University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.
CLOVER.

In popular phrase, the back of the winter was broken.
The weather became milder, the mornings grew a little
longer, and the evenings a little shorter, and the sun at noon
mounted a trifle higher. The vulgar distich runs thus —

This is true of the few weeks immediately succeeding the
Solstice. But in the latter part of February, and towards
March, the change to which we have referred is so perceptible,
that the popular voice changes, — “What mild
weather! How warm it is!” though it is winter still; but
winter maimed — winter inefficient.

At these times Richard went out more during the day.
He had, indeed, turned night into day, and was obliged to
sleep partly by sunlight; but he could secure what rest he
required, and still have some hours to spare. These were
his perquisites, and he employed them as he chose.

One day, as he entered the mill, he encountered Mr.
Gouch, Silver, and Philemon, his fellow night's men, and
he saw another person, whom he had not seen before,
striding a log. “That,” whispered Mr. Gouch, “is Clover;
don't go near him!” But Richard could not be easy
when he knew Clover was near; at least, he could not keep
his eyes or his thoughts still. He looked at Clover;
looked quite intently at him. “Don't let him see you
looking at him!” said Mr. Gouch. Well, Richard must

look at him all the more, — only he did it furtively, and by
snatches. What did he behold? A man with a very careless,
indifferent manner, bordering on malapertness and
doughtiness. His face was one that could be easily identified.
His lower lip rowdyishly protruded; it was a pouch
containing a quid of tobacco as large as a pullet's egg. His
upper lip was deeply indented at each corner, making two
niches, where scorn and derision were seated. He held a
cant-dog, with which he amused himself, drawing frightful
figures in the saw-dust on the floor; then he teazed a butter
with it, making as if he would thrust it under his axe. He had
on a Shakspeare hat, with the rim turned up at the sides, and
a silver buckle in front; and the hat was tilted so much on
his head, it seemed as if it would fall off. His dress consisted
of a blue-striped shirt with a large collar, a doublebreasted
vest, and a mottled Guernsey jacket. But what,
perhaps, would chiefly arrest the notice of a stranger was
his hair; — his whole head seemed to have gone to hair; it
hung in long, coarse folds, like a mop; it came out along
his cheeks, and under his nose and chin. It was bright
red; and his small, gray eye gleamed in the midst of it,
like a pig's eye. Not only did he annoy the butter with
the cant-dog, but, intermitting this fancy, he would occasionally
double his fist at the poor man, straightening his chest,
drawing up and squaring at him, as if he would fight him.
He bent his fist inwards and upwards, thus tightening the
cords of his wrist, and stiffening the skin on his knuckles;
and in this strained attitude he played it up and down, now
inclining it towards his victim, and then thumping it
against the log on which he sat; letting off, apparently, a
vast amount of force and dismay into the insensible wood.
The butter took all this patiently, either from indifference
to Clover, or out of terror of him — Richard could not tell
which.

Most of the hands were, or affected to be, afraid of Clover.
Richard was inquisitive as to the secret of the man's
power — whether it lay in his manner, or his character.
Nor was his interest cooled by observing that Clover flung
several significant glances at himself, and did some feats of
fist, which he evidently meant Richard should give a personal
interpretation to.

He asked Mr. Gouch to introduce him; but the timorous
head-stock man declined the service. When Richard persisted,
and said he would speak with Clover, Silver sprang
at his throat, as if he would choke him, and told him to keep
still. Philemon made as if Silver was in earnest, and said
he had Richard within an inch of his life, and it was his
duty to stop so dangerous an affray.

Clover himself started at this, and called out for fair play,
or something of the sort. “It is all play,” said Richard;
“do not be alarmed.” “I am not alarmed,” replied Clover,
resuming his seat on the log, and discharging the cavity of
his lower lip, which ever, like a boiling spring, was inclined
to run over. “I should like to see the man that tells me I
am alarmed; new comer or old comer, — slip-tender or
head-stock man!”

Richard, going towards Clover, replied, “Silver was in
sport.”

“Of course,” rejoined Clover; “he dare do nothing else
but be in sport, of course. You may make a mark there, if
you will!”

“I believe I have your place in the mill,” said Richard;
“possibly you would like to take it again.”

“I shall take it whenever I please,” returned Clover.

“As soon as you are able to take it, I will relinquish it
to you.”

“Able!” he retorted; “I am able when I please to be
able. Check that!”

“Have you entirely recovered?” asked Richard.

“Recovered!” He echoed the word with a very sharp
sarcasm playing about his upper lip, which Richard did not
see any necessity for.

“You have been sick?” Richard asked.

“Worse than that, — I have been indisposed.”

“I thought you were sick.”

“Of course, I meant you should think so, — I meant the
Captain should think so, — I meant the whole Mill should
think so. Trig that, and take breath!”

“I am ready to go on again,” replied Richard, waggishly.

“Do you mean to insult me, Edney?” asked Clover, his
eyes flashing fire.

“Do you mean to insult me?” replied Richard.

“How insult you?”

“By making me believe you were sick, when you were
not sick.”

“I can give myself to you in one word, Edney; I can
convey the whole in a single phrase; I am a man of honor;
I wish to be honorable. Tie a knot there!”

“I will,” replied Richard; “and then I must ask you
how you can call such conduct honorable.”

“Enlargement, aggrandizement, glory, fame, are natural
to the human breast; they are natural to my breast. Power,
might, are honorable; and these I study to exercise. To
make you believe I am sick, when I am sick, is nothing, — a
child could do that; but if I can make you believe I am sick,
when I am not sick, — if I can make the Captain believe it,

and the whole Mill believe it, — I do something; I exercise
power; I am enlarged!”

Clover had the habit of talking sometimes apparently in
Italics, sometimes in small caps, and occasionally mounting
as high as canon. We would do him typographical justice.

“You would not lie?” observed Richard.

“Lie! lie!” replied Clover; “lie! hem! hum! You
mistake. 'T is means, means!”

“It is lying,” remarked Richard.

“If you were in an enemy's country, would you stick at
what you call a lie, to secure your conquest? Did not
our troops tell, utter, manufacture, publish, a hundred lies,
in Mexico? Are they to be taunted with lying? I am
in Mexico; I am in an enemy's country, and I shall lie to
further my victories: but are you mean enough — have you
no nicer sense of honor than to asperse my acts with the
villanous epithets which a bilious stomach and morbid
imagination know so well how to supply? Power is sweet;
might is glorious; — it gives a man reputation; it affords him
security; it protects him from assault. Look round you;
there is not one in all this mill, from Tillington, of the Corporation,
down to Jim Grisp, the shingle-sticker, that dares
touch me. I have acquired this respect simply by the exercise
of my power, — by demonstrating to the world the deep
energies of my nature and character.” In saying this, he
gored the air, with his tense, vice-like fist, in the vicinity of
Richard, and even extended it almost to Richard's nose.

Richard shook his head, not violently, not disdainfully,
but rather abstractedly, as a man who is reading does when
a fly alights on his face. Clover had a trick of snapping
his fist, springing it suddenly in the joint of the wrist, as
boys do the blade of a pocket-knife. He snapped it at
Richard, who moved a little in his seat. “Perhaps you do

not like the smell of it?” said Clover. “I cannot say that
I do,” replied Richard. “Very likely,” he added; “and
the taste of it would be still more disagreeable. But I design
you no harm. The air is free; and what my arm can
compass is mine. I know I am on the borders of my land.
I do not wish to get up a fight with you, or any one; but if
your nose happens to come within the radius of my fist, —
that is, if you are lying within the proper limit of my power,
— why, take care of yourself, Sir, take care of yourself!
Forewarned, forearmed. I trust you will regard it an instance
of my honorable disposition, that I give you this
friendly precaution.”

“I think you trespass on neighbors' rights a little,” observed
Richard. “At least, you are on disputed territory.”

“I know I am,” he rejoined; “I know I am; and where
was Resaca de la Palma? Where was Palo Alto?
There is no great action except on disputed territory; no
reputation is acquired anywhere else.”

The fist continued to exhibit its feats, and to extend its
familiarities a little too near Richard's sense of dignity. He
laid his hand on the fist, — his open hand, — softly and
modestly. He found it a hard and horny fist; and in other
respects it had a bovine suggestion; for, like the horn of an
ox, no matter how softly and modestly you grasp it, it is
sure to toss, and wrench, and tear from your hand; — so
this fist resisted the gentlest pressure; it grew more stiff,
it hunched violently upwards, grazing Richard's nose, and
hitting the forepiece of his cap, knocked it off.”

“I would rather you should not do that,” said Richard;
“I should very much prefer that you would not repeat it.
I must respectfully request you to attempt it again in no
form whatever.”

“I did not think of knocking up a fight,” rejoined Clover.

“I am no brute, — I am a man of honor; I am ready to
negotiate. Shall we adjourn to the Arbor? Helskill's is
good ground for an amicable adjustment.” Richard would
not go to the Arbor. “Well,” added Clover, “if you obstinately
reject the only method of conciliation that I can with
honor to myself tender, the consequences be on your own
head. But I am not rash; I will not even take advantage
of methods of redress which all usage puts in my hands. I
can be lenient. Will you have a cigar?” Richard declined.

“Don't be mulish,” continued Clover. “Will you lift
with me?” “I will,” said Richard. “There is a good-sized
hemlock stick; if you will manage one end, we will
throw it on the stocks.” “I am ready,” replied Richard.
The sawyers consented to the trial, and gauged the carriage
to the log in question. “Take that end,” said
Clover. “This is the butt,” replied Richard. “I know
it is,” returned Clover, “and I meant it should be.” “All
right,” said Richard, “if you will take hold as far in from
the other end as to make the balance good.” “I will not
be dictated to, in this affair,” retorted Clover, and applied
himself to the extremity of the smallest end. “You take
the butt,” said Richard, “and I will lift where the trial
shall be a fair one.” Clover refused.

By this time the mill-men had collected to see what was
going on. Richard stated the case to them, and then
repeated his offer to Clover. Clover disdained to concede,
or to parley. “'T was an honorable proposal,” said he, —
“nothing said about ends, — I will have none of this whining,
— he cannot gammon me!”

“Will you lift fairly, or will you not?” asked Richard.

“I shall lift it as I please,” returned Clover.

“Then I brand you,” said Richard, “for a cheat, a brute,
and a coward; — put a pin in there! I cannot blacken you,

— you are too black already; I should only like to have you
see how black you are; — put a spike in there! Your conduct
is despicable as your principles are monstrous; — I recommend
to you to drive a slide-dog there, and go home!”

The bystanders were a good deal excited. Mr. Gouch
hopped from log to log, as if they were in the water, and he
was afraid of sinking. Silver, in a paroxysm of astonishment
and delight, let his pipe fall from his mouth. Some
were amused; others manifested a disposition to rally for
the defence of Richard, if Clover should attack him.

But Clover had no such intentions. He had not made up
his mind to be offended. He seemed to recognize a rival in
the field; and since he could not easily demolish him, he
accounted it wise to come to an understanding of his quality,
and ascertain his intentions.

“I applaud your spirit, Edney,” said he, “though you
misjudge me. I shall think the better of you. I should like
to know more of you. Will you try a game of checkers?”

Now, it was contrary to immemorial and sacred mill usage
to decline a game of this sort, when the men were at leisure.
Richard might have foregone further intimacy with the
man; but the others, desirous that he should not carry matters
too far, hoped he would play. Perhaps he wished to
know more of Clover, — for he had a good deal of humanitarian
curiosity. He consented to the proposal.

They took a bench by the stove, with the draught-board
between them. Clover was an experienced player,
and so was Richard; but it soon appeared the minds of both
were too much occupied for that deliberation which is needful
either for the display of skill or the attainment of success.
Their moves were made at random, and an accidental
jar of the board served to confuse the whole plan of
action, without, at the same time, awakening the surprise

of either. In fact, they were thinking more of each other
than of what was before them. “Where are we now?”
said Richard. “I don't know,” answered Clover; “my
pieces are on the floor.”

Richard nursed some questions that he wanted to put to
Clover. And, as the loungers had left the mill, and he was
sitting confidentially near him, he could not resist the opportunity
of broaching what lay on his mind.

“What ails Silver?” he asked.

“He fell beneath my hands!” replied Clover.

“What do you mean by that?” asked Richard.

“His ambition fell, his affections fell, his excessive thirst
for acquisition fell,” rejoined Clover, who had lighted a
cigar, cocked his hat, and made some effort towards getting
his fist into operation.

“How did it come about?”

“I entered and took possession of a valuable prize he
coveted.”

“What was it?”

“Miss Plumy Alicia Eyre.”

“Did he love her?”

“Of course he did; I should not care to meddle in the
thing, if he had not loved her, and if she had not been an
object to be loved.”

“You cut him out?”

“That is the cant phrase. The simple truth lies here: —
woman is given to man for possession on his part, and protection
on hers. The man who can furnish the best guarantees,
in these two particulars, is the favored man; and the
most desirable woman falls to the most favored man, — that
is, to the strongest man. I am such a man, and Silver is
not. Of course, Miss Eyre preferred to be allied to me,
rather than remain in Silver's hands. She knew that her

true dignity and glory lay in this breast, WITHIN THESE
WHISKERS!”

“Had Silver no feelings?”

“What has he to do with feelings? Why does he not
conquer his feelings? Why does he not let the will of God
be done to his feelings?”

“Was she consulted in the premises?”

“Of course she was, — and she declared for me.”

“Was there an engagement between them?”

“There may have been something of that sort. She
came here a poor, defenceless girl, and was naturally interested
in any one that would be interested in her. Silver
attached himself to her, made her presents, and won over
her ignorance and childishness. I took her under my protection.”

“But Silver suffers.”

“The weak always suffer; it is their misfortune; we can
pity them. I see you have a noble nature, Edney; a nature
that is not insensible even to what Silver may endure.
It is honorable in you.”

“He bleeds inwardly, I think.”

“Bleeds! what is that? The Indians bleed when their
lands are torn from them, — the slaves bleed when their
children are sold. What hurt does a little bleeding do?”

“But is there no right in the case?”

“Most assuredly. Might makes right. Behold how that
saw cuts through the heart and surface of that monster
pine. Behold the majestic Scott cutting his way through
the heart of Mexico; — veins, arteries, legs, arms, like sawdust,
lie on either side of him; he arrives at the Halls of the
Montezumas in a foam of blood! that proud nation is
humiliated at our feet! I have gone through Silver's heart.
When I was in it, I felt that I was there, — I felt the warm

blood spouting about me, — I knew I severed the tenderest
part of his being; but, Sir, I attained my end, — I got Miss
Eyre. They gave a dinner to Captain Bragg. I offer
`Clover,' as your next toast.

“Do you intend to build?”

“I may build, and I may not build.”

“It is given out that you are going to.”

“I know it is, — I meant it should be. The dimensions
are on the fender-post.”

“But would you deceive?”

“If I could make it honorable, I would deceive; if my
interest were advanced thereby, if my power was augmented,
I should deceive. Deceive! The Church deceives,
when it can make by it. Edney, you don't know the dear,
lovely, charming sense of power.”

“How does the Church deceive?”

“Does n't it declare that St. Athanasius' Creed can be
proved by most certain warrants of Scripture, and ought to
be thoroughly received? Who believes that?”

“Possibly you would falsify your promises to Miss Eyre
herself?”

“Falsify! I should certainly retreat from my engagements,
if I found them difficult or disagreeable. I must be
sovereign within my own sphere; and my sphere is what
my abilities naturally comprise, or what my endeavors can
conquer. I am fated to spread, — I am fated to spread,
Edney! I might include even another with Miss Plumy
Alicia.”

“You are not so unprincipled. You would not pretend
fidelity to Miss Eyre, and at the same time be making overtures
to another.”

“What if I had two women in my train? I should appear
to the world in a more formidable light, as a man dangerous

to be trifled with, and yet a perfect refuge for
oppression.”

“I believe you are a scoundrel, Clover, — utterly, and
beyond redemption.”

“You do well to tell me so; — it will not hurt you; it may
relieve you. You do not know the deliciousness, the majesty
of Power. See that saw, — behold yonder dam, —
think of six run of stone in the Grist-mill, — enumerate
all the engines in the Machine-shop, — contemplate nine
hundred thousand spindles in the Factories, and understand
what Power is. Meditate on this fist of mine, — look into
my eye, — take the dimensions of my whiskers, — survey the
expansiveness of my chest, and learn what POWER is. Imagine
what it would be to be possessed of the same. Imagine
yourself a Clover! What a wonder is that Tom Hyer!
I have sometimes fancied myself a Hyer, and should like to
find my Sullivan. I have toughened my hands, — I have
employed two Irishmen to rub my body, — I have smeared
my face with an indurating compound. I should like to have
a Sullivan chasing me from saw to saw, from Mill to Boarding-house,
from Quiet Arbor to Victoria-square! Undertake
Sullivan, and your Hyer will be on hand!”

“I may prove a Sullivan,” replied Richard; “I may
chase you.”

“If, then, you provoke me to it; if we come fairly to
blows, — I must be plain with you, and use plain words, —
you will get all-firedly licked; — take note, take note!”

“That is my look-out,” returned Richard. “I shall be
plain with you. You are committing an uncommon amount
of rascality with Silver; you are equally perfidious in respect
of Miss Eyre. And I shall pursue you in that matter until,
most likely, we come to blows. Then, all I have to say to
you is, `Hardest, fend off!' I shall attempt to disgorge you

of some of your ill-gotten possessions, and diminish the superfluity
of your power. I am a stranger in the place, — a
stranger to goings on here, — a stranger to all parties concerned.
But you have introduced me to a measure of
wickedness sufficient to move me, — sufficient to resolve
me.”

“I sought you as a noble antagonist.”

“I do not intend to be a disguised or a mean one.”

“Will you go with me to Quiet Arbor?”

“What for?”

“To exchange tokens of friendly understanding, and honorable
emulation.”

“Over a glass of sling?”

“Yes, and a game of whist.”

“You gamble?”

“I recreate, recreate!”

“Who is with you?”

“A select company, of course; Captain Creamer, Webster
Chassford, Glendar, — all worthy men, — all charming
acquaintances, — the best families in the city. We
meet in the Grotto, — a cool and pleasant retreat; Helskill is
polite, gentlemanly, noble; yes, I would say of Helskill,
that he is most noble, — that in him cluster every attribute
and all the beauty of an honorable mind.”

“I am obliged to you for this information,” said Richard,
“and I will make good use of it.”

“That is well uttered, Edney. If I must meet you as an
enemy, let us be fair enemies. But I must caution you on
one point, — Let Miss Eyre alone!” He said this in a hard-breathed
undertone. “Don't meddle with that, — don't
go near that, — death catch you if you do! I will not
touch my thumb to my nose, as modern writers recommend,

in token that we understand one another; — I will rub my
fist on your nose, to signify that!”

Richard brushed off the fist, and rising from his seat, said,
“No symbols are needed; we do understand each other,”
and left the mill.