 | CHAPTER XVIII. Richard Hurdis, or, The avenger of blood : a tale of Alabama |  |
18. CHAPTER XVIII.
For dignity composed, and high exploit;
But all was false and hollow.
Milton.
Were it proper for me to pause in my narrative
for the purpose of moral reflection, how naturally
would the destitute condition of the criminal, as instanced
in the case of John Hurdis, present itself for
comment. Perhaps the greatest penalty which vice
ever suffers is its isolation—its isolation from friends
and fellowship—from warm trust, from yielding
confidence. Its only resources are in the mutual interests
of other and perhaps greater criminals, and
what is there in life so unstable as the interests of
the vicious? How they fluctuate with the approach of
danger, or the division of the spoil, or the drunkenness
of heart and habit which their very destitution
in all social respects must necessarily originate.
When John Hurdis separated from his late colleague,
who had taught him that they were no longer bound
to each other by mutual necessities, he felt as if the
last stay, in the moment of extremity, was suddenly
and that despair of the spirit which the falling
wretch endures, in the brief instant, when, catching
at the impending limb, he finds it yielding the moment
that his hold is sure upon it, and, in its decay,
betraying utterly the last fond hope which had promised
him security and life.
But, enough of this—my journey is begun. I entered
a steamboat, one fair morning, and with promising
auspices, so far as our voyage is considered,
we went forward swimmingly enough. But our
boat was an old one—a wretched hulk, which, having
worked out its term of responsible service in the
Mississippi, had been sent round to Mobile, at the
instance of cupidity, to beguile unwitting passengers
like myself, to their ruin. She was a piece of patch-work
throughout, owned by a professional gambler,
a little Israelite, who took the command without
knowing any thing about it, and by dint of good
fortune, carried us safely to our journey's end. Not
that we had not some little stoppages and troubles
by the way. Some portion of the machinery got
out of order, and we landed at Demopolis, built a
fire, erected a sort of forge, and in the space of half
a day and night repaired the accident. This incident
would not be worth relating, but that it exhibits the
readiness with which our wildest and least scientific
people, can find remedies for disasters which would
On the eleventh day we reached Columbus;
but in the meantime, practising my new resolves,
I made an acquaintance on board the boat.
This was an old gentleman, a puritan of the bluest
complexion, whom nobody would have suspected of
being a rogue. Setting out to seek for, and meet with
none but rogues, he yet nearly deceived me by his
sanctity; and had I not maintained my watchfulness
a little longer than I deemed necessary myself, I
should have taken it for granted that he was a saint
of the most accepted order, and, if I had not committed
my secret to his keeping, I should, at least,
have so far involved its importance as to make my
labour unavailing. Fortunately, as I said, having
put on, with the dress common to the gamblers of
the great Mississippi Valley, as much of their easy
impudence of demeanor as I could readily assume,
I succeeded as effectually in convincing my puritan
that I was a rogue, as he did in persuading me, at the
beginning, that he was an honest man. It was my
good fortune to find out his secret first, and to keep
my own. It so happened that there were several passengers
like myself, bound for Columbus on the Tombeckbe,
to which place our boat was destined. As
customary at that time, we had no sooner got fairly
under weigh before cards were produced, and one
fellow, whose lungs and audacity were greater than
upon all persons who were disposed to “take a
hand,” to come forward. With my new policy in
view, I was one of the first to answer this challenge.
I had provided myself in Mobile with several packs,
and taking a couple of them in hand, I went forward
to the table which meanwhile had been drawn out in
the cabin and coolly surveyed my companions. Our
puritan came forward at the same moment, and in
the gravest terms and tones, protested against our
playing.
“My young friends,” he cried, “let me beg you
not to engage in this wicked amusement. Cards
are, as it has been often and well said—cards are
the prayer books of the devil. It is by these that he
wins souls daily to his gloomy kingdom. Night
and day he is busy in these arts, to entrap the unwary,
whom he blinds and beguiles until, when they
open their eyes at last, they open them in the dwellings
of damnation. Oh, my dear children, do not
venture to follow him so far. Cast the temptation
from you—defy the tempter; and in place of these
dangerous instruments of sin, hearken, I pray you,
to the goodly outpourings of a divine spirit. If you
will but suffer me to choose for you a text from this
blessed volume—”
Here he took a small pocket bible from his bosom,
and was about to turn the leaves, when a cry from
promised to be sufficiently unctuous and edifying.—
“No text—no text,” was the general voice—
“none of the parson—none of the parson.”
“Nay, my beloved children—” the preacher begun,
but a tall good-humoured looking fellow, a
Georgian, with the full face, lively eyes and clear
skin of that state, came up to him, and laid his broad
hand over his mouth.
“Shut up, parson, it's no use. You can't be heard
now, for you see it's only civility to let the devil
have the floor, seeing he was up first. If, now, you
had been quick enough with your prayer-book, and
got the whip-hand of him, d—n my eyes, but you
should have sung out your song to the end of the
verses; but you've been slow, parson—you've been
sleeping at your stand, and the deer's got round you.
You'll get smoked by the old one, yourself, if you
don't mind, for neglecting your duty.”
“Peace, vain young man—”
He was about to begin a furious denunciation, but
was allowed to proceed no farther. The clamor was
unanimous around him; and one tall fellow, somewhat
dandyishly accoutred like myself, coming forward,
made a show of seizing upon the exhorter.
Here I interposed.
“No violence, gentlemen; it's enough that we
have silenced the man, let him not be hurt.”
“Ay, if he will keep quiet,” said the fellow, still
threatening.
“Oh, quiet or not,” said the Georgian, “we
mustn't hurt the parson. 'Dang it, he shan't be hurt.
I'll stand up for him.—Parson, I'll stand up for you;
but by the Hokey, old black, you must keep your
oven close.”
I joined in promising that he would be quiet and
offer no farther interruption, and he so far seemed
to warrant our assurance as, without promising himself,
to take a seat, after a few half suppressed groans,
on a bench near the table, on which we were about
to play. I was first struck with suspicion of the fellow
by this fact. If the matter was so painful to his
spirit, why did he linger in our neighbourhood when
there were so many parts of the boat to which he
might have retreated? The suspicion grew stronger
when I found him, after a little while, as watchfully
attentive to the progress of the game as any of
the players.
Favourably impressed with the frankness of the
Georgian, I proposed that we should play against
the other two persons who were prepared to sit
down to the table, and my offer was closed with instantly.
We bet on each hand, on the highest trump,
and on the game with each of our opponents, a dollar
being the amount of each bet, so that we had a
good many dollars staked on the general result of the
cards had been thrice dealt. I now proceeded to
try some of the tricks which I had seen others perform,
and in particular that in which the dealer, by
a peculiar mode of shuffling, divides the trumps between
his partner and himself. My object was to
fix the attention of one of my opponents, whom I
suspected from the first to be no better than he
should be, simply because he wore a habit not unlike
my own, and was covered with trinkets in the
same manner. But I lacked experience—there was
still a trick wanting which no slight of hand of mine
could remedy. Though I shuffled the cards as I
had seen them shuffled, by drawing them alternately
from top and bottom together, I found neither
mine nor my partner's hand any better than before,
and looking up with some affected chagrin in my
countenance, I caught sight of what seemed to be an
understanding smile between the opponent in question
and the parson, who, sitting a little on one side
of me, was able to look, if he desired it, into my
hand. This discovery—as I thought it—gave me no
little pleasure. I was resolved to test it, and ascertain
how far I was correct in my suspicions. I flattered
myself that I was in a fair way to fall upon the clue
which might conduct me into the very midst of the
gamblers, who are all supposed to be connected more
of their secrets. Accordingly, I displayed
certain of my cards ostentatiously before the eyes of
the preacher, and had occasion to observe, an instant
after, that the play of my opponent seemed to be regulated
by a certain knowledge of my hand. He
finessed constantly upon my lead; and with an
adroitness which compelled the continual expression
of wonder and dissatisfaction from the lips of
my partner. I was satisfied, so far, with the result
of my experiment, and began to think of pausing
before I proceeded farther; when my Georgian
dashed down his cards as the game was ended
against us, and cried out to me, with a countenance
which, though flushed, was yet full of most excellent
feeling—
“Look you, stranger, suppose we change. We
don't seem to have luck together, and there's no fun
in being all the time on the losing side. The bad
luck may be with me, or it may be with you, I don't
say, but it can do no harm to shift it to other shoulders,
whoever has it. I've been diddled out of
twenty-six hard dollars, in mighty short order.”
“Diddled!” exclaimed my brother dandy, with
an air of ineffable heroism, turning to my partner.
Without discomposure the other replied:
“I don't mean any harm when I say diddled,
when I lose my money, fight as hard for it as I can.
That's the worst sort of diddling I know.”
The other looked fierce for a moment, but he
probably soon discovered that the Georgian had replied
without heeding his air of valor, and there
was something about his composed manner which
rendered it at least a doubtful point whether any
thing in the shape of an insult would not set his
bulky frame into overpowering exercise. The disposition
to bully, however slightly it was suffered to
appear, added another item to my suspicions of the
character before me. The proposition of my partner
to change places with one of the other two, produced
a different suggestion from one of them, which
seemed to please us all. It was that we should play
vingt-un.
“Every man fights on his own hook in that, and
his bad luck, if he has any, hurts nobody but himself.”
I had begun to reproach myself with a course
which, however useful in forwarding my own objects,
had evidently contributed to the loss by my
partner of his money. If free to throw away my
own, I had no right to try experiments on his purse,
and I readily gave my assent to the proposition.
Our bets were more moderate than before, but I
soon found the game a losing one still. The preacher
the banker; and in more than one instance when I
have stood on “twenty” he has drawn from the pack,
though having “eighteen” and “nineteen,”—upon
which good players will always be content, unless
assured that better hands are in the possession of
their opponents, when, by “drawing,” they cannot
lose. This knowledge could only be received from
our devoted preacher, and when I ceased to play—
which, through sheer weariness I did—I did so with
the most thorough persuasion, that the two were in
correspondence—they were birds of the same brood.
Moody and thoughtful, for I was now persuaded
that my own more important game was beginning to
open before me, I went to the stern of the boat, and
seated myself upon one of the bulks, giving way to
the bitter musings of which my mind was sufficiently
full. While I sat thus, I was startled on a sudden
to find the preacher beside me.
“Ah, my young friend, I have watched you during
your sinful play, against which I warned you,
with a painful sort of curiosity. Did I not counsel
you against those devilish instruments—you scorned
my counsel, and what has been your fortune. You
have lost money, my son, money—a goodly sum,
which might have blessed the poor widow, and the
portionless orphan—which might have sent the
blessings of the word into strange lands among the
in his labours wayfaring teacher of the word—
which might be most needful to yourself, my son,
which, indeed, I see it in your looks—which you
could very ill spare for such purposes, and which
even now it is your bitter suffering that you have
lost.”
Admiring the hypocrisy of the old reprobate, I
was yet, in obedience to my policy, prepared to respect
it. I availed myself of his own suggestion,
and thus answered him.
“You speak truly, sir; I bitterly regret having
lost my money, which, as you say, I could ill spare,
and which it has nearly emptied my pockets to have
lost. But suppose I had been fortunate—if I was
punished by my losses for having played, he who
won, I suppose, is punished by his winnings for the
same offence. How does your reason answer when
it cuts both ways?”
“Even as a two edged sword it doth, my friend;
though in the blindness of earth you may not so
readily see or believe it. Truly may it be said that
you are both equally punished by your fortunes.
You suffer from your losses—who shall say that he
will suffer less from his gains. Will it not encourage
him in his career of sin—will it not promote
his licentiousness—his indulgence of many
heaven avert—to an untimely end.
Verily, my friend, I do think him even more unfortunate
than thyself; for, of a truth, it may be said, that
the right use of money is the most difficult and dangerous
of all; and few ever use it rightly but such
as gain it through great toil, or have the divine instinct
of heaven, which is wisdom, to employ it to
its rightful purposes.”
Excellent hypocrite! How admirably did he
preach! How adroitly did he escape what had
otherwise been his dilemma. He almost deceived
me a second time.
“In your heart, now, my friend, you bitterly repent
that you heeded not my counsel.”
“Not a whit!” was my reply. “If I were sure
I could win, I would stick by the card table forever.”
“What! so profligate and so young. Oh! my
friend, think upon your end—think of eternity.”
“Rather let me think of my beginning, reverend
sir, if you please. The business of time requires
present attention, and to a man that is starving your
talk of future provision is a mere mockery. Give
me to know how I am to get the bread of life in
this life before you talk to me of bread for the next.”
“How should you get it, my friend, but by painstaking
esteems not those who play at cards—”
“And I esteem not the world. What matters it
to me, my good sir, what are the opinions of those
to whom I am unknown, and for whom I care nothing.
Give me but money enough, and I will
make them love me, and honor me, and force truth
and honesty into all shapes, that they may not offend
my principles or practice.”
“But, my son, you would not surely forget the
laws of honesty in the acquisition of wealth?”
This was said inquisitively, and with a prying
glance of the eye, which sufficiently betokened the
deep interest which the hypocrite felt in my answer.
But that I was now persuaded of his hypocrisy, I
should have never avowed myself so boldly.
“What are they? What are these laws of honesty
of which you speak? I cannot, all at once, say that I
know them.”
“Not know them!”
“No!”
“Well,” he continued, “to say truth, they are
rather frequently revoked among mankind, and have
others wholly opposite in character substituted in
their place; but you cannot mistake me my young
friend—you know that there are such laws.”
“Ay, laws for me—for the poor—to crush the
weak—made by the strong for their own protection
These are not laws calculated to win the respect or
regard of the destitute—of those who are desperate
enough, if they did not lack the strength, to pull
down society with a fearless hand, though, perhaps,
they pulled it in ruin upon themselves.”
“But you, my friend, you are not thus desperate
—this is not your situation.”
“What! you would extort a confession from me,
first of my poverty—then of my desperation—you
would drag me to the county court, would you, that
you might have the proud satisfaction of exhorting
the criminal in his last moments, in the presence of
twenty thousand admiring fellow creatures, who
come to see a brother launched out of life and into
hell. This is your practice and creed is it?”
“No, my friend,” he replied, in a lower tone of
voice, which was, perhaps, intended to restrain the
emphatic utterance of mine. “Know me better, my
friend—I would save you—such is my heart—from
so dreadful a situation—yes, I would even defeat the
purposes of justice, though I felt persuaded you
would sin again in the same fashion. Be not rash—
be not hasty in your judgment of me, my friend. I
like you, and will say something to you which you
will, perhaps, be pleased to hear. But not now—
one of these vicious reprobates approaches us, and
To-night, perhaps—to-night.”
He left me with an uplifted finger, and a look—
such a look as Satan may be supposed to have fixed
on Adam in Paradise.
| CHAPTER XVIII. Richard Hurdis, or, The avenger of blood : a tale of Alabama | |