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The Life and Adventures of Maj. Roger Sherman Potter, a novel by F. Colburn Adams |
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Chapter 13. Which Treats Of Two Strange Characters... |
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_ CHAPTER XIII. WHICH TREATS OF TWO STRANGE CHARACTERS I MET AT THE INDEPENDENT TEMPERANCE HOTEL
A few minutes, and having completed my toilet, I appeared at the supper table, which the blushing Bessie had spread with all the niceties of the season, and was waiting to do the honors. My appetite was indeed keen, but the flashing of her eyes so troubled my sensitive nature, that I entirely forgot the supper, and began to inquire, half resolved to end my journey here, if mine host could accommodate me for a month. Bessie heaved a sigh, saying it should be done if she had to give up her own room. To which I replied that nothing could induce me to give her trouble for my sake; that I would take up my lodgings upon the corn shed, where, with the stars and her charms to occupy my musings, I could be so happy. When supper was over, Bessie ushered me into a large sitting room, on the left of the hall, and bid me good night. A large, square table, upon which was a copy of Godey's Lady's Book, the New England Cultivator, the New Bedford Mercury, and sundry other papers of good morals, stood in the center of the room. The walls were papered in bright colors, and the floor was covered with an Uxbridge carpet, the colors of which were green and red, and made fresh by the glare of a spirit lamp that burned upon the table. A chart of the South Shoal, a map of Massachusetts and Rhode Island, and sundry rude drawings in crayon and water colors, hung suspended from the walls. The air of quiet cheerfulness that pervaded the sitting room, bespoke the care Bessie had bestowed upon it, and the active part she took in the management of the household. And, too, there was a piano standing open at one end of the room, for Bessie, in addition to having studied Latin and algebra two years at the high school, had taken music lessons of Monsieur Pensiné, and could play seven tunes right off. An aged, clerical-looking man, his visage lean and careworn, with his newly-married bride, a simply clad country girl of eighteen, sat at a window, looking out upon a little square, and every few minutes exchanging caresses they imagined were seen by no one else in the room. Indeed, when they were not caressing, they were whispering in very affectionate proximity. Once or twice I overheard, "My darling," and, "You know, my love," which curt but meaning sentences are much in fashion with persons on a bridal tour, and who set out with the belief that earth has no ill that can disturb the solace of their perhaps weak love. The little deformed man, of the nervous temperament, and whose well formed head seemed to have been thrown by accident upon his distended chest, paced, or rather oscillated up and down the room, swinging his arms restlessly, now casting a glance of his keen gray eye at me, then pausing at the farther end of the room to read the notice of a lecture on Crabbe, inscribed upon a great red poster. There was something in the lettering of the poster that displeased him exceedingly, for, having scanned over it, he would turn away with a quickened pace, and mutter some incoherent sentences no one present could comprehend, but which his increasing nervousness betold were expressive of anger. The thought of Bessie made me impatient, and following the example of the little deformed man, I also commenced pacing the room, but on the opposite side of the table, meeting and exchanging glances with him in the center. The maps upon the walls furnished me themes for contemplation in my sallies; and I read and reread the exact latitude and longitude of the South Shoal, as it appeared on the charts. Then I paused at a front window, and peered out into the starlight night, and saw the tree tops in a little square opposite, move gently to the breeze, while my fancies recurred to the association of that home, at the fireside of which I pictured my father and mother, sitting thinking of me. At the opposite end of the room I read, for it was there printed upon the red colored poster, that the celebrated Giles Sheridan, (who was no less a person than the little deformed man who paced the room so briskly,) would lecture on Crabbe, in the basement of the "Orthodox Meeting House," at seven o'clock, on the following evening. It perplexed me not a little to know why this Giles Sheridan, this queer little man, had selected for the subject of his lecture, a person so little known in the rural districts of Massachusetts. Had he consulted either the political or mechanical tastes of the people, instead of their literary, the cause would not have been involved in so deep a mystery; but this will be explained hereafter. The clerical looking man had just kissed his young bride, and muttered something about the joys of paradise, as I, for the ninth time, paused to ponder over the curious announcement. And as I did so, the little man, with that sensitiveness common to true genius, looked up at me with an eye beaming with intelligence, while his lips quivered, his fingers became restless, and he locked his hands before him and behind him, in quick succession, then frisked his straight hair back over his ears with his fingers, and gave out such other signs of timidity as convinced me that he was a stranger in the land, and would engage me in conversation merely to unburden his thoughts. I have said true genius, in speaking of this queer little man, for indeed, if strange nature had so disfigured his person as to make it unsightly, she had more than compensated him with the gifts of a brilliant mind. "Like myself, sir, you are a traveler this way?" he spoke, with a voice clear and musical, and with just enough of a refined brogue to discover the land of his nativity, or to give melody to his conversation. "You will pardon me, sir; but I saw you evinced an interest in the notice of my lecture. Ah! sir; even a look of encouragement cheers and fortifies this misgiving heart of mine. Few, sir, very few, think of me, seeing that there is nothing about me pleasing to the eye." And as he said this, he sighed, frisked his left hand across his forehead, and shook his head. I saw he was troubled with that lack of confidence in himself, so common to men of his kind; he was also too timid for one thrown upon a strange land with only genius to aid him in struggling against adversity. On discovering to him who I was, and that I had written a Life and Times of Captain Seth Brewster, which my publisher, and several independent critics he kept in his employ, had praised into an unprecedented sale, though it was indeed the veriest rubbish, his pent up enthusiasm gushed forth in a rhapsody of joy. I told him, too, that two sonnets which I had written, over the signature of Mary, had been published in the "New Bedford Mercury," the editor of which very excellent paper said they were charming, though he never paid me a penny for them. It may interest all aspiring female poets to know that these little attempts at verse found their way into the "Home Journal," and were highly praised by it, as is everything written by Marys of sixteen. "Men of letters are brothers!" said the little, deformed man, grasping tightly my hand. "They should bind their sympathies in eternal friendship. You have no other word for it! The world never thinks of them until they are dead; ought they not then to be brothers to one another while they live?" He now placed two chairs, frisked about like one half crazed, expressed his joy at meeting one who had aspirations in common with him, said he wished the meek old lover in the corner had his young bride in paradise, and bid me be seated and join him in a talk over the past and present of letters. I replied by saying I was more impatient to know what had brought him to Barnstable with so strange a subject for his lecture. "That is the point, and I will tell you; for a stranger is never to blame for doing wrong when he thinks he is doing right!" said he, with great earnestness of manner. And he drew his chair closer, and tapped me impressively on the arm with the fore finger of his right hand. "And you read my name, Giles Sheridan, on the pink poster. I am well known in some parts of the world, and not so well known in others. Thanks to a merciful God, I am not the worst man in the world, and yet I am deformed; and as the world praises most the beauty that adorns the surface, so few think of me, care for me, or say, 'Giles Sheridan, there is meat and wine at my house, where you will be welcome.' Thinking even a cripple might find favor and fortune in the country, I came over not long since, and sought the city of Boston, it being, as many had told me, the great center of America's learning and refinement. There I gave a lecture or two; but being a stranger, and deformed withal, the reception I met was cold and discouraging. Against such men as Lowell, and Curtis, men born on the soil, and of such goodly person as made them the pets of the petticoats and pantaletts, I could not hope to succeed. In truth, I gave up, sick at heart, clean only in pocket, and with the alternative of a garret and a crust staring me in the face, in a land of plenty. At length a friendly hand came to my succor, and through it I was invited by a committee, composed of the tavern keeper, the schoolmaster, the Unitarian clergyman, and the milkman, (who had a relish for letters,) to deliver three lectures in this town, for which they promised to pay me five dollars a lecture, and my victuals. Yes, sir, my victuals. Five dollars and victuals for a learned lecture was something for a man whose pocket stood much in need of replenishing. I came, disposed to do to the best of my ability; and the victuals I have had, and they are good. I chose Crabbe for the subject of my lecture, in deference to my own taste, and also because I was led to believe, judging from analogy, that the knowledge of men of letters which ruled in Boston, must also rule in the villages and towns round about. It was that which led me to announce Crabbe, which announcement has much disturbed the town. No one seems to know who or what manner of man he was, and many curious questions have been put to me concerning his origin, the things he did while living, the manner of his death, and what was said of him afterwards. Several inquisitive old ladies, who called to see me to-day, put many questions concerning his morals and religion. Not entertaining a doubt of his loving all religion that was founded in truth and reason, I sent them away fully satisfied that Mr. Crabbe was a man of good standing in the church. You will remember sir, it was Crabbe who said, 'There sits he upright in his seat secure, As one whose conscience is correct and pure.'" Here he continued to repeat several of the most beautiful lines written by that poet, and which are familiar to his readers. "An unhappy sort of man, clothed in the garb of a mechanic, and calling himself a nonresistant, has several times called to inquire if Mr. Crabbe, of whom I proposed to speak, was an advocate of physical resistance. Not being able to satisfy him upon this point, he has sought in divers ways to pick a quarrel with me." Just at this moment the door opened, and there entered to the evident annoyance of the little deformed man, one Ephraim Flagg, a clicker of shoes, and an ex-stagedriver. He was lean and low of figure, had a long bony face, and a gloomy expression of countenance, and a straight, narrow forehead, and coarse, silvery hair, that stood erect upon his head. "I have come again, you see; but don't let your choler get up, my little stranger. Peace and little men ought to keep each other company," spoke the man, with a strong, nasal twang, after having adjusted his thumbs in the arm holes of his waistcoat, and passed twice or thrice up and down the, room, with a tantalizing air. Ephraim Flagg had given up driving the stage between New London and Norwich, and had recently taken to books, and so studied certain exact and inexact sciences, as they were called, and neglected all business, that it was feared he would become a town tax. In addition to this he had made himself famous for quarreling with all those who differed with him on the peculiarities of his social problem. "Sir!" replied the lecturer, "as you chose neither to be convinced, nor to accept reason for argument, perhaps we had as well end this bantering!" "Oh! there you are," interrupted the nonresistant, "you must not allow your ill temper to rise. You can't get (no you can't) the better of your adversary that way. If a man kicks you, and if you want to show yourself his superior, turn right round and thank him. Depend upon it, there is nothing equal to it! It so unhinges the man. Now, as to this Mr. Crabbe, (you forgot, in our controversy yesterday, to say where he was born,) being a gentleman, and in favor of using physical force-" "Seeing that I am engaged, Mr. Flagg," interrupted Giles Sheridan, "perhaps you will excuse me any further controversy on the peculiar merits of Crabbe's combativeness." "But there was one point not made quite clear to me, and I came back, not to make you angry, for men who give lectures should have good tempers, but to inquire if this Mr. Crabbe was ever kocked down; and if he was, how and in what manner he returned the kindness?" To this question, Giles Sheridan was not inclined to vouchsafe an answer. The nonresistant then said, the principles he had been trying to defend, were being illustrated. "I am an enemy to physical force; but I have gained a victory over you! You won't deny that, I take it?" continued the nonresistant, taking a seat uninvited; and, having placed his feet upon the table, near Giles Sheridan, who was scarce able to restrain his feelings at the want of good breeding therein displayed, threw his hat upon the floor, and said he would wager four dollars and thirty cents, which was all the money he possessed, that he could lecture on the principles of nonresistance, and draw an audience greater by ten per cent. than would come to hear about Mr. Crabbe. "You don't know whether your man had a liking for tobacco and whiskey?" he parenthesized. A look of contempt flashed from Giles Sheridan's eye, as he twirled his fingers, and curtly replied, "I wish, for your own sake, sir, that your tongue did not betray the error of the doctrine you have set up-" "Oh! there you are!" the nonresistant quickly replied, "establishing by your acts what you have not courage to acknowledge with your lips." Wounded in his feelings, the little deformed man turned away, and commenced inquiring what I thought about several learned, but very heavy reviews that had recently appeared in Putnam's Magazine, a monthly so sensitive of its character for weighty logic, that it never gave ordinary readers anything they could digest. I confessed I was not sufficiently qualified to speak on the subject; to do which, required that a man be a member of that mutual admiration society, beyond whose delicate fingers it seldom circulated. The nonresistant evidently saw my embarrassment, and saying he had but one more question to ask respecting the man Crabbe, continued in the following manner, while Giles Sheridan remained doggedly silent. "Now, look a here! if your Mr. Crabbe had a bin a farmer who had grown a nice field of wheat, which his neighbor's horse, being breachy, had got into, wanting to get the best of that neighbor, would he have killed the horse, or would he have gone to that neighbor and said, 'Neighbor, thy horse is in my wheat, pray come and take him out, that I may not bear thee malice?'" This question, and the quaint manner in which it was put, so conciliated the little deformed man that he could not resist a smile. "I have you there!" exclaimed the nonresistant with a toss of his head. "It occurs to me that Crabbe never had a farm, hence it would not become me to speak for him. For myself, I had driven the horse out with my dog," replied the other. "There you are wrong," retorted the nonresistant, "for the dog would have destroyed the wheat, and so carried the devil to the heart of the farmer, that he had gone to law, if, indeed, he had not killed the horse, and by so doing lost all power over his adversary. Whereas, if he had spoken gently of the conduct of the horse, the owner would have been sorely grieved, and set about making good the damage, according to the promptings of his own heart." The landlord hearing the nonresistant's voice, entered the room and ordered him to begone about his business, and seek some better employment than that of hectoring every traveler who chanced to put up at his inn. But the nonresistant replied that he was not to be insulted by a landlord who professed to keep a temperance house, and sold liquid death daily on the sly; nor would he leave the inn, in which he had a common right, until his own convenience dictated. This so enraged the landlord, that although he was a little man, he seized the nonresistant by the collar, and would have forced him to leave the premises but that the other proved too strong for him. Indeed the nonresistant, notwithstanding his principles, had well nigh divested the landlord of his coat, and done serious damage to his face, and was only ejected from the house by the timely assistance of the hostler and the bar tender. _ |
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