merely watch the\nfootsteps of those who followed the triumphal chariot; the hero of the\novation has already passed along, and our eyes are still dazzled with\nhis splendour--our minds are still filled with admiration of his genius,\nhis enterprise, his undaunted and noble spirit. We are to turn from\nthose loftier efforts of human intellect and perseverance, which mark,\nnow and then, a human being, as a beacon in the midst of his fellow men,\nto the more common, though it is true, the bold and spirited adventures\nwhich attend the fortunes of many in the career of life. The story of\nthese adventures is indeed full of interest, but it is an interest less\nin degree; and we can no more venture to compare it with that which\nattends the actions and fortunes of him who seeks and finds a new world,\nthan we can compare the patient inquirer, who nightly searches through\nhis telescope for new stars in the vast firmament, with him who\nproclaimed and proved the theory of the universe--than we can see in\nevery military exploit of Parmenio and Seleucus, the master spirit that\nplanned and effected the subjugation of the world.\n\nYet the pen which has described with so much felicity the life of\nColumbus, cannot fail to impart great attraction to an account of those\nwho followed in the career they had commenced with him; who were\nemboldened by the energy they had witnessed, and the success in which\nthey had partaken; and who completed the discovery of those regions,\nwhich he was permitted scarcely to see, and of whose vast extent he had\nno conception. While they were yet his associates, these voyagers had\nbecome acquainted with the pearl fisheries of Paria and Cubaga; they\nlearned to believe that they had approached the confines of the golden\nregions of the east, described by the ancients in glowing colours; and\nthey had heard something of a vast ocean to the south, in which they\nexpected to find the oriental islands of spice and perfumes. All that\nthey thus collected from tradition or partial observation, they\ntreasured up to form the groundwork of schemes for future adventures,\nwhich they might pursue for the purposes of individual gain, or from\nmotives of individual ambition, when no longer sailing under the ensign\nof their great commander. The more selfish objects of these exploits,\ntheir want of connexion with the lofty views that inspired Columbus, the\ncomparatively small scale on which they were conducted, gave to them a\nsort of daring and chivalrous character, which much resembles the\nwarfare of the predatory nobles of Europe during the middle ages. While\nthey were as far removed from the treacherous rapine of the buccaneers,\nas the inroads of the armed bands of knights were from the secret\nattacks of the robber and assassin; they were yet the offspring of\npersonal interest, and were distinguished by innumerable incidents of\npersonal valour. They offered new fields where the burning desire for\nromantic achievement might be gratified; and the old spirit of Castile,\nwhich no longer found scope among the fastnesses of Andalusia, or the\nrich valleys of Granada, was delighted to embark on the waves of an\nocean scarcely known, and to seek beyond it wealth and glory in golden\nregions, of which the discovery had already made one man the object of\nunmingled admiration and applause.\n\nOf these voyagers, the first to whom Mr. Irving directs our attention is\n_Alonzo de Ojeda_--a man whose daring exploits, enterprising spirit, and\nheadlong valour, cannot be forgotten by those who have already read the\nHistory of Columbus. He was his companion in the second voyage, and, it\nmay be remembered, attracted the admiration of the bold cacique Caonabo,\nwho paid that reverence to his undaunted prowess, which he refused to\nthe superior rank of Columbus. Whether his restless and ambitious spirit\ncould not bear the control of a superior, or whether he had formed,\nduring the voyage he had made, some plan of individual enterprise, he\ndid not accompany the admiral in his subsequent expeditions. He could\nnot, however, long endure the irksome life of a courtier; and he could\nless bear to hear, without desiring to partake of the discoveries which\nwere announced by every returning vessel, of new coasts and islands,\nabounding with drugs, spices, precious stones, and pearls, said to\nsurpass in size and clearness those gathered in the East. Through the\ninfluence of a relative, he obtained the patronage of the bishop Don\nJuan Rodriguez Fonseca, who had the chief management of the affairs of\nthe Indies, and was permitted to fit out an expedition to visit any\nterritories in the new world, except such as appertained to Portugal, or\nsuch as had been discovered in the name of Spain previous to the year\n1495. The latter part of the exception being craftily intended to leave\nopen to him the coast and pearl fisheries of Paria, notwithstanding the\nrights reserved to Columbus. Destitute of wealth, the young adventurer\ncontrived, by his reputation for boldness and enterprise, and by his\nconfident promises of rich rewards, to obtain money from the merchants\nof Seville. He united with him as associates, _Juan de la Cosa_, a hardy\nveteran who had already navigated the new seas with the admiral, and\n_Amerigo Vespucci_, who seems then to have been distinguished by little\nbut a roving disposition and a broken fortune, but who is now known from\nthe accident which has forever attached his name to the discoveries of\nColumbus.\n\nOjeda sailed from Port St. Mary on the 20th of May 1499; he reached land\non the coast of Surinam; thence he steered along the shore of South\nAmerica, passed and beheld with wonder the mouths of the mighty rivers\nthat there flow into the Atlantic, and first landed among the natives on\nthe island of Trinidad. He then kept his course along the coast of Terra\nFirma, until he arrived at Maracapana, where he unloaded and careened\nhis vessels, and built a small brigantine. He found the natives\nhospitable and well disposed, but differing greatly in character from\nthe gentle and peaceful inhabitants of the islands within the gulf. They\nwere tall, well made, and vigorous; expert with the bow, the lance, and\nthe buckler, and ready for the wars in which they delighted to engage.\nThe martial spirit of Ojeda was soon roused, and he readily proffered\nhis aid to the savages, in an expedition against a hostile tribe of\ncannibals, in a neighbouring island. As soon as his ships were refitted,\nhe attacked and defeated, with great slaughter, the savage warriors,\nwho, decorated with coronets of gaudy plumes, their bodies painted, and\narmed with bows, arrows, and lances, gallantly met and resolutely fought\nhim on the beach. He then pursued his voyage along the coast, passed the\nisland of Curacoa, and penetrated into the deep gulf to the south. On\nthe eastern shore he found an Indian village which struck him with\nsurprise. The houses were built on piles, and the communication was\ncarried on in canoes. From these resemblances to the Italian city, he\ncalled it Venezuela, or little Venice, a name it still bears, and which\nis now extended to the bay and the province around. The natives made a\ntreacherous attack on Ojeda, but manning his boats, the gallant Spaniard\ncharged among the thickest of the enemy, and soon drove them to the\nshore, whence they fled into the woods. Not desiring to cause useless\nirritation, he continued his voyage as far as the port of Maracaibo,\nwhich still retains its Indian name. In the territory beyond, called\nCoquibacoa, he found a gentler race of inhabitants, who received the\nSpaniards with delight, and solicited them to visit their towns.\n\n \"Ojeda, in compliance with their entreaties, sent a detachment\n of twenty-seven Spaniards on a visit to the interior. For nine\n days they were conducted from town to town, and feasted and\n almost idolized by the Indians, who regarded them as angelic\n beings, performing their national dances and games, and\n chanting their traditional ballads for their entertainment.\n\n \"The natives of this part were distinguished for the symmetry\n of their forms; the females in particular appeared to the\n Spaniards to surpass all others that they had yet beheld in the\n new world for grace and beauty; neither did the men evince, in\n the least degree, that jealousy which prevailed in other parts\n of the coast.\n\n \"By the time the Spaniards set out on their return to the ship,\n the whole country was aroused, pouring forth its population,\n male and female, to do them honour. Some bore them in litters\n or hammocks, that they might not be fatigued with the journey,\n and happy was the Indian who had the honour of bearing a\n Spaniard on his shoulders across a river. Others loaded\n themselves with the presents that had been bestowed on their\n guests, consisting of rich plumes, weapons of various kinds,\n and tropical birds and animals. In this way they returned in\n triumphant procession to the ships, the woods and shores\n resounding with their songs and shouts.\n\n \"Many of the Indians crowded into the boats that took the\n detachment to the ships; others put off in canoes, or swam from\n shore, so that in a little while the vessels were thronged with\n upwards of a thousand wondering natives. While gazing and\n marvelling at the strange objects around them, Ojeda ordered\n the cannon to be discharged, at the sound of which, says\n Vespucci, the Indians 'plunged into the water like so many\n frogs from a bank.' Perceiving, however, that it was done in\n harmless mirth, they returned on board, and passed the rest of\n the day in great festivity. The Spaniards brought away with\n them several of the beautiful and hospitable females from this\n place, one of whom, named by them Isabel, was much prized by\n Ojeda, and accompanied him in a subsequent voyage.\"\n\nLeaving these friendly Indians, Ojeda pursued his way along the coast to\nthe westward, until he reached cape de la Vela. During his long voyage\nhe had been disappointed in finding the ready treasures of gold and\npearls which he had expected, and now, wearied with his fruitless\nefforts, and embarrassed by the crazy state of his vessels, he resolved\nreluctantly to return to Spain. On his way, he stopped, in spite of the\nclause in his commission, at Hispaniola, to cut dye-wood, but was\nprevented by the governor, and obliged to set sail. He then cruised\namong the islands, and seizing the natives, carried them home to sell\nfor slaves. He reached Cadiz in June, 1500, but so unproductive was his\nexpedition, that it is said, after the expenses were paid, but five\nhundred ducats remained to be divided among fifty-five adventurers.\n\nThe private enterprise of Ojeda did not fail to excite the same spirit\namong other followers of Columbus, who remained in Spain. He had been\nscarcely a month gone, before _Pedro Alonzo Nino_, who had been the\npilot of the admiral on his first voyage, set out from Palos with\n_Christoval Guerra_, the brother of a Sevillian merchant who supplied\nthe outfit. The vessel of these bold adventurers was but a bark of fifty\ntons, the crew but thirty-three men--yet with the daring spirit of the\nSpanish sailors of those days, they embarked fearlessly and joyfully to\nexplore barbarous shores and unknown seas. Reaching the coasts of Paria\nand Cumana, they carried on for some time a profitable commerce with the\nnatives, from whom they obtained pearls and gold in exchange for glass\nbeads and other trinkets; but falling in at length with tribes less\npeaceful, and not, like Ojeda, enjoying warlike renown as much as\nprofitable traffic, they returned to Spain after an absence of ten\nmonths, and making fewer discoveries but more profit than had yet\nresulted from any voyage across the Atlantic.\n\nIn the month of December of the same year, 1499, _Vicente, Yanez\nPinzon_, one of the three brave men of that family who aided Columbus in\nhis first voyage, but who had since remained in Spain, owing to the\ndifference that arose between his brother and the admiral, embarked with\ntwo of his nephews, sons of Martin Alonzo, in an armament consisting of\nfour caravels, from the port of Palos, the cradle of American discovery.\nCarried by a storm south of the equator, they were perplexed with the\nnew aspect of the heavens, and it was not till the 28th of January,\n1500, that they were consoled by the sight of land. The headland they\nsaw, now known as cape St. Augustin, the most prominent point of Brazil,\nthey named Santa Maria de la Consolacion. They found the natives warlike\nand inhospitable, treating with haughty contempt the hawks' bills and\ntrinkets which were exhibited to them; and Pinzon and his weary\nmessmates were fain to pursue their voyages, amid occasional conflicts\nwhenever they landed, along the shores that stretched to the north. He\ndiscovered the mouth of the vast river of the Amazons, visited a number\nof fresh and verdant islands lying within it, and thence passing the\ngulf of Paria, made his way directly to Hispaniola. From there, sailing\nto the Bahamas, he encountered a violent storm, and sustained so much\ndamage that he returned to Spain.\n\nScarcely had Pinzon sailed from Palos, when he was followed by his\ntownsman _Diego de Lepe_. Of his voyage, however, but little is known,\nexcept that he doubled cape St. Augustin, and enjoyed for ten years the\nreputation of having extended his discoveries farther south than any\nother voyager.\n\nIn October following, soon after the return of Ojeda, a wealthy notary\nof Seville, by name _Rodrigo de Bastides_, desirous of speculating in\nthe new El Dorado, engaged the services of the veteran pilot and\ncompanion of Ojeda, Juan de la Cosa, and set out with two caravels in\nquest of gold and pearls. They continued the discoveries along Terra\nFirma, from cape de la Vela, where Ojeda had stopped, to the port\nafterwards called Nombre de Dios; they treated the natives kindly, and\nacquired rich cargoes; but unfortunately their vessels were cast away on\nthe coast of Hispaniola, and the crews were forced to travel on foot to\nthe city of St. Domingo, provided only with a small store of trinkets\nand other articles of Indian traffic, with which to buy provisions on\nthe road. The moment Bastides made his appearance, he was seized as an\nillicit trader by the governor Bobadilla, the oppressor and superseder\nof Columbus, and sent for trial to Spain. He was there acquitted, and\nhis voyage was so lucrative, that he had considerable profit after all\nhis misfortunes.\n\nThe reports of these successive adventures were not heard by Ojeda, who\nhad continued to linger about the bishop of Fonseca, without reanimating\nhis bold spirit. He found numbers ready to listen to his wonderful\nstories, and embark in his wild expeditions; he found others who desired\nto increase their wealth, by aiding him with the means to renew them.\nThe king made him governor of the province of Coquibacoa, which he had\ndiscovered; and in 1502 he again set sail, with four vessels well fitted\nout. Arriving at his new government, he selected a bay which he named\nSanta Cruz, but which is supposed to be that now called Bahia Honda, as\nthe site of a settlement, and commenced at once the erection of a\nfortress. Before long, however, dissensions broke out between him and\nsome of his principal companions, which ended in his being seized by the\nlatter, accused as a defaulter to the crown of Spain, and thrown into\nirons. The whole community then set sail with their former chief for St.\nDomingo. They arrived at the island of Hispaniola, and while at anchor\nwithin a stone's throw of the land, Ojeda, confident of his strength and\nskill as a swimmer, let himself quietly down the side of the ship during\nthe night, and tried to gain the shore. His arms were free, but his feet\nwere shackled, and the weight of the irons threatened to sink him. He\nwas obliged to call for help; a boat was sent from the ship; and the\nunfortunate governor, half drowned, was restored to captivity. He was\ntried at San Domingo and condemned, but appealing to the sovereign, was\nafterwards acquitted. The long litigation, however, exhausted his\nfortune, and he again found himself a ruined man.\n\nIf ruined, however, he was yet in the vigour of his years, and his\nspirit was undaunted. He still yearned for the gold of Terra Firma. All\nhe wanted was money to fit out an armament. In this difficulty he was\naided by an old and tried friend. Juan de la Cosa, the hardy pilot of\nColumbus, and the companion of Ojeda in his first voyage, and\nsubsequently of Rodrigo de Bastides, had remained in Hispaniola, and\ncontrived to fill his purse in subsequent cruises among the islands. The\nfriends united together, and applied to the crown of Spain for a grant\nof territory and command on Terra Firma. A similar application was made\nabout the same time by Diego de Nicuesa, an accomplished courtier of\nnoble birth.--\n\n \"Nature, education, and habit, seemed to have combined to form\n Nicuesa as a complete rival of Ojeda. Like him he was small of\n stature, but remarkable for symmetry and compactness of form,\n and for bodily strength and activity; like him he was master at\n all kinds of weapons, and skilled, not merely in feats of\n agility, but in those graceful and chivalrous exercises, which\n the Spanish cavaliers of those days had inherited from the\n Moors; being noted for his vigour and address in the jousts or\n tilting matches after the Moresco fashion. Ojeda himself could\n not surpass him in feats of horsemanship, and particular\n mention is made of a favourite mare, which he could make caper\n and carricol in strict cadence to the sound of a viol; beside\n all this, he was versed in the legendary ballads or romances of\n his country, and was renowned as a capital performer on the\n guitar! Such were the qualifications of this candidate for a\n command in the wilderness, as enumerated by the reverend Bishop\n Las Casas. It is probable, however, that he had given evidence\n of qualities more adapted to the desired post; having already\n been out to Hispaniola in the military train of the late\n Governor Ovando.\"\n\nKing Ferdinand found some difficulty in deciding between the claims of\ncandidates whose merits were so singularly balanced; he ultimately\ndivided that part of the continent lying along the isthmus, and\nextending from cape de la Vela to cape Gracias a Dios, into two\nprovinces, separated by the bay of Uraba, which is at the head of the\ngulf of Darien. Of these provinces, the eastern was assigned to Ojeda,\nthe western to Nicuesa.\n\nThe armaments of the rival governors met in the port of St. Domingo. It\nwas not long before cause of collision arose between two men, both\npossessed of such swelling spirits. They quarrelled about the boundaries\nof their governments, and the province of Darien was boldly claimed by\neach.--\n\n \"Their disputes on these points ran so high, that the whole\n place resounded with them. In talking, however, Nicuesa had the\n advantage; having been brought up in the court, he was more\n polished and ceremonious, had greater self-command, and\n probably perplexed his rival governor in argument. Ojeda was no\n great casuist, but he was an excellent swordsman, and always\n ready to fight his way through any question of right or dignity\n which he could not clearly argue with the tongue; so he\n proposed to settle the dispute by single combat. Nicuesa,\n though equally brave, was more a man of the world, and saw the\n folly of such arbitrament. Secretly smiling at the heat of his\n antagonist, he proposed as a preliminary to the duel, and to\n furnish something worth fighting for, that each should deposit\n five thousand castillanos, to be the prize of the victor. This,\n as he foresaw, was a temporary check upon the fiery valour of\n his rival, who did not possess a pistole in his treasury; but\n probably was too proud to confess it.\"\n\nHow long the poverty of Ojeda could have kept down his fiery spirit, we\nmay doubt. Fortunately he had in his companion, the brave Juan de la\nCosa, a friend who could control him, as well as follow and support him.\nJuan reconciled, at least for a time, the quarrel of the rival\ngovernors, and it was agreed that the river Darien should be the\nboundary of their provinces. Things being thus arranged, Ojeda was\nanxious to set sail; he still, however, wanted pecuniary assistance to\ncomplete his equipment; though careless of money himself, he seems to\nhave had a facility in commanding the purses of his neighbours; and on\nthis occasion he found, in a quarter, where perhaps he could scarce have\nexpected it, both personal and pecuniary aid. There lived at San\nDomingo, the bachelor _Martin Fernandez de Enciso,_ a shrewd lawyer, who\nhad contrived to accumulate a considerable fortune by the litigation\nwhich already flourished in the New World. He was dazzled by the visions\nof unbounded wealth, he was promised the lofty office and title of\nAlcalde Mayor, and in an evil hour the worthy bachelor united in the\nenterprise of Ojeda, in search of fame and fortune. It was determined\nthat he should stay at St. Domingo till he could collect a larger store\nof provisions and more men; and then follow his partner, who set sail\nwithout delay. The armament of Nicuesa still remained in port; for that\ngallant cavalier, notwithstanding his challenge to his rival, had\nexhausted all the money he could raise; he was even threatened with a\nprison; and it was not till some time after his rival had sailed, that\nhe was enabled by unexpected assistance to embark.\n\nIn the month of November 1509, Ojeda reached the harbour of Cartagena,\nin his new province. In addition to Juan de la Cosa, he had as a\ncompanion _Francisco Pizarro_, who afterwards conquered Peru. The\nformer, knowing from previous voyages the savage character of the\nnatives, advised Ojeda not to stop there, but to proceed to the bay of\nUraba. Such advice was useless to a proud warrior, who despised a naked\nand a savage foe. Having failed to keep his commander from danger, the\nfaithful Juan could only stand by to aid him. Ojeda, who was a good\nCatholic, thought that he performed a pious duty in reducing the savages\nto the dominion of the king and the knowledge of the true faith. He\ncarried as a protecting relic a small painting of the Holy Virgin; he\nsummoned the Indians in the name of the Pope, and he assured them in\nthe most solemn terms that they were the lawful subjects of the\nsovereigns of Castile.\n\n \"On landing, he advanced towards the savages, and ordered the\n friars to read aloud a certain formula, which had recently been\n digested by profound jurists and divines in Spain. It began in\n stately form. 'I, Alonzo de Ojeda, servant of the most high and\n mighty sovereigns of Castile and Leon, conquerors of barbarous\n nations, their messenger and captain, do notify unto you, and\n make you know, in the best way I can, that God our Lord, one\n and eternal, created the heaven and the earth, and one man and\n one woman, from whom you and we, and all the people of the\n earth proceeded, and are descendants, as well as all those who\n shall come hereafter.' The formula then went on to declare the\n fundamental principles of the Catholic Faith; the supreme power\n given to St. Peter over the world and all the human race, and\n exercised by his representative the pope; the donation made by\n a late pope of all this part of the world and all its\n inhabitants, to the Catholic sovereigns of Castile; and the\n ready obedience which had already been paid by many of its\n lands and islands and people to the agents and representatives\n of those sovereigns. It called upon those savages present,\n therefore, to do the same, to acknowledge the truth of the\n Christian doctrines, the supremacy of the pope, and the\n sovereignty of the Catholic King, but, in case of refusal, it\n denounced upon them all the horrors of war, the desolation of\n their dwelling, the seizure of their property, and the slavery\n of their wives and children. Such was the extraordinary\n document, which, from this time forward, was read by the\n Spanish discoverers to the wondering savages of any newly-found\n country, as a prelude to sanctify the violence about to be\n inflicted on them.\"\n\nThe pious manifesto was uttered in vain to the warlike savages: they\nbrandished their weapons, and Ojeda, after a short prayer to the Virgin,\nhad to discard the parchment, brace up his armour, and charge the foe at\nthe head of his followers. He was not long in defeating his naked\nenemies, who fled into the forests. Juan de la Cosa again tried his\ninfluence with his commander, and urged him to desist from pursuit. It\nwas in vain. Ojeda, with Juan faithfully at his side, rushed madly on\nthrough the mazes of unknown woods. The Indians rallied and waylaid the\nimprudent Spaniards. It was in vain that Ojeda inspired them with fresh\ncourage by the example of his undaunted prowess. Numbers prevailed; the\nweapons of the savages were steeped in a deadly poison; and one after\none the invaders were left dead. Among those who fell was the brave Juan\nde la Cosa; and a Spaniard, who was near him when he died, was the only\nsurviver of seventy that had followed Ojeda in his rash and headlong\ninroad.\n\nFor days those who remained at the ships waited the arrival of their\ncompanions. They searched the woods and shouted along the shore, but\nthey could hear no signal from them. What was their surprise one day, at\ncatching in a thicket of mangrove trees, a glimpse of a man in Spanish\nattire. They entered, and found the unfortunate Ojeda; he lay on the\nmatted roots of the trees; he was speechless, wan, and wasted; but his\nhand still grasped his sword. They restored him with wine and a warm\nfire; he recounted the story of his rash expedition; of his struggles\namong rocks and forests to reach the shore; and he bitterly reproached\nhimself with the death of his faithful companion. While the crowd of\nSpaniards were yet on the beach administering to the recovery of their\ncommander, they beheld steering into the harbour, a squadron of ships,\nwhich they soon recognised as that of Nicuesa. Ojeda recollected at once\nhis quarrel; his valiant spirit was quelled by the hardships he had\nsuffered; he feared to meet his rival; and he directed his followers to\nleave him concealed in the woods until the disposition of Nicuesa should\nbe known.--\n\n \"As the squadron entered the harbour, the boats sallied forth\n to meet it. The first inquiry of Nicuesa was concerning Ojeda.\n The followers of the latter replied, mournfully, that their\n commander had gone on a warlike expedition into the country,\n but days had elapsed without his return, so that they feared\n some misfortune had befallen him. They entreated Nicuesa,\n therefore, to give his word, as a cavalier, that should Ojeda\n really be in distress, he would not take advantage of his\n misfortunes to revenge himself for their late disputes.\n\n \"Nicuesa, who was a gentleman of noble and generous spirit,\n blushed with indignation at such a request. 'Seek your\n commander instantly,' said he; 'bring him to me if he be alive;\n and I pledge myself not merely to forget the past, but to aid\n him as if he were a brother.'\n\n \"When they met, Nicuesa received his late foe with open arms.\n 'It is not,' said he, 'for Hidalgos, like men of vulgar souls,\n to remember past differences when they behold one another in\n distress. Henceforth, let all that has occurred between us be\n forgotten. Command me as a brother. Myself and my men are at\n your orders, to follow you wherever you please, until the\n deaths of Juan de la Cosa and his comrades are revenged.'\n\n \"The spirits of Ojeda were once more lifted up by this gallant\n and generous offer. The two governors, no longer rivals, landed\n four hundred of their men and several horses, and set off with\n all speed for the fatal village. They approached it in the\n night, and, dividing their forces into two parties, gave orders\n that not an Indian should be taken alive.\"\n\nDreadful indeed was the carnage, and fierce the vengeance the two\ncommanders wreaked upon the natives. Having sacked the village, they\nleft it a smoking ruin, and returned in triumph to their ships. The\nspoil, which was great, was divided among the followers of each\ngovernor, and they now parted with many expressions of friendship,\nNicuesa proceeding westward to his province.\n\nOjeda did not long continue at a spot so fatal. He proceeded along the\ncoast, and at length selected a height on the east side, at the entrance\nof the gulf of Darien, as the place for his town, which he named St.\nSebastian. He immediately erected a fortress to defend himself against\nthe natives, and considering this as his permanent seat of government,\ndespatched a ship to Hispaniola, with a letter to the bachelor Enciso,\nrequesting him to join the colony with the provisions and men he had\ncollected. In the meanwhile, those who remained soon exhausted the\nstores they had, and were reduced to great want. They were fortunately\nrelieved by the arrival of a vessel commanded by _Bernardo de_\n_Talavera_, a reckless adventurer, who being threatened with\nimprisonment by his creditors in St. Domingo, had persuaded a set of\nmen, as reckless as himself, to seize by force a vessel, lying off shore\nloaded with provisions, and join the new colony. While the supply\nbrought by Talavera lasted, Ojeda was able to pacify his murmuring\ncompanions, and to persuade them peacefully to await the arrival of\nEnciso. When this however was exhausted, and famine threatened them,\nthey became outrageous in their clamours, and Ojeda was compelled, as\nthe only means of appeasing them, to agree to go himself to St. Domingo\nfor aid, leaving those who stayed under the command of Francisco\nPizarro, as his lieutenant. Talavera, already tired of the hardships he\nhad encountered, was willing enough to return, and set sail with the\ncommander in his vessel. The ill luck which had attended Ojeda during\nthis expedition still continued. The vessel was cast on the island of\nCuba, and completely wrecked; and the unhappy Spaniards had no choice\nbut to perish on the beach, or to traverse the wide morasses that spread\nalong the coast, until they reached some place where they could obtain\naid. These morasses, as they proceeded, became deeper and deeper, the\nwater sometimes reaching to their girdles; and when they slept, they had\nto creep up among the twisted roots of the mangrove trees, which grew in\nclusters in the waters. Of all the party, Ojeda alone kept up his spirit\nundaunted. He cheered his companions; he shared his food among them;\nwhenever he stopped to repose in the mangrove trees, he took out his\ntreasured picture of the Virgin, which he had carefully preserved\nthrough all his troubles, and placing it before him, commended himself\nto the Holy Mother; and by persuading his companions to join him, he\nrenewed their patience and courage. It was on one of these occasions\nthat he made a vow to erect a chapel and leave his relic in the first\nIndian town to which he came. At length, after incredible sufferings,\nthey reached a village; the natives gathered round the poor wanderers,\nand gazed at them with wonder; they treated them with humanity, and\nafter restoring them to health and strength, aided and accompanied them\ntill they reached the point of land nearest Jamaica. At that spot they\nprocured canoes, arrived at a settlement of their countrymen, and thence\nreturned to St. Domingo.\n\nOjeda was too pious a Catholic to forget the vow he had made in his\ndistress, though it must have sorely grieved him to part with the relic\nto which he attributed his safety in so many perils. At the village,\nhowever, where he had been so kindly succoured, he faithfully performed\nit.\n\n \"He built a little hermitage or oratory in the village, and\n furnished it with an altar, above which he placed the picture.\n He then summoned the benevolent cacique, and explained to him,\n as well as his limited knowledge of the language, or the aid of\n interpreters would permit, the main points of the Catholic\n faith, and especially the history of the Virgin, whom he\n represented as the mother of the Deity that reigned in the\n skies, and the great advocate for mortal man.\n\n \"The worthy cacique listened to him with mute attention, and\n though he might not clearly comprehend the doctrine, yet he\n conceived a profound veneration for the picture. The sentiment\n was shared by his subjects. They kept the little oratory always\n swept clean, and decorated it with cotton hangings, laboured by\n their own hands, and with various votive offerings. They\n composed couplets or areytos in honour of the Virgin, which\n they sang to the accompaniment of rude musical instruments,\n dancing to the sound under the groves which surrounded the\n hermitage.\n\n \"A further anecdote concerning this relique may not be\n unacceptable. The venerable Las Casas, who records these facts,\n informs us that he arrived at the village of Cuebas some time\n after the departure of Ojeda. He found the oratory preserved\n with the most religious care, as a sacred place, and the\n picture of the Virgin regarded with fond adoration. The poor\n Indians crowded to attend mass, which he performed at the\n altar; they listened attentively to his paternal instructions,\n and at his request brought their children to be baptized. The\n good Las Casas having heard much of this famous relique of\n Ojeda, was desirous of obtaining possession of it, and offered\n to give the cacique in exchange, an image of the Virgin which\n he had brought with him. The chieftain made an evasive answer,\n and seemed much troubled in mind. The next morning he did not\n make his appearance.\n\n \"Las Casas went to the oratory to perform mass, but found the\n altar stripped of its precious relique. On inquiring, he learnt\n that in the night the cacique had fled to the woods, bearing\n off with him his beloved picture of the Virgin. It was in vain\n that Las Casas sent messengers after him, assuring him that he\n should not be deprived of the relique, but, on the contrary,\n that the image should likewise be presented to him. The cacique\n refused to venture from the fastnesses of the forest, nor did\n he return to his village and replace the picture in the\n oratory, until after the departure of the Spaniards.\"\n\nThe fate of Ojeda was that of a ruined man. He lingered for some time at\nSan Domingo, but he no longer appeared there as the governor of a\nprovince. He was a needy wanderer. His health was broken down by wounds\nand hardships, and he died at last so poor that he did not leave money\nenough to pay for his interment; and so broken in spirit, that he\nentreated with his last breath, that his body might be buried at the\nportal of the Monastery of St. Francisco, in humble expiation of his\npast pride, \"so that every one who entered might tread upon his grave.\"\n\nWhen the gallant and generous minded Nicuesa left Ojeda, he sailed to\nthe west to encounter perils still greater than his rival endured. His\nsquadron arrived safely on the coast of Veragua. He there embarked\nhimself in a small caravel belonging to it, that he might the better\nexplore the inlets and places along the shore, committing the charge of\nthe other vessels to his lieutenant Lope de Olano. One night, shortly\nafter making this arrangement, a violent storm came on, and when day\ndawned, Nicuesa was left without one of the squadron in sight. Taking\nrefuge in a river, his caravel was wrecked, and the unfortunate\ncommander was left on the desert shore with the crew of the vessel, and\nnothing remaining to them but the boat, which was accidentally cast on\nthe beach. Day after day they hoped for the arrival of their\ncompanions, until they began to suspect that the lieutenant had\ndetermined to profit by the absence of Nicuesa, assume his power, and\nleave him to perish. They wandered along shore, in the direction, as\nthey supposed, of the place where they had been separated from the\nsquadron. They crossed the rivers and sailed to the islands near the\ncoast in their boat. At length, to complete their misfortunes, at one of\nthe latter, four of the party deserted, took with them the boat, and\nleft their commander and the rest of the party, without food,\nassistance, or means to regain the land. In this sad situation they\nremained for weeks; many of them died, and those who lived envied,\ninstead of mourning over, their fate. At length one of the brigantines\nof the squadron appeared; it had been sent by Lope de Olano, who had\nbeen found by the four mariners in the boat; and Nicuesa and the\nsurvivers were conveyed to their companions, who had made a settlement\nat the mouth of the river Belen. Finding that spot unhealthy, Nicuesa\nbroke up the settlement, and established the remnant of his once large\ncolony, now reduced to a hundred emaciated wretches, at \"El Nombre de\nDios.\" \"Here let us stop,\" exclaimed the weary commander to his\ncompanions, \"in the name of God (en el nombre de Dios,)\"--whence the\nport derived its name.\n\nWhile the two governors were thus struggling to establish their\ncolonies, the bachelor Enciso, whom we have mentioned as having enlisted\nwith Ojeda, set out from St. Domingo to join that adventurer with the\nmen and provisions he had collected. Among his recruits was _Vasco Nunez\nde Balboa_, another name destined to become famous on these seas. The\nbachelor had hardly reached Terra Firma before he fell in with Francisco\nPizarro, and the small remains of the colony left by Ojeda at St.\nSebastian. He heard the story of their misfortunes and the departure of\ntheir commander, but nothing daunted, the worthy gentleman of the robe\nassumed the courageous bearing of a knight errant, and determined to\npursue the adventures on which he had embarked. Having heard of a great\nsepulchre not far in the interior, where the natives were said to be\nburied with all their ornaments of gold, he determined at once to pounce\non so valuable a mine. He held it no sacrilege to plunder the graves of\npagans and infidels, and he took care to secure the law on his side, by\ncausing to be read and interpreted to all the caciques, a declaration,\ninforming them of the nature of the Deity, the supremacy of the pope,\nand the undoubted validity of his grant of their country to the Catholic\nsovereigns.\n\n \"The caciques listened to the whole very attentively, and\n without interruption, according to the laws of Indian courtesy.\n They then replied, that, as to the assertion that there was but\n one God, the sovereign of heaven and earth, it seemed to them\n good, and that such must be the case; but as to the doctrine\n that the pope was regent of the world in place of God, and\n that he had made a grant of their country to the Spanish king,\n they observed that the pope must have been drunk to give away\n what was not his, and the king must have been somewhat mad to\n ask at his hands what belonged to others. They added, that they\n were lords of those lands, and needed no other sovereign, and\n if this king should come to take possession, they would cut off\n his head and put it on a pole; that being their mode of dealing\n with their enemies.--As an illustration of this custom, they\n pointed out to Enciso the very uncomfortable spectacle of a row\n of grisly heads impaled in the neighbourhood.\"\n\nOn hearing this answer, the bachelor at once discarded the legal, and\nassumed the warlike character. He charged the Indians, and routed them\nwith ease. He forthwith plundered the sepulchres, but whether he\nobtained the expected booty is not recorded. After this exploit, the\nworthy bachelor set about establishing the provincial government as\nAlcalde Mayor of Ojeda. St. Sebastian being in ruins, and the scene of\nso many misfortunes, was speedily deserted, and by the advice of Vasco\nNunez he seized on the village of Darien, drove out the inhabitants,\ncollected at it great quantities of food and golden ornaments, and\nestablished his capital under the sounding title of Santa Maria de la\nAntigua del Darien.\n\nIt so happened that this new town was on the western shore of the river\nDarien, and consequently within the province of Nicuesa, not of Ojeda.\nSome discontented or ambitious persons in the colony took advantage of\nthis, and attacked the alcalde in his own way, with legal weapons,\nquestioning his right to rule. Among these Vasco Nunez and one Zamudio\nwere the leaders, and aspired to the bachelor's post. It was however at\nlast determined to seek for the rightful head of the colony, Nicuesa;\nand bring him to the new capital. That woe-worn commander accepted with\ndelight the unexpected proffer; foolishly however he assumed at once the\nhaughty airs of a governor, and before he had seen his new colony, spoke\nof the punishment he would inflict on the disturbers of its harmony. The\ninhabitants of Darien heard of this language, and repented of their\nhasty measure. Placing Vasco Nunez at their head, they awaited the\narrival of Nicuesa on the beach, and when they saw his vessel enter the\nbay, refused him permission to land. It was in vain that the unfortunate\ncavalier entreated, promised, and explained. Even Vasco Nunez, who was\nof a generous spirit, supplicated for his reception as a private\nindividual, without effect. The determination of the populace was made\nup; and sad to tell, Nicuesa was driven to sea in his crazy bark, and\nnever heard of more.\n\nThe bachelor Enciso now again claimed his right to command the colony.\nThe people, however, were all on the side of Vasco Nunez; he had become\na great favourite, from his frank and fearless character, and his\nwinning affability; in fact, he was peculiarly calculated to manage the\nfiery and the factious, yet generous and susceptible nature of his\ncountrymen, and in addition to this he was in the vigour of his age,\ntall, well formed and hardy. After a fruitless struggle, Enciso left the\ncolony, and Vasco Nunez, well aware of the appeal he would make to the\nSpanish government, sent at the same time Zamudio to represent and\ndefend him before the same tribunal. Vasco Nunez at once exerted himself\nto prove his capacity as governor. His first expedition was against\nCareta, the neighbouring cacique of Coyba, for the purpose of obtaining\nsupplies. By a stratagem he made captives of the cacique, his wives, and\nchildren, and many of his people. He discovered also their store of\nprovisions, and returned with his booty and his captives to Darien.\n\n \"When the unfortunate cacique beheld his family in chains, and\n in the hands of strangers, his heart was wrung with despair;\n 'What have I done to thee,' said he to Vasco Nunez, 'that thou\n shouldst treat me thus cruelly? None of thy people ever came to\n my land that were not fed, and sheltered, and treated with\n loving kindness. When thou camest to my dwelling, did I meet\n thee with a javelin in my hand? Did I not set meat and drink\n before thee, and welcome thee as a brother? Set me free\n therefore, with my family and people, and we will remain thy\n friends. We will supply thee with provisions, and reveal to\n thee the riches of the land. Dost thou doubt my faith? Behold\n my daughter, I give her to thee as a pledge of friendship. Take\n her for thy wife, and be assured of the fidelity of her family\n and her people!'\n\n \"Vasco Nunez felt the force of these words, and knew the\n importance of forming a strong alliance among the natives. The\n captive maid, also, as she stood trembling and dejected before\n him, found great favour in his eyes, for she was young and\n beautiful. He granted, therefore, the prayer of the cacique,\n and accepted his daughter, engaging, moreover, to aid the\n father against his enemies, on condition of his furnishing\n provisions to the colony.\n\n \"Careta remained three days at Darien, during which time, he\n was treated with the utmost kindness. Vasco Nunez took him on\n board of his ships and showed him every part of them. He\n displayed before him also the war horses, with their armour and\n rich caparisons, and astonished him with the thunder of\n artillery. Lest he should be too much daunted by these warlike\n spectacles, he caused the musicians to perform a harmonious\n concert on their instruments, at which the cacique was lost in\n admiration. Thus having impressed him with a wonderful idea of\n the power and endowments of his new allies, he loaded him with\n presents and permitted him to depart.\n\n \"Careta returned joyfully to his territories, and his daughter\n remained with Vasco Nunez, willingly for his sake giving up her\n family and native home. They were never married, but she\n considered herself his wife, as she really was, according to\n the usages of her own country, and he treated her with\n fondness, allowing her gradually to acquire great influence\n over him. To his affection for this damsel, his ultimate ruin\n is, in some measure, to be ascribed.\"\n\nVasco Nunez did not neglect the favourable occasion these circumstances\noffered, of extending his power among the neighbouring Indians. Those\nwho were hostile he attacked; those who were friendly he conciliated.\nFrom all he obtained supplies of provisions and gold, to support and\nenrich his colony. It was in one of his excursions to a friendly chief,\nthe cacique of Comagre, that he obtained the information which gave\ngreater scope to his adventurous spirit, and enabled him to place\nhimself in the same degree with Pizarro and Cortez among the\ndiscoverers who succeeded the great admiral. The cacique had made a\npresent or tribute of a large quantity of gold, and the followers of\nVasco Nunez quarrelled as they were dividing among them their respective\nshares in the presence of the Indian chief.\n\n \"The high minded savage was disgusted at this sordid brawl\n among beings whom he had regarded with such reverence. In the\n first impulse of his disdain he struck the scale with his fist,\n and scattered the glittering gold about the porch. Before the\n Spaniards could recover from their astonishment at this sudden\n act, he thus addressed them: 'Why should you quarrel for such a\n trifle? If this gold is indeed so precious in your eyes, that\n for it alone you abandon your homes, invade the peaceful lands\n of others, and expose yourselves to such sufferings and perils,\n I will tell you of a region where you may gratify your wishes\n to the utmost.--Behold those lofty mountains,' continued he,\n pointing to the south; 'beyond these lies a mighty sea, which\n may be discerned from their summit. It is navigated by people\n who have vessels almost as large as yours, and furnished, like\n them, with sails and oars. All the streams which flow down the\n southern side of those mountains into that sea abound in gold;\n and the kings who reign upon its borders eat and drink out of\n golden vessels. Gold, in fact, is as plentiful and common among\n those people of the south as iron is among you Spaniards.'\n\n \"Struck with this intelligence, Vasco Nunez inquired eagerly as\n to the means of penetrating to this sea and to the opulent\n regions on its shores. 'The task,' replied the prince, 'is\n difficult and dangerous. You must pass through the territories\n of many powerful caciques, who will oppose you with hosts of\n warriors. Some parts of the mountains are infested by fierce\n and cruel cannibals, a wandering lawless race: but, above all,\n you will have to encounter the great cacique Tubanama, whose\n territories are at the distance of six days journey, and more\n rich in gold than any other province; this cacique will be sure\n to come forth against you with a mighty force. To accomplish\n your enterprise, therefore, will require at least a thousand\n men armed like those who follow you.\"\n\nThe effect of this intelligence, on the enterprising spirit of Vasco\nNunez, may be well imagined. The Pacific ocean and its golden realms\nseemed to be at his feet. He beheld within his power an enterprise which\nwould at once elevate him from a wandering and desperate man, to a rank\namong the great captains and discoverers of the earth. He lost no time\nin making every preparation to realize the splendid vision. With this\nobject he sent for aid to Don Diego Columbus, who then governed at St.\nDomingo; and in the mean time endeavoured to strengthen himself with the\nsurrounding tribes of natives, and to quiet the spirit of\ninsubordination which would occasionally break out at Darien. At length,\non the 1st of September, 1513, he set out with one hundred and ninety\nSpaniards, and a number of Indians. At Coyba he left half his company\nwith the cacique Careta, to await his return, and with the residue, on\nthe sixth of the month, struck off towards the mountains. By some of the\nIndian tribes he was kindly received, by others hostile intentions were\ndisplayed. These were soon overcome by the use of fire arms and blood\nhounds, which terrified the natives and put them at once to flight. On\nthe evening of the 25th of September, the party, now reduced to\nsixty-seven Spaniards, arrived at the foot of the last mountain, from\nwhose top they were told they would command the long sought prospect.\nVasco Nunez obtained fresh Indian guides, and ordered his men to retire\nearly to repose, that they might be ready to set off at the cool and\nfresh hour of daybreak, so as to reach the summit of the mountain before\nthe noontide heat.\n\n \"The day had scarcely dawned, when Vasco Nunez and his\n followers set forth from the Indian village and began to climb\n the height. It was a severe and rugged toil for men so wayworn,\n but they were filled with new ardour at the idea of the\n triumphant scene that was so soon to repay them for all their\n hardships.\n\n \"About ten o'clock in the morning they emerged from the thick\n forests through which they had hitherto struggled, and arrived\n at a lofty and airy region of the mountain. The bald summit\n alone remained to be ascended, and their guides pointed to a\n moderate eminence from which they said the southern sea was\n visible.\n\n \"Upon this Vasco Nunez commanded his followers to halt, and\n that no man should stir from his place. Then, with a\n palpitating heart, he ascended alone the bare mountain-top. On\n reaching the summit the long-desired prospect burst upon his\n view. It was as if a new world were unfolded to him, separated\n from all hitherto known by this mighty barrier of mountains.\n Below him extended a vast chaos of rock and forest, and green\n savannahs and wandering streams, while at a distance the waters\n of the promised ocean glittered in the morning sun.\n\n \"At this glorious prospect Vasco Nunez sank upon his knees, and\n poured out thanks to God for being the first European to whom\n it was given to make that great discovery. He then called his\n people to ascend: 'Behold, my friends,' said he, 'that glorious\n sight which we have so much desired. Let us give thanks to God\n that he has granted us this great honour and advantage. Let us\n pray to him that he will guide and aid us to conquer the sea\n and land which we have discovered, and in which Christian has\n never entered to preach the holy doctrine of the Evangelists.\n As to yourselves, be as you have hitherto been, faithful and\n true to me, and by the favour of Christ you will become the\n richest Spaniards that have ever come to the Indies; you will\n render the greatest services to your king that ever vassal\n rendered to his lord; and you will have the eternal glory and\n advantage of all that is here discovered, conquered, and\n converted to our holy Catholic faith.'\n\n \"The Spaniards answered this speech by embracing Vasco Nunez,\n and promising to follow him to death. Among them was a priest,\n named Andres de Vara, who lifted up his voice and chanted _Te\n Deum laudamus_--the usual anthem of Spanish discoverers. The\n people, kneeling down, joined in the strain with pious\n enthusiasm and tears of joy; and never did a more sincere\n oblation rise to the Deity from a sanctified altar than from\n that wild mountain summit. It was indeed one of the most\n sublime discoveries that had yet been made in the New World,\n and must have opened a boundless field of conjecture to the\n wondering Spaniards. The imagination delights to picture forth\n the splendid confusion of their thoughts. Was this the great\n Indian Ocean, studded with precious islands, abounding in gold,\n in gems, and spices, and bordered by the gorgeous cities and\n wealthy marts of the East? Or was it some lonely sea, locked up\n in the embraces of savage uncultivated continents, and never\n traversed by a bark, excepting the light pirogue of the Indian?\n The latter could hardly be the case, for the natives had told\n the Spaniards of golden realms, and populous and powerful and\n luxurious nations upon its shores. Perhaps it might be bordered\n by various people, civilized in fact, but differing from Europe\n in their civilization; who might have peculiar laws and customs\n and arts and sciences; who might form, as it were, a world of\n their own, intercommuning by this mighty sea, and carrying on\n commerce between their own islands and continents; but who\n might exist in total ignorance and independence of the other\n hemisphere.\n\n \"Such may naturally have been the ideas suggested by the sight\n of this unknown ocean. It was the prevalent belief of the\n Spaniards, however, that they were the first Christians who had\n made the discovery. Vasco Nunez, therefore, called upon all\n present to witness that he took possession of that sea, its\n islands, and surrounding lands, in the name of the sovereigns\n of Castile, and the notary of the expedition made a testimonial\n of the same, to which all present, to the number of sixty-seven\n men, signed their names. He then caused a fair and tall tree to\n be cut down and wrought into a cross, which was elevated on the\n spot from whence he had at first beheld the sea. A mound of\n stones was likewise piled up to serve as a monument, and the\n names of the Castilian sovereigns were carved on the\n neighbouring trees. The Indians beheld all these ceremonials\n and rejoicings in silent wonder, and, while they aided to erect\n the cross and pile up the mound of stones, marvelled\n exceedingly at the meaning of these monuments, little thinking\n that they marked the subjugation of their land.\"\n\nFrom the summit of the mountain Vasco Nunez cheerfully pursued his\njourney to the coast; when he tasted the water and found it salt, he\nfelt assured that he had indeed discovered an ocean; he again returned\nthanks to God, and drawing his dagger from his girdle, marked three\ntrees with crosses in honour of the Trinity and in token of possession.\n\nHe remained on the shore of the Pacific ocean till the 3d of November.\nIn the interval, he conciliated by his good management the kind feelings\nof the natives; he visited some of the neighbouring islands; he was\nshown the valuable pearl fisheries; and was loaded when he left there\nwith pearls and gold. On his return he had several hostile rencounters\nwith the natives, and reached Darien on the 19th of January, 1514.\n\n \"Thus ended one of the most remarkable expeditions of the early\n discoverers. The intrepidity of Vasco Nunez in penetrating,\n with a handful of men, far into the interior of a wild and\n mountainous country, peopled by warlike tribes; his skill in\n managing his band of rough adventurers, stimulating their\n valour, enforcing their obedience, and attaching their\n affections, show him to have possessed great qualities as a\n general. We are told that he was always foremost in peril, and\n the last to quit the field. He shared the toils and dangers of\n the meanest of his followers, treating them with frank\n affability; watching, fighting, fasting and labouring with\n them; visiting and consoling such as were sick or infirm, and\n dividing all his gains with fairness and liberality. He was\n chargeable at times with acts of bloodshed and injustice, but\n it is probable that these were often called for as measures of\n safety and precaution; he certainly offended less against\n humanity than most of the early discoverers; and the unbounded\n amity and confidence reposed in him by the natives, when they\n became intimately acquainted with his character, speak strongly\n in favour of his kind treatment of them.\n\n \"The character of Vasco Nunez had, in fact, risen with his\n circumstances, and now assumed a nobleness and grandeur from\n the discovery he had made, and the important charge it had\n devolved upon him. He no longer felt himself a mere soldier of\n fortune, at the head of a band of adventurers, but a great\n commander conducting an immortal enterprise. 'Behold,' says old\n Peter Martyr, 'Vasco Nunez de Balboa, at once transformed from\n a rash royster to a politic and discreet captain:' and thus it\n is that men are often made by their fortunes; that is to say,\n their latent qualities are brought out, and shaped and\n strengthened by events, and by the necessity of every exertion\n to cope with the greatness of their destiny.\"\n\nWhile Vasco Nunez was thus exulting in his successful expedition,\nfortune was preparing for him a sad reverse. The bachelor Enciso had\narrived in Spain, and notwithstanding the statements of Zamudio, had\nmade an unfavourable impression in regard to Vasco Nunez. The result\nwas, that a new governor of Darien was appointed, in the person of Pedro\nArias Davila, commonly called Pedrarias, a brave warrior, but little\nfitted to command in a colony such as that to which he was sent. A\nnumber of young Spanish nobles and gentlemen determined to accompany\nhim, having heard wild stories of the wealth and adventures which the\nnew world offered. Pedrarias was also attended by his heroic wife, Dona\nIsabella de Bobadilla, and by the bishop Quevedo, a just and benevolent\npriest. Scarcely had the new expedition left the shores of Spain, when\nnews arrived there of the splendid discoveries of Vasco Nunez, and the\nking repented that he had so hastily superseded him.\n\nIn the month of June, the squadron of Pedrarias anchored before Darien.\nWhen the hardy veterans of the colony heard that their beloved commander\nwas to be thus removed, they were loud in their murmurs, and eagerly\ndesired to resist the newly arrived governor. Not so Vasco Nunez; he\nbowed at once to the mandates of the king, and acknowledged the\nauthority of Pedrarias. This frank and honourable conduct was ill repaid\nby the new chief; he took advantage of the unsuspecting confidence of\nVasco Nunez, and directed him to be prosecuted for usurpation and\ntyrannical abuse of power. Fortunately, the bishop was opposed to the\nconduct of the governor, and even his wife ventured to express her\nrespect and sympathy for the discoverer. This alone saved him from being\nsent in irons to Spain. In the mean time, the gallant Spanish cavaliers\nsunk beneath the fatal climate, to which they were unaccustomed, and the\naffairs of the colony became distracted. Pedrarias, to engage them,\nfitted out an expedition for the Pacific, but it ended in disappointment\nand disaster, and had little result but to change some of the friendly\nIndian tribes into implacable enemies.\n\nWhile things were in this state, despatches arrived from Spain. In a\nletter addressed to Vasco Nunez, the king expressed his high sense of\nhis merits and services, and constituted him adelantado of the South\nSea, though subordinate to the general command of Pedrarias. That\ngovernor, still envious of the renown of his rival, refused to confer on\nhim the powers belonging to his new office, and all that Vasco Nunez\ncould obtain was the recognition of the title. Still further to thwart\nthe honourable plans of the discoverer, he determined to explore, under\nhis own auspices, the pearl fisheries and islands discovered by Vasco\nNunez on the Pacific, and for this purpose fitted out an expedition\nunder the command of his own relative Morales; he sent with him,\nhowever, Francisco Pizarro, who had accompanied Vasco Nunez on his first\nexpedition. These explorers were kindly received by the caciques, who\nwillingly gave them pearls for hatchets, beads, and hawks' bills, which\nthey valued much more. An incident occurred on their visit to Isla\nRica, which, connected with the future history of Pizarro, was\nsingularly interesting.\n\n \"Finding that pearls were so precious in the eyes of the\n Spaniards, the cacique took Morales and Pizarro to the summit\n of a wooden tower, commanding an unbounded prospect. 'Behold\n before you,' said he, 'the infinite sea, which extends even\n beyond the sun-beams. As to these islands which lie to the\n right and left, they are all subject to my sway. They possess\n but little gold, but the deep places of the sea around them are\n full of pearls. Continue to be my friends, and you shall have\n as many as you desire; for I value your friendship more than\n pearls, and, as far as in me lies, will never forfeit it.'\n\n \"He then pointed to the main land, where it stretched away\n towards the east, mountain beyond mountain, until the summit of\n the last faded in the distance, and was scarcely seen above the\n watery horizon. In that direction, he said, there lay a vast\n country of inexhaustible riches, inhabited by a mighty nation.\n He went on to repeat the vague but wonderful rumours which the\n Spaniards had frequently heard about the great kingdom of Peru.\n Pizarro listened greedily to his words, and while his eye\n followed the finger of the cacique, as it ranged along the line\n of shadowy coast, his daring mind kindled with the thought of\n seeking this golden empire beyond the waters.\"\n\nOn their way back through the mountains, the Spaniards were attacked by\nthe savages with great ferocity; and when they reached Darien their\nparty was greatly diminished, though the spoil they brought with them\nwas great.\n\nIn the mean time, the disagreement between Pedrarias and Vasco Nunez\ncontinued, to the great regret of the bishop Quevedo, and the\nmortification of Dona Isabella. At length a plan was suggested by the\nformer which had the fortunate effect of producing a reconciliation. It\nwas agreed that Vasco Nunez should marry the daughter of the governor,\nthen in Spain, and he was accordingly betrothed at once. Pedrarias now\nlooked upon the exploits of his rival as those of one of his own family,\nand no longer thwarted him. He cheerfully aided him in a new expedition\nwhich was planned for transporting timber across the isthmus, building\nbrigantines on the Pacific, and exploring the country farther to the\nsouth. When Vasco Nunez found himself floating in large vessels, on the\nwaves of the vast ocean he had discovered, he felt an honourable pride,\nand a thousand visions of discoveries yet to be made crowded on his\nfancy. Alas! they were not destined to be realized. A person who had a\nprivate pique against him, insinuated himself into the confidence of\nPedrarias; declared that Vasco Nunez had schemes of boundless ambition;\nthat he would soon throw off his connexion with the governor, and above\nall, that such was his devotion to the Indian damsel, the daughter of\nCareta, that he would never wed her to whom he was betrothed. All the\nancient enmity of Pedrarias was renewed; he determined at once to put an\nend to the rivalry of Vasco Nunez; by fair promises he induced him\nunsuspectingly to return; and as soon as he arrived within his power had\nhim arrested and tried for treason. His condemnation was to be\nexpected, but deep was the emotion and surprise among the colonists when\nthey learned that it was to be followed by the immediate death of the\nunfortunate soldier. No entreaties, however, could induce the governor\nto relent. He had his victim now in his power and he determined he\nshould not escape.\n\n \"It was a day of gloom and horror at Acla, when Vasco Nunez and\n his companions were led forth to execution. The populace were\n moved to tears at the unhappy fate of a man, whose gallant\n deeds had excited their admiration, and whose generous\n qualities had won their hearts. Most of them regarded him as\n the victim of a jealous tyrant; and even those who thought him\n guilty, saw something brave and brilliant in the very crime\n imputed to him. Such, however, was the general dread inspired\n by the severe measures of Pedrarias, that no one dared to lift\n up his voice, either in murmur or remonstrance.\n\n \"The public crier walked before Vasco Nunez, proclaiming, 'This\n is the punishment inflicted by command of the king, and his\n lieutenant Don Pedrarias Davila, on this man, as a traitor and\n an usurper of the territories of the crown.'\n\n \"When Vasco Nunez heard these words, he exclaimed, indignantly,\n 'It is false! never did such a crime enter my mind. I have ever\n served my king with truth and loyalty, and sought to augment\n his dominions.'\n\n \"These words were of no avail in his extremity, but they were\n fully believed by the populace.\n\n \"Thus perished, in his forty-second year, in the prime and\n vigour of his days and the full career of his glory, one of the\n most illustrious and deserving of the Spanish discoverers--a\n victim to the basest and most perfidious envy.\n\n \"How vain are our most confident hopes, our brightest triumphs!\n When Vasco Nunez, from the mountains of Darien, beheld the\n Southern ocean revealed to his gaze, he considered its unknown\n realms at his disposal. When he had launched his ships upon its\n waters, and his sails were in a manner flapping in the wind, to\n bear him in quest of the wealthy empire of Peru, he scoffed at\n the prediction of the astrologer, and defied the influence of\n the stars. Behold him interrupted at the very moment of his\n departure; betrayed into the hands of his most invidious foe;\n the very enterprise that was to have crowned him with glory\n wrested into a crime; and himself hurried to a bloody and\n ignominious grave, at the foot, as it were, of the mountain\n from whence he had made his discovery! His fate, like that of\n his renowned predecessor Columbus, proves, that it is sometimes\n dangerous even to discern too greatly!\"\n\nThere yet remain in this interesting volume the history of _Valdivia_\nand his companions, and of the bold _Juan Ponce de Leon_. Each contains\nscenes and incidents scarcely less interesting than those we have\nrapidly noticed; but the termination of the story of Vasco Nunez affords\nus a place to pause, and we are recalled from the agreeable task of\nnarrating to that of expressing some opinion on the merits of the work\nwhich has so delightfully detained us. We may add that there is also an\nappendix, containing a narrative of a visit or pilgrimage, truly\nAmerican, made by the author to the little port of Palos, where Columbus\nand so many of his followers embarked for America; it is in the happiest\nstyle, and cannot be read without the strongest emotions; we can\nscarcely refrain, notwithstanding its length, from presenting it entire\nto the reader.\n\nThe copious quotations we have made, and the abstract of some of the\nmore interesting parts of the narrative, will be sufficient to relieve\nus in a great degree from the necessity of criticism. Our readers will,\nthemselves, be able to form a just estimate of the power and skill of\nthe writer, and of the pleasure to be derived from the story he has\nrecorded. We venture to say, that by none will that estimate be\notherwise than favourable, either to the talents of the author, or the\ninterest of the work.\n\nThe style of Mr. Irving has been objected to as somewhat elaborate, as\nsacrificing strength and force of expression, to harmony of periods and\nextreme correctness of language. We cannot say that we have been\ninclined to censure him for this. If he assumed a style more than\nusually refined, it was in those works of fiction, those short but\nagreeable narratives, in which he desired to win the fond attention of\nthe reader, but in which he never endeavoured to call up violent\nemotions, to engage in the wild speculations of a discursive fancy, or\nto treat topics requiring logical or historical correctness. For such\nworks as the Sketch Book, we believe the style adopted by Mr. Irving to\nbe eminently well fitted, and we do not hesitate to attribute much of\nthe success of those charming tales to this very circumstance. We\nbelieve so the more readily, because we find him adopting in the Life of\nColumbus, and in the volume before us, a different manner, but one\nequally well suited to the different nature of the subject he treats.\nWithout losing the elegance and general purity by which it has been\nalways characterized, it seems to us to have acquired more freshness,\nmore vivacity; to flow on more easily with the course of the spirited\nnarrative; to convey to the reader that exquisite charm in historical\nwriting--an unconsciousness of any elaboration on the part of the\nwriter, yet a quick and entire understanding of every sentiment he\ndesires to convey.\n\nBut connected with this, the writing of Mr. Irving possesses another\ncharacteristic, which has never been more strongly and beautifully\nexhibited than in the present volume. We mean that lively perception of\nall those sentiments and incidents, which excite the finest and the\npleasantest emotions of the human breast. As he leads us from one savage\ntribe to another--as he paints successive scenes of heroism,\nperseverance, and self-denial--as he wanders among the magnificent\nscenes of nature--as he relates with scrupulous fidelity the errors, and\nthe crimes, even of those whose lives are for the most part marked with\ntraits to command admiration, and perhaps esteem--every where we find\nhim the same undeviating, but beautiful moralist, gathering from all\nlessons to present, in striking language, to the reason and the heart.\nWhere his story leads him to some individual, or presents some incident\nwhich raises our smiles, it is recorded with a naive humour, the more\neffective from its simplicity; where he finds himself called on to tell\nsome tale of misfortune or wo--and how often must he do so when the\nhistory of the gentle and peaceful natives of the Antilles is his\nsubject--the reader is at a loss whether most to admire the beauty of\nthe picture he paints, or the deep pathos which he imperceptibly\nexcites.\n\nNor has he shown less judgment in the selection of his subject. To all\npersons the discovery of this continent is one which cannot fail to\nengage and reward attention--to him who loves to speculate on the\nchanges and progress of society, to him who loves to trace the paths of\nscience and knowledge, to him who loves to dwell on bold adventures and\nsingular accidents, to him who loves carefully to ascertain historical\ntruth. We scarcely know any topics at the present day, explored and\nexhausted as so many fields have been, that afford a richer harvest than\nthose which Mr. Irving has now selected. We trust that many more works\nare yet to be the fruits of his most fortunate visit to the peninsula.\nThe sources of information so liberally opened to him, and already so\njudiciously used--and which have contributed to add new reputation to so\nmany names honourable to Spain--must yet furnish ample materials to\nillustrate other men, to disclose the incidents attending other\nadventures; and we trust that three years more may not elapse, before we\nagain sail with our author over the newly discovered billows of the\nPacific, or explore the plains of Mexico and Peru, or wander with some\nof the hardy adventurers who first dared to penetrate the defiles of the\nAndes.\n\nWe have already mentioned, in the notice of the Life of Columbus, the\ncircumstances which led Mr. Irving to the investigation of this period\nof Spanish history, and the facilities afforded him in the prosecution\nof his labours. The materials for this volume were procured during the\nsame visit. In addition to the historical collections of Navarrete, Las\nCasas, Herrera, and Peter Martyr, he profited by the second volume of\nOviedo's history, of which he was shown a manuscript copy in the\nColumbian library of the cathedral of Seville, and by the legal\ndocuments of the law case between Diego Columbus and the crown, which\nare deposited in the Archives of the Indies.\n\n\n\n\nART. VIII.--_The History of Louisiana, from the earliest period._ By\nFRANCOIS-XAVIER MARTIN: 2 vols. 8vo. New-Orleans: Lyman and Beardslee.\n1827.\n\n\nIt is about a year and a half since a very good translation of the\nHistory of Louisiana by _Barbe Marbois_, was laid before the public.\nAnother work on the same subject, by _Francis Xavier Martin_, has\nrecently come to our knowledge. We use this expression, because,\nalthough the title page shows a publication of the book in 1827, we\nneither saw it nor heard of it until the close of the last year; and,\neven now, we know of no copy but that in our possession. It may be that\nthe honourable author, (for he is a Judge of the Supreme Court of the\nstate whose history he has written,) was satisfied with collecting and\npreserving his materials by printing them, and cared not for the fame or\nprofit of an extensive circulation and sale of his work. His philosophy\nmay make him as indifferent to the one as his fortune does to the other,\nor his modesty may be greater than either. We think we shall perform an\nacceptable service by introducing the stranger to our readers, who will\nnot fail to derive from him many things which will reward the time and\ntrouble given to acquire them.\n\nHistory has seldom appeared under the sanction of names better entitled\nto credit and respect than those we have mentioned. M. Marbois is known\nto us by his residence in the United States, as the secretary of the\nFrench legation, and Consul General of France, during the revolutionary\nwar; and, afterwards, as _Charge d' Affaires_; in which situations he\nwas distinguished for his extraordinary capacity in the business of\ndiplomacy, as well as for the integrity of his principles, and the\nfrankness and amenity of his manners. By living long among us, he seems\nto have acquired not only an affection and respect for the American\npeople, but an ardent admiration of our political institutions, which\nhave adhered to him with undiminished strength through the various\nfortunes he has since encountered. He has prefixed to his History, an\n\"Introduction,\" which is, as it professes to be, \"An Essay on the\nConstitution and Government of the United States of America;\" and\nalthough the venerable author had passed his eightieth year, he had lost\nnone of the freshness of his attachment to our republic and its\ncitizens, or of the vigour of his pen in portraying them. No foreigner\nhas ever understood us so well, and few Americans better.\n\nThat part of his history which relates to the cession of Louisiana to\nthe United States, is particularly entitled to attention from its\ncurious details, and will be received with implicit belief, as M.\nMarbois was the negotiator on the part of France in that extraordinary\ntransaction, fraught with consequences so momentous. He relates nothing\nbut what was in his personal knowledge. We will not anticipate our\nnotice of this event, but we cannot suppress the remark, that the\nacquisition of this vast region by the United States, now so prosperous,\nso loyal and efficient a portion of our grand confederacy, by which we\nwere not only saved from a war, but liberty, happiness, and wealth have\nbeen spread over a country, before that time neglected, mismanaged, and\nunproductive, and dispensed to an intelligent and industrious people,\nwho had for a century been struggling with oppression and innumerable\ndifficulties, changing with their repeated changes of masters, was owing\nto the keen sagacity and prompt decision of Napoleon. It is thus that\nthe destinies of mankind wait upon the fortunes, the caprice, the\nforesight, and the blunders of the great, and are determined, for weal\nor wo, by causes and accidents in which those who are most affected by\nthem have no agency. The people of Louisiana, and their fertile\nterritory, which from their first settlement had been a subject of\nbarter among the powers of Europe, to make a peace, to round off a\ntreaty, or answer some policy or interest of a distant sovereign, are\nnow irrevocably fixed as a member of a great republic, never again to be\na helpless and degraded makeweight in the bargains of foreign princes.\n\n_F. X. Martin_, the author of the work now in our review, has held for\nmany years the high station of a Judge of the Supreme Court of\nLouisiana; respected for the learning and integrity with which he\ndischarges the duties of his office, and equally so, in all his public\nand private relations. He, also, is at once the historian and the\nwitness of some of the interesting transactions he narrates; and the\nveracity of his testimony is unquestionable, as to those matters of\nwhich he speaks from his personal knowledge. Being as independent in his\ncircumstances as he is in his principles, and having no resentments, of\nwhich we have heard, to gratify, by calumniating any man, there is\nnothing to draw him from the line of rectitude, and we presume that no\nerrors, at least of intention, will be imputed to him.\n\nWith this acquaintance with the character of the author, and his means\nof information, we may open his book with more than the confidence\nusually due to similar productions.\n\nBefore we introduce our readers to the materials of which these volumes\nare composed, we would say a word, and do it frankly, upon the plan\nadopted by the author in presenting them to the world. We speak not of\nthe language or style of the composition, which is sufficiently clear\nand correct to be secure from criticism, especially under the apology of\nthe writer, that \"as he does not write in his vernacular tongue,\nelegance of style is beyond his hope, and consequently without the scope\nof his ambition.\" We are not so well satisfied with his reasons for the\nwide range he has taken over time and space in a \"History of Louisiana.\"\nHe has commenced, as every annalist of an American village has done,\nwith the discoveries of Columbus; he has given us, with considerable\ndetail, the circumstances which attended the settlements of the English\nand French provinces in this hemisphere; and has drawn \"the attention of\nhis readers to transactions on the opposite side of the Atlantic,\"\nwhich have no apparent connexion with his subject. The \"chronological\norder\" which he has adopted, is not confined to the affairs of\nLouisiana, but comprehends occurrences in every part of the globe, and\nsometimes brings together on the same page such a heterogeneous mass, as\nto force a smile from us in spite of the official gravity which belongs\nto the office of a reviewer. The assemblages of events are often so\nunexpected and grotesque, that we should believe a joke was intended, if\nthey had not been brought together on the summons of a Judge of a\nSupreme Court. Assuredly nothing like them was ever seen in a jury-box,\neven in the mixed population of Louisiana. A few references will explain\nthe nature and meaning of our criticism.\n\nThe \"Discovery of America\" being disposed of, the reader of the History\nof Louisiana has his recollection recalled to the reigns of Charles\nVIII. in France; of Henry VII. of England; and Ferdinand and Isabella,\nof course; with notices of various movements in those countries in their\nseveral reigns. The second chapter is got up in the same manner, taking\na zigzag course over our continent, north, south, east, and west, with\noccasional excursions to Europe to keep up the variety. This procedure\noften produces an assemblage of events, as we have said, on the same\npage, rather startling to themselves as well as to us.--Thus on page 48\nof the first volume--\"On the 20th of December, a ship from England\nlanded one hundred and twenty men near Cape Cod, who laid the foundation\nof a colony, which, in course of time, became greatly conspicuous in the\nannals of the northern continent. They called their first town Plymouth.\nPhilip III. on the 21st of March of the following year, the forty-third\nof his age, transmitted the crown of Spain to his son Philip IV. This\nyear James I. of England granted to Sir William Alexander, all the\ncountry taken by Argal from the French in America. The Iroquois,\napprehending that if the French were suffered to gain ground in\nAmerica.\" So on page 157--\"Iberville returned to France in the\nfleet--William III. of England died on the 16th of March, in consequence\nof a fall from his horse, in the fifty-third year of his age. Mary, his\nqueen, had died in 1694; neither left issue. Anne, her sister, succeeded\nher.\" Can we avoid to ask what has all this to do with Louisiana? In\npage 234--John Law's well known scheme is thus abruptly introduced.\n\"Another Guinea-man landed three hundred s a few days after. John\nLaw, of Lauriston in North Britain, was a celebrated financier,\" &c.\n\nThe work abounds with such odd combinations, nor have we selected the\nmost singular, arising from the \"chronological order\" adopted by the\nauthor, which, while it has advantages in narrations confined to one\nobject, will not do in a history extended over half of the world. We\nhave presented to us, in the same incongruous manner, the settlement of\nMaryland--of Nova Scotia--sketches of English history under Oliver\nCromwell--an account of the hooping cough in Quebec--and an earthquake\nin Canada. The cough was supposed to be the effect of enchantment,--\"and\nmany of the faculty did, or affected to believe it.\" \"It was said a\nfiery crown had been observed in the air at Montreal; lamentable cries\nheard at Trois Rivieres, in places in which there was not any person;\nthat, at Quebec, a canoe, all on fire, had been seen on the river, with\na man armed _cap-a-pie_, surrounded by a circle of the same element.\" On\nthe subject of the earthquake, the account of which is taken from\nCharlevoix, it was indeed a fearful visitation, if the truth be not\nexaggerated by terror and superstition.--\n\n \"A dreadful earthquake was felt in Canada, on the fifth of\n February, 1663. The first shock is said by Charlevoix, to have\n lasted half an hour; after the first quarter of an hour, its\n violence gradually abated. At eight o'clock in the evening, a\n like shock was felt; some of the inhabitants said they had\n counted as many as thirty-two shocks, during the night. In the\n intervals between the shocks, the surface of the ground\n undulated as the sea, and the people felt, in their houses, the\n sensations which are experienced in a vessel at anchor. On the\n sixth, at three o'clock in the morning, another most violent\n shock was felt. It is related that at Tadoussac, there was a\n rain of ashes for six hours. During this strange commotion of\n nature, the bells of the churches were kept constantly ringing,\n by the motion of the steeples; the houses were so terribly\n shaken, that the eaves, on each side, alternately touched the\n ground. Several mountains altered their positions; others were\n precipitated into the river, and lakes were afterwards found in\n the places on which they stood before. The commotion was felt\n for nine hundred miles from east to west, and five hundred from\n north to south.\n\n \"This extraordinary phenomenon was considered as the effect of\n the vengeance of God, irritated at the obstinacy of those, who,\n neglecting the admonitions of his ministers, and contemning the\n censures of his church, continued to sell brandy to the\n Indians. The reverend writer, who has been cited, relates it\n was said, ignited appearances had been observed in the air, for\n several days before; globes of fire being seen over the cities\n of Quebec and Montreal, attended with a noise like that of the\n simultaneous discharge of several pieces of heavy artillery;\n that the superior of the nuns, informed her confessor some time\n before, that being at her devotions, she believed 'she saw the\n Lord irritated against Canada, and she involuntarily demanded\n justice from him for all the crimes committed in the country;\n praying the souls might not perish with the bodies: a moment\n after, she felt conscious the divine justice was going to\n strike; the contempt of the church exciting God's wrath. She\n perceived almost instantaneously four devils, at the corners of\n Quebec, shaking the earth with extreme violence, and a person\n of majestic mien alternately slackening and drawing back a\n bridle, by which he held them.' A female Indian, who had been\n baptized, was said to have received intelligence of the\n impending chastisement of heaven. The reverend writer concludes\n his narration by exultingly observing, 'none perished, all were\n converted.'\"\n\nThe fourth chapter still keeps us at a distance from the \"promised\nland.\" The discontents and disturbances which agitated Canada, are\nminutely narrated, and, in some respects, not without considerable\ninterest. One of the causes of the commotion, was an arbitrary act of\npower of the Count de Frontenac, who \"had imprisoned the Abbe de\nFenelon, then a priest of the seminary of St. Sulpice at Montreal, who\nafterwards became archbishop of Cambray.\" Thus were the genius, the\nlearning, and the virtues of this great and good man, laid prostrate at\nthe feet of a petty tyrant; and might have been for ever lost to the\nworld. It is by such abuses of power that men learn and feel the value\nof a government of laws, supreme and superior to the influence of office\nand the power of the sword. In this chapter we are introduced to the\nname of Robert C. Lasalle, afterwards so conspicuous for his courage and\nperseverance in the settlement of these regions. Some interesting\ndetails of his life and adventures, which may be called romantic, are\ngiven, for which we refer to the book.\n\nAs the character and conduct of the Founder of Pennsylvania has been\nlately assailed, with exceeding injustice, by a Pennsylvanian, and a\njudge too, it will add something to the testimony already so abundant in\nhis behalf, to quote the following extract--\n\n \"The year 1680 is remarkable for the grant of Charles the\n Second, to William Penn, of the territory that now constitutes\n the states of Pennsylvania and Delaware. The grantee, who was\n one of the people called Quakers, imitating the example of\n Gulielm Usseling and Roger Williams, disowned a right to any\n part of the country included within his charter, till the\n natives voluntarily yielded it on receiving a fair\n consideration. There exists not any other example of so liberal\n a conduct towards the Indians of North America, on the erection\n of a new colony. The date of Penn's charter is the twentieth of\n February.\"\n\nWe follow our author into his fifth chapter, which we find occupied with\na variety of matters, sufficiently interesting in themselves, but having\nno relation to the professed subject of our history; and which have been\ncollected from works of no difficult access to any body. We notice,\nhowever, an occurrence, especially worthy of our attention at this time,\nwhen a project is entertained of introducing a government paper currency\ninto the United States.--\n\n \"Louis the Fourteenth having approved the emission of card\n money made in Canada, during the preceding year, another\n emission was now prepared in Paris, in which pasteboard was\n used instead of cards. An impression was made on each piece, of\n the coin of the kingdom, of the corresponding value.\n\n \"Pasteboard proving inconvenient, cards were again resorted to.\n Each had the flourish which the intendant usually added to his\n signature. He signed all those of the value of four livres and\n upwards, and those of six livres and above were also signed by\n the governor.\n\n \"Once a year, at a fixed period, the cards were required to be\n brought to the colonial treasury, and exchanged for bills on\n the treasurer-general of the marine, or his deputy at\n Rochefort. Those which appeared too ragged for circulation were\n burnt, and the rest again paid out of the treasury.\n\n \"For a while the cards were thus punctually exchanged once a\n year; but in course of time bills ceased to be given for them.\n Their value, which till then had been equal to gold, now began\n to diminish; the price of all commodities rose proportionably,\n and the colonial government was compelled, in order to meet the\n increased demands on its treasury, to resort to new and\n repeated emissions; and the people found a new source of\n distress in the means adopted for their relief.\"\n\nThis subject is frequently referred to, and always as a source of\ndistress; as a disastrous measure of policy.--\n\n \"Louisiana suffered a great deal from the want of a circulating\n medium. Card money had caused the disappearance of the gold and\n silver circulating in the colony before its emission, and its\n subsequent depreciation had induced the commissary ordonnateur\n to have recourse to an issue of _ordonances_, a kind of bills\n of credit, which although not a legal tender, from the want of\n a metallic currency, soon became an object of commerce. They\n were followed by treasury notes, which being receivable in the\n discharge of all claims of the treasury, soon got into\n circulation. This cumulation of public securities in the\n market, within a short time threw them all into discredit, and\n gave rise to an _agiotage_, highly injurious to commerce and\n agriculture.\"\n\n \"The province was at this time inundated by a flood of paper\n money. The administration, for several years past, had paid in\n due bills all the supplies they had obtained, and they had been\n suffered to accumulate to an immense amount. A consequent\n depreciation had left them almost without any value. This had\n been occasioned, in a great degree, by a belief that the\n officers who had put these securities afloat, had, at times,\n attended more to their own than to the public interest, and\n that the French government, on the discovery of this, would not\n perhaps be found ready to indemnify the holders against the\n misconduct of its agents. With a view, however, to prepare the\n way for the redemption of the paper, the colonial treasurer was\n directed to receive all that might be presented, and to give in\n its stead certificates, in order that the extent of the evil\n being known, the remedy might be applied.\"\n\n \"The province laboured under great difficulties, on account of\n a flood of depreciated paper, which, inundating it, annihilated\n its industry, commerce, and agriculture. So sanguine were the\n inhabitants of their appeal to the throne, that they instructed\n their emissary, after having accomplished the principal object\n of his mission, to solicit relief in this respect.\"\n\nWe turn also to Marbois, on this subject, and trust we shall be excused\nfor giving so much of our time to it, by the interest the people of the\nUnited States now have in it. We have had our own experience of the\nfatal consequences of such schemes; let us also listen to the experience\nof others, which points to the distress and ruin that attend such\nexperiments. Speaking of Law's great scheme of finance, this wise and\nvenerable statesman says--\"A foreigner of an eccentric mind, though a\nskilful calculator, had engaged the regent in operations the most\ndisastrous to the finances of the state. John Law, after having\npersuaded credulous people that paper money might advantageously take\nthe place of specie, drew from this false principle the most extravagant\nconsequences. They were adopted by ignorance and cupidity.\" This writer,\nwith the experience of more than half a century in public affairs,\nadds--\"These chimeras, called by the name of system, do not differ much\nfrom the schemes that are brought forward in the present age, under the\nname of credit.\"\n\nSpeaking of the paper money created for Louisiana, M. Marbois tells us--\n\n \"The expenses resulting from want of order had no limits: in no\n condition to provide for them, the heads of the government had\n recourse to paper money, the desperate resource of financiers\n without capacity. The following remarks on this subject are\n from a despatch of M. Rouille, minister of marine.\n\n \"'The disorder, which has for some time prevailed in the\n finances and trade of Louisiana, principally arises from\n pouring into the province treasury orders and other kinds of\n paper money; all of which soon fell into discredit, and\n occasioned a depreciation of the currency, which has been the\n more injurious to the colony and its trade, as the prices of\n all things, and particularly of manual labour, have increased\n in proportion to the fall in the treasury notes.'\n\n \"It was on the 30th of November, 1744, that this minister thus\n expressed himself with regard to the chimerical systems of\n credit, which have never been more in vogue than in our time.\"\n\nWe pass over the sixth chapter of our book, without any particular\nnotice of its contents. It is occupied with miscellaneous transactions\nin other provinces; with Indian wars; the abdication of James II., and\nthe accession of William and Mary to the throne of England; which, in\npursuance of the chronological order, we find snugly deposited between\nthe census of Canada and some affairs in Fort Louis. These things, with\nthe peace made between the Marquess de Denonville and some Indians, and\nsome other matters, cover one page.\n\nThe seventh chapter of this volume brings us again in sight of\nLouisiana; and we thought our author was a little like Louis XIV., who,\nit is said, \"seemed to have lost sight of Louisiana in the prosecution\nof the war,\" &c. Some interesting details are here given of the early\nattempts to plant a French colony in this territory, interrupted by\nhostilities with the Indians, and other impediments not unusual to\nenterprises of this kind. The northern provinces, however, are not\nneglected; and we are specially informed of the determination of the\nBritish cabinet to attack Montreal and Quebec--this was in 1710.\n\nIn tracing the history of a country which has attained the strength and\nimportance of Louisiana, it is gratifying, occasionally, to look back to\nthe days of its weakness, and particularly so when the advance has been\nsurprisingly rapid, and may be fairly traced to the freedom of the\ngovernment under which it was made. Our author has, from time to time,\nexhibited the population, agriculture, production, and trade of this\nprovince, at various periods, and under different circumstances.\n\n \"In 1713, there were in Louisiana two companies of infantry of\n fifty men each, and seventy-five Canadian volunteers in the\n king's pay. The rest of the population consisted of\n twenty-eight families; one half of whom were engaged, not in\n agriculture, but in horticulture: the heads of the others were\n shop and tavern keepers, or employed in mechanical occupations.\n A number of individuals derived their support by ministering to\n the wants of the troops. There were but twenty s in the\n colony: adding to these the king's officers and clergy, the\n aggregate amount of the population was three hundred and eighty\n persons. A few female Indians and children were domesticated in\n the houses of the white people, and groups of the males were\n incessantly sauntering or encamped around them.\n\n \"The collection of all these individuals, on one compact spot,\n could have claimed no higher appellation than that of a hamlet;\n yet they were dispersed through a vast extent of country, the\n parts of which were separated by the sea, by lakes, and wide\n rivers. Five forts, or large batteries, had been erected for\n their protection at Mobile, Biloxi, on the Mississippi, and at\n Ship and Dauphine Islands.\n\n \"Lumber, hides, and peltries, constituted the objects of\n exportation, which the colony presented to commerce. A number\n of woodsmen, or _coureurs de bois,_ from Canada, had followed\n the missionaries, who had been sent among the nations of\n Indians, between that province and Louisiana. These men plied\n within a circle, of a radius of several hundred miles, of which\n the father's chapel was the centre, in search of furs,\n peltries, and hides. When they deemed they had gathered a\n sufficient quantity of these articles, they floated down the\n Mississippi, and brought them to Mobile, where they exchanged\n them for European goods, with which they returned. The natives\n nearer to the fort, carried on the same trade. Lumber was\n easily obtained around the settlement: of late, vessels, from\n St. Domingo and Martinique, brought sugar, coffee, molasses,\n and rum, to Louisiana, and took its peltries, hides, and\n lumber, in exchange. The colonists procured some specie from\n the garrison of Pensacola, whom they supplied with vegetables\n and fowls. Those who followed this sort of trade, by furnishing\n also the officers and troops, obtained flour and salt\n provisions from the king's stores, which were abundantly\n supplied from France and Vera Cruz. Trifling but successful\n essays had shown, that indigo, tobacco, and cotton, could be\n cultivated to great advantage: but hands were wanting.\n Experience had shown, that the frequent and heavy mists and\n fogs were unfavourable to the culture of wheat, by causing it\n to rust.\"\n\nWhat a change have a few years of good government and undisturbed\nindustry and enterprise made in this country; for up to the time of its\ncession to the United States, its improvement was slow, uncertain, and\nby no means remarkable! Who can now recognise in this rich and\nprosperous state, the member of a great confederation, of a powerful\nrepublic, known and respected by every nation of the earth, the desolate\nwilds, the miserable and scattered habitations, \"few and far between,\"\nwith a population half savage and half civilized, of various bloods and\ncolours, and scarcely able to support a pinched and comfortless\nexistence, by excessive toil and a constant exposure to hardships and\nperil!\n\nAfter the charter of Crouzat, in September 1712, and a subsequent\ncharter to a new corporation five years after, the settlement of the\ncolony was better attended to, and measures taken to advance its\nprosperity. Unfortunately for humanity, and perhaps for the ultimate\nhappiness of the province, it was found, or thought, to be necessary, to\nintroduce the s of Africa, for the cultivation of the soil. This\nspecies of labour was resorted to in Louisiana in the year 1719.\n\n \"Experience had shown the great fertility of the land in\n Louisiana, especially on the banks of the Mississippi, and its\n aptitude to the culture of tobacco, indigo, cotton, and rice;\n but the labourers were very few, and many of the new comers had\n fallen victims to the climate. The survivers found it\n impossible to work in the field during the great heats of the\n summer, protracted through a part of the autumn. The necessity\n of obtaining cultivators from Africa, was apparent; the company\n yielding thereto, sent two of its ships to the coast of Africa,\n from whence they brought five hundred s, who were landed\n at Pensacola. They brought thirty recruits to the garrison.\"\n\nWhatever may hereafter be the consequences of this determination to\nemploy slave-labour, its immediate effects were beneficial to the\nplanters; and in the next year, it is said that the company represented\nto the king that \"the planters had been enabled, by the introduction of\na great number of s, to clear and cultivate large tracts of land.\"\nIt will be observed, that at this time the cultivation of sugar was not\nthought of.\n\nThe discursive manner of our author frequently furnishes us with\nanecdotes of interest, sometimes relating to habits of the Indians, and\nsometimes to other persons and subjects. In this class we reckon an\naccount of a female adventurer who appeared in Louisiana so early as the\nyear 1721.--\n\n \"There came, among the German new comers, a female adventurer.\n She had been attached to the wardrobe of the wife of the\n Czarowitz Alexius Petrowitz, the only son of Peter the Great.\n She imposed on the credulity of many persons, but particularly\n on that of an officer of the garrison of Mobile, (called by\n Bossu, the Chevalier d'Aubant, and by the king of Prussia,\n Maldeck) who having seen the princess at St. Petersburg,\n imagined he recognised her features in those of her former\n servant, and gave credit to the report which prevailed, that\n she was the Duke of Wolfenbuttle's daughter, whom the Czarowitz\n had married, and who, finding herself treated with great\n cruelty by her husband, caused it to be circulated that she had\n died, while she fled to a distant seat, driven by the blows he\n had inflicted on her--that the Czarowitz had given orders for\n her private burial, and she had travelled incog. into France,\n and had taken passage at L'Orient, in one of the company's\n ships, among the German settlers.\n\n \"Her story gained credit, and the officer married her. After a\n long residence in Louisiana, she followed him to Paris and the\n Island of Bourbon, where he had a commission of major. Having\n become a widow in 1754, she returned to Paris, with a daughter,\n and went thence to Brunswick, when her imposture was\n discovered; charity was bestowed on her, but she was ordered to\n leave the country. She died in 1771, at Paris, in great\n poverty.\n\n \"A similar imposition was practised for a while with\n considerable success, in the southern British provinces, a few\n years before the declaration of their independence. A female,\n driven for her misconduct from the service of a maid of honour\n of Princess Matilda, sister to George the Third, was convicted\n at the Old Bailey, and transported to Maryland. She effected\n her escape before the expiration of her time, and travelled\n through Virginia and both the Carolinas, personating the\n princess, and levying contributions on the credulity of\n planters and merchants; and even some of the king's officers.\n She was at last arrested in Charleston, prosecuted, and\n whipped.\"\n\nWhen we read the account of New-Orleans, a century ago, we can hardly\ncredit that it is the same New-Orleans which we now know.--\n\n \"New-Orleans, (according to his account,) consisted at that\n time of one hundred cabins, placed without much order, a large\n wooden warehouse, two or three dwelling houses, that would not\n have adorned a village, and a miserable storehouse, which had\n been at first occupied as a chapel; a shed being now used for\n this purpose. Its population did not exceed two hundred\n persons.\"\n\nIn the enormous increase of population and wealth which this highly\nfavoured city exhibits, a Pennsylvanian may feel pride in observing,\nthat the industrious Germans, who have never failed to improve and\nenrich the soil they inhabit, have had their share. John Randolph once\nsaid on the floor of Congress, that the land on which a slave set his\nfoot was cursed with barrenness. The reverse of this may be truly\nasserted of the German settlers. To their persevering industry, patient\nlabour, and habitual economy, every difficulty yields, and every soil\nbecomes fertile. An accident brought them to New-Orleans, with no\nintention of remaining; and their usefulness was felt and encouraged.\n\n \"Since the failure of Law, and his departure from France, his\n grant at the Arkansas had been entirely neglected, and the\n greatest part of the settlers, whom he had transported thither\n from Germany, finding themselves abandoned and disappointed,\n came down to New-Orleans, with the hope of obtaining a passage\n to some port of France, from which they might be enabled to\n return home. The colonial government being unable or unwilling\n to grant it, small allotments of land were made to them twenty\n miles above New-Orleans, on both sides of the river, on which\n they settled in cottage farms. The Chevalier d'Arensbourg, a\n Swedish officer, lately arrived, was appointed commandant of\n the new post. This was the beginning of the settlement, known\n as the German coast, or the parishes of St. Charles and St.\n John the Baptist. These laborious men supplied the troops and\n the inhabitants of New-Orleans with garden stuff. Loading their\n pirogues with the produce of their week's work, on Saturday\n evening, they floated down the river, and were ready to spread\n at sun-rise, on the first market that was held on the banks of\n the Mississippi, their supplies of vegetables, fowls, and\n butter. Returning, at the close of the market, they reached\n their homes early in the night, and were ready to resume their\n work at sun-rise; having brought the groceries and other\n articles needed in the course of the week.\"\n\nA few years later, the Jesuit and Ursuline nuns arrived at New-Orleans,\nand began the improvement of a tract of land immediately above the city.\nThey erected a house and chapel; they planted the front of their land\nwith the myrtle wax shrub. Soon after, the foundation was laid for a\nlarge nunnery, into which the ladies removed in 1730, and occupied it\nuntil 1824. On every side the work of improvement proceeded gradually,\nbut effectually. Among other expedients to hasten the progress of\npopulation, \"a company ship brought out a number of poor girls, shipped\nby the company. They had not been taken, as those whom it had\ntransported before, in the houses of correction in Paris. It had\nsupplied each of them with a small box, _cassette_, containing a few\narticles of clothing. From this circumstance, and to distinguish them\nfrom those who had preceded them, they were called girls _de la\ncassette_. Till they could be disposed of in marriage, they remained\nunder the care of the nuns.\"\n\nThe fig tree was introduced from Provence, and the orange from\nHispaniola, both now so abundant and so excellent at New-Orleans.\n\nInjustice to the aborigines seems to have marked the march of the white\nman in all its stages; nor were the victims of his cupidity slow in\ntheir revenge, or wanting in courage and ingenuity in prosecuting it. We\nhave an instance of this, which we think interesting enough to be\nextracted.--\n\n \"The indiscretion and ill conduct of Chepar, who commanded at\n Fort Rosalie, in the country of the Natchez, induced these\n Indians to become principals, instead of auxiliaries, in the\n havock.\n\n \"This officer, coveting a tract of land in the possession of\n one of the chiefs, had used menaces to induce him to surrender\n it, and unable to intimidate the sturdy Indian, had resorted to\n violence. The nation, to whom the commandant's conduct had\n rendered him obnoxious, took part with its injured member--and\n revenge was determined on. The suns sat in council to devise\n the means of annoyance, and determined not to confine\n chastisement to the offender; but, having secured the\n co-operation of all the tribes hostile to the French, to effect\n the total overthrow of the settlement, murder all white men in\n it, and reduce the women and children to slavery. Messengers\n were accordingly sent to all the villages of the Natchez and\n the tribes in their alliance, to induce them to get themselves\n ready, and come on a given day to begin the slaughter. For this\n purpose bundles of an equal number of sticks were prepared and\n sent to every village, with directions to take out a stick\n everyday, after that of the new moon, and the attack was to be\n on that on which the last stick was taken out.\n\n \"This matter was kept a profound secret among the chiefs and\n the Indians employed by them, and particular care was taken to\n conceal it from the women. One of the female suns, however,\n soon discovered that a momentous measure, of which she was not\n informed, was on foot. Leading one of her sons to a distant and\n retired spot, in the woods, she upbraided him with his want of\n confidence in his mother, and artfully drew from him the\n details of the intended attack. The bundle of sticks for her\n village had been deposited in the temple, and to the keeper of\n it, the care had been intrusted of taking out a stick daily.\n Having from her rank access to the fane at all times, she\n secretly, and at different moments, detached one or two sticks,\n and then threw them into the sacred fire. Unsatisfied with\n this, she gave notice of the impending danger to an officer of\n the garrison, in whom she placed confidence. But the\n information was either disbelieved or disregarded.\"\n\nThis well concerted plan of revenge was carried into a terrible\nexecution; and the aggressor who had caused it was among the victims.\n\nA circumstance, purely accidental, and, in itself, altogether\ninsignificant, was the beginning of an agricultural experiment in\nLouisiana, which, long afterwards, was followed by a success, important\nnot only to that territory, but to these United States.\n\n \"Two hundred recruits arrived from France on the 17th of April,\n for the completion of the quota of troops allotted to the\n province. The king's ships, in which they were embarked,\n touched at the cape, in the Island of Hispaniola, where, with a\n view of trying with what success the sugar cane could be\n cultivated on the banks of the Mississippi, the Jesuits of that\n island were permitted to ship to their brethren in Louisiana, a\n quantity of it. A number of s, acquainted with the\n culture and manufacture of sugar, came in the fleet. The canes\n were planted on the land of the fathers immediately above the\n city, in the lower part of the spot now known as the suburb St.\n Mary. Before this time, the front of the plantation had been\n improved in the raising of the myrtle wax shrub; the rest was\n sown with indigo.\"\n\nIn this humble manner was the sugar cane introduced into Louisiana,\nwhich has now become a principal source of its wealth. We will here\nadvance upon our work in order to trace, in a connected manner, the\nvarious attempts which were made to fix the cultivation of this plant,\nwith their failures and success, for many years vibrating in\nuncertainty. The experiment we have just alluded to was made in 1751;\neight years afterwards, our author tells us:--\n\n \"Although the essay, which the Jesuits had made in 1751, to\n naturalize the sugar cane in Louisiana, had been successful,\n the culture of it, on a large scale, was not attempted till\n this year, when Dubreuil erected a mill for the manufacture of\n sugar, on his plantation, immediately adjoining the lower part\n of New-Orleans--the spot now covered by the suburb Marigny.\"\n\nIn 1769, the project seems to have been given up, as we are then\ninformed that--\"the indigo of Louisiana was greatly inferior to that of\nHispaniola, the planters being quite unskilful and inattentive in the\nmanufacture of it; that of sugar had been abandoned, but some planters\nnear New-Orleans raised a few canes for the market.\"\n\nNo explanation is given of the causes of the abandonment of this most\nvaluable product, which subsequent experience has shown is so admirably\nadapted to the soil and climate of Louisiana. It is the more\nunaccountable, as a large capital had been embarked in it, for the\npurchase of slaves principally. It may be that it did not receive the\nprotection from jealous rivals, which is indispensable for the success\nof every new enterprise of this kind, even under the most favourable\ncircumstances; at least until it is firmly established; its expenditures\nsecured or reimbursed; and its capacity brought into full development\nand operation.\n\nFrom the period we have last spoken of, 1769, until 1796, we hear, from\nour author, of no effort to resume the cultivation of the sugar cane;\nalthough we may presume it was not absolutely extinguished; for in the\nrecord of the events of this year, (1796) he tells us--\"Bore's success,\nin his first attempt to manufacture sugar, was very great, and he sold\nhis crop for ten thousand dollars. His example induced a number of other\nplanters to plant cane.\" In the transactions of 1794, we are indeed\ninformed upon this point; and of the origin of Bore's undertaking this\nculture.\n\n \"Since the year 1766, the manufacture of sugar had been\n entirely abandoned in Louisiana. A few individuals had,\n however, contrived to plant a few canes in the neighbourhood of\n the city: they found a vent for them in the market. Two\n Spaniards, Mendez and Solis, had lately made larger\n plantations. One of them boiled the juice of the cane into\n syrup, and the other had set up a distillery, in which he made\n indifferent taffia.\n\n \"Etienne Bore, a native of the Illinois, who resided about six\n miles above the city, finding his fortune considerably reduced\n by the failure of the indigo crops for several successive\n years, conceived the idea of retrieving his losses by the\n manufacture of sugar. The attempt was considered by all as a\n visionary one. His wife, (a daughter of Destrehan, the colonial\n treasurer under the government of France, who had been one of\n the first to attempt, and one of the last to abandon, the\n manufacture of sugar) remembering her father's ill success,\n warned him of the risk he ran of adding to instead of repairing\n his losses, and his relations and friends joined their\n remonstrances to hers. He, however, persisted; and, having\n procured a quantity of canes from Mendez and Solis, began to\n plant.\"\n\nSo that in two years after Bore began to plant, he was able to make a\ncrop which sold for ten thousand dollars. From this time the culture of\nthe cane may be considered as established in Louisiana, constantly and\nrapidly increasing in its importance, until it has become a principal\nproduct of its soil, in which an immense capital is embarked. We have\nbefore us a copy of a \"Letter of Mr. Johnston of Louisiana, to the\nsecretary of the treasury, in reply to his circular of the 1st July\n1830, relative to the culture of the sugar cane.\" This interesting\ndocument contains a mass of authentic information, which leaves no doubt\nof the importance of the culture of the cane, not only to those regions\nof the United States which are suitable to it, but to all or most of the\nother states; and the inference he justly draws from it is, that it\ndeserves and still requires all the protection it now receives from the\ngovernment. If it should be discontinued or diminished so as to affect\nmaterially the sugar planter, the injury will not stop there, but be\nextended to thousands of our citizens, who may not have reflected upon\nthe direct interest they have in this question. We deem it to be so\nimportant, that we believe our readers, many of whom may not see the\nletter of the honourable senator, will not find a page or two\nunprofitably given to some extracts from it. In the introduction of his\nsubject he says:\n\n \"When Louisiana was acquired by the United States, there was a\n duty on brown sugar of two and a half cents a pound, levied for\n revenue. The people of that state, who had already made some\n experiments in the culture of the cane, saw that the duty\n afforded them some protection from foreign competition, and\n secured the benefit of the home market, which was then of\n considerable extent, and rapidly increasing. This induced them,\n within the region then considered adapted to the cane, to turn\n their attention to the production of sugar. They embarked their\n whole fortunes, and for a long time struggled, under very\n discouraging circumstances, against the effects of the climate,\n the vicissitudes of seasons, the deficiency of capital, the\n want of skill, and all the difficulties incident to the\n commencement of such an enterprise. It was for many years a\n doubtful experiment and hazardous undertaking, but they\n persevered.\n\n \"The cane gradually adapted itself to the climate. Different\n kinds of cane were introduced, skill was acquired by\n experience, capital increased, machinery and steam power\n applied, improvements adopted, and expenses diminished.\n\n \"At the close of the war, Congress, for the purpose of\n increasing the revenue, and of protecting the domestic\n industry, increased the rate of duty on sugar half a cent a\n pound, as a part of a general system. This had a most decisive\n effect in bringing this great national interest to its present\n state, and they have now finally triumphed over every obstacle.\n\n \"It was more than twenty years before they could produce 40,000\n hogsheads; and during the greater part of that time very little\n profit was made upon the capital employed.\n\n \"The increase of capital, the introduction of machinery, the\n diversion of labour from other less profitable pursuits, the\n acquisition of skill, and, above all, the confidence of the\n people in the protection of the government, have vastly\n augmented the means of production. It now promises an ample\n supply for the consumption of the country, and a steady but\n moderate profit. They are in a course of experiment, that will\n in a short period establish this great interest upon a scale\n adequate to the wants of the people.\n\n \"Under the faith of the laws, they have embarked their capital\n in the production of one of the great necessaries of life, and\n in support of a national system, which they understood it was\n the object of the government to establish. They have opened a\n new and extensive field of agricultural industry; directed\n labour to more profitable employment; maintained the value of\n slaves; and increased the internal commerce of the country.\n They have contributed their full share to all the duties paid\n on other articles. They came into this Union, charged with _an\n immense public debt_, which was greatly increased by the war,\n in which they suffered in common: they have freely contributed\n their portion to its payment.\"\n\nHe proceeds to show that the value of lands and slaves \"is predicated\nupon the value of the sugar, and that depends upon the rate of duty\nestablished by the laws.\" The effects of a reduction of the duty is thus\ndetailed.\n\n \"The present price of sugar, at 5-1/2 cents, is sustained by a\n duty of 3 cents a pound. If that duty was removed, foreign\n sugar would be sold 3 cents less, and ours would fall in the\n same proportion. That reduction would bring sugar below the\n actual cost, and therefore it could not be made, even if slaves\n and lands cost nothing. A reduction of 2 cents would bring the\n price to the exact amount of 3-1/2 cents a pound, the precise\n cost of the sugar, independent of the capital, and therefore\n would yield nothing to the cultivator. A reduction of 1 cent\n would bring sugar to 4-1/2 cents, which would leave only 1 cent\n profit to pay for the capital--that is, the lands and slaves.\n That would diminish the present profit one half, and the value\n of the slaves in the same proportion. This reduction of duty\n operates entirely upon the _profit_; and a reduction of\n one-third of the duty operates a reduction of one-half of the\n profit, and thereby one-half of the value of the capital, and\n one-half of the slaves. Capital has been invested in Louisiana\n by the present standard of value. A reduction in that standard\n would produce a corresponding reduction in the value of all\n property. A reduction of one-third of the duty would sink half\n the value of property in the state, and ruin all those who have\n made engagements upon the faith of the laws.\"\n\nThe writer subsequently presents very precise and satisfactory\nstatements, to show the capital required for this branch of agriculture,\nand the prices which are necessary to sustain it; with some calculated\nanticipations of its increase, if not crushed by foreign competition.\nShould it be asked, what interest have the other states of the Union in\nthis concern? It may be a very profitable employment of the money and\nslaves of the rich planters of Louisiana; but is this a fair reason for\nimposing heavy duties on a necessary of life, thus enhancing its cost to\nthose who consume it? To meet this inquiry, and remove the objection\ncontained in it; to show that the citizens of the states who consume the\nsugar have an immediate participation in the profits of its cultivator,\nMr. Johnston says--\n\n \"It is said that this is a local concern, interesting only to\n Louisiana. The slaves are taken, as beforementioned, from\n cotton and tobacco, and are furnished by the Southern States.\n\n \"The provisions and animals come from the Western States.\n\n \"The clothing from the North.\n\n \"The engines, machinery, &c. come from the different foundries\n in the United States--principally from the West.\n\n \"One-third of the capital comes from the South--and more than\n three-fifths of the whole production goes either in sugar or\n money to the other states, as their portion of the contribution\n in making it. The remaining two-fifths, being the profit on\n the capital, goes back chiefly to Virginia and Maryland, to\n purchase more slaves.\n\n \"There are estimated now, 35,000 slaves: it will require 26,000\n more to supply the consumption of 1835.\n\n \"There are estimated 725 plantations, which, when brought into\n operation, will yield an average of 300 hogsheads, sufficient\n for the consumption of 1836.\n\n \"These have required 725 mills for grinding, as many sets of\n kettles, &c. There are now about 100 steam engines--there will\n be required in addition, upwards of 600 steam engines.\n\n \"These plantations require also a large amount of horses,\n mules, and oxen; carts, wagons, ploughs, tools, iron, &c.\n\n \"The present consumption for the slaves, is 35,000 barrels of\n pork.\n\n \"Which will be increased in 1835 to--say 60,000 \" \"\n\n \"They purchase now about ... 50,000 barrels of corn.\n\n \"Each mill, with steam engine and kettles, &c. will cost\n $5,000.\n\n \"There are employed on the sugar plantations (independent of\n the cotton estates) 22,000 horses--value $1,500,000. These are\n to be renewed every seven years, or it will require $200,000 a\n year to supply the market. There were purchased in 1827-8,\n 2,500 horses--in 1828-9, 2,800--in 1829-30, 3,000 horses.\n\n \"Of the 100,000 hogsheads of sugar made in Louisiana, 50,000\n hogsheads are transported up the Mississippi in steam-boats,\n for the supply of the Western States, who obtain it in exchange\n for their productions. Here, then, there is an internal trade\n of five millions, created in the Western States.\n\n \"The remainder of the sugar is transported coastwise by our\n vessels, to the North, to restore the balance of trade with\n that quarter, as well as with foreign nations.\n\n \"Thus every interest of agriculture, manufactures, commerce,\n and navigation, connects itself intimately with this object.\n\n \"The sugar is indeed made in Louisiana, but a portion of the\n money on which the establishments are founded, the whole of the\n labour by which it is produced, the chief supply of food, and\n the entire amount of clothing, and the transportation of the\n article, are furnished from the different states.\"\n\nA prospect is reasonably held out of the reduction of the price of the\narticle, by continuing the protection, to a point as low as need be\ndesired, or could be obtained if we were to depend upon a foreign\nsupply.\n\n \"When the estates are paid for, and the general diminution of\n value in other things takes place, with the improvements in\n machinery and other causes, sugar will be profitably made at 4\n cents, and that is about the price at which we purchase it now\n in the islands: at that price we can, after supplying this\n country, enter into the general market of the Baltic,\n Mediterranean, and Black Seas.\"\n\nOn this part of the case a more satisfactory ground is taken; and it is\nmade manifest, by authentic documents, that since the production of\nsugar in Louisiana, with the duties by which it is protected, a\nreduction has taken place in the price of the article, of _one-half_.\nThe results of the tables annexed to the letter are thus given.\n\n \"The protecting duty on sugar, besides opening a new field of\n industry, diverting a large portion of labour from other\n objects, maintaining the value of all the slave property in the\n country, and supplying the people with an article of general\n use and prime necessity, has actually diminished the price\n one-half in twelve years.\n\n \"In paper A, it will be seen that the prices in 1818 ranged\n from $14 to 15, and that in 1829 they had fallen to $7.50.\n\n \"In paper marked B, it will be seen, that the brown of Havana\n has fallen 3 cents in 6 years, from 10 to 7 cents, while the\n sugar of Louisiana has varied from 8-1/2 to 6-1/2. The price\n of sugar has in that time depreciated more than the duty, and\n will produce still greater effect. The general average of\n Havana brown, for six years, is 9-3/4, which now sells at from\n 7 to 8. The general average of Louisiana for the same period is\n 8-1/4; the present price ranges from 6-1/2 to 7-1/2. The sugar\n of Louisiana now sells in New-Orleans at 5-1/2; freight, &c.\n will bring it to 6-1/2 in the Atlantic ports.\"\n\nMr. Johnston has no doubt of the capacity of the sugar region of the\nUnited States to supply all our demands for it, for a long period to\ncome.\n\n \"Without entering into any exact calculation, I can with\n confidence assure you, that Louisiana alone can produce enough\n for the consumption of the country for twenty-five or thirty\n years, and including Mississippi, Alabama, Florida, and Georgia\n south of the 32d degree, will supply it for twice that period.\n\n \"It thus appears, that the people of Louisiana, under a\n confidence in the permanency of the policy of the government,\n have embarked their fortunes in the production of an article of\n extensive use; that they are now in the course of successful\n experiment, which promises, in a few years, to supply the\n consumption of the country; that they have opened a new field\n of agricultural industry and enterprise, requiring a vast\n amount of labour and capital; that they have actually reduced\n the price of the article one-half, and have saved the country\n an expense of six or seven millions a-year, and will reduce the\n price still lower, when the experiment is complete.\"\n\nHaving found in our \"History of Louisiana,\" the feeble commencement of\nthe culture of the sugar cane in that country, we thought it not beside\nour purpose, and likely to be agreeable to our readers, to trace it to\nits present strong and flourishing condition; to show the causes of its\nincrease, and its immense value to those who have embarked their\nfortunes in it; to those by whom its produce is consumed, and finally to\nthe revenue of the government. All these matters, doubtless, will be\ncarefully examined and considered by the public councils whose right and\nduty it is to decide upon them.\n\nWe return to our history; the colony seems now to have attracted the\nattention of the mother country, and liberal assistance was given to\nadvance its population.\n\n \"The ships landed also sixty poor girls, who were brought over\n at the king's expense. They were the last succour of this kind,\n which the mother country supplied. They were given in marriage\n to such soldiers whose good conduct entitled them to a\n discharge. Land was allotted to each couple, with a cow and\n calf, a cock and five hens; a gun, axe, and hoe. During the\n three first years, rations were allowed them, with a small\n quantity of powder, shot, and grain for seed.\"\n\nThis was in 1751.\n\nAn anecdote is recorded, exhibiting at once a feature of aboriginal\njustice, and the strength of parental affection in the \"poor Indian.\"\n\n \"In a quarrel between a Choctaw and a Colapissa, the former\n told the latter his countrymen were the dogs of the\n French--meaning their slaves. The Colapissa, having a loaded\n musket in his hands, discharged its contents at the Choctaw,\n and fled to New-Orleans. The relations of the deceased came to\n the Marquis de Vaudreuil to demand his surrender: he had in the\n mean while gone to the German coast. The Marquis, having vainly\n tried to appease them, sent orders to Renaud, the commandant\n of that post, to have the murderer arrested; but he eluded the\n pursuit. His father went to the Choctaws and offered himself a\n willing victim: the relations of the deceased persisted in\n their refusal to accept any compensation in presents. They at\n last consented to allow the old man to atone, by the loss of\n his own life, for the crime of his son. He stretched himself on\n the trunk of an old tree, and a Choctaw severed his head from\n the body, at the first stroke. This instance of paternal\n affection was made the subject of a tragedy by Leblanc de\n Villeneuve, an officer of the troops lately arrived from\n France. This performance is the only dramatic work which the\n republic of letters owes to Louisiana.\"\n\nIn the same year the white men furnished a subject for a tragedy far\nmore cruel and vindictive than the self-immolation of an Indian father,\nand far less just and amiable.\n\n \"During the summer, some soldiers of the garrison of Cat\n Island, rose upon and killed Roux, who commanded there. They\n were exasperated at his avarice and cruelty. He employed them\n in burning coal, of which he made a traffic, and for trifling\n delinquencies had exposed several of them, naked and tied to\n trees in a swamp, during whole nights, to the stings of\n musquetoes. Joining some English traders in the neighbourhood\n of Mobile, they started in the hope of reaching Georgia,\n through the Indian country. A party of the Choctaws, then about\n the fort, was sent after and overtook them. One destroyed\n himself; the rest were brought to New-Orleans, where two were\n broken on the wheel--the other, belonging to the Swiss regiment\n of Karrer, was, according to the law of his nation, followed by\n the officers of the Swiss troops in the service of France,\n sawed in two parts. He was placed alive in a kind of coffin, to\n the middle of which two sergeants applied a whip saw. It was\n not thought prudent to make any allowance for the provocation\n these men had received.\"\n\nThe removal of the Acadians from their country; stripping them of their\nlands and goods; permitting them to carry nothing away but their\nhousehold furniture and money, of which they had but little; laying\nwaste their fields and their dwellings, and consuming their fences by\nfire, was another awful tragedy performed by civilized man upon the weak\nand defenceless, upon the pretences of policy. It was an act of British\ninhumanity; the sufferings of these miserable outcasts and wanderers are\ndescribed by our author.\n\n \"Thus beggared, these people were, in small numbers and at\n different periods, cast on the sandy shores of the southern\n provinces, among a people of whose language they were ignorant,\n and who knew not theirs, whose manners and education were\n different from their own, whose religion they abhorred, and who\n were rendered odious to them, as the friends and countrymen of\n those who had so cruelly treated them, and whom they considered\n as a no less savage foe, than he who wields the tomahawk and\n the scalping knife.\n\n \"It is due to the descendants of the British colonists, to say,\n that their sires received with humanity, kindness, and\n hospitality, those who so severely smarted under the calamities\n of war. In every province the humane example of the legislature\n of Pennsylvania was followed, and the colonial treasury was\n opened to relieve the sufferers; and private charity was not\n outdone by the public. Yet but a few accepted the proffered\n relief, and sat down on the land that was offered them.\n\n \"The others fled westerly, from what appeared to them a hostile\n shore--wandering till they found themselves out of sight of any\n who spoke the English language. They crossed the mighty spine,\n and wintered among the Indians. The scattered parties, thrown\n off on the coast of every colony from Pennsylvania to Georgia,\n united, and trusting themselves to the western waters, sought\n the land on which the spotless banner waved, and the waves of\n the Mississippi brought them to New-Orleans.\"\n\nThe practice of _shipping off_ individuals who were obnoxious to the\ndominant party, seems to have obtained in Louisiana at a very early\nperiod; and, as we shall see, became a favourite process in the\nadministration of justice. A pretty strong case of this employment of\nphysical force, without any consultation with the officers of the law,\nor any regard to the civil rights of the people, occured in 1759. We\nshall give it to our readers.\n\n \"Diaz Anna, a Jew from Jamaica, came to New-Orleans, on a\n trading voyage. We have seen, that by an edict of the month of\n March, 1724, that of Louis the Thirteenth, of the 13th of\n April, 1615, had been extended to Louisiana. The latter edict\n declared, that Jews, as enemies of the Christian name, should\n not be allowed to reside in Louisiana; and if they staid in\n spite of the edict, their bodies and goods should be\n confiscated: Rochemore had the vessel of the Israelite and her\n cargo seized. Kerlerec sent soldiers to drive away the guard\n put on board the vessel, and had her restored to the Jew.\n Imagining he had gone too far to stop there, he had Belot,\n Rochemore's secretary, and Marigny de Mandeville, de Lahoupe,\n Bossu, and some other officers, whom he suspected to have\n joined the ordonnateur's party, arrested, and a few days after\n shipped them for France.\"\n\nThus far we have seen this province under the dominion of France, and\ngradually ameliorating its condition under her government. We come now\nto the period when a new master was to be given to it, or rather, when\nit was to be given to a new master. It is thus that kings have used\nterritories and their people, their industry and their wealth, as\nsubjects of diplomatic traffic and political accommodation. \"On the 3d\nof November 1763, a secret treaty was signed between the French and\nSpanish kings, by which the former ceded to the latter the part of the\nprovince of Louisiana which lies on the western side of the Mississippi,\nwith the city of New-Orleans, and the island on which it stands.\" When\nthe rumours of this cession reached the colonists, it produced the\ndeepest distress; they had a dread of passing \"under the yoke of Spain.\"\nOfficial intelligence of the event was not received until October 1764,\nwhen an order came from the king to deliver possession of the ceded\nterritory to the governor of the Catholic king. \"This intelligence\nplunged the inhabitants in the greatest consternation;\" especially as it\nestranged them from their kindred and friends in the eastern part of the\nprovince--transferring them to a foreign potentate. Every effort was\nmade by meetings and memorials to avert the calamity. The actual\ndelivery was delayed; and a hope was entertained that the cession might\nbe rescinded, for two years had elapsed since the direction had been\ngiven to surrender the province to Spain. In the summer of 1766,\nintelligence was received that Don Ulloa had arrived at Havana, to take\nthe possession, for Spain, of Louisiana. Soon after he landed at\nNew-Orleans, and was received \"with dumb respect.\" He declined\nexhibiting his powers, and of course delayed to receive the possession\nof the country. In 1768 the council insisted that Don Ulloa should\nproduce his powers or depart from the province; he chose the latter\nalternative, and sailed for Havana, and from thence to Spain. In the\nfollowing year a governor of a different temperament was sent from\nSpain, attended by a strong military force, with a large supply of arms\nand ammunition. On the 24th of July, Don Alexander O'Reilly landed on\nthe levee. \"The inhabitants immediately came to a resolution to choose\nthree gentlemen to wait on him, and inform him that the people of\nLouisiana were determined to abandon the colony, and had no other favour\nto ask from him, but that he would allow them two years to remove\nthemselves and their effects.\" O'Reilly received the deputies with great\npoliteness; made professions of his desire to promote the interests of\nthe colonists, and said every thing he thought would flatter the people.\nAt this time the Spanish armament had not reached the city; it cast\nanchor on the 16th of August. In the afternoon of the 18th, the\nSpaniards disembarked; the French flag was lowered, and the Spanish was\nseen flying in its place in the middle of the square. We have been thus\nparticular in narrating these events, because they were the precursors\nof a proceeding of military violence, astonishing _even for that day_,\nand under circumstances of open disaffection and opposition to the\ngovernment; for some of the planters had taken up arms on the arrival of\nO'Reilly.\n\nOne of the first acts of O'Reilly's administration was to take a census\nof the inhabitants of New-Orleans. The aggregate population was 3190, of\nevery age, sex, and colour; of these 1902 were free; 1225 slaves, and\nsixty domesticated Indians; the number of houses was 468; the whole\nprovince contained but 13,538 inhabitants.\n\nWe have seen that the cession of the province had created the utmost\ndiscontent; and the arrival of O'Reilly was considered as a general\ncalamity. The transfer had been impeded and resisted by all the means in\nthe power of the colonists. Although Don Ulloa had not ventured to\nexecute his commission with the force at his command, he had,\nnevertheless, \"set about building forts and putting troops into them.\"\nOn the other side, plans of resistance were contemplated by the people;\nand assistance looked for from their English neighbours in West Florida;\nand in the fall of 1768 Don Ulloa was, as we have seen, ordered away. By\nthis brief retrospect, the temper of the colonists, on the arrival of\nO'Reilly, will be understood, and will serve as a key to his\nproceedings. He resolved to lose nothing by timidity and hesitation. In\nthe reckless pride and unbridled passions of military despotism, he\ndisdained to temporize, or endeavour to sooth the irritated feelings of\nthe people, or to conciliate their confidence, or calm their fears. He\nhad been accustomed to rely upon no power but that of the sword, and to\nrespect no authority but a military commission. To him the _law_ was a\nsubject of scorn, and the civil rights of citizens or subjects an idle\ntale. He looked upon his five thousand troops, with their arms and\nammunition, and he saw there the only power be respected, or would\ncondescend to use to maintain his government. Such principles led or\ndrove him to a course of desperate violence, having then no parallel in\nany country pretending to a government of laws, or any civil rights. We\nshall give his proceedings in the language of our historian.\n\n \"Towards the last day of August, the people were alarmed by the\n arrest of Foucault, the commissary-general and ordonnateur, De\n Noyant and Boisblanc, two members of the superior council; La\n Freniere, the attorney-general, and Braud, the king's printer.\n These gentlemen were attending O'Reilly's leve, when he\n requested them to step into an adjacent apartment, where they\n found themselves immediately surrounded by a body of\n grenadiers, with fixed bayonets, the commanding officer of whom\n informed them they were the king's prisoners. The two first\n were conveyed to their respective houses, and a guard was left\n there: the others were imprisoned in the barracks.\n\n \"It had been determined to make an example of twelve\n individuals; two from the army, and an equal number from the\n bar; four planters, and as many merchants. Accordingly, Marquis\n and De Noyant, officers of the troop; La Freniere, the\n attorney-general, and Doucet, (lawyers,) Villere, Boisblanc,\n Mazent, and Petit, (planters,) and John Milhet, Joseph Milhet,\n Caresse and Poupet, (merchants,) had been selected.\n\n \"Within a few days, Marquis, Doucet, Petit, Mazant, the two\n Milhets, Caresse, and Poupet, were arrested and confined.\n\n \"Villere, who was on his plantation at the German coast, had\n been marked as one of the intended victims; but his absence\n from the city rendering his arrest less easy, it had been\n determined to release one of the prisoners on his being\n secured. He had been apprized of the impending danger, and it\n had been recommended to him to provide for his safety by\n seeking the protection of the British flag waving at Manshac.\n When he was deliberating on the step it became him to take, he\n received a letter from Aubry, the commandant of the French\n troops, assuring him he had nothing to apprehend, and advising\n him to return to the city. Averse to flight, as it would imply\n a consciousness of guilt, he yielded to Aubry's recommendation,\n and returned to New-Orleans; but as he passed the gate, the\n officer commanding the guard arrested him. He was immediately\n conveyed on board of a frigate that lay at the levee. On\n hearing of this, his lady, a grand daughter of La Chaise, the\n former commissary-general and ordonnateur, hastened to the\n city. As her boat approached the frigate, it was hailed and\n ordered away. She made herself known, and solicited admission\n to her husband, but was answered she could not see him, as the\n captain was on shore, and had left orders that no communication\n should be allowed with the prisoner. Villere recognised his\n wife's voice, and insisted on being permitted to see her. On\n his being refused, a struggle ensued, in which he fell, pierced\n by the bayonets of his guards. His bloody shirt thrown into the\n boat, announced to the lady that she had ceased to be a wife;\n and a sailor cut the rope that fastened the boat to the\n frigate.\n\n \"O'Reilly's assessors heard and recorded the testimony against\n the prisoners, and called on them for their pleas.\n\n \"The prosecution was grounded on a statute of Alfonso the\n eleventh, which is the first law of the seventh title of the\n first partida, and denounces the punishment of death and\n confiscation of property against those who excite any\n insurrection against the king or state, or take up arms under\n pretence of extending their liberty or rights, and against\n those who give them any assistance.\n\n \"Foucault pleaded he had done nothing, except in his character\n of commissary-general and ordonnateur of the king of France in\n the province, and to him alone he was accountable for the\n motives that had directed his official conduct. The plea was\n sustained; he was not, however, released; and a few days\n afterwards, he was transported to France.\n\n \"Brand offered a similar plea, urging he was the king of\n France's printer in Louisiana. The only accusation against him,\n was that he had printed the petition of the planters and\n merchants to the superior council, soliciting that body to\n require Ulloa to exhibit his powers or depart. He concluded\n that he was bound, by his office, to print whatever the\n ordonnateur sent to his press; and he produced that officer's\n order to print the petition. His plea was sustained and he was\n discharged.\n\n \"The other prisoners declined also the jurisdiction of the\n tribunal before which they were arraigned: their plea was\n overruled. They now denied the facts with which they were\n charged, contended that if they did take place, they did so\n while the flag of France was still waving over the province,\n and the laws of that kingdom retained their empire in it, and\n thus the facts did not constitute an offence against the laws\n of Spain; that the people of Louisiana could not bear the yokes\n of two sovereigns; that O'Reilly could not command the\n obedience, nor even the respect of the colonists, until he made\n known to them his character and powers; and that the Catholic\n king could not count on their allegiance, till he extended to\n them his protection.\n\n \"It had been determined at first, to proceed with the utmost\n rigour of the law against six of the prisoners; but, on the\n death of Villere, it was judged sufficient to do so against\n five only. The jurisprudence of Spain authorizing the\n infliction of a less severe punishment than that denounced by\n the statute, when the charge is not proved by two witnesses to\n the same act, but by one with corroborating\n circumstances.--Accordingly two witnesses were produced against\n De Noyant, La Freniere, Marquis, Joseph Milhet, and Caresse.\n They were convicted; and O'Reilly, by the advice of his\n assessor, condemned them to be hanged, and pronounced the\n confiscation of their estates.\n\n \"The most earnest and pathetic entreaties were employed by\n persons in every rank of society, to prevail on O'Reilly to\n remit or suspend the execution of his sentence till the royal\n clemency could be implored. He was inexorable; and the only\n indulgence that could be obtained, was, that death should be\n inflicted by shooting, instead of hanging. With this\n modification, the sentence was carried into execution on the\n twenty-eighth of September.\n\n \"On the morning of that day, the guards, at every gate and post\n of the city, were doubled, and orders were given not to allow\n any body to enter it. All the troops were under arms, and\n paraded the streets or were placed in battle array along the\n levee and on the public square. Most of the inhabitants fled\n into the country. At three o'clock of the afternoon, the\n victims were led, under a strong guard, to the small square in\n front of the barracks, tied to stakes, and an explosion of\n musketry soon announced to the few inhabitants who remained in\n the city, that their friends were no more.\n\n \"Posterity, the judge of men in power, will doom this act to\n public execration. No necessity demanded, no policy justified\n it. Ulloa's conduct had provoked the measures to which the\n inhabitants had resorted. During nearly two years, he had\n haunted the province as a phantom of dubious authority. The\n efforts of the colonists, to prevent the transfer of their\n natal soil to a foreign prince, originated in their attachment\n to their own, and the Catholic king ought to have beheld in\n their conduct a pledge of their future devotion to himself.\n They had but lately seen their country severed, and a part of\n it added to the dominion of Great Britain; they had bewailed\n their separation from their friends and kindred; and were\n afterwards to be alienated, without their consent, and\n subjected to a foreign yoke. If the indiscretion of a few of\n them needed an apology, the common misfortune afforded it.\n\n \"A few weeks afterwards, the proceedings against the six\n remaining prisoners were brought to a close. One witness only\n deposing against any of them, and circumstances corroborating\n the testimony, Boisblanc was condemned to imprisonment for\n life; Doucet, Mazent, John Milhet, Petit, and Poupet, were\n condemned to imprisonment for various terms of years. All were\n transported to Havana, and cast into the dungeons of the Moro\n Castle.\"\n\nO'Reilly was not satisfied with this bloody vengeance on the individuals\nwho had incurred his resentment and offended his pride. The \"Superior\ncouncil\" in a body must be prostrated by his power.\n\n \"A proclamation of O'Reilly, on the twenty-first of November,\n announced to them that the evidence received during the late\n trials, having furnished full proof of the part the superior\n council had in the revolt during the two preceding years, and\n of the influence it had exerted in encouraging the leaders,\n instead of using its best endeavours to keep the people in the\n fidelity and subordination they owed to the sovereign, it had\n become necessary to abolish that tribunal, and to establish, in\n Louisiana, that form of government and mode of administering\n justice prescribed by the laws of Spain, which had long\n maintained the Catholic king's American colonies in perfect\n tranquillity, content, and subordination.\"\n\nA year after these deeds of military heroism, O'Reilly took passage for\nEurope. But what said his royal master, the King of Spain, for such\noutrages upon the lives and liberty of his newly acquired subjects? We\nare told in one short paragraph--\"Charles III. _disapproved_ of\nO'Reilly's conduct, and he received on his landing at Cadiz, an order\nprohibiting his appearance at court.\" Well, it is something that his\nconduct was _disapproved_ of, and not rewarded with new honours and\npowers. Some _sovereigns_ might have done this.\n\nWe pass from these distressing and disgraceful scenes, and find nothing\nof peculiar interest in our History, until we come to the period of our\nrevolution. Although in 1778, the people of Louisiana could have had no\nprophetic vision to warn them that they would become a member of the\nAmerican Republic, they felt and manifested a friendly disposition\ntoward us, and rendered us efficient aid in the struggle then carrying\non for our independence.\n\n \"During the month of January, Captain Willing made a second\n visit to New-Orleans. Oliver Pollock now acted openly as the\n agent of the Americans, with the countenance of Galvez, who\n now, and at subsequent periods, afforded them an aid of upwards\n of seventy thousand dollars out of the royal treasury. By this\n means, the posts occupied by the militia of Virginia on the\n Mississippi, and the frontier inhabitants of the state of\n Pennsylvania, were supplied with arms and ammunition.\"\n\nNow that we have become one people, and our Independence has made the\nindependence of Louisiana, it is gratifying to recall to our\nrecollection every testimony that may draw us closer together in our\naffections, as we are in our interests and common welfare. We take\npleasure also in presenting an instance of American enterprise and\ngallantry, which ought not to be forgotten.\n\n \"Colonel Hamilton, who commanded at the British post at\n Detroit, came this year to Vincennes, on the Wabash, with about\n six hundred men, chiefly Indians, with a view to an expedition\n against Kaskaskia, and up the Ohio as far as Fort Pitt, and the\n back settlements of Virginia. Colonel Clark heard, from a\n trader who came down from Vincennes to Kaskaskia, that\n Hamilton, not intending to take the field until spring, had\n sent most of his force to block up the Ohio, or to harass the\n frontier settlers, keeping at Vincennes sixty soldiers only,\n with three pieces of cannon and some swivels. The resolution\n was immediately taken to improve the favourable opportunity for\n averting the impending danger; and Clark accordingly despatched\n a small galley, mounting two four pounders and four swivels, on\n board of which he put a company of soldiers, with orders to\n pursue her way up the Wabash, and anchor a few miles below\n Vincennes, suffering nothing to pass her. He now sat off with\n one hundred and twenty men, the whole force he could command,\n and marched towards Vincennes. They were five days in crossing\n the low lands of the Wabash, in the neighbourhood of Vincennes,\n after having spent sixty in crossing the wilderness, wading for\n several nights up to their breasts in water. Appearing suddenly\n before the town, they surprised and took it. Hamilton for a\n while defended the fort, but was at last compelled to\n surrender.\"\n\nWe now approach a period in the History of Louisiana when her direct\ncommunication and commerce with the United States began; and from this\nmoment she became an object of great and growing interest to us. The\ncommencement of this intercourse is of a singular character, and was\nconducted with singular address.\n\n \"The foundation was now laid of a commercial intercourse,\n through the Mississippi, between the United States and\n New-Orleans, which has been continued, with but little\n interruption, to this day, and has increased to an immense\n degree; and, to the future extent of which, the imagination can\n hardly contemplate any limit. Hitherto, the boats of the\n western people, venturing on the Mississippi, were arrested by\n the first Spanish officer who met them; and confiscation\n ensued, in every case; all communication between the citizens\n of the United States and the Spaniards being strictly\n prohibited. Now and then, an emigrant, desirous of settling in\n the district of Natchez, by personal entreaty and the\n solicitations of his friends, obtained a tract of land, with\n permission to settle on it with his family, slaves, farming\n utensils, and furniture. He was not allowed to bring any thing\n to sell without paying an enormous duty. An unexpected incident\n changed the face of affairs in this respect.\n\n \"The idea of a regular trade was first conceived by General\n Wilkinson, who had served with distinction as an officer in the\n late war, and whose name is as conspicuous in the annals of the\n west, as any other. He had connected with it a scheme for the\n settlement of several thousand American families in that part\n of the present state of Louisiana, now known as the parishes of\n East and West Feliciana, and that of Washita, and on White\n river, and other streams of the present territory of Arkansas.\n For these services to the Spanish government, he expected to\n obtain the privilege of introducing, yearly, a considerable\n quantity of tobacco into the Mexican market.\n\n \"With a view to the execution of his plan, Wilkinson descended\n the Mississippi, with an adventure of tobacco, flour, butter,\n and bacon. He stopped at Natchez while his boat was floating\n down the stream to New-Orleans, the commandant at the former\n place having been induced to forbear seizing it, from an\n apprehension that such a step would be disapproved by Miro, who\n might be desirous of showing some indulgence to a general\n officer of a nation with whom his was at peace--especially as\n the boat and its owner were proceeding to New-Orleans, where he\n could act towards them as he saw fit.\n\n \"Wilkinson having stopped at a plantation on the river, the\n boat reached the city before him. On its approaching the levee,\n a guard was immediately sent on board, and the revenue officers\n were about taking measures for its seizure, when a merchant,\n who was acquainted with Wilkinson, and had some influence with\n Miro, represented to him that the step Navarro was about to\n take might be attended with unpleasant consequences; that the\n people of Kentucky were already much exasperated at the conduct\n of the Spaniards in seizing all the property of those who\n navigated the Mississippi, and if this system was pursued, they\n would probably, in spite of Congress, take means themselves to\n open the navigation of the river by force. Hints were, at the\n same time, thrown out, that the general was a very popular\n character among those who were capable of inflaming the whole\n of the western people, and that, probably, his sending a boat\n before him, that it might be seized, was a scheme laid by the\n government of the United States, that he might, on his return,\n influence the minds of his countrymen; and, having brought them\n to the point he wished, induce them to choose him for their\n leader, and, spreading over the country, carry fire and\n desolation from one part of Louisiana to the other.\n\n \"On this, Miro expressed his wish to Navarro that the guard\n might be removed. This was done; and Wilkinson's friend was\n permitted to take charge of the boat, and sell the cargo,\n without paying any duty.\n\n \"On his first interview with Miro, Wilkinson, that he might not\n derogate from the character his friend had given him, by\n appearing concerned in so trifling an adventure as a boat-load\n of tobacco, flour, &c. observed that the cargo belonged to\n several of his fellow-citizens in Kentucky, who wished to avail\n themselves of his visit to New-Orleans to make a trial of the\n temper of the colonial government. On his return he could then\n inform the United States government, of the steps taken under\n his eye; so that, in future, proper measures might be adopted.\n He acknowledged with gratitude the attention and respect\n manifested towards himself, and the favour shown to the\n merchant who had been permitted to take care of the boat;\n adding, he did not wish that the intendant should expose\n himself to the anger of the court, by forbearing to seize the\n boat and cargo, if such were his instructions, and he had no\n authority to depart from them when circumstances might require\n it.\n\n \"Miro supposed, from this conversation, that Wilkinson's object\n was to produce a rupture rather than to avoid one. He became\n more and more alarmed. For two or three years before,\n particularly since the commissioners of the state of Georgia\n came to Natchez to claim the country, he had been fearful of an\n invasion at every rise of the water; and the rumour of a few\n boats having been seen together on the Ohio, was sufficient to\n excite his apprehensions. At his next interview with Wilkinson,\n having procured further information of the character, number,\n and disposition of the western people, and having revolved, in\n his mind, what measures he could take, consistently with his\n instructions, he concluded that he could do no better than to\n hold out a hope to Wilkinson, in order to secure his influence\n in restraining his countrymen from an invasion of Louisiana,\n till further instructions could be received from Madrid. The\n general sailed in September for Philadelphia.\"\n\nIn 1788, Don Martin Navarro, the intendant, left the province for Spain,\nand we cannot deny him the credit of sagacity, in his last communication\nto the king.\n\n \"Navarro's last communication to the king was a memorial which\n he had prepared, by order of the minister, on the danger to be\n apprehended by Spain, in her American colonies, from the\n emancipation of the late British provinces on the Atlantic. In\n this document, he dwells much on the ambition of the United\n States, and their thirst for conquest; whose views he states to\n be an extension of territory to the shores of the Pacific\n ocean; and suggests the dismemberment of the western country,\n by means of pensions and the grant of commercial privileges, as\n the most proper means, in the power of Spain, to arrest the\n impending danger. To effect this, was not, in his opinion, very\n difficult. The attempt was therefore strongly recommended, as\n success would greatly augment the power of Spain, and forever\n arrest the progress of the United States to the west.\n\n \"It would not have been difficult for the King of Spain, at\n this period, to have found, in Kentucky, citizens of the United\n States ready to come into his views. The people of that\n district met, this year, in a second convention, and agreed on\n a petition to congress for the redress of their grievances--the\n principal of which was, the occlusion of the Mississippi. Under\n the apprehension that the interference of congress could not be\n obtained, or might be fruitless, several expedients were talked\n of, no one of which was generally approved; the people being\n divided into no less than five parties, all of which had\n different, if not opposite, views.\n\n \"The first was for independence of the United States, and the\n formation of a new republic, unconnected with them, who was to\n enter into a treaty with Spain.\n\n \"Another party was willing that the country should become a\n part of the province of Louisiana, and submit to the admission\n of the laws of Spain.\n\n \"A third desired a war with Spain, and the seizure of\n New-Orleans.\n\n \"A fourth plan was to prevail on congress, by a show of\n preparation for war, to extort from the cabinet of Madrid, what\n it persisted in refusing.\n\n \"The last, as unnatural as the second, was to solicit France to\n procure a retrocession of Louisiana, and extend her protection\n to Kentucky.\"\n\nWe think the Don's scheme, for preventing the evils he anticipated,\naltogether chimerical; but our author has more faith in it, and believes\n\"it would not have been difficult for the King of Spain, at this period,\nto find, in Kentucky, citizens of the United States ready to come into\nhis views.\" We trust this is a mistake. The occlusion of the Mississippi\nwas the grievance they deplored. It is, however, worthy of our special\nattention, that at the period when these matters were agitated in our\nwestern country, our states were held together by the weak and\ninefficient bonds of the old confederation, under which, state\nselfishness and state pride, now called _state rights_, predominated\nover the great and general interests of the Union; and the weaker\nmembers were neglected, having no superintending, supreme federal power\nto give an equal care and protection to every part. Our author\ndistinctly says, that \"it was in the western part of the United States\nthat the inefficacy of the power of Congress was most complained of.\"\nThe present strength and prosperity of the west, are the fruits of our\n\"more perfect union,\" and the wisdom and gratitude of the west will\nforever make it the friend and support of that Union.\n\nWe are now introduced to the Baron de Carondelet, a name which\nafterwards became conspicuous in the History of Louisiana, and familiar\nto the citizens of the United States. He was appointed governor of the\nprovince, and entered upon his duties in 1792. \"The sympathies and\npartialities of the people of Louisiana began to manifest themselves\nstrongly in favour of the French patriots, principally in New-Orleans.\"\nThe Baron thought it to be his duty, especially as he was a native of\nFrance, \"to restrain excesses against monarchical government.\" He began\nby stopping \"the exhibition of certain martial dances and revolutionary\nairs\" at the theatre. He afterwards thought it necessary to adopt\nstronger measures to suppress the growing inclination to popular\ndoctrines, and betook himself to the _custom of the country_, the\nNew-Orleans _common law_, or rather the law of its governors, _to ship\noff the obnoxious persons_, without any form of trial or condemnation.\nHe caused six individuals to be arrested and confined in the fort, and\nsoon afterwards, \"shipped them for Havana, where they were detained a\ntwelve month.\" This may be a very pretty military mode of getting rid of\ndisagreeable or troublesome people--the summary arrest--the fort--the\nship and banishment; but we cannot reconcile it to our notions of\nliberty and law.\n\nWe pass over, as matters well known, the plans of _Genet_ at this\nperiod, and the proceedings of the Baron to defeat them.--The Baron also\nfollowed up, with great perseverance, \"his favourite plan for the\nseparation of the western people from the Union,\" and he continued to do\nso, subsequent to the ratification of the treaty between the United\nStates and Spain. The report made by _Power_, the Baron's agent, of the\ndispositions of the western people, was altogether unpropitious to his\ndesign. He, however, delayed the delivery of the posts, to which the\nUnited States were entitled, under various pretences; still having the\nseparation in view. His proceedings to effect this object are detailed,\nand will be read with interest. It is needless to say, that no ray of\nsuccess shone upon his enterprise. Power, the active agent of the\nmischief, came very near to be tarred and feathered at Louisville, and\nwas afterwards arrested by General Wilkinson, at Detroit. The Baron must\nhave opened his eyes in astonishment at his egregious miscalculation of\nthe dispositions of the West, when Wilkinson informed him, \"that the\npeople of Kentucky had proposed to him to raise an army of ten thousand\nmen to take New-Orleans in case of a rupture with Spain.\"\n\nOur author gives a concise account of the cession of Louisiana by Spain\nto France, and again by France to the United States. The negotiator by\nwhom the latter transfer was conducted, on the part of France, was M.\nMarbois, and his work is the most satisfactory authority for the curious\ndetails of that extraordinary proceeding. The general character of the\ntransaction, and the terms of purchase, are sufficiently known; but M.\nMarbois lets us into some of the secrets of the negotiation, and of the\nreasons which induced the first consul to part with this valuable\nterritory as soon as he had acquired it. We will be brief with them.\n\nThe cession of Louisiana by France to Spain in 1763, was not only, as we\nhave seen, a cause of violent discontent to the inhabitants of that\nprovince, but was considered in all the maritime and commercial cities\nof France, as impolitic and injurious; and a general wish prevailed to\nrecover the colony. This did not escape Bonaparte, who did not delay to\nrenew with the court of Madrid, a negotiation on the subject; having\nalso in view a diminution of the power of England, which was never out\nof his mind. Profiting by the ascendancy he acquired by the victory of\nMarengo, he easily persuaded the Prince of Peace to restore Louisiana to\nFrance. This was done by a treaty made in October 1800. It was\nstipulated that the surrender should be made six months after. The\ntreaty of 21st March 1801, renews these dispositions; but Louisiana\ncontinued for some time longer under the dominion of Spain. The\ndifferences between the United States and the French republic were\nterminated by a convention at Paris, on 30th of September 1800; and on\nthe next day the treaty above mentioned with Spain was concluded at St.\nIldephonso. As the war between France and England still continued, the\ncession of Louisiana to France was not made public; nor was possession\ntaken. This difficulty was not removed for some time. In October 1801,\npreliminaries of peace were signed at London, followed up by the treaty\nof Amiens in March 1802. In the following September General Victor was\nappointed governor general of Louisiana; and Laussat the prefect sailed\nfor New-Orleans in January.\n\nThe retrocession of the province to France created much uneasiness and\nalarm in the United States. The free navigation of the Mississippi\nbecame daily of more importance, and it was apprehended that the French\nwould not be found as peaceable neighbours as the Spaniards. Every one\nremembers the short and uneasy existence of the insincere peace of\nAmiens. A renewal of the war was seen to be inevitable, and the American\ncabinet perceived that, in such an event, France would postpone the\noccupation of Louisiana. This state of things was justly thought to be\nfavourable to an arrangement with France on the subject of the deposit\nat New-Orleans and the navigation of the river. Mr. Monroe was sent to\nthat country for this purpose, where Mr. Livingston, our minister, had\nbeen pursuing it for many months; his overtures received little or no\nattention. The debates in our senate are not forgotten, on the motion of\nMr. Ross; nor the prospect then in view of our taking by force of arms\nwhat it was believed would never be gained by treaty. In the spring of\n1803, war was clearly inevitable between France and England; and\nBonaparte knew that Louisiana, in that event, would be at the mercy of\nhis enemy. He at once determined to change his policy in regard to that\nprovince, and to part with it, as the only means of saving it from\nEngland. On the 10th of April 1803, he entered upon the execution of his\ndesign, and called two counsellors to him, and addressed them \"with that\nvehemence and passion which he particularly manifested in political\naffairs.\" He said he knew the full value of Louisiana, and had been\ndesirous of repairing the fault by which it was lost--that \"a few lines\nof a treaty have restored it to me, and I have scarcely recovered it\nwhen I must expect to lose it.\" Looking to the strength it would give to\nthe United States, he said: \"But if it escapes from me, it shall one\nday cost dearer to those who oblige me to strip myself of it, than to\nthose to whom I wish to deliver it.\" After some remarks upon the naval\nstrength in the Gulf of Mexico, and the ease with which they might take\nLouisiana, he added;--\n\n \"I think of ceding it to the United States. I can scarcely say\n that I cede it to them, for it is not yet in our possession.\n If, however, I leave the least time to our enemies, I shall\n only transmit an empty title to those republicans whose\n friendship I seek. They only ask of me one town in Louisiana,\n but I already consider the colony as entirely lost, and it\n appears to me that in the hands of this growing power, it will\n be more useful to the policy and even to the commerce of\n France, than if I should attempt to keep it.\"\n\nThe counsellors differed in their opinions, diametrically, each giving\nhis reasons at large. The first consul decided the question immediately;\nhe promptly declared, that\n\n \"Irresolution and deliberation are no longer in season. I\n renounce Louisiana. It is not only New-Orleans that I will\n cede, it is the whole colony without any reservation. I know\n the price of what I abandon, and I have sufficiently proved the\n importance that I attach to this province, since my first\n diplomatic act with Spain had for its object the recovery of\n it. I renounce it with the greatest regret. To attempt\n obstinately to retain it would be folly. I direct you to\n negotiate this affair with the envoys of the United States. Do\n not even await the arrival of Mr. Monroe: have an interview\n this very day with Mr. Livingston.\"\n\nWe hope and believe that one of the predictions of this luminous mind\nwill not be fulfilled, although we have lately seen some appearances of\nits accomplishment.\n\n \"Perhaps it will also be objected to me, that the Americans may\n be found too powerful for Europe in two or three centuries: but\n my foresight does not embrace such remote fears. Besides, we\n may hereafter expect rivalries among the members of the Union.\n The confederations, that are called perpetual, only last till\n one of the contracting parties finds it to its interest to\n break them, and it is to prevent the danger, to which the\n colossal power of England exposes us, that I would provide a\n remedy.\"\n\n\"The conferences began the same day between Mr. Livingston and M. Barbe\nMarbois, to whom the first consul confided the negotiation.\" Pending the\npreliminary discussions, Mr. Monroe arrived at Paris; but even then Mr.\nLivingston despaired of success, and said to Mr. Monroe, \"I wish that\nthe resolution offered by Mr. Ross in the senate had been adopted. Only\nforce can give us New-Orleans; we must employ force; let us first get\npossession of the country and negotiate afterwards.\" Mr. Livingston,\nhowever, was happily mistaken. \"The first difficulties,\" says M.\nMarbois, \"were smoothed by a circumstance which is rarely met with in\ncongresses and diplomatic conferences. The plenipotentiaries having been\nlong acquainted, were disposed to treat each other with confidence.\" The\nnegotiation, under such auspices, proceeded rapidly, but not without\nsome distrust on our part.\n\n \"Mr. Monroe, still affected by the distrust of his colleague,\n did not hear without surprise the first overtures that were\n frankly made by M. de Marbois. Instead of the cession of a\n town and its inconsiderable territory, a vast portion of\n America was in some sort offered to the United States. They\n only asked for the mere right of navigating the Mississippi,\n and their sovereignty was about to be extended over the largest\n rivers of the world. They passed over an interior frontier to\n carry their limits to the great Pacific ocean.\"\n\nThe termination of this important negotiation was as speedy and\nsatisfactory, as it has been and will be important in its consequences.\nM. Marbois truly observes, \"the cession of Louisiana was a certain\nguarantee of the future greatness of the United States; and opposed an\ninsurmountable obstacle to any design formed by the English of becoming\npredominant in America.\" In relation to the stipulations in the treaty,\nthat the inhabitants should be incorporated in the Union, and, in due\ntime, be admitted as a state, &c. M. Marbois records.\n\n \"The first consul, left to his natural disposition, was always\n inclined to an elevated and generous justice. He himself\n prepared the article which has been just recited. The words\n which he employed on the occasion are recorded in the journal\n of the negotiation, and deserve to be preserved. 'Let the\n Louisianians know that we separate ourselves from them with\n regret; that we stipulate in their favour every thing that they\n can desire, and let them hereafter, happy in their\n independence, recollect that they have been Frenchmen, and that\n France, in ceding them, has secured for them advantages which\n they could not have obtained from a European power, however\n paternal it might have been. Let them retain for us sentiments\n of affection; and may their common origin, descent, language,\n and customs, perpetuate the friendship.'\"\n\nThe arrangement being completed, M. Marbois says--\"the following words\nsufficiently acquaint us with the reflections which then influenced the\nfirst consul. This accession of territory, said he, strengthens forever\nthe power of the United States, and I have just given to England a\nmaritime rival, that will sooner or later humble her pride.\"\n\nWe return to the History of Judge Martin, who describes the ceremonies\nof delivering the colony to the United States. Some citizens of the\nUnited States waved their hats, but \"no emotion was manifested by any\nother part of the crowd. The colonists did not appear conscious that\nthey were reaching the _Latium sedes ubi fata quietas ostendunt_.\"\n\nWe pass on to the year 1806, when the celebrated plot of Aaron Burr is\nintroduced. The president had received information of it, but not at\nfirst with such certainty as warranted any steps to be taken against the\naccused. General Wilkinson, then commanding in the west, afterwards made\ncommunications to the president, \"involving men distinguished for\nintegrity and patriotism; men of talents, honoured by the confidence of\nthe government, in the flagitious plot.\" The designs of Burr and his\nassociates were fully developed on his trial, and we need not repeat\nthem here; but the proceedings of General Wilkinson are not so generally\nunderstood, and it is well that they should be. Nobody can be better\nqualified than our historian to give the information, nor to obtain\nimplicit belief of all he narrates. We shall here see again that the old\npractice of _shipping off_ obnoxious individuals was resorted to by a\nmilitary commander; as if there was something in the climate of\nNew-Orleans to excite men in power to this mode of punishment or\nrevenge. We cannot present these transactions better than in the\nlanguage of our author.\n\n \"On Sunday, the fourteenth, Dr. Erick Bollman was arrested by\n order of Wilkinson, and hurried to a secret place of\n confinement, and on the evening of the following day\n application was made on his behalf, for a writ of habeas\n corpus, to Sprigg, one of the territorial judges, who declined\n acting, till he could consult Mathews, who could not then be\n found. On the sixteenth, the writ was obtained from the\n superior court; but Bollman was, in the meanwhile, put on board\n of a vessel and sent down the river. On the same day,\n application was made to Workman, the judge of the county of\n Orleans, for a writ of habeas corpus, in favour of Ogden and\n Swartwout, who had been arrested a few days before, by order of\n Wilkinson, at Fort Adams, and were on board of a bomb ketch of\n the United States lying before the city. Workman immediately\n granted the writ, and called on Claiborne to inquire whether he\n had assented to Wilkinson's proceedings: Claiborne replied he\n had consented to the arrest of Bollman, and his mind was not\n made up as to the propriety of that of Ogden and Swartwout.\n Workman then expatiated on the illegality and evil tendency of\n such measures, beseeching Claiborne not to permit them, but to\n use his own authority, as the constitutional guardian of his\n fellow-citizens, to protect them; but he was answered that the\n executive had no authority to liberate those persons, and it\n was for the judiciary to do it, if they thought fit. Workman\n added, that he had heard that Wilkinson intended to ship off\n his prisoners, and if this was permitted, writs of habeas\n corpus would prove nugatory.\n\n \"From the alarm and terror prevalent in the city, the deputy\n sheriff could procure no boat to take him on board of the\n ketch, on the day the writ issued. This circumstance was made\n known early on the next morning, to Workman, who thereupon\n directed the deputy sheriff to procure a boat by the offer of a\n considerable sum of money, for the payment of which he\n undertook the county would be responsible. The writ was served\n soon afterwards, and returned at five in the evening by\n Commodore Shaw, and the commanding officer of the ketch,\n Lieutenant Jones; Swartwout had been taken from the ketch\n before the service of the writ. Ogden was produced and\n discharged, as his detention was justified on the order of\n Wilkinson only.\n\n \"On the eighteenth of December, Wilkinson returned the writ of\n habeas corpus into the superior court, stating that, as\n commander in chief of the army of the United States, he took on\n himself all responsibility for the arrest of Erick Bollman,\n charged with misprison of treason against the government of the\n United States, and he had adopted measures for his safe\n delivery to the government of the United States: that it was\n after several conversations with the governor and one of the\n judges of the territory, that he had hazarded this step for the\n national safety, menaced to its basis by a lawless band of\n traitors, associated under Aaron Burr, whose accomplices were\n extended from New-York to New-Orleans: that no man held in\n higher reverence the civil authorities of his country, and it\n was to maintain and perpetuate the holy attributes of the\n constitution, against the uplifted arm of violence, that he had\n interposed the force of arms in a moment of the utmost peril,\n to seize upon Bollman, as he should upon all others, _without\n regard to standing or station_, against whom any proof might\n arise of a participation in the lawless combination.\n\n \"This return was, afterwards, amended, by an averment that, at\n the time of the service of the writ, Bollman was not in the\n possession or power of the person to whom it was addressed.\n\n \"On the following day Ogden was arrested a second time by the\n commanding officer of a troop of cavalry of the militia of the\n territory, in the service of the United States, by whom\n Alexander was also taken in custody; on the application of\n Livingston, Workman issued writs of habeas corpus for both\n prisoners.\n\n \"Instead of a return, Wilkinson sent a written message to\n Workman, begging him to accept his return to the superior\n court, as applicable to the two traitors, who were the subjects\n of his writs. On this, Livingston procured from the court, a\n rule that Wilkinson make a further and more explicit return to\n the writs, or show cause why an attachment should not issue\n against him.\n\n \"Workman now called again on Claiborne, and repeated his\n observations, and recommended, that Wilkinson should be opposed\n by force of arms. He stated, that the violent measures of that\n officer had produced great discontent, alarm, and agitation, in\n the public mind; and, unless such proceeding were effectually\n opposed, all confidence in government would be at an end. He\n urged Claiborne to revoke the order, by which he had placed the\n Orleans volunteers under Wilkinson's command, and to call out\n and arm the rest of the militia force, as soon as possible. He\n stated it as his opinion, that the army would not oppose the\n civil power, when constitutionally brought forth, or that, if\n they did, the governor might soon have men enough to render the\n opposition ineffectual. He added, that, from the laudable\n conduct of Commodore Shaw and Lieutenant Jones, respecting\n Ogden, he not only did not apprehend any resistance to the\n civil authority from the navy, but thought they might be relied\n on. Similar representations were made to Claiborne by Hall and\n Mathews; but they were unavailing.\n\n \"On the twenty-sixth, Wilkinson made a second return to the\n writ of habeas corpus, stating that the body of neither of the\n prisoners was in his possession or control. On this, Livingston\n moved for process of attachment.\n\n \"Workman now made an official communication to Claiborne. He\n began by observing, that the late extraordinary events, which\n had taken place within the territory, had led to a\n circumstance, which authorized the renewal, in a formal manner,\n of the request he had so frequently urged in conversation, that\n the executive would make use of the constitutional force placed\n under his command, to maintain the laws, and protect his\n fellow-citizens against the unexampled tyranny exercised over\n them.\n\n \"He added, it was notorious that the commander in chief of the\n military forces had, by his own authority, arrested several\n citizens for civil offences, and had avowed on record, that he\n had adopted measures to send them out of the territory, openly\n declaring his determination to usurp the functions of the\n judiciary, by making himself the only judge of the guilt of the\n persons he suspected, and asserting in the same manner, and as\n yet without contradiction, that his measures were taken, after\n several consultations with the governor.\n\n \"He proceeded to state, that writs of habeas corpus had been\n issued from the court of the county of New-Orleans: on one of\n them, Ogden had been brought up and discharged, but he had\n been, however, again arrested, by order of the general,\n together with an officer of the court, who had aided\n professionally in procuring his release. The general had, in\n his return to a subsequent writ, issued on his behalf, referred\n the court to a return made by him to a former writ of the\n superior court, and in the further return which he had been\n ordered to make, he had declared that neither of the prisoners\n was in his power, possession, or custody; but he had not\n averred what was requisite, in order to exempt him from the\n penalty of a contempt of court, that these persons were not in\n his power, possession, or custody, at the time when the writs\n were served, and, in consequence of the deficiency, the court\n had been moved for an attachment.\n\n \"The judge remarked, that although a common case would not\n require the step he was taking, yet, he deemed it his duty,\n before any decisive measure was pursued against a man, who had\n all the regular force, and in pursuance of the governor's\n public orders, a great part of that of the territory, at his\n disposal, to ask whether the executive had the ability to\n enforce the decrees of the court of the county, and if he had,\n whether he would deem it expedient to do it, in the present\n instance, or whether the allegation by which he supported these\n violent measures was well founded?\n\n \"Not only the conduct and power of Wilkinson, said the judge,\n but various other circumstances, peculiar to our present\n situation, the alarm excited in the public mind, the\n description and character of a large part of the population of\n the country, might render it dangerous, in the highest degree,\n to adopt the measure usual in ordinary cases, of calling to the\n aid of the sheriff, the _posse comitatus_, unless it were done\n with the assurance of being supported by the governor in an\n efficient manner.\n\n \"The letter concluded by requesting a precise and speedy answer\n to the preceding inquiries, and an assurance that, if certain\n of the governor's support, the judge should forthwith punish,\n as the law directs, the contempt offered to his court: on the\n other hand, should the governor not think it practicable or\n proper to afford his aid, the court and its officers would no\n longer remain exposed to the contempt or insults of a man, whom\n they were unable to punish or resist.\n\n \"The legislature met on the twelfth of January. Two days after,\n General Adair arrived in the city, from Tennessee, and reported\n he had left Burr at Nashville, on the twenty-second of\n December, with two flat boats, destined for New-Orleans. In the\n afternoon of the day of Adair's arrival, the hotel at which he\n had stopped was invested by one hundred and twenty men, under\n Lieutenant Colonel Kingsbury, accompanied by one of Wilkinson's\n aids. Adair was dragged from the dining table, and conducted to\n head quarters, where he was put in confinement. They beat to\n arms through the streets; the battalion of the volunteers of\n Orleans, and a part of the regular troops, paraded through the\n city, and Workman, Kerr, and Bradford, were arrested and\n confined. Wilkinson ordered the latter to be released, and the\n two former were liberated on the following day, on a writ of\n habeas corpus, issued by the district judge of the United\n States. Adair was secreted until an opportunity offered to ship\n him away.\"\n\nWe approach a very interesting portion of our history, in which certain\ntransactions are detailed, with great precision, for some of which\nGeneral Jackson has obtained, and deserved, a brilliant crown of\nmilitary glory, and for others has been visited with deep and indignant\nreproaches; whether justly or not, the reader will decide by the facts\nof the case.\n\nOn the 2d of December 1814, General Jackson reached New-Orleans; and on\nthe next day commenced his operations to put the city in a state of\ndefence against the attack expected to be made upon it. A large naval\nforce of the enemy was off the port of Pensacola; and it was understood\nthat New-Orleans was their object. The force in New-Orleans consisted of\nseven hundred men of the United States regiments; one thousand state\nmilitia, and some sailors and marines. Reinforcements from Tennessee and\nKentucky were looked for. It is not to our purpose, and must be\nunnecessary, to recapitulate all the interesting occurrences which took\nplace at this alarming crisis; all evincing the gallantry and patriotism\nof our countrymen. In this early stage of the contest, our author, with\ngreat warmth and strong testimony, asserts the unshaken fidelity and\nactive efficient attachment of the people of New-Orleans to the\ngovernment of the United States, and repels with an honest indignation\nthe charges of disaffection and treason which were on various occasions\nmade upon them, to justify the tyrannical violence of certain\nproceedings against them. He says, \"although the population of\nNew-Orleans was composed of individuals of different nations, it was as\npatriotic as that of any city in the Union.\" We believe him most\nsincerely; and who does not? Can any just and candid man doubt it after\na sober perusal of his details, having a particular relation to this\nquestion? To suppose that they had any sympathies with the invading foe;\nany treasonable correspondence with them; any desire for their success;\nis to calumniate a people as deeply and dearly interested in our\nindependence, as devotedly attached to our institutions, as any portion\nof the republic. We therefore not only excuse, but applaud, the feelings\nof resentment with which Judge Martin, himself one of the people of\nLouisiana, and honoured by her confidence, meets every assertion and\ninsinuation of treachery or disaffection cast upon her. He assures us,\nthat \"Claiborne (the governor) was sincerely attached to the government\nof his country, and the legislature was prepared to call forth and place\nat Jackson's disposal, all the resources of the state.\" Again he says,\n\"If some, in the beginning, doubted whether General Jackson's military\nexperience had been of a kind to fit him for this service, his conduct\nvery soon dispelled the doubt.\"\n\n \"The want of an able military chief was sensibly felt, and\n notwithstanding any division of sentiment on any other subject,\n the inclination was universal to support Jackson, and he had\n been hailed on his arrival by all. There were some, indeed, who\n conceived that the crisis demanded a general of some experience\n in ordinary warfare; that one whose military career had begun\n with the current year, and who had never met with any but an\n Indian force, was ill calculated to meet the warlike enemy who\n threatened; but all were willing to make a virtue of necessity,\n and to take their wishes for their opinions, and manifested an\n unbounded confidence in him. All united in demonstrations of\n respect and reliance, and every one was ready to give him his\n support. His immediate and incessant attention to the defence\n of the country, the care he took to visit every vulnerable\n point, his unremitted vigilance, and the strict discipline\n enforced, soon convinced all that he was the man the occasion\n demanded.\"\n\nThe general had, however, imbibed strong prejudices against the\ninhabitants of the city, _infused into him by bad advisers who\nsurrounded him_.\n\n \"Unfortunately he had been surrounded, from the moment of his\n arrival, by persons from the ranks of the opposition to\n Claiborne, Hall, and the state government, and it was soon\n discovered that he had become impressed with the idea, that a\n great part of the population of Louisiana was disaffected, and\n the city full of traitors and spies. It appears such were his\n sentiments as early as the 8th of September; for in a letter of\n Claiborne, which he since published, the governor joins in the\n opinion, and writes to him, 'I think with you, that our country\n is full of spies and traitors.'\"\n\nThe interest we feel to vindicate the people of Louisiana from the\nsuspicions that were long entertained of their loyalty, and may not be\nyet wholly eradicated, induces us to trouble our readers with further\nextracts on this subject.\n\n \"The legislature was in session, since the beginning of the\n preceding month. We have seen that Claiborne, at the opening of\n the session, had offered them his congratulations on the\n alacrity with which the call of the United States for a body of\n militia had been met, which, with the detail of the proceedings\n of that body, is the best refutation of the charges which have\n been urged against them. It will show, that in attachment to\n the Union, in zeal for the defence of the country, in\n liberality in furnishing the means of it, and in ministering to\n the wants of their brave fellow-citizens who came down to\n assist them in repelling the foe, the general assembly of\n Louisiana does not suffer by a comparison of its conduct with\n that of any legislative body in the United States. The\n assertion, that any member of it entertained the silly opinion,\n that a capitulation, if any became necessary, was to be brought\n about or effected by the agency of the houses, any more than by\n that of a court of justice, or the city council of New-Orleans,\n is absolutely groundless.\"\n\nA proposition was made by the governor to the legislature, to suspend\nthe writ of habeas corpus, in order that men might be pressed for the\nservice, particularly naval, of the United States: the legislature knew\nit to be a dangerous measure, and thought it unnecessary.\n\n \"Coming from every part of the state, the representatives had\n witnessed the universal alacrity with which Jackson's\n requisitions for a quota of the militia of the state had been\n complied with; they knew their constituents could be depended\n on; they knew that Jackson, Claiborne, and many of the\n military, were incessantly talking of sedition, disaffection,\n and treason; but better acquainted with the people of\n Louisiana, than those who were vociferating against it, they\n were conscious, that no state was more free from sedition,\n disaffection, and treason, than their own; they thought the\n state should not outlaw her citizens, when they were rushing to\n repel the enemy. They dreaded the return of those days, when\n Wilkinson filled New-Orleans with terror and dismay, arresting\n and transporting whom he pleased. They recollected that in 1806\n Jefferson had made application to congress for a suspension of\n the writ of _habeas corpus_, but that the recommendation of the\n president was not deemed sufficient to induce the legislature\n of the Union to suspend it: that of Claiborne, as far as it\n concerned Jackson, was not therefore acted on. The members had\n determined not to adjourn during the invasion, and thought they\n would suspend the writ when they deemed the times required it,\n but not till then.\"\n\nThat the refusal to put an uncontrouled power over the persons of the\ncitizens, to withdraw from them the protection of the law, did not\nproceed from an unwillingness to obtain for the service the force\nrequired, is made manifest by the substitute adopted. \"A sum of five\nthousand dollars was placed at the disposal of the commodore, to be\nexpended in bounties; and, to remove the opportunity of seamen being\ntempted to decline entering the service of the United States, by the\nhope of employment on board of merchant vessels, an embargo was passed.\"\n\nThe general does not seem to have been satisfied with the reasons of the\nlegislature for denying the power he desired, nor with their substitute\nfor it.\n\n \"The suspension of the writ of _habeas corpus_, and adjournment\n of the houses, were measures which Jackson anxiously desired.\n There was a great inclination in the members of both houses to\n gratify him, in every instance in which they could do it with\n safety: in these two only, they were of opinion it would be\n unsafe to adopt his views.\"\n\nGeneral Carroll, with a brigade of Tennessee militia, arrived on the\n19th, and the legislature were indefatigable in preparing for the\nexpected attack.\n\n \"At this period the forces at New-Orleans amounted to between\n six and seven thousand men. Every individual exempted from\n militia duty on account of age, had joined one of the\n companies of veterans, which had been formed for the\n preservation of order. Every class of society was animated with\n the most ardent zeal; the young, the old, women, children, all\n breathed defiance to the enemy, firmly disposed to oppose to\n the utmost the threatened invasion. There were in the city a\n very great number of French subjects, who from their national\n character could not have been compelled to perform military\n duty; these men, however, with hardly any exception,\n volunteered their services. The Chevalier Tousard, the Consul\n of France, who had distinguished himself, and had lost an arm\n in the service of the United States, during the revolutionary\n war, lamenting that the neutrality of his nation did not allow\n him to lead his countrymen in New-Orleans to the field,\n encouraged them to flock to Jackson's standard. The people were\n preparing for battle as cheerfully as if for a party of\n pleasure: the streets resounded with martial airs: the several\n corps of militia were constantly exercising, from morning to\n night: every bosom glowed with the feelings of national honour:\n every thing showed nothing was to be apprehended from\n disaffection, disloyalty, or treason.\"\n\nOn the 21st, the enemy landed with a strong force, and a proud one,\nconfident of an easy victory. They looked upon all the wealth and\ncomforts of New-Orleans as already their own. The battle that shortly\nafter ensued, _sought for and won_ by the Americans, can never be\nforgotten. The promptitude, decision, and skill, with which General\nJackson took his measures; the bravery with which they were executed;\nand the glorious success which crowned the bold attack upon an enemy\ngreatly superior in numbers, discipline, and experience, will be ranked\namong the most gallant achievements of military history. Our author\nassures us that the invading army \"had a force of very near five\nthousand men; that which opposed him was not above two thousand.\"\nPreparations against the grand attack upon the city continued with\nunceasing vigilance and labour. The members of the legislature--_the\nsuspected legislature_--old and young, joined some of the military\ncorps; but lest their legislative aid might also be required, they\ncontinued their sessions; when a most extraordinary proceeding occurred.\n\n \"Every day, towards noon, three or four of the members of each\n house, who served among the veterans or on the committees,\n attended in their respective halls to effect an adjournment, in\n order that, if any circumstance rendered the aid of the\n legislature necessary, it might be instantly afforded. On going\n for this purpose to the government house, Skipwith, the speaker\n of the senate, and two of its members, found a sentinel on the\n staircase, who, presenting his bayonet, forbade them to enter\n the senate chamber. They quietly retired, and proceeded to the\n hall of the sessions of the city council, where an adjournment\n took place. The members of the other house, who attended for\n the same purpose, were likewise prevented from entering its\n hall, and acted like those of the senate.\"\n\nA committee was appointed to wait upon the general, and inquire into the\nreasons of these violent measures against the legislature. The general\ngave his reasons, which, in short, were, that he had received\ninformation \"that the assembly were about to give up the country to the\nenemy.\" The author goes into a full examination of this charge; and the\nrefutation of it is entirely satisfactory.\n\nThe spirit of defence even entered the walls of the prisons.\n\n \"A number of debtors, who had taken the benefit of the acts\n establishing the prison bounds, were anxious to join in the\n defence of the city, but were apprehensive of exposing their\n sureties. On this being represented to the legislature, an act\n was passed, extending the prison bounds, until the first of May\n following, so as to include Jackson's line.\"\n\nThe last effort of the invader was made by the battle of the 8th of\nJanuary, and is described in our book with much effect. Long may it be\nread and remembered with an unextinguishable glow of pride and\npatriotism! The contest was ended; the foe hastily abandoned our shores,\non which they left nothing but memorials of their defeat and shame, in\nthe melancholy monuments of their slaughtered companions. Our author\nconcludes his narrative of these eventful days, with an eloquent tribute\nto the general, by whose indefatigable activity and fearless gallantry a\nrich and populous city was saved.\n\n \"If the vigilance, the activity, and the intrepidity of the\n general had been conspicuous during the whole period of the\n invasion, his prudence, moderation, and self-denial, on the\n departure of the enemy, deserves no less commendation and\n admiration. An opportunity was then presented to him of\n acquiring laurels by a pursuit, which few, elated as he must\n have been by success, could have resisted. But, he nobly\n reflected that those who fled from him were mercenaries--those\n who surrounded his standard, his fellow-citizens, almost\n universally fathers of families;--sound policy, to use his own\n expressions, neither required nor authorized him to expose the\n lives of his companions in arms, in a useless conflict. He\n thought the lives of ten British soldiers would not requite the\n loss of one of his men. He had not saved New-Orleans to\n sacrifice its inhabitants.\"\n\nOn his return to the city, he was greeted with \"tears of gratitude\"--why\nwere they not perpetual? His cruel suspicions; his unjust accusations of\ntreason and disaffection, were forgotten or forgiven, and no sentiment\nremained in the hearts of the people of Louisiana, but admiration of his\nconduct in the day of trial, and gratitude for his services; why was not\nthis perpetual? We shall see.\n\n\"By a communication of the 13th of January, from Admiral Cochrane,\nJackson was informed that the Admiral had just received a bulletin from\nJamaica, (a copy of which was enclosed) proclaiming that a treaty of\npeace had been signed by the respective plenipotentiaries of Great\nBritain and the United States, at Ghent, on the 24th of December. The\ndespatch did not arrive till the 21st, by way of Balize; but the\nintelligence had been brought to the city by one of Jackson's aids, who\nhad returned from the British fleet with a flag of truce.\" As in\ncanvassing the subsequent proceedings of the General at New-Orleans, his\nadvocates have pretended that he had no information of the peace to\nwhich he ought to have trusted, that point must not be overlooked in our\ninquiries. What was the evidence at this period, that is, on the 21st of\nJanuary? A communication directly addressed to him, by and under the\nname of the British Admiral, with every sanction that honour and good\nfaith could give it. This communication, so vouched, was accompanied by\na copy of a bulletin which the Admiral declared he had just received\nfrom Jamaica, too distant to have been fabricated there for the\noccasion; and all this was confirmed by the intelligence brought by one\nof the General's aids from the fleet. Is there any degree of military\ncaution that would have doubted the truth of this information, _in the\nmanner and for the purposes_ for which the doubts, real or pretended,\nwere used by the General? We will not say that he should, on such\nintelligence, have exposed himself to an attack from the enemy; that he\nshould have disbanded his army, or thrown by his guards and defence, as\nif the intelligence had been authentic from his own government; but,\nassuredly there was that in the information he received, on which a\nstrong reliance might reasonably and safely have been placed; at least\nenough to have suspended military operations _against his own\nfellow-citizens_. He must have imputed fraud, falsehood, and forgery, to\nan officer, who, although an enemy, was entitled to a more just and\nrespectful consideration. No usage of modern warfare would have\njustified such practices, and therefore they ought not to have been\npresumed. With no disposition to \"set down aught in malice\" against the\nGeneral, we cannot refrain from saying, that, whatever he may have found\nit convenient to believe or disbelieve, to justify the extravagance of\nungovernable passions inflamed by evil counsellors, in his moments of\nsober thoughts, if any such happened to him, he could not reject the\ntestimony before him, of the termination of the war. He certainly, at\nleast, thought it worthy to be announced to the people, although he\n\"forewarned them from being thrown into security by hopes that might be\ndelusive.\" This was a prudent caution, and sufficient. \"On the 22d, the\ngladsome tidings were confirmed, and a _Gazette of Charleston_ was\nreceived, announcing the _ratification of the Treaty_ by the Prince\nRegent.\" We assume then, that on the 22d of January, such intelligence\nwas received of the Peace at New-Orleans, as might, and should have\nsatisfied the most sceptical military caution, of its truth, at least to\nthe extent required for our examination into the General's subsequent\nconduct.\n\nIt seems that a discontent had arisen, which led to serious\nconsequences. The _French subjects_ resident at New-Orleans, \"had\nflocked round Jackson's standard, determined to leave it with the\nnecessity that called them to it, and not till then.\" They endured much\nprivation, toil, and danger; their families also were in a state of\nsuffering, to whose relief they were anxious to return _after the enemy\nhad left the state_. A few solicited a discharge; but the General\ninsisted on their being retained. Some then demanded of the French\nconsul, certificates of their national character, which were presented\nto the General, who countersigned them, and the bearers were permitted\nto return home. So many, however, applied for this indulgence, that the\nGeneral believed that the consul too easily granted his certificates,\n\"and considering a compliance with his duty, as evidence of his adhesion\nto the enemy, ordered him out of the city.\"\n\nWe now come to a false step, of more importance, made by the General, to\nwhich he was led by that which has overthrown many men placed in\nelevated stations. It has been the misfortune and ruin of great men who\nwere high; and, more frequently so, of high men who were not great;\n_weak and evil counsellors_.\n\n \"Yielding to the advice of many around him, who were constantly\n filling his ears with their clamours about the disloyalty,\n disaffection, and treason of the people of Louisiana, and\n particularly the state officers and the people of French\n origin, Jackson, on the last day of February, issued a general\n order, commanding all French subjects, possessed of a\n certificate of their national character, subscribed by the\n consul of France, and countersigned by the commanding general,\n to retire into the interior, to a distance above Baton\n Rouge:--a measure, which was stated to have been rendered\n indispensable by the frequent applications for discharges. The\n names were directed to be taken of all persons of this\n description, remaining in the city, after the expiration of\n three days.\n\n \"Time has shown this to have been a most unfortunate step; and\n those by whose suggestions it was taken, soon found themselves\n unable to avert from the general the consequences to which it\n exposed him. The people against whom it was directed were\n loyal--many of them had bled, all had toiled and suffered in\n the defence of the state. Need, in many instances, improvidence\n in several, had induced the families of these people to part\n with the furniture of their houses to supply those immediate\n wants, which the absence of the head of the family occasioned.\n No exception, no distinction was made. The sympathetic feelings\n of every class of inhabitants were enlisted in favour of these\n men; they lacked the means of sustaining themselves on the way,\n and must have been compelled, on their arrival at Baton Rouge,\n then a very insignificant village, to throw themselves on the\n charity of the inhabitants. Another consideration rendered the\n departure of these men an evil to be dreaded. The apprehension\n of the return of the enemy was represented, as having had much\n weight with Jackson in issuing his order. Their past conduct\n was a sure pledge that, in case of need, their services would\n again be re-offered; there were among them a number of\n experienced artillery-men; a description of soldiers, which was\n not easily to be found among the brave who had come down from\n Kentucky, or Tennessee, or even in the army of the United\n States. These considerations induced several respectable\n citizens to wait on Jackson, for the purpose of endeavouring to\n induce him to reconsider a determination, which was viewed as\n productive of flagrant injustice and injury to those against\n whom it was directed, without any possible advantage, and\n probably very detrimental, to those for whose benefit it was\n intended.\"\n\nTo quiet and console this distressed and injured people under this\nwanton decree of military power; this cruel exile; it was recommended to\nthem to submit without resistance to the order.\n\n \"They were assured, that the laws of the country would protect\n them, and punish, even in a successful general, a violation of\n the rights of, or a wanton injury to, the meanest individual,\n citizen or alien. They were referred to the case of Wilkinson,\n against whom an independent jury of the Mississippi territory\n had given a verdict in favour of Adair, who had been illegally\n arrested and transported, during the winter of 1806.\"\n\nIt must be recollected, that this order was issued and executed on the\nlast day of February, six weeks after the Charleston Gazette had\nannounced at New-Orleans, the ratification of the treaty of peace, as\nabove stated. During all this period, there had not been an appearance\nof the enemy, or a movement by them, or the slightest occurrence or\nrumour, to raise a doubt of the truth of this intelligence. Not a doubt\nof it was expressed by any body or from any quarter. On the 14th of\nFebruary, two weeks after the sentence of banishment upon the French\nsubjects, \"the mail brought northern Gazettes, announcing the arrival of\nthe treaty at Washington.\" Was this also a British trick and delusion,\nnot to be trusted even by a relaxation of the severest military\ndiscipline, or a mitigation of the dangerous predominance of martial\nlaw? Our author says, \"the hope that had been entertained that Jackson\nwould now allow these unfortunate people to stay with their families,\nwas disappointed.\"\n\n_Louallier_, a member of the House of Representatives, had been\nconspicuous in bringing forth the energies of the state for its defence.\nHis activity and usefulness were properly appreciated by his\nfellow-citizens. An opinion prevailed, that Jackson was unfriendly to\nthe French citizens, and to the officers of the state government.\n\n \"A report, which now was afloat, that those who surrounded\n Jackson were labouring to induce him to arrest some\n individuals, alluded to in the general orders of the 28th of\n February, roused his indignation, to which (perhaps more\n honestly than prudently) he gave vent in a publication, of\n which the following is a translation, in the _Courier de la\n Louisiane_ of the 3d of March.\"\n\nThe publication is of considerable length, and written with warmth and\nability. Our author, after giving it at large, proceeds--\n\n \"Man bears nothing with more impatience, than the exposure of\n his errors, and the contempt of his authority. Those who had\n provoked Jackson's violent measure against the French subjects,\n availed themselves of the paroxysms of the ire which the\n publication excited: they threw fuel into the fire, and blew it\n into a flame. They persuaded him Louallier had been guilty of\n an offence, punishable with death, and he should have him tried\n by a court martial, as a spy. Yielding to this suggestion, and\n preparatory to such a trial, he ordered the publication of the\n second section of the rules and articles of war, which\n denounces the punishment of death against spies, and directed\n Louallier to be arrested and confined. Eaton is mistaken when\n he asserts that the section had been published _before_. The\n adjutant's letter to Leclerc, the printer of the _Ami des\n Lois_, requesting him to publish it, bears date of the _fourth_\n of March, the day _after_ Louallier's publication made its\n appearance. The section was followed by a notice that 'the city\n of New-Orleans and its environs, being under martial law, and\n several encampments and fortifications within its limits, it\n was deemed necessary to give publicity to the section, _for the\n information of all concerned_.'\n\n \"Great, indeed, must have been Jackson's excitement, when he\n suffered himself to be persuaded, that Louallier could\n successfully be prosecuted as a spy. Eaton informs us,\n Louallier was prosecuted as one _owing allegiance to the United\n States_. The very circumstance of his owing that allegiance,\n prevented his being liable to a prosecution as a spy. He was a\n citizen of the United States: his being a member of the\n legislature, was evidence of this. If he, therefore, committed\n any act, which would constitute an alien a _spy_, he was guilty\n of high treason, and ought to have been delivered to the\n legitimate magistrate, to be prosecuted as a traitor.\"\n\nJudge Martin goes into a short, but satisfactory argument, to prove that\na citizen cannot be prosecuted as a spy under the articles of war.\nWhether, however, the General and his advisers considered Louallier as a\nspy, or a traitor, he \"was arrested on Sunday the _5th of March_, at\nnoon, near the Exchange Coffee-house.\" He applied to a gentleman of the\nbar for legal relief. An application for this purpose was made to Judge\nMartin, (our author) one of the members of the Supreme Court of the\nstate. The judge thought he had no jurisdiction over the case, and could\nnot interfere. _Hall_, the District Judge of the United States, was then\ncalled upon for a writ of habeas corpus, which was granted. The attorney\nwas directed by the Judge to inform the General of his application for\nthe writ and the order for issuing it.--This was in courtesy.\n\n \"On receiving Morel's communication, the ebullition of\n Jackson's anger was such, that reason appeared to have lost its\n control. Those who had suggested the harsh measure against the\n French citizens, and the still more harsh one against\n Louallier, imagined the moment was come, when their enmity\n towards Hall might be gratified. We have seen that a number of\n individuals, who had hitherto sustained a fair character, were\n now known as accomplices of the Barrataria pirates.\n Prosecutions had been commenced against some of them, and Hall\n manifested that stern severity of character, which appals\n guilt. The counsel of these men had conceived the idea that he\n did not view their efforts to screen their clients, with the\n liberality and indulgence they deserved. The opportunity now\n offered of humbling this worthy magistrate, was not suffered to\n remain unimproved; and Jackson was assured that Hall, like\n Louallier, was guilty of an offence punishable with death.\n\n \"The general's attention was drawn to the seventh section of\n the rules and articles of war, which denounces the last\n punishment against persons aiding or abetting mutiny; and he\n was pressed to prosecute the judge before a court martial. As a\n preparatory step, with that promptitude of decision, which\n Eaton says is a leading trait in his character, he signed an\n instrument at once, the warrant for the arrest, and the\n _mittimus_ for the imprisonment of Hall. He wrote to Colonel\n Arbuckle, who commanded at the barracks, that having received\n proof that Dominick A. Hall had been _aiding_, _abetting_, _and\n exciting mutiny_ in his camp, he desired that a detachment\n might be ordered forthwith, to arrest and _confine_ him; and\n that a report might be made as soon as he was arrested. 'You\n will,' as it is said in the conclusion of this paper, 'be\n vigilant; as the agents of our enemy are more numerous than we\n expected. You will be guarded against escapes.'\n\n \"The prosecution of the judge was intended to be grounded on\n the seventh section of the articles of war, which is in these\n words:--'Any _officer or soldier_, who shall begin, cause,\n excite, or join in, any mutiny or sedition, in any troop or\n company, in the service of the United States, or in any post,\n detachment, or guard, shall suffer death, or any other\n punishment, as by a court martial shall be inflicted.'\n\n \"Hall was not an officer, in the sense of the act of\n Congress--he was not a soldier, in the ordinary meaning of that\n word; but, according to the jurisprudence of head quarters, the\n proclamation of martial law had transformed every inhabitant of\n New-Orleans into a soldier, and rendered him punishable under\n the articles of war.\n\n \"The judge was accordingly arrested in his own house, at nine\n o'clock, and confined in the same apartment with Louallier, in\n the barracks.\n\n \"As soon as this was reported at head quarters, Major Chotard\n was despatched to demand from Claiborne, the clerk of the\n district court of the United States, the surrender of\n Louallier's petition, on the back of which Hall had written the\n order for issuing the writ of _habeas corpus_. It has been seen\n that there was not any officer of the state government, nor of\n the United States, out of the army, who imagined that a\n proclamation of martial law gave the general any right, nor\n imposed on others any obligation, which did not exist before.\n The clerk accordingly answered that there was a rule of court,\n which forbade him to part with any original paper lodged in his\n office; and he was ignorant of any right, in the commander of\n the army, to interfere with the records of the court. He\n however was, after much solicitation, prevailed on to take the\n document in his pocket, and accompany Chotard to head quarters.\n\n \"In the meanwhile, an express from the department of war had\n arrived, with the intelligence that the President of the United\n States had ratified the treaty, and an exchange of the\n ratifications had taken place at Washington, on the 17th of\n February, the preceding month. By an accident, which was not\n accounted for, a packet had been put into the hands of the\n messenger, instead of the one containing the official\n information of the exchange of the ratifications. But the man\n was bearer of an open order of the postmaster, to all his\n deputies on the road, to expedite him with the utmost celerity,\n as he carried _information of the recent peace_. He declared he\n had handed an official notice of this event to the governor of\n the state of Tennessee.\n\n \"On the arrival of the clerk at head quarters, Jackson asked\n him whether it was his intention to issue the writ: he replied\n it was his bounden duty to do so, and he most assuredly would.\n He was threatened with an arrest, but persisted in his\n asseveration that he would obey the judge's order. He had\n handed Louallier's petition to Jackson, and, before he retired,\n demanded the return of it; this was peremptorily refused, and\n the paper was withheld. It appears the date of the _fifth_ of\n March had been originally on this document, and that being\n Sunday, Hall changed it to that of the following day, the\n _sixth_. The idea had been cherished, that this alteration\n might support an additional article, in the charges against\n Hall. It is not extraordinary, that those who imagined that, as\n Louallier might be tried for a _libel_, in a court martial,\n Hall might for _forgery_. Thus one inconsistency almost\n universally leads to another.\n\n \"Duplessis, the marshal of the United States, had volunteered\n his services, as an aid to Jackson; a little after midnight he\n visited head quarters. The imprisonment of Hall, and the\n accounts from Washington, had brought a great concourse of\n people near the general; who, elated by the success of the\n evening, met the marshal at the door, and announced to him, _he\n had shopped the judge_. Perceiving that Duplessis did not show\n his exultation, he inquired whether he would serve Hall's writ.\n The marshal replied, he had ever done his duty, which obliged\n him to execute all writs directed to him by the court, whose\n ministerial officer he was; and, looking sternly at the person\n who addressed him, added, he would execute the court's writ _on\n any man_. A copy of the proclamation of martial law, that lay\n on the table, was pointed to him, and Jackson said, he _also_\n would do his duty.\n\n \"A large concourse of people had been drawn to the Exchange\n coffee-house, during the night, by the passing events, which\n were not there, as at head quarters, a subject of exultation\n and gratulation. The circumstances were not unlike those of the\n year 1806, which Livingston describes as 'so new in the history\n of our country, that they will not easily gain belief, at a\n distance, and can scarcely be realized by those who beheld\n them. A dictatorial power, assumed by the commander of the\n American army--the military arrest of citizens, charged with a\n civil offence--the violation of the sanctuary of justice--an\n attempt to overawe, by denunciations, those who dared,\n professionally, to assert the authority of the laws--the\n unblushing avowal of the employment of military force, to\n punish a civil offence, and the hardy menace of persevering in\n the same course, were circumstances that must command\n attention, and excite the corresponding sentiments of grief,\n indignation, and contempt.'\"\n\nWe have made our extract so copiously of this dangerous and extravagant\nproceeding, because we wish it to be represented in the language of the\nauthor, and not by any abridgment of ours. General Jackson having\nreceived intelligence of the treaty which he chose to agree that he\nrelied upon, addressed a despatch to the British commander \"to\nanticipate the happy return of peace.\" We again take up our author.\n\n \"Jackson now paused to deliberate, whether these circumstances\n did not require him, by a cessation of all measures of\n violence, to allow his fellow-citizens in New-Orleans, to\n anticipate this happy return of peace, the account of which,\n the first direct intelligence was to bring to him, in an\n official form--the untoward arrival of an orderly sergeant,\n with a message from Arbuckle, to whom the custody of Hall had\n been committed, prevented Jackson coming to that conclusion,\n which his unprejudiced judgment would have suggested. The\n prisoner had requested, that a magistrate might be permitted to\n have access to him, to receive an affidavit, which he wished to\n make, in order to resort to legal measures, for his release.\n Arbuckle desired to know the general's pleasure, on this\n application. Naturally impatient of any thing like control or\n restraint, the idea of a superior power to be employed against\n his decisions, threw Jackson into emotions of rage. Before they\n had sufficiently subsided to allow him to act on the message,\n some of his ordinary advisers came in, to recommend the arrest\n of Hollander, a merchant of some note. What was the offence of\n this man, has never been known; but Jackson's temper of mind\n was favourable to the views of his visiters. He ordered the\n arrest of the merchant, and forbade the access of the\n magistrate to Hall; the idea of allowing his fellow-citizens to\n anticipate the happy return of peace was abandoned, and\n measures were directed to be taken for the trial of Louallier.\"\n\nThe boasted \"promptitude and decision\" of the General's character,\nadmirable qualities in their proper places and under proper regulation,\ncarried him on, deeper and deeper, into the violation of the most sacred\nrights of a free citizen, and of the immunities of the officers of the\nlaw in the administration of the laws.\n\n \"Dick, the attorney of the United States, made application to\n Lewis, one of the district judges of the state, who was serving\n as a subaltern officer, in the Orleans rifle company, and whose\n conduct during the invasion, had received Jackson's particular\n commendation. Believing that his duty as a military man, did\n not diminish his obligation, as a judge, to protect his\n fellow-citizens from illegal arrest, Lewis, without hesitation,\n on the first call of Dick, laid down his rifle, and allowed the\n writ.\n\n \"Information of this having been carried to head quarters,\n Jackson immediately ordered the arrest of Lewis and Dick.\n\n \"Arbuckle, to whom Lewis's writ, in favour of Hall, was\n directed, refused to surrender his prisoner, on the ground he\n was committed by Jackson, under the authority of the United\n States.\n\n \"The orders for the arrest of Lewis and Dick were\n countermanded.\"\n\nThe effect of such proceedings, without parallel in a free government,\nand without apology any where, may be well imagined.\n\n \"The irritation of the public mind manifested itself, in the\n evening, by the destruction of a transparent painting, in\n honour of Jackson, which the proprietor of the Exchange\n coffee-house displayed, in the largest hall.\"\n\nThis brought the military in support of their General.\n\n \"A number of officers had compelled the proprietor of the\n Exchange coffee-house, to exhibit a new transparent painting,\n and to illuminate the hall in a more than usual manner. They\n attended in the evening, and stood near the painting, with the\n apparent intention of indicating a determination, to resist the\n attempt of taking down the painting. It was reported, a number\n of soldiers were in the neighbourhood, ready to march to the\n coffee-house, at the first call. This was not calculated to\n allay the excitement of the public mind. The prostration of the\n legitimate government; the imprisonment of the district judge\n of the United States, the only magistrate, whose interference\n could be successfully invoked, on an illegal arrest, under\n colour of the authority of the United States, the ascendency\n assumed by the military, appeared to have dissolved all the\n bands of social order in New-Orleans.\"\n\nThe good sense, we are told, of some of the most influential characters\nin the city, prevented the extremities to which these proceedings were\nfast approaching. The injured and the irritated were assured, \"that\nJackson's day of reckoning would arrive; that _Hall_, with the authority\n(though now without the power) of chastising the encroachments of the\nmilitary, possessed the resolution, and would soon have the power to\npunish the violators of the law.\" The court martial, by whom Louallier\nwas tried, acquitted him.\n\n \"Jackson was greatly disappointed at the conclusion to which\n the court martial had arrived; he, however, did not release\n either of his prisoners, and on the tenth issued the following\n general order:--\n\n \"'The commanding general disapproves of the sentence of the\n court martial, of which Major-general Gaines is president, on\n the several charges and specifications exhibited against Mr.\n Louallier; and is induced by the novelty and importance of the\n matters submitted to the decision of that court, to assign the\n reasons of this disapproval.'\"\n\nHe gave his reasons at length, which only show how hard it is for\ncertain tempers to acknowledge a wrong, or return to the right.\n\n \"The court martial consoled themselves, by the reflection, that\n their sentence, though disapproved by Jackson, was in perfect\n conformity with decisions of the President of the United\n States, and of the supreme court of the state of New-York, in\n similar cases.\"\n\nThere is something in the name and character of a _Court_, which assures\nus of its respect for justice and the law.\n\n \"The independent stand, taken by the court martial, had left no\n glimpse of hope, at head quarters, that the prosecution of\n Hall, on the charge of mutiny, on which he had been imprisoned,\n could be attempted with any prospect of success--the futility\n of any further proceedings against Louallier was\n evident--Jackson, therefore, put an end to Hall's imprisonment\n on Saturday, the 11th of March. The word _imprisonment_ is\n used, because Eaton assures his readers, that '_Judge Hall was\n not imprisoned_; it was merely an arrest.' Hall had been taken\n from his bed chamber, on the preceding Sunday, at 9 o'clock in\n the evening, by a detachment of about one hundred men, dragged\n through the streets, and confined in the same apartment with\n Louallier, in the barracks. Three days after, it had been\n officially announced to the inhabitants of New-Orleans, that\n Jackson was in possession of persuasive evidence, that a state\n of peace existed, and the militia had been discharged, the door\n of Hall's prison was thrown open, but not for his release. He\n was put under a guard, who led him several miles beyond the\n limits of the city, where they left him, with a prohibition to\n return, 'till the ratification of the treaty was _regularly_\n announced, or the British shall have left the southern coast.'\n\n \"This last, and useless display of usurped power, astonished\n the inhabitants. They thought, that, if the general feared the\n return of the British, the safety of New-Orleans would be\n better insured, by his recall of the militia, than by the\n banishment of the legitimate magistrate. It was the last\n expansion of light, and momentary effulgence, that precedes the\n extinguishment of a taper.\n\n \"At the dawn of light, on Monday, the 13th, an express reached\n head quarters, with the despatch which had accidentally been\n misplaced, in the office of the secretary of war, three weeks\n before. The cannon soon announced the arrival of this important\n document, and Louallier was indebted for his liberation, to the\n precaution, which Eaton says, the President of the United\n States had taken, to direct Jackson to issue a proclamation for\n the pardon of all military offences.\"\n\nJudge Hall had suffered indignity without being disgraced; he had\nsubmitted to physical force without yielding his spirit to debasement;\nor surrendering one of his official or personal rights. His reward\nawaited him, and it is eloquently recorded by our historian.\n\n \"Hall's return to the city was greeted by the acclamations of\n the inhabitants. He was the first judge of the United States\n they had received, and they had admired in him the\n distinguishing characteristics of an American magistrate--a\n pure heart, clean hands, and a mind susceptible of no fear, but\n that of God. His firmness had, eight years before, arrested\n Wilkinson in his despotic measures. He was now looked upon to\n show, that if he had been unable to stop Jackson's arbitrary\n steps, he would prevent him from exulting, in the impunity of\n his trespass.\"\n\n_Dick_, the District Attorney, has a fair claim to a participation in\nthese honours.\n\n \"He was anxious to lose no time, in calling the attention of\n the district court of the United States, to the violent\n proceedings, during the week that had followed the arrival of\n the first messenger of peace; but Hall insisted on a few days\n being exclusively given to the manifestation of the joyous\n feelings, which the termination of the war excited. He did not\n yield to Dick's wishes till the 21st. The affidavits of the\n clerk of the district court, of the marshal of the United\n States, of the attorney of Louallier, and of the commander at\n the barracks, were then laid before the court.\"\n\nThe case presented to the court, was substantially such as appears in\nthe foregoing narrative. Hall was as resolute in his court, as Jackson\nat the head of an army; the Judge was as fearless in maintaining the\nlaw, as the General had been in trampling upon it. \"On motion of the\nAttorney of the United States, a rule to show cause, why process of\nattachment should not issue against Jackson, was granted.\"\n\nOn the return day, the General, accompanied by one of his aids, appeared\nbefore the court, and presented his answer to the rule. Some legal\nquestions were discussed and decided on the propriety of admitting the\nanswer. Finally, the rule was made absolute, that is, the _attachment\nwas ordered_. The General is still haunted by bad advisers.\n\n \"Jackson's advisers now found he could not be defended on the\n merits, with the slightest hope of success, as the attorney of\n the United States would probably draw from him by\n interrogatories, the admission, that both Louallier and the\n judge were kept in prison, long after persuasive evidence had\n been received at head quarters, of the cessation of the state\n of war. They therefore recommended to him not to answer the\n interrogatories, which would authorize the insinuation that he\n had been condemned unheard.\n\n \"It appears that some of his party, at this period, entertained\n the hope that Hall could be intimidated, and prevented from\n proceeding further. A report was accordingly circulated, that a\n mob would assemble in and about the court-house--that the\n pirates of Barataria, to whom the judge had rendered himself\n obnoxious before the war, by his zeal and strictness, in the\n prosecution that had been instituted against several of their\n ringleaders, would improve this opportunity of humbling him.\n Accordingly, groups of them took their stands, in different\n parts of the hall, and gave a shout when Jackson entered it. It\n is due to him to state, that it did not appear that he had the\n least intimation that a disturbance was intended, and his\n influence was honestly exercised to prevent disorder.\"\n\nWhen the General was called, \"he addressed a few words to the court,\nexpressive of his intention not to avail himself of the faculty to\nanswer interrogatories.\" The District Attorney then addressed the court,\nwith firmness, but good temper. In conclusion he said,--\n\n \"That credulity itself could not admit the proposition, that\n persuasive evidence that the war had ceased, and belief that\n necessity required that violent measures should be persisted in\n to prevent the exercise of the judicial power of the legitimate\n tribunal, could exist, at the same time, in the defendant's\n mind.\"\n\nThe defendant--General Jackson--resorted to a strange equivocation to\nextricate himself.\n\n \"The general made a last effort to avert the judgment of the\n court against him, by an asseveration, he had imprisoned\n Dominick A. Hall, and _not the judge:_ his attention was drawn\n to the affidavit of the marshal, in which he swore Jackson had\n told him, 'I have _shopped the judge_.'\"\n\nWe come, with unaffected gratification, to the final triumph of the law,\nin this contest with military power.\n\n \"The court, desirous of manifesting moderation, in the\n punishment of the defendant for the want of it, said that, in\n consideration of the services the general had rendered to his\n country, imprisonment should make no part of the sentence, and\n condemned him to pay a fine of one thousand dollars and costs,\n only.\"\n\nWe should indeed regret, if our history terminated these memorable\ntransactions here. Every reader will be anxious to learn--How did the\nimpetuous spirit of the General, inflamed by his recent triumphs and\nglories in the field, receive the condemnation of the law? What bursts\nof passionate violence did he exhibit? What terrible explosion followed\nthe sentence of the court? Not a symptom or movement of the kind. He\nseemed to awaken, as from a tempestuous dream, \"the helm of reason\nlost,\" and to fall into the character of a good citizen with dignity and\ngrace.\n\n \"On Jackson's coming out of the court-house, his friends\n procured a hack, in which he entered, and they dragged it to\n the Exchange coffee-house, where he made a speech, in the\n conclusion of which he observed, that, 'during the invasion, he\n had exerted every faculty in support of the constitution and\n laws--on that day, he had been called on to submit to their\n operation, under circumstances, which many persons might have\n deemed sufficient to justify resistance. Considering obedience\n to the laws, even when we think them unjustly applied, as the\n first duty of the citizen, he did not hesitate to comply with\n the sentence they had heard pronounced;' and he entreated the\n people, to remember the example he had given them, of\n respectful submission to the administration of justice.\"\n\nWe heartily wish that the scene had closed here, and the General had\nappeared no more on _that stage_. But there was that within him which\nforbade a quiet and unresisting resignation to his discomfiture and\nhumiliation.\n\n \"A few days after, he published, in the _Ami des Lois_, the\n answer he had offered to the district court, preceded by an\n exordium, in which he complained, that the court had refused to\n hear it. He added, that the judge 'had indulged himself, on his\n route to Bayou Sarah, in manifesting apprehensions as to the\n fate of the country, equally disgraceful to himself, and\n injurious to the interest and safety of the state,' and\n concluded--'should Judge Hall deny this statement, the general\n is prepared to prove it, fully and satisfactorily.'\n\n \"The gauntlet did not long remain on the ground, and the\n following piece appeared in the _Louisiana Courier_:\n\n \"'It is stated in the introductory remarks of General Jackson,'\n that 'on the judge's route to Bayou Sarah, he manifested\n apprehensions as to the safety of the country, disgraceful to\n himself, and injurious to the state.' Judge Hall knows full\n well, how easy it is for one, with the influence and patronage\n of General Jackson, to procure certificates and affidavits. He\n knows that men, usurping authority, have their delators and\n spies: and that, in the sunshine of imperial or dictatorial\n power, swarms of miserable creatures are easily generated, from\n the surrounding corruption, and rapidly changed into the shape\n of buzzing informers. Notwithstanding which, Judge Hall\n declares, that on his route to Bayou Sarah, he uttered no\n sentiment disgraceful to himself, or injurious to the state. He\n calls upon General Jackson, to furnish that full and\n satisfactory evidence of his assertion, which he says he is\n enabled to do.' The pledge was never redeemed.\"\n\nJudge Martin's book is here brought to a conclusion, with some\nappropriate and forcible reflections upon the duties and uses of\nHistory, in affording lessons to men, high in authority, to bridle their\npassions; to select capable and honest advisers; with other wise and\nwholesome admonitions.\n\nWe heartily unite with the Judge in his just and patriotic aspirations\nin behalf of the Judiciary.\n\n * * * * *\n\n NOTE.--In quoting from our history the anecdote respecting the\n residence and imprisonment of _Fenelon_ in Canada, we do not\n intend to express a belief in its authenticity. It is the first\n time we have heard that the celebrated author of Telemachus had\n ever been in this country; and, as Judge Martin does not inform\n us of the authority on which the story is related, we know not\n what credit it is entitled to.\n\n\n\n\nART. IX.--_A Full and Accurate Method of Curing Dyspepsia, Discovered\nand Practised_ by O. HALSTED. New-York: 1830.\n\n\nEvery era has possessed its false prophet in religion, from the days of\nMahomet to those of Joanna Southcot and Fanny Wright; not that the race\ncommenced with the former, or has terminated with the latter; the\nrecords of history supply us with examples of \"lying augurs,\" in every\nperiod previously to the career of the Impostor of Mecca, and our daily\nexperience furnishes us with proofs that the tribe is by no means\nextinct. As in religion, so has it been, and still continues, in\nphilosophy, and the whole circle of science: pretenders to excellence\nhave started up in every age, and although their efforts in the cause of\nimposition have not been so splendid as the exertions of those who have\nmade religion their tool, they have yet been sufficiently remarkable to\nexcite the eager attention of mankind, and sufficiently profitable to\nreward themselves. Medical science in particular may boast of a numerous\nhost of these worthies: it would far exceed the limits of this\npublication to trace the progress of the charlatan, through the records\nof ancient history; for the sake of brevity, a retrospective glance must\nnot be directed beyond the fifteenth century, when the arch priest of\n\"modern quackery\" made his appearance upon the medical stage. In the\nyear 1493, Phillippus Aureolus Theophrastus Paracelsus Bombastus de\nHohenheim, was ushered into existence, and at a very early age announced\nhis discovery, that the recognised principles of medical science were\nerroneous, and that in him alone was vested \"the art divine, to heal\neach lurking ill.\" Possessing a panacea capable, as he boasted, of\ncuring all diseases, and even of prolonging life to an indefinite\nperiod, this empiric made war upon the health of mankind, and at last,\nafter a life of the most infamous debauchery, he died, in the\nforty-eighth year of his age, with a bottle of the \"Elixir Vitae\" in his\npocket. The mantle of Paracelsus has been left behind, and a rich\ninheritance of ignorance, insolence, and vanity, bequeathed to a\nmultitude of heirs; the value of the legacy, however, would have been\ntrifling, but for the credulity of mankind, which renders these\nworthless possessions of inestimable importance: during the last\ncentury, in particular, these descendants have attained an eminence\ntruly astonishing. Medicine is admitted to be one of the noblest\nsciences, as tending, in its practice, to relieve the most irksome\nrestraints upon existence; it is acknowledged to be a science founded\nupon close observation, and so nearly allied to other sciences, that its\npursuit is impracticable without them; that it requires years of\npatient toil to fathom its mysteries, and the undivided efforts of a\nmind to comprehend its purposes; and yet we are daily told of the most\nextraordinary cures, and of the discovery of sovereign remedies, in all\ncases and descriptions of disease, by individuals who have never\n\n \"Toil'd an hour in physic's cause,\n Or giv'n one thought to Nature's laws:\"\n\nBy men, in short, who are incapable of forming one rational opinion upon\nthe subject, and unprepared, by previous study or information, to detect\nor remove one symptom.\n\nIt is an old and apt saying, that \"the wilder the tale, the wider the\near;\" and experience proves, that from the nursery to the tomb, no\nlegend is too marvellous for the faith of the credulous, and that in\nmany instances, the more incomprehensible the story, the more confirmed\nis the belief.\n\nIn the numerous newspapers daily published in the United States, a list\nof cures are detailed with sufficient precision to satisfy the\nsceptical, and sufficient plausibility to convince the ignorant, while a\nstring of medicines is set forth, of such unrivalled excellence, that no\ndisease is protected from their action; the panacea of Paracelsus is\nrivalled, and every calamity that can afflict the body, from the crown\nof the head to the sole of the foot, is at once relieved. \"Vegetable\nPowders,\" \"Botanical Syrup,\" \"Bilious Pills,\" \"Jaundice Bitters,\" \"Eye\nWaters,\" ointments, &c. &c. are proclaimed as veritable specifics by\nthese veritable physic-mongers: no disease is too subtle, no train of\nsymptoms too severe, for them to contend with; they only meet the foe to\nconquer, and confer an immortality on suffering humanity and themselves.\nThus they flourish, the quacks of the day, the impostors of the\nmultitude, and, perhaps, the dupes of themselves! But if Reason, that\nplain and simple attribute, in its uncontrouled state, unfettered either\nby prejudice or wilfulness, can be brought to bear on the question\nbetween them and mankind, how little will their claims appear! Reason,\nin the exertion of a capable authority, is taught to discriminate\nfairly, and test candidly, and must therefore refuse the evidence\ntendered by folly, or something worse, by which ignorance is bewitched.\nWill the man of reflecting mind, and of candid judgment, admit the\nclaims of these pretenders, and match the speculations of avarice and\nignorance with the conclusions of science? Impossible! Safety consorts\nwith skill in every path of life; he would not trust himself on the wide\nocean with a man ignorant of navigation; nay, he would not trust a bale\nof merchandise with him; and surely he will not abandon his bark of\nexistence to the command of a charlatan, who knows nothing of the\nprinciples of the art he professes, and is altogether incompetent to\nsteer clear of the numerous rocks and quicksands in the course of life;\nbut a man of reflection and judgment is not a very common character; he\nis surrounded by hundreds who examine not for themselves; and are easily\ndeluded, by the fairest promises, to surrender their opinions to\nanother's guidance: these are the supporters of quackery, and the\nencouragers of those needy plunderers, who would render medicine a\nfarce, that they might practice jugglery the better.\n\nIf the system of man resembled a machine, which, once in motion,\ncontinued an unvaried power, and retained an equality of force, merely\nrequiring, when deranged, the tightening of a screw, the readjustment of\na strap, or the addition of a quantity of oil, little knowledge would be\nrequired in the regulation of its functions; but when we find the\nconstitutions of men as varied as their countenances, the affections of\nthe body, numerous and diversified, never preserving identically the\nsame characters in two cases, or requiring the same exact treatment in\ndiseases, apparently of the same nature, we discover that something more\nthan the artifice of the quack is necessary in their government and\nrepair.\n\nIt would indeed be a Herculean task to administer the rod of correction\nto all the advertizing medical gentry of the day: it could be done, and\nwith justice to the community; but it would be wearisome. A champion,\nhowever, has recently entered the medical arena, with whom we would fain\ncontend, not only in the hope of conquest, but in the expectation that\nothers may take warning by his defeat. With him we will now alone\nengage, and thus throw down our gauntlet.\n\nA work has very lately appeared, professing to be a \"New Method of\nCuring Dyspepsia, discovered and practised by O. Halsted of New-York.\"\nThis publication sails in the wake of a tolerably successful practice\namongst the dyspeptics of the day, who have resorted to the temple of\nour author \"with faith sufficient to promote a cure.\" So long as this\ncontinued, all interference was of course out of the question, as every\nindividual possesses an undoubted right to tamper either with his\njudgment or his money; but when this aspirer after dyspeptic fame leaves\nhis concealment, and issues his discoveries and practices to the world,\nhe invites the battery of opinion, and renders himself at once amenable\nto remark and investigation. A few words, however, on the subject of\ndyspepsia, may not be amiss, before we take leave to reply to Mr.\nHalsted.\n\nThis much abused term, is a compound of two Greek words, signifying \"bad\nconcoction,\" or bad digestion, _alias_ indigestion, and sufficiently\nexpressive of a condition in which the aliments supplied to the stomach\nare not met by a vigorous and sufficient action for the purposes of\nhealth; but this definition, however just, is not comprehensive enough\nfor the genius of mankind. That genius, which, in former times, has\nsanctioned the appellations of nervous disorders, and bilious\ncomplaints, as comprising nearly all others, has now selected the term\nof dyspepsia, as the covering for a multitude of real and imaginary\nwoes; so that when an invalid approaches with a variety of symptoms, and\na host of pains or whimsies, he is at once pronounced to be a Dyspeptic.\n\nThe book before us, commences with a short account of the organs engaged\nin the process of digestion, copied from a periodical work of the day,\nvery good as far as it goes, and leaving nothing to be desired on the\nscore of brevity: our author then pursues his task, by a detail of the\nsymptoms of what he calls dyspepsia; from what work he procured these,\nor from what unhappy wretch he could gain such a list of grievances, as\nhe describes arising from indigestion, does not appear; if they be in\nexistence now, the sooner the one is burnt and the other buried, the\nbetter. It is evident that Mr. Halsted is unaware that dyspepsia occurs,\nin one of two ways; either as a primary affection, or as a symptom of\nother diseases; that he is unacquainted with the share the liver, with\nits biliary apparatus, the pancreas, the spleen, the mesentery, the\nomentum, &c. take in digestion, and of the symptoms occasioned by an\naffection of these organs; it may therefore be adviseable to devote a\nfew lines to the consideration of these points, as well for the\nsatisfaction of the public, as for his instruction and the improvement\nof his second edition. Dyspepsia, or indigestion in its simple form,\noccurs either as a disease of debility, or as a consequence of excess:\nthe first arises from numerous causes, and seldom exists alone: the\nsecretion of the gastric juice is not only impaired, for the office of\nno organ continues in a state of activity, all alike feeling the result\nof that general depression affecting the system at large: the second may\nbe referred to the stomach itself, as a natural effect from\nover-feeding, or indulgence in spirituous liquors. Dyspepsia, occurring\nas a symptom in other diseases, appears under numerous characters,\neither from the effects of sympathy, or from an extension of the malady\nto the stomach itself. It may be readily granted that all the symptoms\ndescribed by Mr. Halsted, take place, in consequence of an affection of\nthe stomach, either primarily or secondarily; but to assert that they\nare the results of a bad concoction of the viands we eat and drink, and\nto act accordingly, is to misunderstand the meaning of a term, as well\nas the treatment of a disorder.\n\nIt is stated, in this work, that dyspepsia is Protean in its symptoms,\nbut single and uniform in its nature; the very reverse is the fact; its\nsymptoms are of a single character, and of an uniform attack, while its\nnature is variable and inconstant. A dyspeptic will complain of a want\nof appetite, a degree of squeamishness and irritability, eructations,\nheart-burn, pain in the head, stomach, and bowels, with costiveness; his\ntongue will be furred, and his pulse a little increased in strength and\nquickness. To use the language of Dr. Armstrong, \"the most constant\nsymptoms of dyspepsia, are a furred tongue, flatulence of the stomach,\nand fretfulness, or depression of spirits;\" he goes on to say, \"these\nmay arise primarily from disorder or disease in the stomach itself, or\nthey may depend upon an affection of the brain, liver, bowels, or some\nother remote or adjacent part.\" The nature of dyspepsia depends totally\nupon its cause, and where so many circumstances may occasion it, it is\ndifficult to imagine one more variable. The important organs before\nalluded to, so necessary to the economy of life, are all liable to the\nmost severe visitations of disease. Not to be too prolix, take, for the\nsake of example, the first on the list, the liver: both in the acute and\nchronic forms of inflammation of this viscus, how important a change is\nwrought in the digestive functions, how enfeebled does the system become\nduring its continuance, and how futile would be the attempt to relieve\nthe malady by merely attacking one of its symptoms! And so, of the other\nviscera, all marked when in a morbid state by peculiar characteristics,\nnot only affecting their own action, but all the parts in their\nneighbourhood, the stomach as one of the great centres of the system in\nparticular; and yet, with all these facts in review, are we presented\nwith a list of ailments as dependant upon an impropriety in digestion,\nwhich may in all probability (at least the greater part of them) be\ntraced to a source totally different. A careful discrimination of the\norigin of disease is as necessary as any after treatment, which can\nnever, indeed, be applied with a reasonable chance of success without\nit.\n\nMr. Halsted recommends a change to a more temperate climate, travelling,\nregular exercise, particularly on horseback, and above all, moderation\nin eating and drinking; asserting, that if these means of recovery be\nneglected, things will inevitably go on from bad to worse. Astonishing!\nThese new precepts, from the pen of such a distinguished practitioner,\ncannot be too highly extolled, and should be classed with the\nrecommendation of old Parr; \"keep your head cool by temperance, your\nfeet warm by exercise; never eat but when you are hungry, nor drink but\nwhen nature requires it.\" Had the author stopped here, there would have\nbeen no occasion for a rejoinder to his work; for directions so\nadmirable could only have obtained a ready compliance. In addition,\nhowever, to these usual modes of recovering health and appetite, we are\nput in possession of a few others, as purely original as can be\nimagined--but of these anon.\n\nMr. Halsted arranges dyspepsia in three stages; he has the incipient,\nthe confirmed, and the complicated; in other words, dyspepsia in its\ncommencement, in its continuance, and in its union with other\naffections. The two first may undoubtedly belong to dyspepsia, but the\nlast, or complicated stage, is the one to which we must object; it is\nsaid, that this occurs when other organs are deranged, and a double set\nof symptoms produced; \"when the patient will be said to die of liver\ncomplaint, an affection of the lungs, marasmus, dysentery, diarrhoea,\nor some anomalous complication of all these affections, conveniently\nclassed by the Doctor when he renders his account to the sexton, under\nthe sweeping term, consumption.\" The medical profession will doubtless\nappreciate the value of the connexion which Mr. Halsted is anxious to\nestablish between the physician and the respectable officer who acts as\nthe last gentleman-usher to mankind, and duly estimate the candid and\ngentlemanly mode of introduction of both parties to the public.\n\nDyspepsia, Mr. H. continues, is the original fountain from whence all\nthis mischief, described in his third stage, proceeds; thus, according\nto him, a catarrh, pneumonia, and the numerous diseases attacking the\nrespiratory organs, as \"affections of the lungs,\" are occasioned by\ndyspepsia; the liver cannot be affected but by dyspepsia; marasmus\nproceeds from dyspepsia; dysentery depends on dyspepsia; and even\ndiarrhoea must own dyspepsia as its parent. The effects of cold and\ndamp, of obstructed perspiration, of scrofulous tendencies, and a\nthousand other causes, pass for nought; dyspepsia rears its head as the\nsole parent of ill, and little doubt can be entertained, that in the\nevent of a man, a little weakened by sickness, falling and breaking his\nleg, this dyspeptic monitor would call the case dyspeptic fracture. Well\nmay the poor patient who peruses the pages of his work be called \"an\nunhappy dyspeptic;\" and if he be not so already, he cannot read long, if\nhis attention and conviction go hand in hand, before the discovery of\nsuch an accumulation of horrors, and all referred to his own person,\nwill render him a fit subject for the author's experiments. Some of\nthese symptoms are of too extraordinary a character to be passed over\nwithout notice: coldness in the head, ears, and eyes, difficulty of\nspeech, and a jarring through the chest, numbness and coldness at the\nstomach, and sometimes a weight as if a lump of lead were there: if this\nbe the case--\n\n \"Who breathes, must suffer; and who thinks, must mourn,\n And he alone is bless'd, who ne'er was born.\"\n\nThen again, our author has been told by a sufferer, that he felt as if a\nnumber of wires passed up from the stomach to the brain, and there\nramifying into small branches, communicated a sort of jarring or\nvibrating sensation to each particular nerve. This is a perfect musical\ncase of a dyspeptic, who has a sort of piano-forte stomach; we might\nfancy him exclaiming in the language of Shakspeare,--\n\n \"This music mads me; let it sound no more;\n For though it have help'd madmen to their wits,\n In me, it seems, it will make wise men mad.\"\n\nThen come \"pains between the shoulders and in the small of the back,\ncramps, stitches, pains in joints, with universal soreness and\nweariness.\" This is as bad as the plague, a very wilderness of agonies.\nHeaven guard us from them! To crown all, the sufferings of Caliban under\nthe magical touches of Prospero are applied to the wretched dyspeptic,\nwho has \"cramps by night, and side-stitches to pen his breath up; old\ncramps (one attack is not sufficient) shall rack him and fill his bones\nwith aches, making him roar so loud, that beasts shall tremble at his\ndin;\" this is the very climax of bodily suffering--long may we all be\npreserved from the Halsted Dyspepsia!\n\nError in diet, and want of proper exercise, are correctly assigned as\ntwo great causes of this disease; the former as respects the quantity,\nquality, time and manner of taking food, and the latter as it affects\npersons of a sedentary habit. These causes lead to actual dyspepsia, or\na bad concoction of the food in the stomach, from whence the evils\ndescribed arise; and which are sufficient of themselves, without adding\nto the list those affections, dependant upon diseases of other organs,\nalthough occupying the stomach as their seat, and all of which our\nauthor has indiscriminately classed under _his sweeping term_,\ndyspepsia. A very common error of diet, as respects the time and manner\nof taking food, is not treated of with sufficient force, when its\nbaneful tendency is considered:--the custom that prevails, of dining\nwithin a very short period, sometimes only a few minutes, and returning\nimmediately to the avocations of the day; the food is sent to the\nstomach only half masticated, and the system directly subjected to\nexertion, during which, the process of digestion cannot take place. If\nwe make a hearty meal, and at once proceed to labour of any kind, the\nfood remains for hours in an unaltered state; whereas, if we give a\nshort repose to our bodies, by assuming an easy posture, and partially\ndismissing the remembrance of past, and the prospect of future cares,\nallowing, in fact, the whole business of life a short rest, as far as\nmay be, the stomach will perform its office with ease and certainty. Mr.\nHalsted devotes one section to the consideration \"of the particular\ncondition of the stomach in dyspepsia;\" and as he confesses that doctors\ndiffer on this subject, he kindly lends his assistance to relieve their\nindecision, by roundly asserting \"that it consists mainly, in a debility\nor loss of power of action, in the muscular coat of the stomach.\" That a\nfeebleness of the system may affect the muscular coat of the stomach,\nis far from a novel doctrine; but the idea that dyspepsia _mainly_\ndepends upon this cause, is certainly as new as it is startling: the\nvery meaning of the word would dispose us to consider that any want of\naction in the stomach, preventing the due concoction, or the breaking\ndown of aliment for the purposes of nourishment to the frame, would\napply to it, and, strictly speaking, it would; not that the muscular\ncoat is alone, or the most powerful agent, in reducing the food to pulp\nor chyme; it is one of the many forces in the service of nature. It must\nbe remembered that digestion, however well commenced in the stomach, is\nnot perfected there; that, in the words of Dr. Mason Good, \"it ranges\nthrough a wide spread of organs closely sympathizing with each other,\nand each, when disordered, giving rise to dyspepsia.\" After the\nformation of chyme, and the food has passed the pyloric orifice of the\nstomach, it undergoes a new process in the duodenum, when it is\nconverted into chyle, probably by the action of the bile, although this\nis a point not absolutely determined by physiological experiment; even\nnow, digestion is only half finished, the lacteals (a class of absorbing\nvessels particularly numerous in the duodenum, and also existing in the\nlarger intestines) take up this fluid, for the purpose of conveying it\ninto the thoracic duct, which terminates in the left subclavian vein,\nnor is the total process of digestion completed, until, in the language\nof the author above quoted, \"it has been exposed to the action of the\natmosphere, travelling, for this purpose, through the lungs, when it\nbecomes completely assimilated with the vital fluids.\" Hence, although\nthe meaning of dyspepsia must be restricted, as its derivations demand;\nthe term, digestion, bears a much more extensive signification than it\ngenerally receives, and any error in its process may be properly\ndenominated indigestion; however, Mr. Halsted regards the term dyspepsia\nas equivalent to indigestion, and we may, for once, adopt the same\nphraseology. Now, as digestion is of so complicated a nature, how will\nMr. H. explain his reference to the muscular coat of the stomach as a\nchief cause of its derangement? Is he so admirable a pathologist as to\ndiscriminate, when called to a case of dyspepsia, whether, to use his\nown words, \"it consists in a diminished quantity or vitiated state of\nthe gastric fluid, in a morbid secretion from the inner coats of the\nstomach, or from a peculiar acid generated there; whether chronic\ninflammation of the mucous membrane of that organ, or a torpid state of\nthe liver and a deficient secretion of the bile occasion it: it would\nappear that such conditions _may_ exist, and then produce their\ndifferent symptoms, requiring a _modified_ treatment;\" but it frequently\nhappens that these cases, slight in themselves, determine principally to\nthe stomach, and are not apparent to the keenest eye in any other organ\nupon the first attack. Besides, it is the practice of Mr. Halsted, when\nhe discovers that the digestive apparatus is not originally in fault,\nbut that a chronic inflammation of the stomach, or a torpor of the\nliver, prevails, to _modify_ his treatment; this, at all events, is new\ndoctrine, to treat inflammation and torpor upon _modified_ principles.\nIf, however, diagnosis is so slight an affair in his hands, let him,\nwithout delay, inform his countrymen at what college he studied, and\nwhat were his plans of improvement.--Pathology is a difficult science,\nand needs mentors to point out the best paths for its attainment.\n\nThe muscular coat of the stomach has undoubtedly its proper office to\nperform, and, failing in its functions, it may, in conjunction with\nother causes, lead to dyspepsia; but to fix upon this, in particular, is\nto negative the effects of other organs, and to deceive both your\npatient and yourself.\n\nOne of the most important discoveries in this work appears under the\ntitle of \"the state of the abdominal muscles during dyspepsia;\" which is\npronounced to be a very characteristic feature of the disease, never yet\nnoticed by writers on the subject, or particularly attended to by\nphysicians. It would certainly have been somewhat strange for medical\nwriters to enlarge upon a symptom of one disease, which absolutely\nbelongs to another; or for physicians to attend to what they could not\ndetect; and it is equally singular, that this very characteristic\nfeature should only have favoured Mr. Halsted and his patients with a\nvisitation. Whenever the muscles of the abdomen are in a state of\nconstriction, as described by him, the usual cause is spasm of some part\nof the intestinal canal, produced by _colic_, either of an accidental\nnature, arising from some acrid ingesta, which irritate the bowels\nwithout producing diarrhoea, attended with griping pains and\ndistention, and _spasmodic contraction of the abdominal muscles_, with\ncostiveness; or of a bilious form, closely allied to bilious diarrhoea\nand cholera (Gregory.) These are the varieties of colic which have been\nconfounded with dyspepsia, particularly the first described; the symptom\nalluded to has little or nothing to do with the office of the stomach,\nbut depends chiefly upon acrid substances, which have passed from that\norgan, to exercise their pernicious qualities upon the intestines; the\nsufferings of Mr. Halsted, so pathetically described, may at once be\nreferred to a fit of the colic, which a due want of care rendered very\nfrequent.\n\nPass we now to the treatment, premising that a ride in a stage-coach led\nto the discovery of its advantages, and taking care, at the same time,\nof our abdominal muscles, lest the exertion of laughter should occasion\none of the muscular spasms so much dreaded by our author. The plan is\ndivided into four compartments; tickling, pickling, ironing, and\nthrowing up the bowels. The tickling is performed by gentle taps and\nslight pushes in the pit of the stomach. (Who could bear it? It would\nthrow nine patients out of ten into convulsions!) The pickling, by\nwrapping up the patient from the chest to the hips with flannel cloths,\nwrung out in a mixture of equal parts of hot vinegar and water. (This at\nall events tends to _keep_ him.) The ironing, by spreading a coarse dry\ntowel on the bowels, and passing over them \"a bottle filled with boiling\nwater, or, what is better, a common flat-iron, such as is used in\nsmoothing linen, _heated as warm as can well be borne_, for fifteen or\ntwenty minutes.\" Make an ironing-board of a patient's bowels! This is\nworse than all: a man might consent to be tickled and pickled--but to\niron him for twenty minutes--mercy on us! the very thought is sudorific.\n\nThe throwing up of the bowels comes the last: fancy Mr. Halsted seated\non the right side of his patient, and facing him; then placing his right\nhand upon the lower part of the abdomen, in such a manner, as to effect\na lodgment (we quote his words) as it were, under the bowels, suffering\nthem to rest directly upon the edge of the extended palm, and then, by a\nquick but not violent motion of the hand, in an upward direction, the\nbowels are thrown up much in the same manner as in riding on horseback,\na sensation being communicated like that produced by a slight blow. (It\nis difficult to imagine who is entitled to the greatest admiration, the\npractitioner or the patient.) This treatment, it is said, will generally\neffect an increase in the strength of the pulse, a warmth in the\nextremities, and a gentle perspiration. So we should imagine: if such a\nmode of riding, with one's bowels in another man's hands, will not\nproduce perspiration, what will? The position of the sufferer, during\nthe last most remarkable process, may be occasionally altered, the\npractitioner taking his station behind him; or he may be placed with his\nback against the wall, whilst all these freedoms are taken with his\nbowels. Nay, more,--he may be instructed to perform the operation on his\nown person.\n\n \"Wer't not for laughing, I should pity him.\"\n\nThis, then, is the Halstedian treatment!\n\nThe former rules of quackery, reduced to the administration of sundry\npills or elixirs, must be abandoned in favour of the manipulating and\nscouring process of the great medical wizard of the day, who relieves by\na tap, and cures by a flat-iron; and although it may be difficult to\nconceive the chain of ideas by which the imagination can connect the\nbumpings of a stage-coach with the operations we have described, we may\nexclaim,--\n\n \"Your art\n As well may teach an ass to scour the plain,\n And bend obedient to the forming rein,\"\n\nas cure dyspepsia; still, we must yield our admiration to the novelty of\ninvention, and to the ingenuity of application of these stomach and\nbowel working wonders.\n\nIt unfortunately happens sometimes, that the dyspepsia is connected with\ninflamed stomach, in which case the _punching_ practice is death. We\nhave heard from eminent physicians, that several lives have, within\ntheir knowledge, been endangered by it. Moreover, the real indecency of\nthe Halstedian process, particularly in the case of women, has greatly\nshocked even the medical observers.\n\nBefore we dismiss this book from actual review, we will devote a short\nspace to its probable effect upon the public, and upon the best means of\ncounteracting its tendency.\n\nMan, like a child, is amused by a novelty, and \"tickled by a straw.\" His\n\"reason too often stoops not\" to inquiry before a ready surrender, and\nwhat is least comprehensible will occasionally receive the readiest\ncredence: bare assertion is admitted without proof, the rhodomontade of\nenthusiasts passes for gospel, and the \"leather and prunella\" of\nimpostors are regarded as commodities of sterling value. No wonder,\nthen, that success attends a certain race, who are willing to prey upon\nthe infirmity of reason; that the mountebanks of former days are\nemulated by the quacks of the present time; that Mr. Halsted has met\nwith abundance of patients, and a ready sale for his work: a hope of\nrelief from disease acts as a stimulant to faith, but \"Hope is a\ncur-tail dog in some affairs.\"\n\nIt is said of Dr. Cameron, one of the most remarkable charlatans of his\nday, that when reproached by a physician concerning his deception on the\npublic, he replied, \"Out of twenty persons who pass this house in an\nhour, nineteen are fools who come to me, whilst the one wise man applies\nto you--which has the better practice? Believe me, doctor, that although\nthe wise seek the wise in your person, the fools will find me out.\" How\nexactly is this assertion fulfilled in the present day! The wise man,\nwho values his health as his greatest earthly blessing, scorns to resign\nit to the care of one who knows not the value of the trust; who cannot\ncomprehend the principles upon which it depends, the cause which\nderanges it; or discover the particular organ requiring assistance:\ncommon sense interposes a bar to any communication between a wise man\nand a charlatan; while the multitude will flock to the snare, or swallow\nthe bait; first the gulls, and then the victims; the nostrums, injurious\nor poisonous as they may be, find ready mouths for their reception; the\ndogmas, willing ears; and the system of Mr. Halsted, ready sufferers. Is\nit not to be lamented, that a man who claims a caste above this\nmultitude, will sometimes forget himself so far as to follow their\nroute, heedless of the lines of Horace?--\n\n \"When in a wood we leave the certain way\n One error fools us, though we various stray.\"\n\nHe madly leaves the track of reason to tread in the steps of folly; but\n_he_ may perhaps retrace them, and if an injured, yet a wiser man. Not\nso the generality,--they pursue an _ignis fatuus,_ which, dazzling their\nperceptions as it lures them on, at last leaves them in the mire (from\nwhich no skill perhaps can extricate them) to curse themselves and their\ndeceiver.\n\nThe exertion of medical science is sufficient for the removal of\ndiseases capable of cure, and is unaccompanied by the risk of leaving\nothers in their place: quackery, on the contrary, attempts what it\ncannot, from ignorance, perform, and frequently establishes a malady of\nmore serious character than the one it professed to relieve. The medical\nman, aware of the structure of the human form, of the disposition and\narrangement of its several parts in a state of health, is gradually led\nto a consideration of their condition in disease: that grand master,\nexperience, enables him to discriminate between the cause and effect of\nmorbid action; a long attention to the detail of practice gives him\npower over a list of remedies whose properties he has ascertained by\nobservation; and in addition to all this, his daily thoughts are engaged\nin the investigation of sickness in its many forms, and, frequently, his\nmidnight oil expended, while he peruses the observations, and profits by\nthe researches of others. Again, the advertising quack is frequently an\nunlettered, never a well-informed man, at least on medical topics: his\neducation, his habits, his purposes, are all foreign to science; the\nfirst has not been devoted to the accomplishment of a particular duty;\nthe second have not received that polish, or acquired that delicacy so\nnecessary in the hour of sickness and distress; and the third are\ndirected solely to the purposes of gain, rather than to the noble aim of\nassisting his fellow-creatures; and yet such a character finds support.\nTo the individual who can depend upon his abilities we may exclaim,\n\"tibi seris, tibi metis,\" and so dismiss him to his fate.\n\nAfter all that has been said of the exertions of the charlatan to abuse\nthe confidence of mankind, particularly as far as dyspepsia is\nconcerned, it is due to the medical profession, to state what claims\nthey may fairly advance, to entitle them to the good opinion of the\npublic, in the cure of this much talked of affection.\n\nA physician, who understands what he is about, knows very well, when a\ncase of this nature comes before him, that it may proceed from a variety\nof causes; that it may arise in the stomach from a want of digestive\npower, from the small intestines by a partial failure in the process of\nchymification; that it may depend upon the morbid action of the large\nintestines, or exist merely as a symptom of an affection in other\norgans. Sedentary habits, or irregularities of diet, are causes which\nmay be supposed to act locally on the digestive organs themselves; but\nthe history of a case will generally show that the derangement of the\ndigestive organs is secondary. When it arises from local irritation, it\ncan only be produced through the medium of the sensorium; when it is\nidiopathic, it frequently originates in causes which affect the nervous\nsystem primarily; such as anxiety, too great exertion of body and mind,\nand impure air; in many instances, the nervous irritation which has\ninduced the disease, being trivial, is only kept up by the reaction of\nits effects. Thus says Abernethy, one of the luminaries of modern\nmedical science.\n\nThe first duty of a physician, therefore, is to ascertain from what\nsource indigestion proceeds, and to frame his treatment accordingly. To\nact upon one system of cure, like our friend Mr. Halsted, in a disease\narising from such a variety of circumstances, would be as reasonable as\napplying splints to an arm, when the thigh happens to be fractured; but\nenough, we would hope, has been said to disabuse the mind of the public\nof a predilection for these pretenders. Dyspepsia is a disease that has\nexisted for ages, and through ages has it readily been cured. In its\nsimple form there is no mystery about it, and when it becomes\ncomplicated, it requires more than the knowledge of a quack to master\nit. Confidence in a medical attendant, and an adherence to his\ndirections, will surely suffice now, as in former times; and if the\npublic will restrain a longing after novelty, and abandon those \"who\nrather talk than act, and rather kill than cure,\" in short, who work\nupon their prejudices by artifice, we shall hear less of dyspepsia,\nsimply because it exists too frequently but in their own fancies. True,\nthere is a certain class, with such mental, as well as bodily\ninfirmities, who, worn down by depraved habits, or suffering under\nweakened intellects, will permit the wildest chimeras to haunt them;\nhypochondriacs may be met with every day, and these may be fit patients\nfor the charlatan, or legally subjected to the tickling, pickling, and\nironing of Mr. Halsted: extraordinary maladies may justify extraordinary\nexperiments.\n\nThe absurd and improper treatment proposed in the work we have noticed,\ncan afford but little hope to any but the hypochondriacal dyspeptic; he\nmay fly to any measures, however desperate or ludicrous; for \"a mind\ndiseased no medicine can cure.\" Let others, however, who cannot plead a\nmalady of the mind as an excuse for resorting to such practice, be\ninformed, that in most of the affections arising from, or confounded\nwith dyspepsia, it is unavailing, and may prove injurious. There are\nmany diseases which it is impossible that Mr. Halsted can distinguish\nfrom dyspepsia, and to which he would apply his irons and bottles,\ntowels and vinegar, at the risk of his patient's safety.\n\nHis views may be sound if adapted to the animal economy of a horse, but\nare certainly unsuitable to the constitution of a man.\n\nWe would say, then, to the public, in conclusion; be cautious how you\ntrust your health and lives with those who neither comprehend the nature\nof the one, nor the value of the other--and who would exclaim behind\nyour backs, with Shakspeare's Autolycus, merely altering the description\nof his wares:--\n\n \"Ha! ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his sworn brother,\n a very simple gentleman! I have sold all my trumpery; not a\n counterfeit stone, not a riband, glass, pomander, brooch,\n table-book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet,\n horn-ring, to keep my pack from fasting: they throng who should\n buy first, as if my trinkets had been hallowed, and brought a\n benediction to the buyer; by which means, I saw whose purse was\n best in picture, and, what I saw, to my good use I remembered.\"\n\nTo the gentle pretenders themselves, we have but a few words to say at\nparting:--\n\n \"Out you impostors,\n Quack-salving cheating mountebanks--your skill\n Is to make sound men sick, and sick men, kill.\"\n\n\n\n\nART. X.--BANK OF THE UNITED STATES.\n\n1.--_Report of the Committee of Ways and Means of the House of\nRepresentatives of the United States, to which was referred so much of\nthe President's Message as relates to the Bank of the United States._\nApril 13th, 1830: pp. 31. 8vo.\n\n2.--_Message of the President of the United States to both Houses of\nCongress._ December 8th, 1830.\n\n\nWhen the President first presented the question of re-chartering the\nBank of the United States to the national legislature, at the opening of\nthe session of 1829-30, the measure was viewed very differently by\ndifferent men. We do not speak of the vulgar herd of politicians, great\nand small, who approve or condemn indiscriminately all measures of the\ngovernment, but of that more elevated and independent class, who ask\nnothing of any administration than that it shall do its duty; and who\njudge of its acts as they seem to be legal, useful, and wise. To some\nthe president's course appeared to be highly objectionable. The bank\ncharter had then six years to run, and, consequently, they said, neither\nthis congress nor the next had any control over the subject. Nor could\nit furnish matter of legislation, they added, whilst president Jackson\nremained in office, unless he should, by being elected for a second\nterm, give his sanction to a principle which he had pronounced impolitic\nand dangerous. To have brought forward the subject, under these\ncircumstances, with no very doubtful intimation of his own wishes, was\nas unnecessary as it was unusual, and implied a want of confidence in\nthose who were ultimately to decide the question.\n\nTo others, however, this early notice of the subject seemed to be\njustified by its importance, and they thought that the public could not\nbe too soon engaged in discussing the merits of a question which in so\nmany ways concerned the general welfare. Of this opinion seemed to be\nthe committee of the house of representatives, to which this part of the\nmessage was referred, and which, after giving the subject a full\nconsideration, reported in favour of renewing the charter of the present\nbank, and against the substitute for it which the president had ventured\nto suggest.\n\nThe subject being thus fairly before the people, and in fact undergoing\na very thorough investigation in the public journals, it was expected\nthat the president would be contented with having done his duty on the\noccasion, and, if not silenced by the gentle dissuasive of the senate,\nor the bold and uncompromising logic of the house, he would merely\nregret that truth should be so hoodwinked by prejudice, or that error\nshould have found so many apologists and supporters in those august\nbodies, and that he would leave the question where it properly belonged,\nand where he himself had placed it--with \"the legislature and the\npeople.\" It was, then, with no little surprise, perceived, that the\nsucceeding annual message, which is at the head of this article, had\nbrought the same subject to the notice of the legislature, consisting\nprecisely of the same individuals as before, when nothing was pretended\nto have occurred to induce them to change their former opinion, and when\nthe only reason which had been given, at the preceding session, for\ninviting the consideration of what neither required nor admitted\nimmediate legislation, no longer existed. Public attention had been\nfully drawn to the subject. The stockholders of the bank, who are\nprofiting by the good management of the institution, and who naturally\nwish the charter renewed, had taken the alarm, and, trusting to the\nomnipotence of truth, had every where invited investigation and\ndiscussion--and all those who hoped to profit by the new national bank,\nor who felt themselves bound to second the wishes of the administration,\nhad opposed the renewal of the charter, through the prints devoted to\nthe same cause.\n\nWhen the avowed purpose of the president had been thus completely\nanswered, by his first communication to congress, it is natural to ask\nwhat could have prompted the second? Were the majorities in both houses\nof congress personally hostile to the president, or unfriendly to his\nadministration; and was it necessary for him to defend himself from\nparty prejudice by an appeal to the people? That could not be; for it is\nnotorious that the president's friends, personal or political, are most\nnumerous in both houses, and this advantage is a daily theme of party\nboast and congratulation. Were the chairmen of the respective committees\nhis political opponents, and did they insidiously endeavour to bring his\nparty into discredit for the purpose of advancing their own? But they\nwere among his most zealous adherents--nay, it may be questioned whether\nthere was a single individual in the United States to whom the president\nwas more indebted for the vindication of his character before the\npeople, than to Mr. M'Duffie, who wrote one of the reports;--unless it\nmight be to Mr. Adams, when secretary of state. Was it then expected,\nthat the house of representatives, which had disregarded his\nrecommendation, would now approve his project? It is impossible that the\npresident or his advisers could have believed they would carry their\ncomplaisance so far. They must have known that the subject would be\nreferred to the same committee, composed of the same persons, as that of\nthe preceding year, and who would be likely, if they reported at all,\nnot only to support their first opinions by further arguments, but to\nexpress their disapprobation of a course so wanting in respect to the\nlegislature, and so little calculated to promote harmony between the\ndifferent branches of the government. As, then, we are compelled to give\nthe negative to all these suppositions, we must infer that the object of\nthis extraordinary course has been to influence public opinion. It seems\nessential to the views of the present executive of the United States, to\nput down the present national bank, and to erect another on its ruins;\nand this favourite purpose it hopes to attain by bringing the\npresident's personal and official influence to bear on the question;\nand, under the forms of the constitution, to appeal from his party in\ncongress, to his party in the nation.\n\nOn the dignity or good faith of this course we will not make any\ncomment; but since the question is thus brought before the people, we\nwill cheerfully meet it, and inquire how far the measure recommended by\nthe president, against the opinions of the immediate representatives of\nthe people, seems calculated to advance the public interest, or to\npromote a distinct and peculiar interest. We shall fearlessly, though\ntemperately, examine the president's propositions, both as to the\nexisting national bank and its proposed substitute; and we shall look at\nthe subject with a single eye to the public good, for we have no other\ninterest in the question than what is common to every citizen of the\nUnited States. We know that there is much good sense in this nation,\nand although there is a full share of prejudice too, yet no one need\ndespair, that the former, if properly addressed, will eventually\nprevail.\n\nThat part of the Message which relates to the bank is in these words,--\n\n \"The importance of the principles involved in the inquiry,\n whether it will be proper to re-charter the Bank of the United\n States, requires that I should again call the attention of\n congress to the subject. Nothing has occurred to lessen, in any\n degree, the dangers which many of our citizens apprehended from\n that institution, as at present organized. In the spirit of\n improvement and compromise which distinguishes our country and\n its institutions, it becomes us to inquire whether it be not\n possible to secure the advantages afforded by the present bank\n through the agency of a bank of the United States, so modified\n in its principles and structure as to obviate constitutional\n and other objections.\n\n \"It is thought practicable to organize such a bank, with the\n necessary officers, as a branch of the treasury department,\n based on the public and individual deposits, without power to\n make loans or purchase property, which shall remit the funds of\n the government, and the expenses of which may be paid, if\n thought advisable, by allowing its officers to sell bills of\n exchange to private individuals at a moderate premium. Not\n being a corporate body, having no stockholders, debtors, or\n property, and but few officers, it would not be obnoxious to\n the constitutional objections which are urged against the\n present bank; and having no means to operate on the hopes,\n fears, or interests, of large masses of the community, it would\n be shorn of the influence which makes that bank formidable. The\n states would be strengthened by having in their hands the means\n of furnishing the local paper currency through their own banks;\n while the bank of the United States, though issuing no paper,\n would check the issues of the state banks, by taking their\n notes in deposit, and for exchange, only so long as they\n continue to be redeemed with specie. In times of public\n emergency, the capacities of such an institution might be\n enlarged by legislative provisions.\n\n \"These suggestions are made, not so much as a recommendation,\n as with a view of calling the attention of congress to the\n possible modifications of a system, which cannot continue to\n exist in its present form without occasional collisions with\n the local authorities, and perpetual apprehensions and\n discontent on the part of the states and the people.\"\n\nWhen the president's views, as here disclosed, are analyzed, they seem\nto involve the following propositions, to each of which we will give a\nseparate consideration.\n\n1. That the present Bank of the United States is unconstitutional.\n\n2. That it exercises a dangerous influence.\n\n3. That it creates discontent with the people, and collisions with the\nstates.\n\n4. That such a bank as is proposed in its place, is free from all these\nobjections.\n\n1. On the constitutionality of the bank, we have little to add to the\nremarks made on the subject in our last number. The arguments then urged\nhaving received no answer, and being, as we conceive, unanswerable, we\nmust consider that the more the question is investigated, the more it\nwill be found that a power which has been recognised by every branch of\nthe government, and at some time or other, by every party that has\nadministered the affairs of the nation, will be found to be correct. We\ncannot, however, forbear to add one other, because of its peculiar\nfitness to the present occasion.\n\nIt is known, that the power of the general government to establish a\nnational bank, mainly turns on that clause of the Constitution of the\nUnited States, which gives congress the power \"to make all laws which\nshall be _necessary and proper_ for carrying into execution\" the powers\nspecifically granted--one party deducing the constitutionality of the\nbank from a liberal interpretation of the word \"necessary,\" and the\nother drawing the opposite inference from their interpreting the same\nword in a narrower sense; both reasoning justly from their respective\npremises, and both agreeing, that on the true meaning of that term, rest\nthe merits of the controversy.\n\nWhenever a doubt occurs about the meaning of a phrase in a written\ninstrument, it has always been considered a good rule of interpretation,\nto refer to the use of the same phrase in other parts of the same\ninstrument, for the purpose of discovering the sense attached to it by\nthose who used it. Applying this rule, we find in the article concerning\nthe duties and powers of the president, (3d section) that \"he shall,\nfrom time to time, give to the congress information of the state of the\nUnion, and recommend to their consideration such measures as he shall\njudge _necessary and_ expedient.\" It is by virtue of this power thus\ngranted, and of this alone, that the president has recommended the\ncreation of a new bank to the legislature. Now, it will not be pretended\nthat he could have judged this recommendation to be _necessary_, in the\nstrictest sense of the term, but at most, that it was highly useful and\nimportant. It must then be admitted, either that the narrow\ninterpretation of the word \"necessary,\" relied on by those who deny the\nconstitutionality of the bank, is erroneous, or that the president\nhimself has violated the constitution in the recommendation he has made.\nIf it be insisted, that he had the constitutional right to recommend a\nmeasure, which both houses of congress had pronounced highly\ninexpedient, because he believed it prudent, and politic, and\nsalutary--the ground on which he himself places it--then the same\nliberal interpretation of the term \"necessary,\" which we admit to be the\ntrue one, will make the bank constitutional. We have resorted to this\nrule, not so much because it furnishes an argument _ad hominem_ which is\nirresistible, as for the higher purpose of throwing light on one of the\nmost controverted parts of the constitution.\n\nBut admitting, for the sake of argument, the constitutionality of the\nbank to be one of those difficult and complicated questions about which\nmen's minds may always be divided, and that there are reasons on either\nside, sufficient, if not to convince, to perplex and bewilder, and to\nafford pretexts for those who seek some sinister or selfish ends--and of\nsuch character are most constitutional questions--we would ask, if this\nis never to have a termination? Are questions of this kind to be always\nunsettled, so that no length of time, however sufficient to quiet\nprivate controversies, shall put an end to those which most nearly\nconcern the tranquillity and permanence of the Union?\n\nOn this subject of constitutional questions generally, we would trespass\nawhile on the patience of our readers. It involves far higher\nconsiderations than whether this or that individual shall be\npresident--this party or that shall exert a transient sway over the\ndestinies of the country. Our remarks are independent of men, or times,\nor circumstances; and they are addressed to men of no party--to the\nintelligent and patriotic of all parties--to that fund of good sense\nwhich has ever characterized this nation.\n\nAs every officer of the government takes an oath to support the\nconstitution, his conscience is appealed to, and that which he honestly\nand truly believes to be the meaning of the obligation he has incurred,\nmust influence his votes and acts under the constitution. It is\nseriously and earnestly maintained by many of our citizens, that every\nman's own interpretation of the constitution must be his guide; and no\nmatter what the public tribunals have determined--no matter for what\nlength of time, or by what degree of unanimity a particular\ninterpretation may have prevailed, it is to weigh as nothing with him,\nso far as it seems contrary to the conviction of his own mind. But is\nthis a true understanding of the character of a written constitution,\nand of the oath which it enjoins? If so, would not the means devised to\nsecure its more faithful observance be the most likely to defeat its\nprovisions; and would it not make such a constitution the most\nimpracticable and absurd form of government that human folly ever\ndevised? Let us consider the consequences of this doctrine.\n\nIn the first place, let us call to mind the great number of\nconstitutional questions which have arisen during the short period of\nlittle more than forty years, since the Federal government went into\noperation. In General Washington's administration, the most prominent of\nthose questions were suggested by the establishment of a national\nbank--by the carriage tax--the proclamation of neutrality--and the\nappropriations to carry the British treaty into effect: in that of Mr.\nAdams, the elder, the alien and sedition laws: in Mr. Jefferson's, the\nrepeal of the Judiciary law--the embargo for an indefinite period--the\npurchase of Louisiana: in Mr. Madison's, the United States Bank again,\nthe power of the federal government over the militia of a state--the\nright of that government to construct roads: in Mr. Monroe's, the right\nin congress to pass the bankrupt law--to lay a duty on imports for the\nencouragement of manufactures--to appropriate money for the relief of\nthe poor of the district of Columbia: and in Mr. John Quincy Adams's,\nthe Cherokee treaty--the nullification doctrine--the power of appointing\npublic officers, together with several of the others previously\nmentioned.\n\nTo these questions we might add many of minor importance or interest,\nand that multitude which have arisen and been decided in the Supreme\nCourt of the United States. But if the number is already so great, what\nwill it be a century or two hence? Let it be remembered, too, that each\nof these legislative questions may give rise to many others connected\nwith them, and that each one may be multiplied to infinity in the courts\nof justice. Thus, if protecting duties for the encouragement of\nmanufactures are unconstitutional, the duty claimed on every bale of\nimported goods may be called in question.\n\nWhenever, then, any of these constitutional questions can be made, it\nwould be competent for the party interested, by the doctrines of these\npolitical puritans, to make them. So that in every controversy, public\nor private, every conflict of right or interest, as the question of\nconstitutionality would be completely open to the judge, and in criminal\ncases, to the jury, either party may take his chance of success by\nurging that interpretation of the constitution which best suits him, and\nthe same question would, of course, be decided one way in one place, and\nanother way in another. One man would be convicted for an offence for\nwhich another would go unpunished; and one citizen, or one state, be\nsubjected to taxes under the constitution, from which others would be\nshielded by the same instrument.\n\nDoes any one doubt, that if a constitution is left to the unrestricted\ninterpretation of every one who swears to support it, there would be\nthis diversity? Let him look at the various commentaries on the same\ntext in the New Testament. Let him look at the various interpretations\nof the same decrees of the Senate by the Edicts of the Pretors in Roman\njurisprudence--to say nothing of those countless decisions of the civil\nlaw, by which, before the time of Justinian, it was buried beneath its\nown rubbish. Let him look at the voluminous reports in our own language\non the written, as well as common law--on the infinite number of\nquestions that have arisen, and are yet arising on a single statute, or\neven one of its sections,--let him consider these apposite examples, and\nask whether our constitution is likely to share a different fate? Such,\nindeed, is the indefinite nature of language, the ever-varying character\nof human concerns, and the subtlety of the human intellect, that it is\nutterly impossible to pen a constitution on which numerous questions\nwould not arise, which no sagacity of man could foresee, and which his\nlanguage is too vague to provide for.\n\nConstitutional questions then must arise, and the true point of inquiry\nis, whether our constitution meant that they should be finally settled,\nor whether they are to remain suspended between heaven and earth, until\nthey are compelled to make their appearance by the necromancy of legal\nsubtlety, or occasionally laid in the Red Sea.\n\nBut the evil would not stop with the federal government. We know that\neach state has also its own constitution, and that if their legislatures\nor executives transcend their powers, their acts, by the doctrines we\nare considering, are utterly void. They cannot exceed the limits of\ntheir charter, and those limits they have no exclusive right to define.\nWho that has attended the deliberations of a state legislature, and\nremarked the frequent recurrence of constitutional questions about their\npowers, but must see that there is scarcely any law concerning property,\nor office, or crime, on which ingenuity may not raise a doubt respecting\neither the letter or spirit of the constitution? And the same\nuncertainty and want of uniformity which would arise in the federal\ngovernment, would arise in a much greater ratio in that of a state; so\nthat no man could say certainly what were his duties or his rights. If\nsuch a state of things may now ensue, how would it be when the\npopulation of a single state should amount to several millions, and when\nthe spirit of litigation, united with the extension of legal science,\nwould give more than Norman acuteness to our constitutional lawyers?\nWhen that era shall arrive, if this quibbling spirit that is now so\nrife, shall not receive a timely check, where is the law, whose\nauthority may not be questioned? Now is the time to arrest it, before\nour habits become indurated, and while our national character has that\nductility which the changes our country is ever undergoing, naturally\nproduces. Whoever is capable of taking a wide survey of human affairs,\nand of comparing ages and nations, must perceive that every generation\nof the civilized world is becoming more and more metaphysical--that the\nunderstanding is more appealed to, and has greater sway than formerly,\nand the imagination less. The age of magic, and witches, and ghosts, has\npassed away. That of poetry is on the wane. Speculation has taken the\nplace of taste. What once passed unheeded, or was perceived only as it\nwas felt, must now be analyzed, and sifted, and decompounded, until we\nhave reached its elements, and a reason is required for every thing.\nSuch is the spirit of the age, and it is eminently favourable to\nconstitutional doubts and scruples.\n\nWe may already perceive the progress of this captious, inquisitive,\nhair-splitting spirit, in the brief chronicle of the federal\ngovernment. When congress met, immediately after the formation of the\nconstitution, in laying an impost, they endeavoured so to lay it, as to\ngive encouragement to those species of industry for which the country\nseemed best suited, and their successors continued the same policy for\nabout thirty years, when it was discovered, (we think by a member from\nMaine) that the policy was contrary to the constitution. The discovery\nwas soon welcomed by many of the politicians of the South, and it has\nsince been so cordially embraced by them, that the opposite opinion is\nnow looked upon as downright political heresy.\n\nA bankrupt law was passed during the first Mr. Adams's administration,\nby virtue of the express power given to congress on that subject. When\nMr. Jefferson came into power, the law was repealed as inexpedient,\nbecause it was believed to produce as much fraud and mischief in some\nways as it prevented in others. But nobody had then discovered that the\nlaw was unconstitutional. Yet in 1822, that doctrine was broached and\nzealously maintained by three or four members from the South, so as to\ninduce Mr. Lowndes, who was himself opposed to a bankrupt law, to\ndisavow the doctrines of his associates. That exemplary man, the\ncharacter of whose mind was sufficiently inclined to refined\nspeculation, if it had not been so tempered by candour and sound\npractical sense, never lost sight of the end of government, in his view\nof the means; and he believed that in interpreting the constitution, we\nought not to look at it through a microscope, for this plain reason, if\nfor no other, because those who are finally to decide on it look at it\nwith their ordinary eyes. Accordingly, in the first half of his speech,\nhe aimed to show that congress had the power to pass the law, and in the\nlast, that they ought not to exercise it.\n\nAgain: Mr. Jefferson gave his sanction to the Cumberland road, to be\nmade at the national expense, provided the states through which it would\npass gave their express assent to it. The states of Virginia, Maryland,\nand Pennsylvania, did pass laws giving such consent. It was not then\nconsidered that congress had not the power of appropriating the money in\nthe treasury to all purposes of general utility, provided they did not\nassume any other power, in the exercise of this; and it is clear that\nMr. Jefferson did not think that the construction of a road, _with the\nconsent_ of the states through which it passed, was such an exercise of\npower. Yet after the road was made, by this growing disposition to\nstrict construction, it was discovered that congress had no power to\nmake such appropriations, under the constitution, and if the power could\nnot be derived from that instrument, the consent of the states\ninterested could not give it. It is here worthy of remark, that many of\nthose who maintained that the general government possessed the power of\nmaking roads, independently of the states, concurred in the preceding\nposition; and thus a majority was obtained who agreed that congress\ncould use the public money for no purpose, which they had not the\nindependent power of executing. Each party hoped to derive strength by\nthis decision. The one, because it advanced a step forward in strict\nconstruction; and the other, looking to the influence of the practical\nbenefits to be derived from the exercise of the power of making roads\nand canals, flattered themselves that many, when they found themselves\nnot able to attain their object by mere appropriations, would, rather\nthan forego the promised benefits altogether, support a still more\nenlarged construction of the constitution; and the issue seems so far to\nhave justified their expectations.\n\nWe will give one more example. It had been supposed that the\nvice-president, as presiding officer of the senate, had, by the force of\nthe term itself, the power of keeping order and regulating the debate;\nyet three or four years ago, it was discovered by that officer, or some\nof his friends, that he did not possess that power, in certain cases,\nand he accordingly forbore to exercise it.\n\nThese remarks are made in no invidious spirit. We do not mean to give\nany opinions on these questions. In some of them, indeed, we scarcely\nknow whether, in this age of nice discrimination, our impressions\ndeserve to be called opinions. But we merely meant to refer to facts\nwhich are a part of the history of the country. They go to show, that\nconstitutional doubts and difficulties are continually increasing, not\nonly from the new positions and aspects of things in the endless\nvicissitudes of human affairs, but also by the progress of refinement in\nreasoning; because much is now considered unconstitutional that was not\ndeemed so formerly.\n\nIf this doubting, disputatious spirit--this habit of questioning every\nthing whenever a quibble can be raised--should continue to advance,\nwhere is the law, which, after fighting its way through both houses of\nthe legislature, and, perhaps, escaping the veto, may not be eventually\ncontested and defeated? We know that in many of the states there are\n_Bills of Rights_, which are considered to have equal authority with\ntheir constitutions. Some, indeed, regard them as settling the\nprinciples of primordial law, which the constitution itself cannot\ncountervail. These, then, may also be appealed to for the purpose of\nproving the unconstitutionality of a state law; and in the inferences\nwhich ingenuity, or even stupidity, may draw from such broad and\nindefinite principles, the clearest right may be disputed, and the most\natrocious crime defended. The right of a community to take the life of\nany one of its citizens has been gravely denied, and the argument rests\nfor its support on the imprescriptible and immutable rights of man. If\nthe net-work of the laws shall be thus chafed and frittered away, little\nfish, as well as big ones, may break through it when and where they\nplease.\n\nWe are aware, that, in the ordinary concerns of life, nature and reason\nwill often assert their empire. They cannot be altogether cheated out of\ntheir rights by sophisms and quibbling. But the latter will but too\noften prevail. They have prevailed, are yet prevailing; and, if a\nbarrier is to be presented to their further progress, it must be by the\ncommon sense of the nation, frowning into contempt this constitutional\ncasuistry, which would degrade our legislative halls into schools of\nsophists--would employ the best powers of the human mind, not in\nclearing up doubts, but in creating them--which considers that the most\nobvious and direct meaning of the constitution is always the wrong one,\nand that what the convention made the people say by that instrument, can\nbe understood but by one man in ten thousand, who cannot show he is\nright, but by a commentary a hundred times as large as the text. It must\nbe by going further, and saying that after a question has been fully\ndiscussed and solemnly decided--after it has been recognised by every\ndepartment of the government--and acquiesced in by the people, it should\nbe considered as the best exposition the constitution is capable of, and\nas no longer open to controversy: and if the decision was wrong,\naccording to a maxim of the common law, and which became common law only\nbecause it was common sense, the universality of the error makes it\nright.\n\nLet it not be supposed, that if a false or inconvenient construction is\nput on the constitution, or its meaning is considered doubtful and\nuncertain, the evil may be corrected by an amendment. Supposing it to\ntake place, may we not, like bad tinkers, in stopping one hole, make\ntwo? We can judge of the probable success of this course, by the various\nlaws passed to alter, or amend, or repeal, previous emendatory acts. But\nif the remedy were effectual when attained, is it attainable? What\nprobability is there that three-fourths of the states will concur in any\namendment, or that motives of interest--of party sympathy--of delusive\nargument--or the mere _nonchalance_ of men about evils which are not\nimmediately pressing, would not unite more than one-fourth of the\nstates? Besides, if the constitution were always to be changed whenever\na serious question of its construction arose, and amendments were as\npracticable as they are difficult, the time required for the operation\nwould leave us nothing else to do. A century would scarcely suffice to\nsettle the questions which may occur in a single year.\n\nThere is another mischief, of no insignificant character, which results\nfrom these excessive refinements in interpreting the constitution, and\nfrom the doctrine that no length of time can settle its meaning. They\nafford ready pretexts to cunning and timid politicians for screening\ntheir real motives from the people. When they wish to evade\nresponsibility for their votes, they have nothing more to do than to\nplead scruples of conscience, and the sacred obligation of an oath.\nWhere is the measure which a moderate degree of ingenuity may not\nshow--we may almost say--has not shown to be against the words, or the\nmeaning and spirit of the constitution? It is true, if the people\ndistrust the sincerity of this plea of conscience, or disapprove it,\nthey may remove their representative. But that remedy may come too late,\nand may not always be applied. The people have always shown great\nindulgence and forbearance towards this plea: besides, before the time\nof re-election comes about, these inconvenient scruples may, in the din\nof new contests, be forgotten, or remembered only to be forgiven, and,\nby the hocus pocus of party, even metamorphosed into a recommendation.\nWhen, then, it is so easy to take shelter behind the ark of the\nconstitution, ought we to enlarge the limits of this place of refuge for\ncunning and cowardice?\n\nOne more argument in favour of a fair, liberal, manly construction of\nthe constitution. There would be a certain degree of inconvenience\nincident to every written constitution, if there were no difficulties in\nits interpretation, and its language was always understood in the same\nsense by all men. In making that distribution of its various powers\nwhich is deemed most likely to secure a safe and healthy action, the\nhands of its functionaries must often be tied up from doing that which\nparticular circumstances may make highly expedient. Some imperative\nclaim of humanity, some yet more pressing emergency of state, may call\nfor powers which the constitution has withheld. Mr. Jefferson considered\nthe acquisition of Louisiana to be a case of that character. He\nquestioned the power of acquiring foreign territory under the\nconstitution. But when he reflected that France could not retain\npossession of Louisiana, and that hither the constitution must be\nstretched, (his letter to W. C. Nicholas might almost justify a stronger\nexpression,) or we must submit to having the greatest commercial nation\nin Europe--our most active rival in peace, our most powerful enemy in\nwar--posted on our right and left flank, and, by and by, in our\nrear,--he sacrificed his opinions to the safety of the republic. The\npresent president was no doubt actuated by similar considerations, when\nhe pursued the Seminoles into the Spanish territory, and made war on the\ncountry in which they had taken refuge--the occasion not appearing to\nhim to admit of the delay of a formal declaration by congress. Commodore\nPorter may be presumed to have acted on the same principle in Cuba. No\none regards these as fit cases for precedents. All agree, that if we\nhave a constitution, its mandates should be obeyed, and that we must be\ncontent to put up with its partial inconvenience, for the sake of its\ngeneral benefits. But surely we ought not to go to the other extreme,\nand so fetter the constituted authorities of the nation, by a spirit of\ninterpretation which will deprive them of all salutary power, except by\nusurping it. Let us not lose sight of \"the expedient,\" in discussing\n\"the right;\" but rather, as the common sense of mankind dictates in\nordinary cases of conscience or morality, be liberal in construing the\nconstitution, when its power is to be used for the good of the people,\nand captious and astute only when its exercise may be pernicious.\n\nOn these grounds, we earnestly beseech those who are friendly to our\npolitical institutions--who believe that no other than the complex\ngovernment we have adopted can unite the adaptation of laws to local\ncircumstances with the strength and security of a great empire, to\ndiscountenance the pestilent and absurd doctrine that the constitution\nis to be on all points forever unsettled. We beseech them to save this\nmonument of our country's wisdom--this instrument of its safety, its\nliberty, and its future greatness, from the peril and reproach to which\nit is thus exposed. It is in their power to protect it from an evil\nwhich would convert a government intended to secure domestic peace, into\none of perpetual civil strife, and which would confide the destinies of\nthe country to sophists, and quibblers, and casuists--or rather to those\npolitical managers who would use them as tools to persuade the people\nthat a good measure was unconstitutional, that they might pursue a bad\none with impunity.\n\n2. The next objection is, that the bank possesses a \"formidable\"\ninfluence on the community. It must be admitted, that this complaint of\nbank influence is not now brought forward for the first time. It was a\nfavourite theme of the demagogue, from the time the first Bank of the\nUnited States was established, until its charter expired, when it\nappeared that its influence was not equal to its own preservation.\n\nIf, indeed, no other corporation had the right to issue notes of\ncirculation, then the power of enlarging or contracting the common\ncurrency at pleasure would be a very great one--greater than ought to be\nput into the hands of any others than persons chosen by the people, or\ntheir representatives, and responsible to them. But as the bank and its\noffices are every where surrounded by competitors, some of which have a\nyet larger capital than themselves, they have no such exclusive control\nover the amount of money in circulation, and their influence, whatever\nit may be, can be exerted only as to its quality. It is precisely on\nthis last influence that the friends of the bank mainly rely for the\npublic favour.\n\nLet us inquire a little further into the extent of the bank's influence.\nThe principal functions of this institution, except the services it\nrenders the government, consist in discounting promissory notes, selling\nor buying bills of exchange, and receiving deposits of coin, or of its\nown notes, for safe keeping. It has no exclusive privilege of doing\neither of these acts, as every state bank may do, and actually does the\nsame. But by means of its superior capital, and consequently its\nsuperior credit and resources, it can, in some of its operations, either\nundersell the other banks, or command a preference in the market;--aye,\nthere's the rub. The banks in some of the large cities have persuaded\nthemselves that if this \"formidable\" rival was out of the way, they\nwould be able to buy and sell more bills, and upon better terms than at\npresent. But if this consideration should make them an object of dread\nand dislike to the state banks, it should also recommend them to the\nfavour of the public. Their notes, too, are generally preferred by\ntravellers, and for distant remittances. But neither does this fact\nfurnish any ground of dread to the community, whatever it may to their\nrivals.\n\nIt thus appears that they have the same advantage over other banks,\nwhich one tradesman or mechanic occasionally has over others of the same\ncalling. He who does his work best, and sells it cheapest, will always\nget the most and best custom; and it would be just as reasonable for his\nrivals in business to complain of his making better wares, of being more\naccommodating, and of underselling them, as for the other banks to\ncomplain of the Bank of the United States. It is clear, that if the\nrival banks are losers, the public is a gainer, unless they can succeed\nin persuading the people, that competition, which is so salutary and\nbeneficial to the public in every other business, should be mischievous\nonly in this. The argument thus used against the Bank of the United\nStates, is precisely that which might have been used, and, we presume,\nwas used, by the owners of the Albany sloops against steam-boats; and\nwhich might be used against canals and rail-roads, by those who would\nfind employment for their wagons in the former more expensive modes of\nconveyance.\n\nBut by an influence which is supposed to be so \"formidable,\" is meant,\nperhaps, a political and corrupt influence. If there be such a one, it\nmust be seen and felt; and we would ask in what way does it exert\nitself? Does the bank use its money in the elections? If so, its\naccounts must show it; and as there are men of all parties who own, or\nmay own, shares in the stock, let those who suspect this abuse\nscrutinize those accounts for the purpose of detecting it. But those who\nmanage the banks, know very well, and so do those who accuse them, that\nnine-tenths, or rather ninety-nine hundredths of the stockholders, would\nnot have given a five dollar note to get the president elected, or to\nget him turned out. Your office-seekers, indeed, might pay pretty\nliberally for such service, but they are seldom stockholders. These are,\nfor the most part, thrifty, cautious men, who choose to vest their money\nin some fund which gives them regular returns; and they are content that\nthey shall be small, provided they be certain. The rest are widows,\nguardians of orphan children, trustees of public institutions, and\nmerchants who have more capital than they can safely and profitably\nemploy. Now, who of these would allow a president and directors to\nsquander their money in a matter in which they felt little interest, and\nthat probably a divided one. No body believes this, and yet it is not\neasy to say in what other mode they could exercise a corrupt influence.\n\nBut if the stockholders were disposed to spend their money in\nelectioneering, can they be prevented from acting so foolishly by\nputting down the bank? If the charter is not renewed, their money will\nbe returned to them, and they would then have both the power and the\ninducement to use it for political purposes, which they cannot have\nwhile it is supplying a currency to the country, and invigorating its\nindustry and commerce. But, in truth, it is well known, that those\npersons do not make ducks and drakes of their money now, and are not\nlikely to do it then.\n\nIt is true, that in case of an extraordinary demand for money, beyond\nthe means of supply by the state banks, the Bank of the United States\nmay sometimes prefer discounting the note of one man to that of\nanother--the paper of A to that of B; and that some of the directors\nmight have given the preference to A, because he was a neighbour--others\nby his being a friend or relative, and others again by mere party\nsympathies. But we believe that none of these things go very far at\nbank. The object of its directors being to make money, they prefer the\npaper of a rich man they hate, to that of a poor friend. Nor do they\nwidely differ from the rest of the world in this particular. But\ngranting that moral and political considerations do influence the bank\nin its loans, who does not see that they could have no effect, except\nwhen the supply of money for loan was not equal to the demand, and that\nthe mischief would be increased by putting down the richest and most\nsubstantial bank in the country?\n\nUpon the whole, this cry against the influence of the bank, resolves\nitself into that of wealth and property. These do exert a certain\ninfluence in the community on some occasions, and it is more than\ncounteracted on others, by the jealousy and ill will it engenders.\nWhatever influence wealth may have, it is inseparable from our present\ncondition, as we presume the United States are not yet prepared for the\nAgrarian system, and every man will be permitted to enjoy the fruits of\nhis own industry, or that of his ancestors; but be it little or much, we\ncannot reasonably expect to see it exerted more harmlessly or more\nbeneficially than in a solid, well managed bank. If, however, in spite\nof all these considerations, the power of these institutions be thought\ntoo great, and too liable to abuse, then there is no more effectual way\nof weakening it than by diffusion. As most of the state banks are more\nor less under the control of the state authorities, who may use the\ninfluence of these banks for political purposes, it must be desirable to\nall those who wish the public mind as free and unbiassed as possible, to\nsee this influence weakened, if not neutralized; and there seems no more\neffectual mode of doing this than establishing a rival bank, over which\nthe state politicians could exercise no sort of authority. Let us, for\nexample, suppose that a system of banking was adopted for a state, by\nwhich, under the colour of guarding the public against their insolvency,\nthose institutions were subjected to a _surveillance_ and control which\nwere calculated to make them feel their dependence on the state\ngovernment, and when the plan was matured, to make them obsequious to\nits will. Would not every friend to the political purity of the state,\nand the independent spirit of its citizens, wish to see a scheme of this\ncharacter frustrated? and what means so conducive to this end as the\nBank of the United States, which, in the first place, by bringing so\nmuch capital into the market for loans, lessens the influence of all\nbanks, and, in the next, may perform its several functions without\nregard to the smiles or frowns of any politicians whatever.\n\nThis is probably the influence which is really objected to in the Bank\nof the United States, that of disenthralling the people from an utter\ndependence on the state banks for the various accommodations those\ninstitutions afford--an influence which it appears to us no true friend\nto his country should wish to see diminished, however inconvenient it\nmay be to those who would make banks and every thing else subservient to\ntheir purposes.\n\n3. But the Bank of the United States, it seems, must be brought into\ncollision with the local authorities, and occasion perpetual\napprehensions and discontent on the part of the states and the people.\nWe know not upon what facts the president or his advisers have made this\nstatement. It is in direct contradiction to that made by the committee\nof ways and means, who say--\n\n \"It is due to the persons, who for the last ten years, have\n been concerned in the administration of the bank, to state,\n that they have performed the delicate and difficult trust\n committed to them, in such a manner as, at the same time, to\n accomplish the great national ends for which it was\n established, and promote the permanent interest of the\n stockholders, with the least practicable pressure upon the\n local banks. As far as the committee are enabled to form an\n opinion, from careful inquiry, the bank has been liberal and\n indulgent in its dealings with these institutions, and, with\n scarcely an exception, now stands in the most amicable relation\n to them. Some of those institutions have borne the most\n disinterested and unequivocal testimony in favour of the bank.\n\n \"It is but strict justice also to remark, that the direction of\n the mother bank appears to have abstained, with scrupulous\n care, from bringing the power and influence of the bank to bear\n upon political questions, and to have selected, for the\n direction of the various branches, business men in no way\n connected with party politics. The Committee advert to this\n part of the conduct of the directors, not only with a view to\n its commendation, but for the purpose of expressing their\n strong and decided conviction that the usefulness and stability\n of such an institution will materially depend upon a steady and\n undeviating adherence to the policy of excluding party politics\n and political partisans from all participation in its\n management. It is gratifying to conclude this branch of the\n subject by stating, that the affairs of the present bank, under\n the able, efficient, and faithful guidance of its two last\n presidents and their associates, have been brought from a state\n of great embarrassment into a condition of the highest\n prosperity. Having succeeded in restoring the paper of the\n local banks to a sound state, its resources are now such as to\n justify the directors in extending the issue and circulation of\n this paper so as to satisfy the wants of the community, both as\n it regards bank accommodations and a circulating medium.\"\n\nThe committee, coming immediately from the people, are somewhat more\nlikely to have accurate information on this subject than the president.\nWe have heard of no recent collisions between any state and the bank;\nand those which formerly took place with the states of Ohio and\nMaryland, respectively, have been long since settled in the Supreme\nCourt. The people of Tennessee, too, once objected, through their\nrepresentatives, to the location of a branch bank in that state; but a\nsubsequent legislature, believing that they better understood the\ninterests or wishes of their constituents, withdrew their opposition,\nand the branch bank which was therefore established, is now in\nsuccessful operation. The legislature of Mississippi, in like manner,\nhas, within a few months, repealed a hostile act passed two years ago,\nand invited the establishment of a branch. The executive council of\nFlorida, has recently requested a branch, and we understand that there\nare numerous applications for branches from all parts of the Western and\nSouthern states. Surely the people of these and the neighbouring states\ncannot seriously object, that a portion of the moneyed capital which has\nbeen accumulated in the Atlantic states should be brought among them, to\nencourage their industry and facilitate their trade--to enable their own\nmerchants to give them ready money, and a somewhat higher price for\ntheir cotton--to furnish one man with the means of building a\nmill--another a manufactory--and a third a steam-boat. We cannot believe\nthat they are such novices in political economy. If their citizens do\nnot want the money, they need not borrow it; and if they do, it is\nbetter to find it at home, than to be dependant on New-York,\nPhiladelphia, or Boston, for it. In the state of Alabama, if we are to\nbelieve the public prints, the United States Bank there has afforded\ngreat and most seasonable aid to the state bank. Nor do we know of a\nsingle state, in which there are any manifestations of popular\ndiscontent with the bank, notwithstanding the pains taken by some of the\nfriends of the president to excite them.\n\nPerhaps the apprehensions mentioned in the message may refer to the\nstate banks rather than the people; and the president has presumed,\nthat, as some of the states are interested in the stock of these\ninstitutions, and as their interests may conflict with those of the Bank\nof the United States, the people would be likely to side with their own\ninstitutions. The presumption is far from being unfounded. The\nsympathies of the people will always be with the states, rather than the\ngeneral government, when the two are in conflict--a fact of which\npoliticians are sufficiently apt to avail themselves. Thus, when the\npresent Bank of the United States first went into operation, fears were\nentertained by the state banks and their friends, that the United States\nBank and its branches would prove troublesome and dangerous neighbours.\nTheir strength to oppress, and even crush, a rival, was supposed to be\nin proportion to their capital; and, comparing them with things with\nwhich they had no sort of analogy, it was argued, that a state bank, in\nthe neighbourhood of a branch of the national bank, would be not more\nlikely to thrive, than a delicate shrub under the shade of a spreading\noak, or to find safety, than a light armed brig under the battery of a\nseventy-four. These arguments prevailed for a season in some of the\nstates; but at length the experiment was made, in spite of these gloomy\npredictions, and it was found, as well it might be, that a small\ncapital, _if prudently managed_, is as independent of the attacks of a\nrival, in banking, as in any other business. And why should there be a\ndifference? A tailor or shoemaker who employs but two or three\njourneymen, may do as safe, though not so profitable a business, as he\nwho employs twenty or thirty--in the same way as a small vessel may\nnavigate the ocean as safely as a large one, and may be even less likely\nto overset in a storm, if it carry less sail in proportion to its\nballast.\n\nWe do not mean to deny, that a bank with a superior capital, if it were\ndisposed to injure a rival at all hazards, might prove an inconvenient\nneighbour, and greatly curtail its business. If it were to put itself to\nthe trouble of procuring the paper of the other, as soon as it was\nissued, and convert it immediately into specie, the loans of that other\nmight be restricted to the amount of its specie capital. But this could\nnot be effected without a degree of trouble and expense which would make\nit impracticable. What means does such a bank possess of drawing in the\npaper of the other bank, except so far as the debtors of the one\ninstitution chance to be the debtors of the other, or it choose to give\na premium for the notes of its rival? It is not likely, that the same\nindividuals would be the debtors to both banks, to a great extent; and\nas to a premium, such sacrifices seldom take place in individual\ncompetition, much less in that of banks. Besides, as soon as the bank\nwhich was thus assailed found that a premium was given for its paper, it\nwould issue notes for the purpose of obtaining it, and the faster its\nnotes were bought up and returned for specie, the more would be found in\nthe market--a new swarm being attracted by the premium as soon as the\nfirst disappeared--until in a few months its hostile rival would share\nthe fate of those who attempt to break another sort of banks--its own\ncoffers would be exhausted.\n\nThe means then which a bank possesses of narrowing the sphere of\ncirculation of a rival's paper, are much more limited than is commonly\nimagined; and such as they are, it will be cautious of exerting, lest\nthe same game should be played on itself. A combination of the state\nbanks, or even a single one of respectable capital, may practise the\nsame means of annoyance against a Bank of the United States, as that\ncould put in operation against them. But if both parties were wise, or\nrather not utterly foolish, they would each pursue their own business;\nand one not otherwise interfere with the other, than by occasionally\nexchanging notes, and receiving the difference in specie. This course\nmight indeed prove a check to extravagant issues by either, but it is\nprecisely that check which the public is interested in maintaining.\n\nThere is a further security against the wanton and bootless mischief\nwhich fear or design has imputed to the Bank of the United States.\nPublic opinion would cry out against its illiberal course, and would\nfully avenge the wrong. Some of their best customers would desert them.\nThey would lose most of their deposits. Their notes would be\nindustriously collected and prematurely returned to them, and they would\nthus not only lessen their present profits, but furnish their enemies\nwith arguments against the renewal of their charter. The supposition of\nsuch a course presumes the bank to be utterly regardless of\ntheir own interests, as well as of all sense of fairness and\nliberality--considerations which still have some weight with some\nmen--and it is at variance with all that we have ever heard of the\nofficers of that institution. As a proof that no fears or jealousies\nagainst the Bank of the United States are entertained by safe and\nsubstantial banks, we may remind our readers, that Mr. Girard, the\ngreatest banker we have, was one of the most efficient supporters of the\npresent national bank. No other individual in the United States would be\nso much affected as he, if its competition and neighbourhood were\npernicious, and yet no one subscribed so largely to its stock, and no\none, we have reason to believe, deplores more strongly the confusion in\nthe moneyed concerns of the country, which he thinks would be inevitable\non the destruction of the bank.\n\nIt is probable enough, that although these alleged causes of jealousy\nand alarm are known to be groundless by the state banks, the proposition\nagainst re-chartering the bank addresses itself to those institutions in\nanother way. They have been led to believe that the benefits of the\nbusiness now done by the bank, and of the government deposits, would be\napportioned among them. But let them not flatter themselves with\nprofiting by a division of this spoil. That great void in the\ncirculation which the withdrawal of the capital of the bank would\noccasion, would immediately and imperatively call for new banks, which\nthe states would be sure to establish; and when once they began to meet\nthe demand, it would not be strange if the supply sometimes exceeded it,\naccording to the common occurrence of a scarcity being followed by a\nglut. In that event, the present state banks might find too late that\nthey had exchanged one old and liberal rival for two or more new ones,\nof a different character, who would be their competitors not only for\nthe profits of banking, but also for the favour or forbearance of the\nstate politicians. What the community at large is likely to regret or to\nwish after the change, it is not difficult to conjecture.\n\nOne of the complaints against the Bank of the United States has been,\nthat the notes issued by any one of its offices were not payable at\nevery other indiscriminately; and to this the president must have\nreferred, when, in his first message, he said that the bank \"had failed\nin the great end of establishing a uniform and sound currency.\" As the\nsame objection is not repeated in the last message, we are left at a\nloss to decide whether he has been convinced, by the very lucid and\nsatisfactory views of Mr. Lowndes and Mr. M'Duffie, that the complaint\nwas unfounded, or whether he means to comprehend this among the causes\nof discontent on the part of the states and the people.\n\nAs this subject has received so thorough an investigation in the report\nof the committee, and in our last number, it cannot be necessary to say\nmore on it. It is there shown, as we think conclusively, that the Bank\nof the United States has done in this matter all that a bank can\ndo--more, indeed, than could have been reasonably expected of\nit--towards furnishing the community with a sound and uniform currency:\nthat its notes, at the places where they are issued, are, for all\npurposes, worth as much as gold and silver, and for distant payments\nsomething more: that if its notes are sometimes worth, in one place, a\ntrifle less than specie, it is because they have been worth, at another\nplace, more than specie, since no one would transfer them to a great\ndistance from the place of emission, unless he found them more\nconvenient than specie: that as every bank has a direct interest in\ngiving its notes as great a credit and as wide a circulation as it can,\nthis institution will, for its own sake, redeem its notes at par,\nwherever issued, when it can safely do so; and that in most cases, it\nhas actually done this; but that to make this obligatory would not only\nbe unjust to the bank, but would be highly impolitic, by counteracting\nthe natural and most efficient corrective of the over issues of banks,\nand the overtrading of individuals; and would be moreover impracticable.\n\nTo these irrefragable positions we may add, that the public has quite as\nmuch interest as the bank in keeping this matter on its present footing.\nOne of the greatest benefits which a community derives from banking\ninstitutions, is the substitution for a part of its currency of the\ncheap article of paper for the costly one of specie, by which the\ncapital that would otherwise have been used as money, may be employed\nfor other useful purposes. But if the Bank of the United States, and\neach of its offices, were obliged, as a matter of right, to redeem the\nnotes of every other, it would require an increase of specie which would\ndeprive the country of the benefits of this substitution, as well as the\nbank of its profits. The same remark applies to their demanding a small\npremium for their drafts on each other. For each of the offices to be\nprepared not only to redeem its own paper, but to meet the drafts which\nothers may draw on it, it is obliged to keep on hand an extra supply of\nspecie; but if the check of the premium were removed, and it was no\nlonger a matter of discretion, a much larger amount would be necessary,\nand nothing but experience could determine whether any thing short of\nthe whole capital of the bank, or even that, would be sufficient for the\npurpose, under extraordinary circumstances, and great fluctuations of\ntrade. So that upon the whole this complaint against the bank seems to\nbe pretty much of the same character as these--that rivers do not run\nupwards as well as downwards--or that the same season which gives us ice\ndoes not also give us melons and peaches--or that a rail-road or a\ncanal, which reduces the expense of carriage to one-tenth, does not\nreduce it to nothing.\n\n4. Having thus noticed all the objections which the president has made\nto the bank, let us now turn our attention to the substitute that he has\nproposed. This is a national bank, at the seat of government, which is\nto be a branch of the treasury department, and which is, we presume, to\nhave subordinate offices distributed among the several states. Its\nbusiness will be to receive the public revenue from the collectors of\nthe customs, receivers of the land offices, and postmasters, together\nwith such deposits as individuals choose to make, and to give drafts,\nfrom time to time, on distant offices, for a premium.\n\nAccording to this project, the funds of the treasury, instead of being,\nas now, deposited in the several banks convenient to the receiving\noffices, are to be in the immediate keeping of the new corps of the\ntreasury to be levied for the purpose, by which means the public is to\nlose one of its present checks on the malversation of its agents. It is\nknown that there are in most banks various officers, each with his\nappropriate duty--as--one or more to keep accounts--another to receive\nmoney--another to pay it away--another to be its general depositary--and\nthat they are all placed under the superintendence of a president, whose\ncharacter and station in society give assurance for the faithful\ndischarge of his duty. That there is, moreover, a board of directors,\nwho hold their offices only for a year, and who, once a month or\noftener, appoint a committee to examine the affairs of the bank, and\nespecially to ascertain whether the amount of notes, securities, and\nspecie, correspond with the accounts of the institution. Yet, with all\nthese safeguards, it is found, now and then, that men who had previously\nbeen above all suspicion, have not been able to withstand the temptation\nto use the money thus placed in their charge, and that, occasionally,\nthese frauds and peculations are practised a long time without\ndetection. If this is the case, when there is such strict\naccountability, and unremitted vigilance, how would it be when there was\nneither, and when those who received the public money, instead of being\ncompelled to deposit it in a bank, as soon as they received it, and to\ncheck for it when they paid it over, might use it as they pleased,\nprovided they were always ready to meet the drafts of the government. At\nmany places they might do this, and yet, in consequence of the large sum\nwhich is always lying idle, or rather unappropriated in the treasury,\nthey might have the use of the excess, to a considerable amount, as long\nas they remained in office. For several years the amount in the treasury\nhas never been less than five millions, and sometimes considerably more;\nand of this, according to the ordinary current of business, one-third or\nupwards would commonly be in the city of New-York, if it were not\ntransferred to Washington; and this money, which is now invigorating\nindustry and trade, it is proposed to consign either to utter idleness,\nor to the exclusive use of the officers of the treasury. In addition to\nthat aversion to change which is felt by all office-holders, this plan\nmight furnish them with no ordinary means of effecting their object.\n\nBut if for the sake of guarding against such strong temptation to\nspeculate with the public funds, and against such an encouragement to\ncorruption, by affording materials for it, the public money were\nrequired, as now, to be deposited in the banks; though that plan would\nbe free from the objection we have just made, it would be liable to\nanother quite as great--the very one of influence which the president\nhas made to the bank of the United States--with this difference,\nhowever, that the influence derived from the government funds is now\nexercised by the Bank of the United States, and is a salutary check upon\nthat exercised by the state banks, but _then_, it would be added to that\npatronage which is already thought sufficiently great for every\ndesirable purpose, and sometimes for purposes not desirable. The large\nreceipts of public money in our chief importing cities, would be\ndistributed among those banks which were most in favour with the\ngovernment, by which is always meant those that were its most zealous\nand efficient supporters; and thus the revenue of the nation, that is,\nthe use of it, would be set up at auction, to be purchased by the\nobsequious devotion of the state banks to the existing administration.\nIn a division of parties, not more equal than that we often witness in\nour country, the vote of a single state may decide that of the Union,\nand the vote of its principal city may decide that of the state. All\nthis is perfectly well known to some of the friends of the scheme, but\nit is not so to those who are to pay for it, and who are less familiar\nwith the workings of the political wires.\n\nThere is another part of this notable scheme, (we mean no pun,) which\nmerits our attention. This new bank and its offices are to sell drafts\non each other for a premium, and as the bank itself is to issue no\npaper, the drafts may be paid for in the notes of the state banks, \"only\nso long as they continue to be redeemed in specie,\"--such are the\nPresident's words. But suppose the very common case of a bank paying\nspecie to-day, and not paying it, and not being able to pay it,\nto-morrow, what becomes of the public revenue then? To be placed no\ndoubt first to the account of \"unavailable funds,\" and then, to the\ncredit of the treasury. When these new bureaux of finance are\ndistributed over the Union, and having no paper of their own, must carry\non their operations altogether in gold and silver, and the paper of the\nbanks in their vicinity, it is impossible that, with the highest degree\nof vigilance, prudence, impartiality, and firmness, united, they would\nalways avoid loss. But does any one believe that this delicate and\nimportant trust would always be exercised with impartiality and\nfirmness? To believe it, would be to disregard all experience, and to\nshut our eyes to what is passing before them every day. When the\nofficers of the government--themselves dependant more or less directly\non popular favour--were to have the power of discriminating between what\npaper they would take and what refuse, how many motives would be for\never presenting themselves for exercising it improperly? To reject the\npaper of a substantial bank, that was hostile to the administration, if\nthere were any such, and to take that of a tottering one, which was\nfriendly. Let us suppose, by way of illustration, that some orator, or\npolitical manager, no matter which, being about to set out for congress,\nshould apply to one of the treasury banks for a draft on Washington for\na few thousand dollars, and should offer in payment of it the paper, not\nof a substantial bank, but of one which though poorer, was more\npatriotic,--this being the best he could get--is it probable that his\napplication would be rejected? or that the officer would do more than\ninquire whether the bank then paid specie, without troubling his head to\nascertain whether it merely made a show of paying it, and whether it\nwould not be insolvent in a month. Let it not be said, that if doubts\nwere entertained of the solidity of the bank, its paper might be\nimmediately converted into specie; for, in the first place, the bank may\nbe some hundreds of miles distant; and though it were in the immediate\nvicinity, payment of specie would not always be demanded before it was\ntoo late. Besides, the very demand of specie may, like a new weight\nbreaking down an overloaded packhorse, make it stop payment at once. The\nbill now before congress, for allowing the treasury credit for certain\n\"unavailable funds,\" received some years since, would form an excellent\nprecedent for such occurrences, and it is one to which there would be\nfrequent occasions of appealing. And this mode of managing the public\nrevenue is proposed to take the place of that which now exists through\nthe Bank of the United States, by which the government has not lost a\ndollar; and it is next to impossible can lose one. Verily, if the nation\nwere to suffer itself to be gulled by such a scheme as this, they would\ndeserve to suffer the loss they would be sure to incur.\n\nBut pecuniary loss may be but a small part of the price which the nation\nwould pay for this new treasury bank. It may be made to pay, in\naddition, the richest jewel it possesses--its political purity. The\ninfluence which the national executive exercises over the present Bank\nof the United States, is moderate, and not more than is salutary. It\nannually appoints a part of its directors, and, at stated periods, may,\nmoreover, exercise its right, of having the government funds transferred\nfrom one part of the Union to the other, in a more or less accommodating\nway. But here its influence stops. The law, in pursuance of the charter,\ndirects that the public money shall be deposited in the Bank of the\nUnited States or its branches, and in these it must be deposited,\nwhether the president or his secretaries have good will or ill will to\nthe bank, or whether the bank is willing to give any thing in return for\ntheir favour or not. These public deposits are valuable to the bank;\nand, for the benefit, they have paid, and we presume are yet willing to\npay, a fair price. But the compensation is not paid to any officer of\nthe government; it goes into the national treasury, and it consists of\ngold and silver, and not in the base metal of political influence.\n\nWe are well aware that many of the state banks are under the management\nof high-minded and honourable men, who would not be bidders at this\nauction, and who would scorn to purchase a share of the public deposits,\nat the price of their independence. But such might not prove to be the\ncharacter of the greater number. Besides, in some of these cases, a\nmajority of the stockholders might not sit idly by, and see the bank\ndeprived of its share of government favour by the squeamishness of its\nofficers, and might therefore either coerce them into compliance, or\nremove them.\n\nIf so much has been said about the influence attached to the office of\nthe secretary of state, arising from the paltry patronage of printing\nthe laws of the United States, what should be thought of that privilege\nof giving the permanent and uncompensated use of many millions of\ndollars to such powerful corporations as the state banks--embracing some\nthousands of directors, and some tens, nay, hundreds of thousands of\nstockholders and borrowers? We would appeal to that intelligent class of\nour citizens, who are quietly pursuing their occupations or professions\nat home, by which they secure to themselves independence and\nrespectability, and who see, in the purity of our political\ninstitutions, their country's present happiness and future greatness, to\ntake these things into consideration, and say whether they are willing\nto give to any administration such powerful means of exercising an\ninfluence of the worst sort over the minds of the people--whether they\nwill take the money now gained or saved to the nation by means of the\nBank of the United States, to enable a president and his cabinet to buy\ngolden opinions of that numerous class who have them to sell.\n\nThe president lays some stress on the circumstance that his proposed\ntreasury bank would not be a corporation, as is the Bank of the United\nStates. But the lawyers tell us that there are two kinds of\ncorporations--aggregate and sole--and the question is, whether influence\nis likely to be less extensive, or less dangerous, when it is\ntransferred from the corporation aggregate, (the bank) to the\ncorporation sole, (the executive). In the first case, the influence of\nthe bank has checks from its charter--from its stockholders--from its\ndirectors--from public opinion--and, lastly, from the legislature. In\nthe last, the influence would be added to that which is already deemed\nby many too great for the public tranquillity or safety. Whatever means\nthe Bank of the United States possesses, of operating \"on the hopes,\nfears, or interests of large masses of the community,\" the state banks\npossess, to a far greater extent; and it would always be in the power\nof the government to act on these corporations, either by the treasury\nbank \"checking their issues,\" as the president proposes; or, in case\nthat monstrous scheme should be rejected, by means of the public\ndeposits; so that, in any event, if the charter of the present bank is\nnot renewed, the influence of the executive will receive a most\nformidable increase.\n\nNor could the proposed national bank answer the same useful purposes to\nthe commercial world, as the present Bank of the United States. And,\nfirst, as to transmitting values from one part of the Union to another,\nby means of bills of exchange. The president informs us the new bank\nmight sell these at a moderate premium. But its means of doing so would\nbe evidently far more limited than those of the present bank, since the\nlatter, in addition to all the means possessed by the treasury bank, has\nits own large capital and credit. In the year 1829, the amount of drafts\non each other which the bank and its offices sold, was upwards of\ntwenty-four millions, and the amount of its transfers of public money,\nby means of treasury drafts, amounted to upwards of nine millions;\nmaking, in all, more than thirty-three millions. Now, although the\nannual public revenue is about twenty-four millions, yet as the\nexpenditures of the nation are going on at the same time as its\nreceipts, the money on hand, at any one time, seldom exceeds six or\nseven millions. According to the monthly statement of the bank, for the\n1st of January of the present year, the amount of deposits on account of\nthe treasury of the United States, was, after deducting over drafts,\n6,940,628 dollars. But as this sum would be distributed very unequally\nover the United States, there would be in some places more money than\nthe government had occasion for, and in others less, so that it would be\ncompelled to draw on the former, to meet the public exigencies, without\nregard to the state of the exchange market, by reason of which, it would\nnot only not be able to afford the public that general accommodation\nwhich the Bank of the United States now does, but be sometimes obliged\nto sell its drafts for a _discount_, instead of a premium. Thus, suppose\nthe government has a large sum lying in New-York, (it sometimes has more\nthan two millions there,) and it has occasion for 200,000 dollars in\nMaine, as much in Missouri, &c. Although it might have found a ready\nsale in these places for its drafts, for a small amount, at par, or even\nat a premium, yet the amount offered exceeding the demands of the\nmarket, the government must either sell its drafts at a discount, or be\nat the expense of transmitting the specie. In the mean while, the drafts\nwhich are thus sold at one place at a loss, might be in demand at\nanother, but that demand the government cannot meet, because it must\ngive its money another direction. We therefore think that this part of\nthe scheme cannot be of much utility to the public, or of profit to the\ntreasury.\n\nIt must be recollected, too, that the Bank of the United States is a\nbuyer as well as a seller of bills of exchange, to the great advantage\nof the commercial community. Its purchases, during the same year, 1829,\namounted to upwards of twenty-nine millions of dollars; and that in this\nbusiness, the treasury bank, according to the president's programme,\ncould not engage.\n\nBut besides the want of the accommodation now afforded by the purchase\nor sale of inland bills to all parts of the Union, there is a large\nfurther arrear of utility which the treasury bank would owe to the\npublic. In what way would it make amends for the immense amount of\ncurrency withdrawn from circulation? The notes of the United States Bank\nin actual circulation, commonly amount to fourteen or fifteen millions,\nexclusive of its drafts, which, to a certain extent, perform the office\nof currency. As the new bank is to issue no paper, the chasm must be\nfilled, either with the paper of the state banks, or not filled at all.\nIf with the former, whence are they to derive their increased means of\ncirculation, seeing that nearly all of them have carried their issues to\nthe extreme verge of safety, and some of them, perhaps, beyond it? It\nwill, however, be said, that there will be new banks established--the\ncapital that is vested in the Bank of the United States will not be\nannihilated by the termination of that establishment, but will seek\nemployment in new banks. Let it be so. In that case what becomes of the\nincreased profits of which many of the state banks have been dreaming,\nand the hope of obtaining which has been so artfully appealed to?\n\nBut an addition to the state banks would fall far short of filling the\nvoid. Much of the capital of the present bank was obtained from Europe.\nWe are told in the report of the committee, that foreigners own stock to\nthe amount of seven millions. Is it probable that these capitalists will\nbe as ready to venture their money in the state banks, as in one\nchartered by the general government? Would they even venture it again in\na national bank, after we had shown so vacillating a policy? We\nestablish a bank of that description in 1791--we put it down in 1811, as\nunconstitutional--we charter another, five years afterwards, 1816, and\ndiscontinue that in 1836. Assuredly, after this experience, they would\nprefer a somewhat smaller interest nearer home, rather than risk their\nmoney in a country exhibiting so little stability, and where what had\nbeen long determined to be legal by the highest authorities of the\ncountry, is liable to be revoked on the first revolution of parties.\n\nThere are persons who will consider the withdrawal of seven millions\nfrom our circulation, as no source of regret; and who think the money\npaid for the use of foreign capital, is so much lost to the country;\nfor the truths of political economy are not obvious to all. But no one\nwho is acquainted with the elements of that science, will doubt, that a\nnation, not having as much capital as it can advantageously employ, may\nbe improved and enriched by foreign capital as well as its own; and the\nbenefit of these seven millions in stimulating the productive industry\nof the country--in building ships, and wharves, and mills, and\nmanufactories, and steam-boats, is precisely the same as if they were\ndomestic capital, with the single difference of the interest. Ask the\nowner of a thriving manufactory of woollens in Cincinnati, or of iron in\nPittsburg, if he had been assisted in his enterprise by a loan of\n10,000, or 20,000 dollars from the Bank of the United States--and he\nmight answer, that, by the use of the money, in a few years, he had,\nbesides paying the interest, realized the sum borrowed. Ask him further\nwhether he would gain more by keeping the money longer, or returning it\nto the European stockholder, and he would laugh at you, thinking your\nquestion conveyed its own answer, as he had not chosen to return the\nmoney.\n\nThe president's project then of a treasury bank, seems to be liable to\nall the objections he makes to the present Bank of the United States, in\na tenfold degree, as to influence, by adding so enormously to the\nexecutive patronage. It offers a far inferior substitute for the safety,\nand the easy transmission of the revenue; and no substitute at all for\nmuch of the accommodation now afforded to commerce, and the large amount\nof active capital it would throw out of circulation.\n\nIn making this comparison, we have had no reference to the former\nservices of the Bank of the United States in restoring the currency of\nthe country to a sound state, or to its power of so preserving it, if\nthe country should be again involved in war. We have contented ourselves\nwith refuting the objections which have been brought forward against\nthat institution, under the sanction of the chief magistrate of the\ncountry, and with pointing out to the unprejudiced mind the\ninconveniences and serious mischiefs attendant on the scheme which has\nbeen proposed in its stead. In our last number, we asserted that the\nresumption of specie payments by the state banks, in 1817, was to be\nprobably attributed to the establishment of the Bank of the United\nStates, and we stated the facts upon which that opinion was founded. It\nwas, then, with some surprise, that we saw the position roundly denied\nin a quarter (the North American Review) where we have been accustomed\nto look for just views on all commercial affairs; and the resumption of\ncash payments imputed to the resolution of congress, forbidding the\nofficers of the government from receiving the notes of any banks which\nwere not redeemable in specie. The question is not one of primary\nimportance, yet as it may affect our future policy, and concerns our\npresent justice, we will add a few remarks on the subject. When we see\nthat the measure of the government alluded to was not immediately\nfollowed by the desired effect, but that as soon as the Bank of the\nUnited States was about to go into operation, an arrangement was\nvoluntarily entered into with it by the banks of New-York, Philadelphia,\nBaltimore, and Virginia, by which they all agreed to resume cash\npayments at the same time, it seems to afford _prima facie_ evidence,\nthat it is to the Bank of the United States, and not to the legislature,\nthat the resumption is directly attributable. Whether the state banks\nmight not, at some subsequent time, have paid specie, and at what time,\nmust now remain a matter of conjecture; but we think it quite as likely,\nthat the banks, making extraordinary profits as they were, so long as\nthey were not compelled to redeem their notes in specie, would have\nprocured a repeal of the resolution of congress, as that that measure\nwould have operated coercively on them. In some of the states, the\nresumption of specie payments was discountenanced by the state\nlegislatures; and in Virginia, if we mistake not, after the measure had\nbeen enjoined on the banks by the legislature, it afterwards retraced\nits steps, on the ground, that if they ventured to pay specie, the Bank\nof the United States, then about to go into operation, would immediately\ndraw every dollar from their vaults. The banks of that state thus had\nthe express sanction of its legislature for continuing the suspension;\nnor was it until after the meeting of the convention, mentioned in our\nlast number, that they paid specie.\n\nBut in what way, it may be asked, could the Bank of the United States\nhave compelled the state banks to resume specie payments, if they had\nnot been so disposed? We answer, by giving the public the option of a\nbetter currency than theirs, and presenting an easy and ready standard\nin every part of the Union, by which the depreciation of their notes\nwould have been manifest. As soon as the paper of the national bank had\nbeen put into circulation, it would command, by its convertibility into\nspecie, a preference in the market over the paper of the state banks,\nand the difference would have been shown by the reduced rate at which\nthe latter would have passed. The public then having such a standard of\ncomparison, could no longer be deceived, and every one would have seen\nthe depreciation, and known the extent of it. What would have been the\nnatural consequence? The paper of the state banks, thus depreciated in\nthe market, would have been bought up by their more prudent and\nsubstantial borrowers, and returned to them in discharge of their debts;\nand thus they would have had no notes in circulation except what was\nrepresented by the paper of their most straitened and doubtful\ncustomers, nor would any others have continued to borrow of them. Thus,\nwith a business decreased in amount and impaired in character, they\nwould have found it impossible to make a profit equal to defraying their\nexpenses and yielding a dividend to the stockholders.\n\nAll this the state banks distinctly foresaw, and not wishing to be\ncompelled to resume specie payments, by which their profits would be\ndiminished, they generally opposed the establishment of a national bank.\nBut when they found that all opposition had been ineffectual, and that\nthe bank was about to go into operation, and to pay specie, they\nimmediately saw that they must follow the example, or that their gains\nwere at an end--that the public, which took their paper, during the war\nand immediately after the peace, when there was no other currency, would\nnot continue to take it, when they had the choice of a better--and thus\nthe compact which has been mentioned was formed.\n\nIt is said, however, that the depreciated paper of the Baltimore banks\nwould have circulated so long as the government received it at the\ncustom-house, and that it was only after the government decided to\nreceive it no longer, that those banks found themselves compelled to pay\nspecie. But would this measure have been effectual without a national\nbank? We have already intimated that we thought not. It would have been\nvehemently attacked in congress and out, and all the states, except\nperhaps Massachusetts, might have instructed their representatives that\nthe measure was premature, oppressive, and detrimental to the public\ninterests. But after the Bank of the United States went into operation,\nthe question was at an end. The government, whether the resolution of\ncongress had been passed or not, could not with decency have taken, or\nbeen asked to take, any more than an individual, depreciated paper for\nits dues, when there was good paper and specie in circulation; and the\nBaltimore banks, as well as all others, must have followed suit, or\ngiven up the game.\n\nFor these reasons we must continue to think, that the claim urged by the\nfriends of the Bank of the United States, that it operated, by its\nexample, a salutary coercion on the state banks in their return to\nspecie payments, is as well established as a question of its character\ncan be, and that the same means by which it proved that remedy for the\nmischiefs of an unsound currency--its solid capital--unquestionable\ncredit--and practical skill in business--would operate, on future\noccasions, as a preventive of similar mischiefs.\n\nThe same distinguished critic differs from the chairman of the committee\nof ways and means, as to the effect of an increase of money in producing\ndepreciation. The proposition controverted is thus stated by Mr.\nM'Duffie in the Report.\n\n \"No proposition is better established than that the value of\n money, whether it consists of specie or paper, is depreciated\n in exact proportion to the increase of its quantity, in any\n given state of the demand for it. If, for example, the banks,\n in 1816, doubled the quantity of the circulating medium by\n their excessive issues, they produced a general degradation of\n the entire mass of the currency, including gold and silver,\n proportioned to the redundancy of the issues, and wholly\n independent of the relative depreciation of bank paper at\n different places as compared with specie. The nominal money\n price of every article was of course one hundred per cent.\n higher than it would have been, but for the duplication of the\n quantity of the circulating medium. Money is nothing more nor\n less than the measure by which the relative value of all\n articles of merchandise is ascertained. If, when the\n circulating medium is fifty millions, an article should cost\n one dollar, it would certainly cost two, if, without any\n increase of the uses of a circulating medium, its quantity\n should be increased to one hundred millions. This rise in the\n price of commodities, or depreciation in the value of money, as\n compared with them, would not be owing to the want of credit in\n the bank bills, of which the currency happened to be composed.\n It would exist, though these bills were of undoubted credit,\n and convertible into specie at the pleasure of the holder, and\n would result simply from the redundancy of their quantity. It\n is important to a just understanding of the subject, that the\n relative depreciation of bank paper at different places, as\n compared with specie, should not be confounded with this\n general depreciation of the entire mass of the circulating\n medium, including specie.\"\n\nAlthough the principle appears to us to be laid down somewhat too\nbroadly by Mr. M'Duffie, as we shall presently state, yet he is\nsupported in his position, to the letter, by Hume, by Mr. Jefferson, and\nvirtually by Adam Smith, if we suppose that from any cause the excess of\ngold and silver, which causes the depreciation, cannot be exported. They\nall agree in this, that the amount of money which can circulate, and\nwhich does in fact circulate in any country, depends upon the number and\nvalue of its exchanges, and that, as its quantity increases, its value\ndiminishes. But Hume and Smith, concurring in this general principle,\ndrew very different inferences from it as to the paper currency of\nbanks. Hume thought that the equilibrium between the money required for\nthe country and that in circulation, was effected by depreciation; while\nSmith considered, that it was maintained by an exportation of the\nprecious metals in proportion to the increase of paper. And the general\nprinciple thus ably supported by authority, was all, no doubt, that Mr.\nM'Duffie meant to assert. There is then probably no real difference\nbetween him and his reviewer in the North American.\n\nWe conceive that Mr. M'Duffie, in his application of the principle to\nour own situation, twelve or fifteen years since, has not greatly\noverrated the depreciation, if we regard the effect of the increase of\nmoney on every species of exchangeable value; but that it was very\ndifferent with the different kinds. This difference requires\nexplanation; but first, of the general principle itself, which, it seems\nto us, must be received with some qualification.\n\nThe effect of an increase of money is certainly to diminish its value;\nbut the extent of the diminution is one of those nice problems in\npolitical economy which has never been accurately settled. It has not\nyet been adjusted to a formula which will explain all the facts\nattending such increase. Although the quantity of money required in a\ncountry mainly depends upon the number and value of its purchases in a\ngiven time, yet with the same amount of these, much less money may be in\ncirculation at one time than another. There are various expedients and\nsubstitutes for supplying a temporary deficiency of currency, which make\nthe quantity of money in a commercial country a variable one, capable of\nconsiderable contraction or expansion. The actual money can be more or\nless aided by credit. A farmer, a horse-dealer, a shopkeeper, a\nmechanic--will all wait with a substantial purchaser for their money,\nrather than lose the sale of their commodities; and a sudden rise in the\nprice of the staples of the country, such as our own often experience,\nwhile it increases the demand for money, proportionally improves the\ncredit of individuals, and fits it as a substitute for cash. Money too\nmay be much more active at one time than another; and when there has\nbeen a considerable increase of it, the greater comparative idleness of\na part of it, in the strong boxes or pocket-books of individuals, may\nprevent or lessen its depreciation. These circumstances, and others\nwhich might be added, all inappreciable except by approximations,\nprevent the value of money from either rising or falling, in exact\nproportion to its increase or decrease in quantity.\n\nTo this qualification of the general principle, we would add another.\nWhen the money of a country has been considerably increased, and the\nexcess cannot be exported, as was the case with our paper currency\nduring the suspension of cash payments, the depreciation is much greater\nupon some articles than others. Its effect is least upon those\ncommodities which find a market abroad, because the price there\nregulates the price here. It is by reason of this irregularity that\ndepreciation is often so disguised as not to be perceptible to all, and\nthat sometimes it is a matter of dispute whether it exists or not; as\nwas the case in England in the controversy between the bullionists and\ntheir opponents, concerning the fact of the depreciation of their bank\npaper during the suspension of cash payments.\n\nBut if the increase of the currency has little effect on the prices of\nsome articles, it has the greater on those for the estimation of which\nthere is no such definite standard--as lands, town lots, and houses--and\nthose domestic products which look exclusively to domestic consumption\nfor a market, as butchers' meat, game, &c. All these took a prodigious\nrise in all parts of the Union, and most men mistaking the effect of a\nredundancy of money for a real rise of price consequent on our\nincreased population and capital, believed that real estate was the\nbest investment they could make of their money, and purchased it\naccordingly--looking for remuneration, not to the rent or immediate\nprofit, but to that future rise in value which was inferred from the\npast. This erroneous opinion brought capitalists into the market for\nreal estate, and the competition created by their money, and that which\nothers borrowed from the banks, raised the price extravagantly high. A\nnatural though singular result of this state of things was, that those\nwho had sold lands or lots at these factitious prices, could have made\nno use of their money that would have been so profitable as not using it\nat all; and the policy of hoarding, usually as unwise as it is odious,\nwould have been, on this occasion, the most rational and gainful that\ncould have been pursued.\n\nIf, then, we take the prices of every species of merchandise among us,\ntogether with that of real estate, we believe it will be found that such\naverage of prices then, is very near double of what it is now; and\nconsequently that Mr. M'Duffie's estimate of the late depreciation of\nour currency was not extravagant. But granting that it was exaggerated,\nhe appears to us to have taken juster views than his critic, of its\npernicious effects, as well as of the agency of the bank in arresting\nthem; and we must think that he is the safer physician, who merely\noverrates the danger of a disease, than he, who, though he rightly\njudges it not mortal, mistakes both its cause and its remedy.\n\nWe think, too, that the report of the committee was correct in\nsupposing, that the depreciation would not have taken place, if the Bank\nof the United States had then been in existence. At any rate it would\nhave been postponed, and if not prevented altogether, under the\ndisadvantages of having neither a navy to protect our commerce, nor\nmanufactures to supply its place, it would have been greatly mitigated.\nIt is probable that the suspension of cash payments would not have taken\nplace at all, if the bank had followed the prudent course of the banks\nof Boston, and not lent its money to the government; but though it had,\nits paper would have been more nearly at par and more uniform than that\nof the state banks, which varied in value according to the public\nopinion of their prudence and solidity, as well as of the varying\nquantity of notes thrown into circulation in different places. It is\npossible that the national bank, being conducted with greater skill and\nknowledge of banking, would have seen that they could not safely\naccommodate the government with any large loan, and that when they were\nreduced to the dilemma of either suspending cash payments and having a\ndepreciated currency, or of maintaining the currency sound, by\nwithholding assistance to the government, they would have preferred the\nlatter; and that the government would have been thereby induced to\nresort sooner than they did to a system of taxation to support the war.\nIt is indeed impossible to say, at this time, what would have been the\nprecise result if we had possessed a national bank, but we think that\nthis much may be affirmed with confidence, that the depreciation of its\nnotes would have been far less, would have been uniform, and would have\ntaken the place of much paper which had no solid foundation for the\nshort-lived credit it obtained.\n\nIt remains for us now to see what will be the extent of the immediate\npecuniary cost to the nation for pulling down the Bank of the United\nStates, and building up the Treasury Bank on its ruins. This view is\nintelligible to all, and there are minds who will give more weight to\nthis objection than that of increasing executive influence.\n\nWe know that it is an important function of every government to regulate\nits money, weights, and measures, not from any mystical notions of\nsovereignty, but because uniformity in these several standards is of the\ngreatest utility in saving time and trouble, and in preventing frauds\nand disputes, and there is no effectual way of attaining uniformity\nexcept by the legislative power. It is, therefore, that these subjects\nwere placed under the control of the general government, by the\nconstitution, and it is in the exercise of the powers thus granted that\nit coins money of gold and silver, and determines their relative value.\n\nBut as among the inventions of commerce, it is found that such metallic\nmoney can be, to a considerable extent, substituted by paper, and thus a\nmeasure of value which costs nothing, can be made and is made to answer\nthe same, and even a better purpose, than that which would cost a great\ndeal, the same reasons which made the regulation of the coin by the\ngovernment, necessary and proper, apply to the regulation of its\nsubstitute. The government thus having control over the subject, is\nfurnished with the ready means of making a great profit by the\nsubstitution; and this it may do in two ways. It may either become a\nbanker itself, and issue notes of circulation, having currency as money,\nin return for the notes of individuals bearing interest, or it may\ntransfer the right of doing this to such a set of men as it deems worthy\nof the trust, and make them pay a fair price for the valuable privilege\nthus conferred.\n\nOf these two modes of profiting by the substitution of paper for specie,\nthe last is by far the best, for the same reason that it is best for the\ngovernment to sell its public lands, rather than to cultivate them. It\nis incapable of commanding agents who will practise the same economy,\nindustry, and skill, in the management of the public concerns, as their\nown. It must always pay higher than individuals for the same work, and\nthe various peculations to which it is exposed, besides the costly\napparatus of superintendents, would make banking, carried on by itself,\na bad measure of economy, to say nothing of the objections arising from\nits disturbing the distribution of political power, by affording the\nmeans of influence, patronage, and corruption.\n\nBut the scheme which the president has been persuaded to recommend,\nproposes, that the government should give up the advantages of both\nplans: that it should forego both the profit of issuing paper itself,\nand that of disposing of it to a corporate body, in which the community\nhad entire confidence, and which has proved, by its previous unexampled\nsuccess, its fitness for the duty--and in lieu of these plans, to let\nthe valuable privilege evaporate into a sort of electioneering material,\nfor whomsoever may hold the office of president, or may rule his\ncabinet. And what is it which the people of the United States are thus\nasked to surrender? Let us estimate it.\n\nAccording to the bank charter, the government takes stock to the amount\nof seven millions of dollars, on which it pays to the bank an interest\nof 5 per cent., and it now receives on this stock an interest of 7 per\ncent, making a clear profit of 140,000 dollars a year, equal to a gross\ncapital of 2,800,000 dollars, all of which must be lost on the proposed\nplan. But this is not all. The bank keeps the money of the\ngovernment--keeps its accounts--keeps its officers out of\ntemptation--and transfers the money from one part of the Union to\nanother with promptitude and certainty, without the loss of a single\ndollar. We have seen that for some of these operations the treasury bank\nwould be obliged to pay.\n\nWe do not mean to say that these various services of the bank are\ngratuitous. On the contrary, it is fairly remunerated for them by the\nprivileges it enjoys, and by the public deposits; but still they are\nvaluable services, and in this way the government obtains a fair\nequivalent for what it surrenders. Nor let it be supposed that as good a\nbargain could be made with the state banks. The general government could\nnot be interested in their stock, nor could they afford to give as much\nfor the privileges, because they would be more local. Being connected\nonly by voluntary compacts, they could not do the business of the\ngovernment to the same advantage as a single corporation. They could not\ncirculate as much paper with the same safety, nor could they sell or buy\nbills at as small a profit. The superior advantages which the Bank of\nthe United States enjoys in capital, in banking skill, and in the\ngreater credit and wider circulation of its notes, enables it to give a\nliberal price for its charter, and the government would be false to the\npeople to surrender this benefit.\n\nBut it would not become the government to attempt to extort, or to be\nilliberal, but to act on the principle of justice to the public and the\nbank. The legislature should not furnish the bank with either the\ntemptation or excuse of an Irish middle man, who grinds his sub-tenants\nin proportion as his landlord has pressed him. Upon these principles, we\nthink the government should, by way of bonus, charge the bank a moderate\ninterest on its deposits, and pay a small commission for the services of\nthe bank. An adjustment of these several claims, by some general\nestimate, might leave to the nation the clear annual gain of perhaps\n200,000 dollars, or a gross capital of four millions, instead of giving\nit away for the improvement of the machinery of our political\nwire-workers.\n\nThere is yet another mode by which the government might derive a profit\nfrom the bank, and which has this further recommendation, that it would\nnot be at the expense of the stockholders, and it would be a value saved\nto the nation that would be otherwise lost. It is now a favourite object\nboth with the people and the government to pay off the national debt;\nand from the novelty of the phenomenon it will give great eclat to the\nadministration in which it takes place. It is known that upwards of\nthirteen millions of this debt bears an interest of but 3 per cent. This\npart of the public funds is held chiefly in Europe by large capitalists,\nit being preferred by them, because it could not be redeemed but at par,\nunless with the consent of the holders, and it was hardly expected that\nthe government would choose to redeem it at par rather than pay so low\nan interest on it. They thus thought that the owners of the stock had\nthe means of postponing its redemption in their own hands. For these\nreasons this stock has always been something higher in the market than\nany other, and it now sells at 93 dollars a share of 100 dollars, which\nis about 3-1/4 per cent. At the price at which the commissioners of the\nsinking fund are limited, they cannot buy this stock; but when all the\nrest of the debt is paid, this must come next, and as soon as the\ngovernment offers to purchase, it will rise still higher, perhaps to\npar. In that event, the government will have to pay upwards of thirteen\nmillions of dollars, drawn from the pockets of the poor as well as the\nrich, which they might keep for ever, by paying an annual interest of 3\nper cent, or 390,000 dollars.\n\nNow the use of this money, has been of immense advantage to this\ncountry, and may continue to be so, considering how inadequately many\nparts of it are supplied with real capital. It will build ships--erect\nmills and manufactories--salt works and iron works--and help to make\nrail roads and canals, by which our free and industrious population will\nbe able to improve the condition of the country in bettering their own.\nThis money, too, does not consist of paper which we can create at will,\nbut of gold and silver, or their equivalents, which we must send out of\nthe country. Had it not better remain here? Every good economist will\nsay yes. It will be not difficult, we should presume, for the government\nto make an arrangement with the bank to pay this 390,000 dollars, and\nrelease us from our obligations, and to receive a less sum than the\nthirteen millions. Their capital may be enlarged, and the rapid growth\nof our country will soon require its enlargement. The holders of this\nstock will indeed have a right to look to the United States for their\nmoney, but that would make only a nominal difference, and they might be\noffered stock of the bank in exchange on advantageous terms. Thus the\nmoney which would be appropriated to the payment of this debt, might be\nkept in the country and be vested in banking capital, by which it would\ngive vigour to commerce, manufactures, and navigation, and, through\nthem, render benefit to the whole nation.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The American Quarterly Review, No. 17,\nMarch 1831, by Various\n\n*** "]]