One Of Them

“Don’t! I say,” growled out the man, without opening his eyes, but seeming bent on continuing his sleep; “I ‘ll not have it; let me be, – that’s all.”

“Are you the landlord of this hotel?” said Layton, with a stout shake by the shoulder.

“Well, then, here’s for it, if you will!” cried the other, springing up, and throwing himself in an instant into a boxing attitude, while his eyes glared with a vivid wildness, and his whole face denoted passion.

“I came here for food and lodging, and not for a boxing-match, my friend,” said Layton, mildly.

“And who said I was your friend?” said the other, fiercely: “who told you that we was raised in the same diggins? and what do you mean, sir, by disturbin’ a gentleman in his bed?”

“You’ll scarcely call that bench a bed, I think?” said Layton, in an accent meant to deprecate all warmth.

“And why not, sir? If you choose to dress yourself like a checker-board, I ‘m not going to dispute whether you have a coat on. It’s my bed, and I like it. And now what next?”

“I ‘m very sorry to have disturbed you; and if you can only tell me if there be any other hotel in this place – ”

“There ain’t; and there never will be, that’s more. Elsmore’s is shut up; Chute Melchin ‘s a-blown his brains out; and so would you if you ‘d have come here. Don’t laugh, or by the everlastin’ rattlesnake, I ‘ll bowie you!”

The madly excited look of the man, his staring eyes, retreating forehead, and restless features made Layton suspect he was insane, and he would gladly have retired from an interview that promised so little success; but the other walked deliberately round, and, barring the passage to the door, stood with his arms crossed before him.

“You think I don’t know you, but I do; I heerd of you eight weeks ago; I knew you was comin’, but darm me all blue if you shall have it. Come out into the orchard; come out, I say, and let’s see who’s the best man. You think you ‘ll come here and make this like the Astor House, don’t ye? and there ‘ll be five or six hundred every night pressing up to the bar for bitters and juleps, just because you have the place? But I say Dan Heron ain’t a-goin’ to quit; he stands here like old Hickory in the mud-fort, and says, try and turn me out.”

By the time the altercation had reached thus far, Layton saw that a crowd of some five-and-twenty or thirty persons had assembled outside the door, and were evidently enjoying the scene with no common zest. Indeed, their mutterings of “Dan ‘s a-givin’ it to him,” “Dan ‘s full steam up,” and so on, showed where their sympathies inclined. Some, however, more kindly-minded, and moved by the unfriended position of the stranger, good-naturedly interposed, and, having obtained Layton’s sincere and willing assurance that he never harbored a thought of becoming proprietor of the Temple, nor had he the very vaguest notion of settling down at Bunkumville in any capacity, peace was signed, and Mr. Heron consented to receive him as a guest.

Taking a key from a nail on the wall, Dan Heron preceded him to a small chamber, where a truckle-bed, a chair, and a basin on the floor formed the furniture; but he promised a table, and if the stay of the stranger warranted the trouble, some other “fixin’s” in a day or two.

“You can come and eat a bit with me about sun-down,” said Dan, doggedly, as he withdrew, for he was not yet quite satisfied what projects the stranger nursed in his bosom.

Resolved to make the best of a situation not over-promising, to go with the humor of his host so far as he could, and even, where possible, try and derive some amusement from his eccentricities, Layton presented himself punctually at meal-time. The supper was laid out in a large kitchen, where an old negress officiated as cook. It was abundant and savory; there was every imaginable variety of bread, and the display of dishes was imposing. The circumstance was, however, explained by Heron’s remarking that it was the supper of the officers of the detachment they were eating, a sudden call to the frontier having that same morning arrived, and to this lucky accident were they indebted for this abundance.

An apple-brandy “smash” of Mr. Heron’s own devising wound up the meal, and the two lighted their cigars, and in all the luxurious ease of their rocking-chairs, enjoyed their post-prandial elysium.

“Them boots of yours is English make,” was Mr. Heron’s first remark, after a long pause.

“Yes, London,” was the brief reply.

“I ‘ve been there; I don’t like it.”

Layton muttered some expression of regret at this sentiment; but the other not heeding went on: —

“I ‘ve seen most parts of the world, but there ain’t anything to compare with this.”

Layton was not certain whether it was the supremacy of America he asserted, or the city of Bunkumville in particular, but he refrained from inquiring, preferring to let the other continue; nor did he seem at all unwilling. He went on to give a half-connected account of a migratory adventurous sort of life at home and abroad. He had been a cook on shipboard, a gold-digger, an auctioneer, a showman, dealt in almost every article of commerce, smuggled opium into China and slaves into New Orleans, and with all his experiences had somehow or other not hit upon the right road to fortune. Not, indeed, that he distrusted his star, – far from it. He believed himself reserved for great things, and never felt more certain of being within their reach than at this moment.

“It was I made this city we ‘re in, sir,” said he, proudly. “I built all that mass yonder, – Briggs Block; I built the house we ‘re sitting in; I built that Apollonicon, the music-hall you saw as you came in, and I lectured there too; and if it were not for an old ‘rough’ that won’t keep off his bitters early of a mornin’, I ‘d be this day as rich as John Jacob Astor: that’s what’s ruined me, sir. I brought him from New York with me down here, and there ‘s nothing from a bird-cage to a steam-boiler that fellow can’t make you when he’s sober, – ay, and describe it too. If you only heerd him talk! Well, he made a telegraph here, and set two saw-mills a-goin’, and made a machine for getting the salt out of that lake yonder, and then took to manufacturing macaroni and gunpowder, and some dye-stuff out of oak bark; and what will you say, stranger, when I tell you that he sold each of these inventions for less than gave him a week’s carouse? And now I have him here, under lock and key, waiting till he comes to hisself, which he’s rather long about this time.”

“Is he ill?” asked Layton.

“Well, you can’t say exactly he’s all right; he gave hisself an ugly gash with a case-knife on the neck, and tried to blow hisself up arter with some combustible stuff, so that he’s rather black about the complexion; and then he’s always a-screechin’ and yellin’ for drink, but I go in at times with a heavy whip, and he ain’t unreasonable then.”

“He’s mad, in fact,” said Layton, gravely.

“I only wish you and I was as sane, stranger,” said the other. “There ain’t that place on the globe old Poll, as we call him, could n’t make a livin’ in; he’s a man as could help a minister with his discourse, or teach a squaw how to work moccasins. I don’t know what your trade is, but I ‘ll be bound he knows something about it you never heerd of.”

Mr. Heron went on to prove how universally gifted his friend was by mentioning how, on his first arrival, he gave a course of lectures on a plan which assuredly might have presented obstacles to many. It was only when the room was filled, and the public itself consulted, that the theme of the lecture was determined; so that the speaker was actually called upon, without a moment for preparation, to expatiate upon any given subject. Nor was the test less trying that the hearers were plain practical folk, who usually propounded questions in which they possessed some knowledge themselves. How to open a new clearing, what treatment to apply to the bite of the whipsnake, by what contrivance to economize water in mills, how to tan leather without oak bark, – such and such-like were the theses placed before him, matters on which the public could very sufficiently pronounce themselves. Old Poll, it would seem, had sustained every test, and come through every ordeal of demand victorious. While the host thus continued to expatiate on this man’s marvellous gifts, Layton fell a-thinking whether this might not be the very spot he sought for, and this the audience before whom he could experiment on as a public speaker. It was quite evident that the verdict could confer little either of distinction or disparagement: success or failure were, as regarded the future, not important. If, however, he could succeed in interesting them at all, – if he could make the themes of which they had never so much as heard in any way amusing or engaging, – it would be a measure of what he might attain with more favorable hearers. He at once propounded his plan to Mr. Heron, not confessing, however, that he meditated a first attempt, but speaking as an old and practised lecturer.

“What can you give ‘em, sir? They ‘re horny-handed and flat-footed folk down here, but they ‘ll not take an old hen for a Bucks county chicken, I tell you!”

“I am a little in your friend Poll’s line,” said Layton, good-humoredly. “I could talk to them about history, and long ago; what kind of men ruled amongst Greeks and Romans; what sort of wars they waged; how they colonized, and what they did with the conquered. If my hearers had patience for it, I could give them some account of their great orators and poets.”

Heron shook his head dissentingly, and said Poll told ‘em all that, and nobody wanted it, till he came to them chaps they call the gladiators, and showed how they used to spar and hit out. “Was n’t it grand to see him, with his great chest and strong old arms, describin’ all their movements, and how much they trusted to activity, imitating all from the wild beast, – not like our boxers, who make fighting a reg’lar man’s combat. You couldn’t take up that, could you?”

“I fear not,” said Layton, despondingly.

“Well, tell ‘em something of the old country in a time near their own. They ‘d like to hear about their greatgrandfathers and grandmothers.”

“Would they listen to me if I made Ireland the subject, – Ireland just before she was incorporated with England, when, with a Parliament of her own, she had a resident gentry, separate institutions, and strong traits of individual nationality?”

“Tell ‘em about fellows that had strong heads and stout hands, that, though they mightn’t always be right in their opinions, was willing and ready to fight for ‘em. Give ‘em a touch of the way they talked in their House of Parliament; and if you can bring in a story or two, and make ‘em laugh, – it ain’t a’ways easy to do, – but if you can do it, you may travel from Cape Cod to the Gulf of Mexico and never change a dollar.”

“Here goes, then! I ‘ll try it!” said Layton, at once determined to risk the effort. “When can it be?”

“It must be at once, for there ‘s a number of ‘em a-goin’ West next week. Say to-morrow night, seven o’clock. Entrance, twelve cents; first chairs, five-and-twenty. No smokin’ allowed, except between the acts.”

“Take all the arrangements on yourself, and give me what you think fair of our profits,” said Layton.

“That’s reasonable; no man can say it ain’t. What’s your name, stranger?”

“My name is Alfred – But never mind my name; announce me as a Gentleman from England.”

“Who has lectured before the Queen and Napoleon Bonaparte.”

“Nay, that I have never done.”

“Well, but you might, you know; and if you didn’t, the greater loss theirs.”

“Perhaps so; but I can’t consent – ”

“Just leave them things to me. And now, one hint for yourself: when you ‘re a-windin’ up, dash it all with a little soft sawder, sayin’ as how you ‘d rather be addressin’ them than the Emperor of Roosia; that the sight of men as loves liberty, and knows how to keep it, is as good as Peat’s vegetable balsam, that warms the heart without feverin’ the blood; and that wherever you go the ‘membrance of the city and its enlightened citizens will be the same as photographed on your heart; that there’s men here ought to be in Congress, and women fit for queens! And if you throw in a bit of the star-spangled – you know what – it ‘ll do no harm.”

Layton only smiled at these counsels, offered, however, in a spirit far from jesting; and after a little further discussion of the plan, Heron said, “Oh, if we only could get old Poll bright enough to write the placards, – that’s what he excels in; there ain’t his equal for capitals anywhere.”

Though Layton felt very little desire to have the individual referred to associated with him or his scheme, he trusted to the impossibility of the alliance, and gave himself no trouble to repudiate it; and after a while they parted, with a good-night and hope for the morrow.

CHAPTER XLIII. BUNKUMVILLE

“You would n’t believe it, – no one would believe it,” said Mr. Heron, as he hastily broke in upon Layton the next morning, deep in preparations for the coming event “There ‘s old Poll all spry and right again; he asked for water to shave himself, an invariable sign with him that he was a-goin’ to try a new course.”

Layton, not caring to open again what might bear upon this history, merely asked some casual question upon the arrangements for the evening; but Heron rejoined: “I told Poll to do it all. The news seemed to revive him; and far from, as I half dreaded, any jealousy about another taking his place, he said, ‘This looks like a promise of better things down here. If our Bunkumville folk will only encourage lecturers to come amongst them, their tone of thinking and speaking will improve. They ‘ll do their daily work in a better spirit, and enjoy their leisure with a higher zest.’”

“Strange sentiments from one such as you pictured to me last night.”

“Lord love ye, that’s his way. He beats all the Temperance ‘Postles about condemning drink. He can tell more anecdotes of the mischief it works, explain better its evil on the health, and the injury it works in a man’s natur’, than all the talkers ever came out of the Mayne Convention.”

“Which scarcely says much for the force of his convictions,” said Layton, smiling.

“I only wish he heard you say so, Britisher; if he would n’t chase you up a pretty high tree, call me a land crab! I remember well, one night, how he lectured on that very point and showed that what was vulgarly called hypocrisy was jest neither more nor less than a diseased and exaggerated love of approbation, – them’s his words; I took ‘em down and showed ‘em to him next morning, and all he said was, ‘I suppose I said it arter dinner.’”

“Am I to see your friend and make his acquaintance?” asked Layton.

“Well,” said the other, with some hesitation, “I rayther suspect not; he said as much that he did n’t like meeting any one from the old country. It’s my idea that he warn’t over well treated there, somehow, though he won’t say it.”

“But as one who has never seen him before, and in all likelihood is never to see him again – ”

“No use; whenever he makes up his mind in that quiet way he never changes, and he said, ‘I ‘ll do all you want, only don’t bring me forward. I have my senses now, and shame is one of ‘em!’”

“You increase my desire to see and know this poor fellow.”

“Mayhap you’re a-thinkin’, Britisher, whether, if you could wile him away from me, you could n’t do a good stroke of work with him down South, – eh? wasn’t that it?”

“No, on my word; nothing of the kind. My desire was simply to know if I could n’t serve him where he was, and where he is probably to remain.”

“Where he is sartainly to remain, I ‘d say, sir, – sartainly to remain! I ‘d rayther give up the Temple, ay, and all the fixin’s, than I ‘d give up that man. There ain’t one spot in creation he ain’t fit for. Take him North, and he ‘ll beat all the Abolitionists ever talked; bring him down to the old South State, and hear him how he ‘ll make out that the Bible stands by slavery, and that Blacks are to Whites what children are to their elders, – a sort of folk to be fed, and nourished, and looked arter, and, maybe, cor-rected a little betimes. Fetch him up to Lowell, and he ‘ll teach the factory folk in their own mills; and as to the art of stump-raisin’, rotation of crops in a new soil, fattenin’ hogs, and curin’ salmon, jest show me one to compare with him!”

“How sad that such a man should be lost!” said Layton, half to himself.

But the other overheard him, and rejoined: “It’s always with some sentiment of that kind you Britishers work out something for your own benefit. You never conquer a new territory except to propagate trial by jury and habeas corpus. Now look out here, for I won’t stand you ‘re steppin’ in ‘tween me and old Poll.”

It was not enough for Layton to protest that he harbored no such intentions. Mr. Heron’s experiences of mankind had inspired very different lessons than those of trust and confidence, and he secretly determined that no opportunity should be given to carry out the treason he dreaded.

“When the lecturin’-room is a-clean swept out and dusted, the table placed, and the blackboard with a piece of chalk ahind it, and the bills a-posted, setting forth what you ‘re a-goin’ to stump out, there ain’t no need for more. If you ‘ve got the stuff in you to amuse our folk, you ‘ll see the quarter dollars a-rollin’ in, in no time! If they think, however, that you ‘re only come here to sell ‘em grit for buckwheat, darm me considerable, but there’s lads here would treat you to a cowhide!”

Layton did not hear this alternative with all the conscious security of success, not to say that it was a penalty on failure far more severe and practical than any his fears had ever anticipated. Coldness he was prepared for, disapprobation he might endure, but he was not ready to be treated as a cheat and impostor because he had not satisfied the expectancies of an audience.

“I half regret,” said he, “that I should not have learned something more of your public before making my appearance to them. It may not be, perhaps, too late.”

“Well, I suspect it is too late,” said the other, dryly. “They won’t stand folks a-postin’ up bills, and then sayin’ ‘There ain’t no performance.’ You ‘re not in the Haymarket, sir, where you can come out with a flam about sudden indisposition, and a lie signed by a ‘pottecary.”

“But if I leave the town?”

“I wouldn’t say you mightn’t, if you had a balloon,” said the other, laughing; “but as to any other way, I defy you!”

Layton was not altogether without the suspicion that Mr. Heron was trying to play upon his fears, and this was exactly the sort of outrage that a mind like his would least tolerate. It was, to be sure, a wild, out-of-the-world kind of place; the people were a rough, semi-civilized-looking set; public opinion in such a spot might take a rude form; what they deemed unequal to their expectations, they might construe as a fraud upon their pockets; and if so, and that their judgment should take the form he hinted at – Still, he was reluctant to accept this version of the case, and stood deeply pondering what line to adopt.

“You don’t like it, stranger; now that’s a fact,” said Heron, as he scanned his features. “You ‘ve been a-thinkin’, ‘Oh, any rubbish I like will be good enough for these bark-cutters. What should such fellows know, except about their corn crops and their saw-mills? I needn’t trouble my head about what I talk to ‘em.’ But now, you see, it ain’t so; you begin to perceive that Jonathan, with his sleeves rolled up for work, is a smart man, who keeps his brains oiled and his thoughts polished, like one of Platt’s engines, and it won’t do to ask him to make French rolls out of sawdust!”

Layton was still silent, partly employed in reviewing the difficulty of his position, but even more, perhaps, from chagrin at the tone of impertinence addressed to him.

“Yes, sir,” said Heron, continuing an imaginary dialogue with himself, – “yes, sir; that’s a mistake more than one of your countrymen has fallen into. As Mr. Clay said, it ‘s so hard for an Englishman not to think of us as colonists.”

“I ‘ve made up my mind,” said Layton, at last “I ‘ll not lecture.”

“Won’t you? Then all I can say is, Britisher, look out for a busy arternoon. I told you what our people was. I warned you that if they struck work an hour earlier to listen to a preacher, it would fare ill with him if he wanted the mill to turn without water.”

“I repeat, I ‘ll not lecture, come what may of it,” said Layton, firmly.

“Well, it ain’t so very hard to guess what will come of it,” replied the other.

“This is all nonsense and folly, sir,” said Layton, angrily. “I have taken no man’s money; I have deceived no one. Your people, when I shall have left this place, will be no worse than when I entered it.”

“If that ‘s your platform, stranger, come out and defend it; we ‘ll have a meetin’ called, and I promise you a fair hearin’.”

“I have no account to render to any. I am not responsible for my conduct to one of you!” said Layton, angrily.

“You’re a-beggin’ the whole question, stranger; so jest keep these arguments for the meetin’.”

“Meeting! I will attend no meeting! Whatever be your local ways and habits, you have no right to impose them upon a stranger. I am not one of you; I will not be one of you.”

“That’s more of the same sort of reasonin’; but you ‘ll be chastised, Britisher, see if you ain’t!”

“Let me have some sort of conveyance, or, if need be, a horse. I will leave this at once. Any expenses I have incurred I am ready to pay. You hear me?”

“Yes, I hear you, but that ain’t enough. You ‘re bound by them bills, as you ‘ll see stickin’ up all through the town, to appear this evening and deliver a lecture before the people of this city – ”

“One word for all, I ‘ll not do it.”

“And do you tell me, sir, that when our folk is a-gatherin’ about the assembly rooms, that they ‘re to be told to go home ag’in; that the Britisher has changed his mind, and feels someways as if he didn’t like it?”

“That may be as it can; my determination is fixed. You may lecture yourself; or you can, perhaps, induce your friend – I forget his name – to favor the company.”

“Well, sir, if old Poll’s strength was equal to it, the public would n’t have to regret you. It ain’t one of your stamp could replace him, that I tell you.”

A sudden thought here flashed across Layton’s mind, and he hastened to profit by it.

“Why not ask him to take my place? I am ready, most ready, to requite his services. Tell him, if you like, that I will pay all the expenses of the evening, and leave him the receipts. Or say, if he prefer, that I will give him thirty, forty, ay, fifty dollars, if he will relieve me from an engagement I have no mind for.”

“Well, that does sound a bit reasonable,” said the other, slowly; “though, mayhap, he ‘ll not think the terms so high. You would n’t say eighty, or a hundred, would you? He ‘s proud, old Poll, and it’s best not to offend him by a mean offer.”

Layton bit his lip impatiently, and walked up and down the room without speaking.

“Not to say,” resumed Heron, “that he’s jest out of a sick-bed; the exertion might give him a relapse. The contingencies is to be calc’lated, as they say on the railroads.”

“If it be only a question between fifty and eighty – ”

“That’s it, – well spoken. Well, call it a hundred, and I’m off to see if it can’t be done.” And without waiting for a reply, Heron hastened out of the room as he spoke.

Notwithstanding the irritation the incident caused him, Layton could not, as soon as he found himself alone, avoid laughing at the absurdity of his situation.

If he never went the full length of believing in the hazardous consequences Mr. Heron predicted, he at least saw that he must be prepared for any mark of public disfavor his disappointment might excite; and it was just possible such censure might assume a very unpleasant shape. The edicts of Judge Lynch are not always in accordance with the dignity of the accused, and though this consideration first forced him to laugh, his second thoughts were far graver. Nor were these thoughts unmixed with doubts as to what Quackinboss would say of the matter. Would he condemn the rashness of his first pledge, or the timidity of his retreat; or would he indignantly blame him for submission to a menace? In the midst of these considerations, Heron reentered the room.