University of Virginia Library

38. CHAPTER XXXVIII.
CLOVER DISTINCT.

Clover had been at Green Mill frequently of late, loafer-wise.
The natural insolence of his look was deepened by
a mock complacency. Richard gave little heed to him,
until, at length, he would be heeded. He sat with his feet
tossing on the mill-chain, — an endless chain, revolving on
a toothed shaft, and running through the entire width of the
building, employed to haul logs from the basin up the slip
to the bed. He blew out the contents of his mouth in studied
and very dramatic directions. With his fists he seemed
to be kneading the air into strange shapes, which he wished
Richard to look at.

“ `Good morning,' did you say, Mr. Edney? Yes, very
good; perhaps what some meekly call morally good. Certainlee.
How was the night? That good, too? Night, —
shadows, misery; is there such a thing? Misery is heaves
in horses, — what is it in man? In cows, it is the horn-distemper.
La la la, rol la!”

“I will be obliged to you to regard my feet, in disposing
of your humor,” said Richard, punning and reproachful.

“I do,” replied Clover; “it is no put-out to me at all.
I was fearful of losing your attention, — I did not know
but you would get abstracted. That cutting-off saw, I
should say, wanted filing; it has seen some hard stuff.
Goose-oil and yellow snuff are good for croup, and all cases
of strangulation, and when a man's heart gets into his
throat, and for a wheezy old mill like this.”

“I shall trouble you to remove your feet from that
chain,” said Richard.

“Certainlee; you want to start it, — you want to see it
go round and round, — you want to see it haul up the great
black trunks of old life and hope; and I could stop it, — I
could prevent it.”

“I only meant,” replied Richard, “if you did not stand
back, you might get hurt.”

“I only mean,” rejoined Clover, “that while my feet are
on the chain, you would not wish to or dare to start it.
Off? yes, I take them off; if you want to hear the clank,
clank, and see, coming up the slip, the shivered butts of
things, and the hearts all eaten out, and hollow and dead.
That is the English of it.”

“Of what?”

“What you have been thinking about, this morning.”

“I dislike your presence.”

“I know you do.”

“I shall take some pains to rid myself of it.”

“It cannot be got rid of. You must keep it by you.
Your pains-taking makes it stick closer. It hugs, — absolutely
hugs.”

Richard had become considerably aroused, to say the least,
by these words of Clover; and could not help but suspect him.

“Speak plain,” he said.

“I do,” replied Clover, with an unutterable sneer; “so
plain you perfectly comprehend what I say. Shall I speak
plainer?”

“Come this way,” said Richard, and called the fellow to
the rear of the building.

“You are acquainted with Miss Eyre?” said Clover.

“I know her,” replied Richard.

“Too well!”

“None of your innuendoes, or I shall be tempted to pitch
you into the water!”

“Where you have been, for some time. I doubt if you
can be anxious for my company.”

“Why do you assail me in this way?”

“I am acting out my unspeakable DESTINY!!”

“How long have you been at it?”

“Some months.”

“Have you had any particular understanding with Miss
Eyre? Answer me that.”

“I have seen Miss Eyre.”

“Have you conspired with her as against me?”

“A singular question, — a cowardly question; I don't
wonder you look pale in asking it. But why set the chain
a-going?”

“What do you mean by your feet being on it?”

“O, I like to rest them there. I skip and play on it; I
DANCE ON IT!”

“You are a devil!”

“Nay, you mistake; my name is Clover, — John Clover,
— son of Col. Clover, of Clover Hill. Moreover, the world
is clover, and you are clover, and I am — you know what,
— in it; a little one, a fat one, a bright-eyed one. Tweedle
dum, tweedle dee, dum de dee dum!”

“You have instigated Miss Eyre.”

“I have exercised my rights. Have you forgotten? I was
afraid you would forget. Now, say your catechism. — Who
was the first man?”

“Adam,” replied Richard; waiting to see what would
come.

“Who was the second man?”

“In his own estimation, Clover.”

“Well done! a bright lad. You slightly transposed;

Clover is the first man, and Adam the second. A mere
slip of memory. Try again. By what did the French take
Algiers?”

“Might.”

“Good! Frame that, and hang it up to look at. By
what right do they hold it?”

“Might.”

“Bravissimo! Go to the head of your class. By what
right are English laws in force in Calcutta?”

“Might.”

“Make that a postulate of your whole life! By what
right are men held in slavery?”

“Might.”

“That is the story! You are now indoctrinated. Might
IS RIGHT!! Might creates right, — sustains right, — is the
sober little thing itself. This is the first principle of human
affairs. It is the universal law. It is the method of the
world; and I am the world. I am an embodiment of it.
Its principles are seated in my breast;” he thumped his
ribbed hollowness. “Its laws are codified, if I may use
the expression, in my fist;” he displayed that member.

“And you have interfered with my happiness?”

“You have insulted my banner! You have fished in
my waters; you have interrupted my business; you have
usurped authority in my domain; and I have crushed you!
I could do it, and I did do it; that is all! Whooeehoo!
whooeehoo!”

It flashed upon Richard, — nay, it blazed and burnt upon
him, as if the sun had fallen at his feet, — that Clover was
back of the difficulty with Miss Eyre, and beneath it;
remedilessly, diabolically, and everlastingly, there; and,
staggering at the thought, “Good God!” he cried, quite
unable to contain his emotion.

“Perhaps you have not read,” continued Clover, “what a
great historian says, that the sufferings of war purge human
nature. I mean that your human nature shall be purged.
And as you begin to pray, I doubt not you already feel
humble and penitent, and are ready to sue for peace, — for
peace with me.”

“No more!” said Richard; “no more! You have succeeded.
You have crushed me. Heaven shall avenge
itself, — I will not. Could I pray, `Father, forgive thee!'
I gather myself unto myself and my God. I submit to an
inexplicable Providence. I cease from life in the flesh, that
I may live the life of the spirit. Go, Clover! I will not
say, go and be damned; but go and sin no more.”

Richard clasped his hands bitterly, and exclaimed, “O
my Father! had it pleased thee that this cup should pass
from me! Nevertheless, not my will, but thine, be done!”

The Mill-men, as if a serious disturbance had arisen, with
axes and poles, ran forward; and, at a word from Richard,
it seemed as if they would have struck Clover dead. Richard
waved them into silence, and Clover strode from the
spot.