 | Dukesborough tales |  |
HOW MR. BILL WILLIAMS TOOK THE
RESPONSIBILITY.
That we be bold in every enterprise.”
1. CHAPTER I.
WHEN Josiah Lorriby came into our neighborhood to keep a
school I was too young to go to it alone. Having no older
brother or sister to go along with me, my parents, although they were
desirous for me to begin, were about to give it up, when fortunately it
was ascertained that William Williams, a big fellow whose widowed
mother resided near to us, intended to go for one term and complete
his education preparatory to being better fitted for an object of vast
ambition which he had in view. His way lay by our door, and as he
was one of the most accommodating persons in the world, he proffered
to take charge of me. Without hesitation and with much gratitude
this was accepted, and I was delivered over into his keeping.
William Williams was so near being a man that the little boys used
to call him Mr. Bill. I never can forget the stout homespun dresscoat
which he used to wear, with the big pockets opening horizontally
across the outer side of the skirts. Many a time, when I was fatigued
by walking or the road was wet with rains, have I ridden upon his
back, my hands resting upon his shoulders and my feet standing in
those capacious pockets. Persons who have never tried that way of
travelling have no just idea, I will venture to say, how sweet it is.
Mr. Bill had promised to take care of me, and he kept his word.
On the first morning when the school was opened, we went together
to it. About one mile and a half distant stood the school-house.
Eighteen by twenty feet were its dimensions. It was built of logs and
covered with clap-boards. It had one door, and opposite to that a
hole in the wall two feet square, which was called the window. It
stood in the corner of one of our fields (having formerly been used as
a fodder-house), and on the brow of a hill, at the foot of which, overshadowed
by oak trees, was a noble spring of fresh water. Our way
led us by this spring. Just as we reached it, Mr. Bill pointed to the
summit and said:
“Yonder it is, Squire.”
Mr. Bill frequently called me Squire, partly from mere facetiousness,
and partly from his respect for my father, who was a Justice of
the Peace.
I did not answer. We ascended the hill, and Mr. Bill led me into
the presence of the genius of the place.
Mr. Josiah Lorriby was a remarkable man, at least in appearance.
He was below the middle height, but squarely built. His body was
good enough, but his other parts were defective. He had a low flat
head, with very short hair and very long ears. His arms were reasonably
long, but his hands and legs were disproportionately short. Many
tales were told of his feet, on which he wore shoes with iron soles. He
was sitting on a split-bottom chair, on one side of the fire-place.
Under him, with his head peering out between the rounds, sitting on
his hind legs and standing on his fore legs, was a small yellow dog,
without tail or ears. This dog's name was Rum. On the side of the
hearth, in another split-bottom, sat a tall raw-boned woman with the
reddest eyes that I have ever seen. This was Mrs. Mehitable, Mr.
Lorriby's wife. She had ridden to the school on a small aged mare,
perfectly white and totally blind. Her name was Kate.
When I had surveyed these four personages,— this satyr of a man,
this tailless dog, this red-eyed woman, and this blind old mare, a sense of
fear and helplessness came over me, such as I had never felt before, and
have never felt since. I looked at Mr. Bill Williams, but he was
observing somebody else, and did not notice me. The other pupils,
eighteen or twenty in number, seemed to be in deep meditation. My
eyes passed from one to another of the objects of my dread; but they
became finally fastened upon the dog. His eyes also had wandered,
but only with vague curiosity, around upon all the pupils, until they
Though he sat still, and I sat still, it seemed to me that we were
drawing continually nearer to each other. Suddenly I lifted up my
voice and screamed with all my might. It was so sudden and sharp
that everybody except the woman jumped. She indifferently pointed
to the dog. Her husband arose, came to me, and in soothing tones
asked what was the matter.
“I am scared!” I answered, as loud as I could speak.
“Scared of what, my little man? of the dog?”
“I am scared of all of you!”
He laughed with good humor, bade me not be afraid, called up Rum,
talked to us both, enjoined upon us to be friends, and prophesied that
we would be such — the best that had ever been in the world. The
little creature became cordial at once, reared his fore feet upon his
master, took them down, reared them upon me, and in the absence of
a tail to wag, twisted his whole hinder-parts in most violent assurance
that if I should say the word we were friends already. Such kindness,
and so unexpected, dissolved my apprehensions. I was in a condition
to accept terms far less liberal. So I acceded, and went to laughing
outright. Everybody laughed, and Rum, who could do nothing better
in that line, ran about and barked as joyously as any dog with a tail
could have done. In the afternoon when school was dismissed, I
invited Rum to go home with me; but he, waiting as I supposed for a
more intimate acquaintance, declined.
2. CHAPTER II.
It was delightful to consider how auspicious a beginning I had made.
Other little boys profited by it. Mr. Lorriby had no desire to lose
any of his scholars, and we all were disposed to take as much advantage
as possible of his apprehension, however unfounded, that on
account of our excessive timidity our parents might remove us from
the school. Besides, we knew that we were to lose nothing by being
on friendly terms with Rum. The dread of the teacher's wife soon
passed away. She had but little to say, and less to do. Nobody had
any notion of any reason which she had for coming to the school. At
first she occasionally heard a spelling-class recite. After a little time
decreased to one in several days. Mrs. Lorriby seemed a very proud
woman; for she not only had little to say to anybody, but although
she resided only a mile and a half from the school-house, she never
walked, but invariably rode old Kate. These were small things, yet
we noticed them.
Mr. Lorriby was not of the sort of schoolmasters whom men use
to denominate by the title of knock-down and drag out. He was not
such a man as Israel Meadows. But although he was good-hearted
enough, he was somewhat politic also. Being a new-comer, and being
poor, he determined to manage his business with due regard to the
tastes, the wishes, and the prejudices of the community in which he
labored. He decidedly preferred a mild reign; but it was said he
could easily accommodate himself to those who required a more
vigorous policy. He soon learned that the latter was the favorite
here. People complained that there was little or no whipping. Some
who had read the fable of the frogs who desired a sovereign, were
heard to declare that Josiah Lorriby was no better than “Old King
Log.” One patron spoke of taking his children home, placing the boy
at the plough and the girl at the spinning-wheel.
Persons in those days loved their children, doubtless, as well as
now; but they had some strange ways of showing their love. The
strangest of all was the evident gratification which the former felt
when the latter were whipped at school. While they all had a notion
that education was something which it was desirable to get, it was
believed that the impartation of it needed to be conducted in most
mysterious ways. The school-house of that day was, in a manner, a
cave of Trophonius, into which urchins of both sexes entered amid
certain incomprehensible ceremonies, and were everlastingly subject
and used to be whirled about, body and soul, in a vortex of confusion.
I might pursue the analogy and say that, like the votaries of Trophonius,
they were not wont to smile until long after this violent and
rotatory indoctrination; but rather to weep and lament, unless they
were brave like Apollonius, or big like Allen Thigpen, and so could
bully the priest far enough to have the bodily rotation dispensed with.
According to these notions, the principles of the education of books
were not to be addressed to the mind and to the heart; but, if they
were expected to stick, they must be beaten with rods into the back.
Through this ordeal of painful ceremonies had the risen generation
present generation ought to go, and must go. No exception was made
in favor of genius. Its back was to be kept as sore as stupidity's;
for, being yoked with the latter, it must take the blows, the oaths, and
the imprecations. I can account for these things in no other way than
by supposing that the old set of persons had come out of the old system
with minds so bewildered as to be ever afterwards incapable of
thinking upon it in a reasonable manner. In one respect there is
a considerable likeness between mankind and some individuals of
the brute creation. The dog seems to love best that master who
beats him before giving him a bone. I have heard persons say (those
who had carefully studied the nature and habits of that animal) that
the mule is wont to evince a gratitude somewhat touching when a
bundle of fodder is thrown to him at the close of a day on which he
has been driven within an inch of his life. So with the good people
of former times. They had been beaten so constantly and so mysteriously
at school, that they seemed to entertain a grateful affection for
it ever afterwards. It was, therefore, with feelings of benign satisfaction,
sometimes not unmixed with an innocent gaiety of mind, that they
were wont to listen to their children when they complained of the
thrashings they daily received, some of which would be wholly unaccountable.
Indeed the latter sort seemed to be considered, of all
others, the most salutary. When the punishment was graduated by
the offence, it was supporting too great a likeness to the affairs of
every day life, and therefore wanting in solemn impressiveness. But
when a schoolmaster for no accountable reason whipped a boy, and
so set his mind in a state of utter bewilderment as to what could be
the matter, and the most vague speculations upon what was to become
of him in this world, to say nothing of the next, ah! then it was that
the experienced felt a happiness that was gently ecstatic. They
recurred in their minds to their own school time, and they concluded
that, as these things had not killed them, they must have done them
good. So some of our good mothers in Israel, on occasions of great
religious excitement, as they bend over a shrieking sinner, smile in
serene happiness as they fan his throbbing temples, and fondly encourage
him to shriek on; thinking of the pit from which they were digged,
and of the rock upon which they now are standing, they shout, and
sing, and fan, and fanning ever, continue to sing and shout.
3. CHAPTER III.
When Mr. Lorriby had sounded the depths of public sentiment,
he became a new man. One Monday morning he announced that
he was going to turn over a new lead, and he went straightway to
turning it over. Before night several boys, from small to medium, had
been flogged. He had not begun on the girls, except in one instance.
In that I well remember the surprise I felt at the manner in which her
case was disposed of. Her name was Susan Potter. She was about
twelve years old, and well grown. When she was called up, inquiry
was made by the master if any boy present was willing to take upon
himself the punishment which must otherwise fall upon her. After a
moment's silence, Seaborn Byne, a boy of fourteen, rose and presented
himself. He was good-tempered and fat, and his pants and round
jacket fitted him closely. He advanced with the air of a man who
was going to do what was right, with no thought of consequences.
Miss Potter unconcernedly went to her seat.
But Seaborn soon evinced that he was dissatisfied with a bargain
that was so wholly without consideration. I believed then, and I
believe to this day, that but for his being so good a mark he would
have received fewer stripes. But his round fat body and legs stood
so temptingly before the rod, and the latter fell upon good flesh so
entirely through its whole length, that it was really hard to stop. He
roared with pain so unexpectedly severe, and violently rubbed each
spot of recent infliction. When it was over, he came to his seat and
looked at Susan Potter. She seemed to feel like laughing. Seaborn
got no sympathy, except from a source which he despised; that was
his younger brother, Joel. Joel was weeping in secret.
“Shut up your mouth,” whispered Seaborn, threateningly, and Joel
shut up.
Then I distinctly heard Seaborn mutter the following words:
“Ef I ever takes another for her, or any of 'em, may I be dinged,
and then dug up and dinged over again.”
I have no doubt that he kept his oath, for I continued to know
Seaborn Byne until he was an old man, and I never knew a person
who persistently held that vicarious system of school punishment in
deeper disgust. What his ideas were about being “dinged,” and about
that operation being repeated, I did not know; but I supposed it was
something that, if possible, would better be avoided.
Such doings as these made a great change in the feelings of us
little ones. Yet I continued to run the crying schedule. It failed at
last, and I went under.
Mr. Lorriby laid it upon me remorselessly. I had never dreamed
that he would give me such a flogging — I who considered myself,
as everybody else considered me, a favorite. Now the charm was
gone; the charm of security. It made me very sad. I lost my love
for the teacher. I even grew cold towards Rum, and Rum in his turn
grew cold towards me. Not that we got into open hostilities. For
saving an occasional fretfulness, Rum was a good fellow and personally
I had liked him. But then he was from principle a thorough Lorriby,
and therefore our intimacy must stop, and did stop.
In a short time Mr. Lorriby had gone as nearly all round the school
as it was prudent to go. Every boy but two had received his portion,
some once, some several times. These two were Mr. Bill Williams,
and another big boy named Jeremiah Hobbes. These were, of course,
as secure against harm from Mr. Lorriby as they would have been had
he been in Guinea. Every girl also had been flogged, or had had a
boy flogged for her, except Betsy Ann Acry, the belle of the school.
She was a light-haired, blue-eyed, plump, delicious-looking girl, fourteen
years old. Now for Miss Betsy Ann Acry, as it was known to everybody
about the school-house, Mr. Bill Williams had a partiality which,
though not avowed, was decided. He had never courted her in set
words, but he had observed her from day to day, and noticed her
ripening into womanhood with constantly increasing admiration. He
was scarcely a match for her even if they both had been in condition to
marry. He knew this very well. But considerations of this sort
seldom do a young man any good. More often than otherwise they
make him worse. At least such was their effect upon Mr. Bill. The
greater the distance between him and Miss Betsy Ann, the more he
yearned across it. He sat in school where he could always see her,
and oh, how he eyed her! Often, often have I noticed Mr. Bill, leaning
the side of his head upon his arms, extended on the desk in front
of him, and looking at her with a countenance which, it seemed to me,
ought to make some impression. Betsy Ann received it all as if it was
no more than she was entitled to, but showed no sign whether she set
any value upon the possession or not. Mr. Bill hoped she did; the
rest of us believed she did not.
Mr. Bill had another ambition, which was, if possible, even higher
of the greatness of Dukesborough, and the distinction of being a
resident within it, he had long desired to go there as a clerk in a store.
He had made repeated applications to be taken in by Messrs. Bland
& Jones, and it was in obedience to a hint from these gentlemen that
he had determined to take a term of finishing off at the school of Mr.
Lorriby. This project was never out of his mind, even in moments of
his fondest imaginings about Miss Betsy Ann. It would have been not
easy to say which he loved the best. The clerkship seemed to become
nearer and nearer after each Saturday's visit to town, until at last he
had a distinct offer of the place. The salary was small, but he waived
that consideration in view of the exaltation of the office and the greatness
of living in Dukesborough. He accepted, to enter upon his
duties in four weeks, when the quarter session of the school would
expire.
The dignified ways of Mr. Bill after this made considerable impression
upon all the school. Even Betsy Ann condescended to turn her
eyes oftener in the direction where he happened to be, and he was
almost inclined to glory in the hope that the possession of one dear
object would draw the other along with it. At least he felt that if he
should lose the latter, the former would be the highest consolation
which he could ask. The news of the distinguished honor that had
been conferred upon him reached the heads of the school early on the
Monday following the eventful Saturday when the business was done.
I say heads, for of late Mrs. Mehitable and old Kate came almost
every day. Mrs. Lorriby received the announcement without emotion.
Mr. Lorriby, on the other hand, in spite of the prospect of losing a
scholar, was almost extravagant in his congratulations.
“It was a honor to the whole school,” he said. “I feels it myself.
Sich it war under all the circumstances. It was obleeged to be, and
sich it war, and as it war sich, I feels it myself.”
Seaborn Byne heard this speech. Immediately afterwards he turned
to me and whispered the following comment:
“He be dinged! the decateful old son-of-a-gun!”
4. CHAPTER IV.
It was the unanimous opinion amongst Mr. Lorriby's pupils that he was
rigid policy at first, or have held to the mild. Having once enjoyed
the sweets of the latter, thoughts would occasionally rise and questions
would be asked. Seaborn Byne was not exactly the head, but he was
certainly the orator of a revolutionary party. Not on his own account;
for he had never yet, except as the voluntary substitute of Miss Susan
Potter, felt upon his own body the effects of the change of discipline.
Nor did he seem to have any apprehensions on that score. He even
went so far as to say to Mr. Bill Williams, who had playfully suggested
the bare idea of such a thing, that “ef old Jo Lorriby raised his old
pole on him, he would put his lizzard” (as Seaborn facetiously called
his knife) “into his paunch.” He always carried a very big knife, with
which he would frequently stab imaginary Lorribys in the persons of
saplings and pumpkins, and even the air itself. This threat had made
his brother Joel extremely unhappy. His little heart was bowed down
with the never-resting fear and belief that Seaborn was destined to
commit the crime of murder upon the body of Mr. Lorriby. On the
other hand Seaborn was constantly vexed by the sight of the scores of
floggings which Joel received. Poor Joel had somehow in the beginning
of his studies gotten upon the wrong road, and as nobody ever
brought him back to the starting point, he was destined, it seemed, to
wander about lost evermore. The more floggings he got, the more
hopeless and wild were his efforts at extrication. It was unfortunate
for him that his brother took any interest in his condition. Seaborn
had great contempt for him, but yet he remembered that he was his
brother, and his brother's heart would not allow itself to feel no concern.
That concern manifested itself in endeavoring to teach Joel himself out
of school, and in flogging him himself by way of preventing Joel's
having to submit to that disgrace at the hands of old Joe. So eager
was Seaborn in this brotherly design, and so indocile was Joel, that for
every flogging which the latter received from the master he got from
two to three from Seaborn.
However, the inflictions which Seaborn made, strictly speaking,
could not be called floggings. Joel, among his other infirmities, had
that of being unable to take care of his spelling-books. He had torn
to pieces so many that his mother had obtained a paddle and pasted
on both sides of it as many words as could be crowded there. Mrs.
Byne, who was a woman of decision, had been heard to say that she
meant to head him at this destructive business, and now she believed
double purpose with Joel. It was at once the object, and in his
brother's hands was the stimulus, of his little ambition. Among all
these evils, floggings from Mr. Lorriby and paddlings from Seaborn,
and the abiding apprehension that the former was destined to be
murdered by the latter, Joel Byne's was a case to be pitied.
“It ar a disgrace,” said Mr. Bill to me one morning as we were going
to school, “and I wish Mr. Larrabee knowed it. Between him and
Sebe, that little innocent individiel ar bent on bein' useded up bodaciously.
Whippins from Mr. Larrabee and paddlins from Sebe! The
case ar wusser than ef thar was two Larrabees. That ar the ontimeliest
paddle that ever I seen. He have to try to larn his paddle, and
when he can't larn it, Sebe, he take his paddle, fling down Joel, and
paddle him with his paddle. In all my experence, I has not seed jest
sich a case. It ar beyant hope.”
Mr. Bill's sympathy made him serious, and indeed gloomy. The
road on which the Bynes came to school met ours a few rods from the
spring. We were now there, and Mr. Bill had scarcely finished this
speech when we heard behind us the screams of a child.
“Thar it is agin,” said Mr. Bill. “At it good and soon. It do
beat everything in this blessed and ontimely world. Ef it don't, ding
me!”
We looked beind us. Here came Joel at full speed, screaming with
all his might, hatless, with his paddle in one hand and his dinner-bucket,
without cover, hanging from the other. Twenty yards behind
him ran Seaborn, who had been delayed by having to stop in order to
pick up Joel's hat and the bucket-cover. Just before reaching the
spring, the fugitive was overtaken and knocked down. Seaborn then
getting upon him and fastening his arms with his own knees, seized the
paddle and exclaimed:
“Now, you rascal! spell that word agin, sir. Ef you don't, I'll
paddle you into a pancake. Spell `Crucifix,' sir.”
Joel attempted to obey.
“S agin, you little devil! S-i, si! Ding my skin ef you shan't larn
it, or I'll paddle you as long as thar's poplars to make paddles outen.”
And he turned Joel over and made him ready.
“Look a here, Sebe!” interposed Mr. Bill; “fun's fun, but too much
is too much.”
Now what these words were intended to be preliminary to, there was
had diverged from his own way in order to drink at the spring,
presented himself.
“What air you about thar, Sebion Byne?”
Seaborn arose, and though he considered his conduct not only justifiable,
but praiseworthy, he looked a little crest-fallen.
“Ah, indeed! You're the assistant teacher, air you? Interfering
with my business, and my rights, and my duties, and my — hem! Let
us all go to the school-house now. Mr. Byne will manage business
hereafter. I — as for me, I aint nowhar now. Come, Mr. Byne, le's
go to school.”
Mr. Lorriby and Seaborn went on, side by side. Mr. Bill looked as
if he were highly gratified. “Ef he don't get it now, he never will.”
Alas for Joel! Delivered from Seaborn, he was yet more miserable
than before, and he forgot his own griefs in his pity for the impending
fate of Mr. Lorriby, and his apprehension for the ultimate consequence
of this day's work to his brother. He pulled me a little behind Mr.
Bill, and tremblingly whispered:
“Poor Mr. Larrabee! Do you reckon they will hang Seaby, Phil?”
“What for?” I asked.
“For killing Mr. Larrabee.”
I answered that I hoped not.
“Oh, Phil! Seaby have sich a big knife! An' he have stob more
saplins! and more punkins! and more watermillions! and more mushmillions!
And he have even stob our old big yaller cat! And he have
call every one of 'em Larrabee. And it's my pinion that ef it warn't for
my paddle, he would a stob me befo' now. You see, Phil, paddlin me
sorter cools and swages him down a leetle bit. Oh, Seaby ar a tremenduous
boy, and he ar goin to stob Mr. Larrabee this blessed day.”
As we neared the school-house we saw old Kate at the usual stand,
and we knew that Mrs. Lorriby was at hand. She met her husband
at the door, and they had some whispering together, of which the case
of Seaborn was evidently the subject. Joel begged me to stay with
him outside until the horrible thing was over. So we stopped and
peeped in between the logs. We had not to wait long. Mr. Lorriby, his
mate standing by his side, at once began to lay on, and Seaborn roared.
The laying on and the roaring continued until the master was satisfied.
When all was over, I looked into Joel's face. It was radiant with
smiles. I never have seen greater happiness upon the countenance of
illusion was gone forever. He actually hugged his paddle to his breast,
and with a gait even approaching the triumphant, walked into the
house.
5. CHAPTER V.
Having broken the ice upon Seaborn, Mr. Lorriby went into the
sport of flogging him whenever he felt like it. Seaborn's revolutionary
sentiments grew deeper and stronger constantly. But he was now, of
course, hopeless of accomplishing any results himself, and he knew
that the only chance was to enlist Jeremiah Hobbes, or Mr. Bill
Williams, and make him the leader in the enterprise. Very soon,
however, one of these chances was lost. Hobbes received and accepted
an offer to become an overseer on a plantation, and Seaborn's hopes
were now fixed upon Mr. Bill alone. That also was destined soon to be
lost by the latter's prospective clerkship. Besides, Mr. Bill, being even-tempered,
and never having received and being never likely to receive
any provocation from Mr. Lorriby, the prospect of making anything out
of him was gloomy enough. In vain Seaborn raised innuendoes concerning
his pluck. In vain he tried every other expedient, even to
secretly drawing on Mr. Bill's slate a picture of a very little man
flogging a very big boy, and writing as well as he could the name
of Mr. Lorriby near the former and that of Mr. Bill near the latter.
Seaborn could not disguise himself; and Mr. Bill when he saw the
pictures informed the artist that if he did not mind what he was about
he would get a worse beating than ever Joe Larrabee gave him.
Seaborn had but one hope left, but that involved some little delicacy,
and could be managed only by its own circumstances. It might do,
and it might not do. If Seaborn had been accustomed to asking
special Divine interpositions, he would have prayed that if anything
was to be made out of this, it might be made before Mr. Bill should
leave. Sure enough it did come. Just one week before the quarter
was out it came. But I must premise the narration of this great event
with a few words.
Between Mrs. Lorriby and Miss Betsy Ann Acry the relations were
not very agreeable. Among other things which were the cause of this
were the unwarrantable liberties which Miss Acry sometimes took with
the least of which was that of breaking her own neck), would treat herself
to an occasional ride whenever circumstancers allowed. One day at
play-time, when Mrs. Lorriby was out upon one of her walks, which she
sometimes took at that hour, Betsy Ann hopped upon the mare, and
bantered me for a race to the spring and back. I accepted. We set
out. I beat old Kate on the return, because she stumbled and fell.
A great laugh was raised, and we were detected by Mrs. Lorriby.
Passing me, she went up to Betsy Ann, and thus spoke:
“Betsy Ann Acree, libities is libities, and horses is horses, which is
mars is mars. I have ast you not to ride this mar, which she was give
to me by my parrent father, and which she have not been rid, no, not
by Josiah Lorribee hisself, and which I have said I do not desires she
shall be spilt in her gaits, and which I wants and desires you will not
git upon the back of that mar nary nother time.”
After this event these two ladies seemed to regard each other with
even increased dislike.
Miss Betsy Ann Acry had heretofore escaped correction for any of
her shortcomings, although they were not few. She was fond of
mischief, and no more afraid of Mr. Lorriby than Mr. Bill Williams
was. Indeed, Miss Betsy Ann considered herself to be a woman, and
she had been heard to say that a whipping was something which she
would take from nobody. Mr. Lorriby smiled at her mischievous
tricks, but Mrs. Lorriby frowned. These ladies came to dislike
each other more and more. The younger, when in her frolics, frequently
noticed the elder give her husband a look which was expressive
of much meaning. Seaborn had also noticed this, and the worse
Miss Acry grew, the oftener Mrs. Lorriby came to the school. The
truth is that Seaborn had pondered so much that he at last made a
profound discovery. He had come to believe fully, and in this he was
right, that the object which the female Lorriby had in coming at all was
to protect the male. A bright thought! He communicated it to Miss
Acry, and slyly hinted several times that he believed she was afraid
of Old Red Eye, as he denominated the master's wife. Miss Acry
indignantly repelled every such insinuation, and became only the
bolder in what she said and what she did. Seaborn knew that the
Lorribys were well aware of Mr. Bill's preference for the girl, and he
intensely enjoyed her temerity. But it was hard to satisfy him that
she was not afraid of Old Red Eye. If Old Red Eye had not been
not do so and so, was because Old Red Eye was about. Alas for
human nature! — male and female. Betsy Ann went on and on, until
she was brought to a halt. The occasion was thus.
There was in the school a boy of about my own size, and a year
or two older, whose name was Martin Granger. He was somewhat of
a pitiful-looking creature — whined when he spoke, and was frequently
in quarrels, not only with the boys, but with the girls. He was suspected
of sometimes playing the part of spy and informer to the
Lorribys, both of whom treated him with more consideration than any
other pupil, except Mr. Bill Williams. Miss Betsy Ann cordially disliked
him, and she honored myself by calling me her favorite in the
whole school.
Now Martin and I got ourselves very unexpectedly into a fight.
I had divided my molasses with him at dinner-time for weeks and
weeks. A few of the pupils whose parents could afford to have that
luxury, were accustomed to carry it to school in phials. I usually ate
my part after boring a hole in my biscuit and then filling it up. I have
often wished since I have been grown that I could relish that preparation
as I relished it when a boy. But as we grow older our tastes
change. Martin Granger relished the juice even more than I. In all
my observations I have never known a person of any description who
was as fond of molasses as he was. It did me good to see him eat it.
He never brought any himself, but he used to hint, in his whining way,
that the time was not distant when his father would have a whole kegful,
and when he should bring it to school in his mother's big snuffbottle,
which was well known to us all. Although I was not so
sanguine of the realisation of this prospect as he seemed to be, yet
I had not on that account become tired of furnishing him. I only
grew tired of his presence while at my dinner, and I availed myself
of a trifling dispute one day to shut down upon him. I not only
did not invite him to partake of my molasses, but I rejected his
spontaneous proposition to that effect. He had been dividing it with
me so long that I believe he thought my right to cut him off now was
estopped. He watched me as I bored my holes and poured in and
ate, and even wasted the precious fluid. I could not consume it all.
When I had finished eating, I poured water into the phial and made
what we called “beverage.” I would drink a little, then shake it and
hold it up before me. The golden bubbles shone gloriously in the
operations, nor even looked towards him. But I knew that his eyes
were upon me and the phial. Just as I swallowed the last drop, his full
heart could bear no more, and he uttered a cry of pain. I turned to
him and asked him what was the matter. The question seemed to be
considered as adding insult to injustice.
“Corn deternally trive your devilish hide,” he answered, and gave
me the full benefit of his clenched fist upon my stomach. He was
afterwards heard to say that “thar was the place whar he wanted to
hit fust.” We closed, scratched, pulled hair, and otherwise struggled
until we were separated. Martin went immediately to Mr. Lorriby,
gave his version of the brawl, and just as the school was to be dismissed
for the day, I was called up and flogged without inquiry and
without explanation.
Miss Betsy Ann Acry had seen the fight. When I came to my seat,
crying bitterly, her indignation could not contain itself.
“Mr. Larribee,” she said, her cheeks growing redder, “you have
whipped that boy for nothing.”
Betsy Ann, with all her pluck, had never gone so far as this. Mr.
Lorriby turned pale and looked at his wife. Her red eyes fairly
glistened with fire. He understood it, and said to Betsy Ann in a
hesitating tone,—
“You had better keep your advice to yourself.”
“I did not give you any advice. I just said you whipped that boy
for nothing, and I said the truth.”
“Aint that advice, madam?”
“I am no madam, I thank you, sir; and if that's advice —”
“Shet up your mouth, Betsy Ann Acry.”
“Yes, sir,” said Betsy Ann, very loud, and she fastened her pretty
pouting lips together, elevated her head, inclined a little to one side,
and seemed amusedly awaiting further orders.
The female Lorriby here rose, went to her husband, and whispered
earnestly to him. He hesitated, and then resolved.
“Come here to me, Betsy Ann Acry.”
She went up as gaily as if she expected a present.
“I am going to whip Betsy Ann Acry. Ef any boy here wants to
take it for her, he can now step forrards.”
Betsy Ann patted her foot, and looked neither to the right nor to the
left, nor yet behind her.
When a substitute was invited to appear, the house was still as a
graveyard. I rubbed my legs apologetically, and looked up at Seaborn,
who sat by me.
“No, sir; if I do may I be dinged, and then dug up and —” I did
not listen to the remainder; and as no one else seemed disposed to
volunteer, and as the difficulty was brought about upon my own account,
and as Betsy Ann liked me and I liked Betsy Ann, I made a desperate
resolution, and rose and presented myself. Betsy Ann appeared to be
disgusted.
“I don't think I would whip that child any more to-day, if I was in
your place, especially for other folk's doings.”
“That's jest as you say.”
“Well, I say go back to your seat, Phil.”
I obeyed, and felt relieved and proud of myself. Mr. Lorriby began
to straighten his switch. Then I and all the other pupils looked at
Mr. Bill Williams.
6. CHAPTER VI.
Oh! what an argument was going on in Mr. Bill's breast. Vain had
been all efforts heretofore made to bring him in any way into collision
with the Lorribys. He had even kept himself out of all combinations
to get a little holiday by an innocent ducking, and useless had been all
appeals heretofore to his sympathies; for he was like the rest who had
been through the ordeal of the schools, and had grown to believe that
it did more good than harm. If it had been anybody but Betsy Ann
Acry, he would have been unmoved. But it was Betsy Ann Acry, and
he had been often heard to say that if Betsy Ann Acry should have to be
whipped, he should take upon himself the responsibility of seeing that
that must not be done. And now that contingency had come. What
ought to be done? How was this responsibility to be discharged?
Mr. Bill wished that the female Lorriby had stayed away that day.
He did not know exactly why he wished it, but he wished it. To add
to his other difficulties, Miss Betsy Ann had never given any token of
her reciprocation of his regard; for now that the novelty of the future
clerkship had worn away, she had returned to her old habit of never
seeming to notice that there was such a person as himself. But the
idea of a switch falling upon her whose body from the crown of her
other consideration, and he made up his mind to be as good as his
word, and take the responsibility. Just as the male Lorriby (the female
by his side) was about to raise the switch —
“Stop a minute, Mr. Larrabee!” he exclaimed, advancing in a highly
excited manner.
The teacher lowered his arm and retreated one step, looking a little
irresolute. His wife advanced one step, and looking straight at Mr.
Bill, her robust frame rose at least an inch higher.
“Mr. Larrabee! I — ah — don't exactly consider myself — ah — as
a scholar here now; because — ah — I expect to move to Dukesborough
in a few days, and keep store thar for Mr. Bland & Jones.”
To his astonishment, this announcement, so impressive heretofore,
failed of the slightest effect now, when, of all times, an effect was
desired. Mr. Lorriby, in answer to a sign from his wife, had recovered
his lost ground, and looked placidly upon him, but answered
nothing.
“I say,” repeated Mr. Bill distinctly, as if he supposed he had not
been heard, “I say that I expect in a few days to move to Dukesborough;
to live thar; to keep store thar for Mr. Bland & Jones.”
“Well, William, I think I have heard that before. I want to hear
you talk about it some time when it aint school time, and when we aint
so busy as we air now at the present.”
“Well, but —” persisted Mr. Bill.
“Well, but?” inquired Mr. Lorriby.
“Yes, sir,” answered the former, insistingly.
“Well, but what? Is this case got anything to do with it? Is she
got anything to do with it?”
“In cose it have not,” answered Mr. Bill, sadly.
“Well, what makes you tell us of it now, at the present?” Oh!
what a big word was that us, then, to Josiah Lorriby.
“Mr. Larrabee,” urged Mr. Bill, in as persuasive accents as he could
employ; “no, sir, Mr. Larrabee, it have not got anything to do with
it; but yit —”
“Well, yit what, William?”
“Well, Mr. Larrabee, I thought as I was a-goin to quit school soon,
and as I was a-goin to move to Dukesborough — as I was a-goin right
outen your school intoo Dukesborough as it war, to keep store thar,
may be you mout, as a favor, do me a favor before I left.”
“Well! may I be dinged, and then dug up and dinged over agin!”
This was said in a suppressed whisper by a person at my side.
“Beggin! beggin! ding his white-livered hide — beg-gin!”
“Why, William,” replied Mr. Lorriby, “ef it war convenant, and
the favor war not too much, it mout be that I mout grant it.”
“I thought you would, Mr. Larrabee. The favor aint a big one —
leastways, it aint a big one to you. It would be a mighty —” But
Mr. Bill thought he could hardly trust himself to say how big a one it
would be to himself.
“Well, what is it, William?”
“Mr. Larrabee!— sir, Mr. Larrabee, I ax it as a favor of you, not
to whip Betsy Ann — which is Miss Betsy Ann Acry.”
“Thar now!” groaned Seaborn, and bowed his head in despair.
The male Lorriby looked upon the female. Her face had relaxed
somewhat from its stern expression. She answered his glance by one
which implied a conditional affirmative.
“Ef Betsy Ann Acry will behave herself, and keep her impudence
to herself, I will let her off this time.”
All eyes turned to Betsy Ann. I never saw her look so fine as she
raised up her head, tossed her yellow ringlets back, and said in a tone
increasing in loudness from beginning to end:
“But Betsy Ann Acry won't do it.”
“Hello agin thar!” whispered Seaborn, and raised his head. His
dying hopes of a big row were revived. This was the last opportunity,
and he was as eager as if the last dollar he ever expected to make had
been pledged upon the event. I have never forgotten his appearance,
as with his legs wide apart, his hands upon his knees, his lips apart,
but his teeth firmly closed, he gazed upon that scene.
Lorriby, the male, was considerably disconcerted, and would have
compromised; but Lorriby, the female, again in an instant resumed
her hostile attitude, and this time her great eyes looked like two balls
of fire. She concentrated their gaze upon Betsy Ann with a ferocity
which was appalling. Betsy Ann tried to meet them, and did for one
moment; but in another she found she could not hold out longer; so
she buried her face in her hands and sobbed. Mr. Bill could endure
no more. Both arms fairly flew out at full length.
“The fact ar,” he cried, “that I am goin to take the responsibility!
Conshequenches may be conshequenches, but I shall take the responsibility.”
His countenance was that of a man who had made up his
mind. It had come at last, and we were perfectly happy.
The female Lorriby turned her eyes from Betsy Ann and fixed them
steadily on Mr. Bill. She advanced a step forward, and raised her
arms and placed them on her sides. The male Lorriby placed himself
immediately behind his mate's right arm, while Rum, who seemed to
understand what was going on, came up, and standing on his mistress's
left, looked curiously up at Mr. Bill.
Seaborn Byne noticed this last movement. “Well, et that don't
beat creation! You in it too, is you?” he muttered through his teeth.
“Well, never do you mind. Ef I don't fix you and put you whar you'll
never know no more but what you've got a tail, may I be dinged, and
then,” etc.
It is true that Seaborn had been counted upon for a more important
work than the neutralising of Rum's forces; still, I knew that Mr.
Bill wanted and needed no assistance. We were all ready, however —
that is, I should say, all but Martin. He had no griefs, and therefore
no desires.
Such was the height of Mr. Bill's excitement that he did not even
seem to notice the hostile demonstrations of these numerous and
various foes. His mind was made up, and he was going right on to
his purpose.
“Mr. Larrabee,” he said firmly, “I am goin to take the responsibility.
I axed you as a favor to do me a favor before I left. I aint much used
to axin favors; but sich it war now. It seem as ef that favor cannot
be grant. Yea, sich is the circumstances. But it must be so.
Sense I have been here they aint been no difficulties betwixt you and
me, nor betwixt me and Miss Larrabee; and no nothin of the sort,
not even betwixt me and Rum. That dog have sometimes snap at my
legs; but I have bore it for peace, and wanted no fuss. Sich, therefore,
it was why I axed the favor as a favor. But it can't be hoped,
and so I takes the responsibility. Mr. Larrabee, sir, and you, Miss
Larrabee, I am goin from this school right intoo Dukesborough, straight
intoo Mr. Bland's store, to clerk thar. Sich bein all the circumstances,
I hates to do what I tells you I'm goin to do. But it can't be hoped,
it seem, and I ar goin to do it.”
Mr. Bill announced this conclusion in a very highly elevated tone.
“Oh, yes, ding your old hides of you!” I heard at my side.
“Mr. Larrabee, and you, Miss Larrabee,” continued the speaker, “I
does not desires that Betsy Ann Acry shall be whipped. I goes on to
say that as sich it ar, and as sich the circumstances, Betsy Ann Acry
can't be whipped whar I ar ef I can keep it from bein done.”
“You heerd that, didn't you?” asked Seaborn, low, but cruelly
triumphant; and Seaborn looked at Rum as if considering how he
should begin the battle with him.
Mrs. Lorriby seldom spoke. Whenever she did, it was to the point.
“Yes, but Weelliam Weelliams, you can't keep it from bein done.”
And she straightened herself yet taller, and raising her hands yet
higher upon her sides, changed the angle of elbows from obtuse to
acute.
“Yes, but I kin,” persisted Mr. Bill. “Mr. Larrabee! Mr. Larrabee!”
This gentleman had lowered his head, and was peering at Mr. Bill
through the triangular opening formed by his mate's side and arm.
The reason why Mr. Bill addressed him twice, was because he had
missed him when he threw the first address over her shoulder. The
last was sent through the triangle.
“Mr. Larrabee! I say it kin be done, and I'm goin to do it. Sir,
little as I counted on sich a case, yit still it ar so. Let the conshequenches
be what they be, both now and some futur day. Mr.
Larrabee, sir, that whippin that you was a-goin to give to Betsy Ann
Acry cannot fall upon her shoulders, and — that is, upon her shoulders,
and before my face. Instid of sich, sir, you may jest — instid of whippin
her, sir, you may — instid of her, give it, sir — notwithstandin and
nevertheless — you may give it to ME.”
7. CHAPTER VII.
Then you and I and all of us fell down!”
If the pupils of Josiah Lorriby's school had had the knowledge of all
tongues; if they had been familiar with the histories of all the base
men of all the ages, they could have found no words in which to characterise,
and no person with whom to compare, Mr. Bill Williams. If
they had known what it was to be a traitor, they might have admitted
that he was more like this, the most despicable of all characters, than
any other. But they would have argued that he was baser than all
other traitors, because he had betrayed, not only others, but himself.
Mr. Bill Williams, the big boy, the future resident of Dukesborough,
the expectant clerk, the vindicator of persecuted girlhood in the person
he should have taken the pains, just before he was going away, to degrade
himself by proposing to take upon his own shoulders the rod
that had never before descended but upon the backs and legs of children!
Poor Seaborn Byne! If I ever saw expressed in a human
being's countenance, disgust, anger and abject hopelessness, I saw
them as I turned to look at him. He spoke not one word, not even in
whispers, but he looked as if he could never more place confidence in
mortal flesh.
When Mr. Bill had concluded his ultimatum, the female Lorriby's
arms came down, and the male Lorriby's head went up. They sent
each the other a smile. Both were smart enough to be satisfied. The
latter was more than satisfied.
“I am proud this day of William Williams. It air so, and I can but
say I air proud of him. William Williams were now in a position to
stand up and shine in his new spere of action. If he went to Dukesborough
to keep store thar, he mout now go sayin that as he had been
a good scholar, so he mout expect to be a good clerk, and fit to be
trusted, yea, with thousands upon thousands, ef sich mout be the case.
But as it was so, and as he have been to us all as it war, and no dif-ficulties,
and no nothin of the sort, and he war goin, and it mout be
soon, yea, it mout be to-morrow, from this school straight intoo a
store, I cannot, nor I cannot. No, far be it. This were a skene too
solemn and too lovely for sich. I cannot, nor I cannot. William
Williams may now take his seat.”
Mr. Bill obeyed. I was glad that he did not look at Betsy Ann as
she turned to go to hers. But she looked at him. I saw her, and little
as I was, I saw also that if he ever had had any chance of winning
her, it was gone from him forever. It was now late in the afternoon,
and we were dismissed. Without saying a word to any one, Mr. Bill
took his arithmetic and slate (for ciphering, as it was called then, was
his only study). We knew what it meant, for we felt, as well as he,
that this was his last day at school. As my getting to school depended
upon his continuance, I did not doubt that it was my last also.
On the way home, but not until separating from all the other boys,
Mr. Bill showed some disposition to boast.
“You all little fellows was monstous badly skeerd this evening,
Squire.”
“Wasn't you scared too?” I asked.
“Skeerd? I'd like to see the schoolmaster that could skeer me.
I skeerd of Joe Larrabee?”
“I did not think you were scared of him.”
“Skeerd of who then? Miss Larrabee? Old Red Eye? She
mout be redder-eyed than what she ar, and then not skeer me. Why
look here, Squire, how would I look goin into Dukesborough, into Mr.
Bland and Jones' store, right from bein skeerd of old Miss Larrabee;
to be runnin right intoo Mr. Bland and Jones' store, and old Mehetibilly
Larrabee right arter me, or old Joe nuther. It wur well for him
that he never struck Betsy Ann Acry. Ef he had a struck her, Joe
Larrabee's strikin days would be over.”
“But wasn't you goin to take her whippin for her?”
“Lookee here, Squire, I didn't take it, did I?”
“No, but you said you was ready to take it.”
“Poor little fellow!” he said, compassionately. “Squire, you are
yit young in the ways of this sorrowful and ontimely world. Joe Larrabee
knows me, and I knows Joe Larrabee, and as the feller said, that
ar sufficient.”
We were now at our gate. Mr. Bill bade me good evening, and
passed on; and thus ended his pupilage and mine at the school of
Josiah Lorriby.
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