University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

We must return to our young traveller. The
day had been extremely sultry, such a one as is
usually the precursor of a thunder-storm. The
sun had not yet passed behind the blue hills in the
distance, when a big black cloud, like a wrathful
giant with flashing eyes, came heavily up the sky.
The winds, that had all day slumbered in the
vales, now leaped from their velvet couches, and,
as though suddenly awakened from the terrors
of a dream, ran wildly to and fro; now whirling
the dust from the road across the fields; and again
slamming the shutter in the very face of a roguish
girl, who stood laughing at a traveller that had the
misfortune to be forced to chase his hat the whole
length of the village; which hat ran with a hopskip-and-a-jump
along the road, and only came to
a halt when it was lodged in the water-trough in
front of the “Half-way House.” The unfortunate
traveller, (and we are loath to admit the fact, since
it was rather an unpoetical situation for the hero of

a story,) proved to be Paul Redding. He stepped
into the bar-room, and dropping a bundle in the corner,
drew a chair to the window, and gazed silently
on the coming storm. A cloud as dense as that
which filled the heaven, had hung, and still continued
to hang, over the sky that should rather have
smiled than frowned upon a friendless youth. But
the heart of the young is like the slender stem that
bears the flower; though it may bend to the storm it
rises elastic again; it is only the stubborn or decayed
branches that break beneath the footsteps of misfortune;

What though Paul could look to no protecting
father, no sympathizing mother or sister? what
though there was no bright spot on earth that he
could call `home?' Still there was a light, one
bright object that cheered him through a life which
lowered so forbiddingly; and that bright spot was
within his own breast! What though he had been
cast among heartless people? still was he triumphant,
for he had a proud heart.

Paul sat musing, but not gloomy; though, perhaps,
somewhat sad, until Mynheer touched him on
the shoulder and asked him into supper. He was
seated at the table with some five or six others,
among whom was a tall man, who boasted a very
large Roman nose, very small eyes hid behind
a pair of green glasses, and a very cadaverous

mouth; these features, when combined, wore an
expression of self-satisfaction mingled with a large
amount of sly cunning, and even the green glasses
seemed to sympathize with the changes of his countenance.
After looking very sharply at Paul for a
moment, he exclaimed, “Well, I guess, stranger,
we 're agoin' to have some rain;” at the same time
putting great emphasis on the adjective “some.”
Paul ventured to reply that there was every prospect
of a shower.

“Prospect of a shower!” repeated the gentleman
in green glasses, “I tell you what, my juvenile
friend, we shall have some rain;” putting the
emphasis now on the word “rain.” The landlord
looked at the youth, as much as to say, Is n't he
a wonderful man, to be sure? Paul betrayed no
astonishment in regard to the matter; but applied
himself to his toast and tea. The gentleman in
green glasses was evidently uneasy; he kept his
eyes on the pale face of the youth without even
winking, seeming lost in conjecture. He sat not
long, however, in that mute manner, but, as if
words had just rushed to his assistance, he exclaimed,
“Well, stranger, — you see I have to call
you `stranger,' seeing as I do n't know your name,
you know.” Here the gentleman took breath a
moment, evidently disappointed when the young
man merely nodded his head, indicating that he had
no objection to being called `stranger.' “I was
a goin' to say,” continued he, “that you came

darned near being caught, for just see how like all
Jehu it 's rainin.' The clouds is pouring out their
everlastin' waters on the parched 'arth, while all
natur' stands with her mouth stretched from ear to
ear, ready to gulp it all down. Ah, my friend, this
is a beautiful world to contemplate; yes, sir, it 's
beautiful to hear the wind smashin' among the trees
and tearin' about as though it was taking its eternal
blow! It 's beautiful to see the lightnin' shootin'
from heaven to 'arth like a streak of wrath; and to
hear the thunder roarin' like — like — like — hem
— thunder! P'raps you 've walked some distance
to-day, stranger?” Paul answered that he had
travelled some miles.

“From Lancaster?” continued the gentleman
in green glasses.

“No,” was the reply, “I have not walked so far
as that;” and, much to the discomfort of the gentleman
who seemed indefatigable in his research into
other people's affairs, Paul finished his cup of tea
and left the table. The gentleman in green glasses
lost his appetite immediately, and as he arose from
the table whispered into the ear of the host, that
the person who had just stepped out was an original!
Mynheer opened his eyes to their fullest
extent, and exclaimed, “No!”

“Yes!” reiterated the other.

“Vell, I never!” said the host.

“Yes,” replied the gentleman in green glasses
again, giving Mynheer a very significant wink, as he

made his way to the bar-room. For a few moments
he stood by the window contemplating the
storm; but as if the last flash of lightning had
struck him with a new idea, he exclaimed,

“I say, stranger, p'raps you hav'nt writ your
name in that ere book, have you?” pointing, as he
spoke, to the register. Paul answered in the negative.
“Well, I did n't say you had, you know;”
and the inquisitive gentleman opened the volume
that laid on the counter. His eye wandered rapidly
from page to page, until, at last, it fell upon the
name of Captain Courtly Cutlass, his first astonishment
found vent in a long-drawn whistle; but when
he had examined each particular flourish, he drew
himself up to his fullest height, and, assuming an
air of great severity and determination, requested
the landlord to pass him a glass of something, at
the same time to furnish pen and ink.

“If I can't beat,” he exclaimed, “all creation at
this 'ere business,” (meaning the business of inditing
autographs,) “my name 's not Sam Spatter,
that 's all!” He disposed of the liquor in the
shortest possible time, and observed that he never
made mince meat of trifles, he did n't! After trying
the quality of his pen some five or six times, he
made sundry flourishes in the air, and worked the
quill round and round until it converged to a particular
spot on the paper, when he branched off
into very heavy strokes for the capitals, and very
fine hair lines for the small letters. Mr. Spatter's

whole body labored. His head turned slowly from
side to side; his mouth, too, kept in motion, as if
chewing the English language into the most convenient
shape for use.

“There!” cried Mr. Spatter, when he had
finished, bringing his hand on his knee with a tremendous
slap; “there, blast the brass buttons off
my great grandfather's old blue coat, if that 'ere
do n't take the shine off of `Captain Cutlass,' then I
do n't know molasses and water from the best of
brandy, and it 's my private opinion I could tell
either on 'em in the dark, and that 's a fact.”

“Yaw,” said Mynheer, (perfectly convinced of
the truth of the last part of the assertion,) as he
laid the book aside.

“Hallo!” cried Mr. Spatter, in a tone that
started both Mynheer and the youth. “Hallo!
what 's that?”

“Vat 's vat?” reiterated the landlord.

“The devil 's at that 'ere winder, or I 'm no
judge!” answered the other. The Dutchman
staggered into the farthest corner of the bar, perfectly
terrified; and Paul Redding, not wishing to
be quartered so near the “old gentleman,” retreated
across the room. “There he is!” contined Mr.
Spatter, “do n't you see his eyes? O dear, how
they do strike fire. Go way, you varmint! —
There — there, he 's coming in! why do n't you do
something, somebody? He 's getting in at the
winder!” The devil, as Mr. Spatter called the
stranger, proved to be the same wild person that

Paul had encountered in the afternoon. His fierce
black eyes, for a moment, rested on the gentleman
in green glasses, and he exclaimed, “Bring me a
glass!”

“Sartin, sartin,” said Mr. Spatter, “it 's shockin'
dry weather down your way, I reckon! what 'll you
have?”

“A looking-glass!” said the stranger.

“What on 'arth do you want to see in a lookin'-glass?”

“The devil!” cried the fearful-looking man with
a shudder.

“I told you so, Mynheer! I told you so, young
man; he wants to see himself! There 's a glass
hanging there; but you aint so handsome as to be
vain in your old days! O, you need n't pull my
coat in that way, Speck, 'cause I aint afeared of the
old 'un, I aint! But I say do n't you smell something
like brimstone; kind of blue blazes like, eh?
But see the crittur! how he 's shakin' himself! and
now he 's talkin' to his shadow in the glass! Wait
a minute, till I speak to him, though. Hem, — the
brimstone kind of chokes one — hem — I say, my
good friend — O, he likes to be called good, the
devil does; there 's a tender spot on all kinds of
animals; tickle a bear and it won't eat you if it 's
never so hungry; so I 'll jest rub in a slice to kind
of civilize the old 'un. I say, my good friend, a
rain like this takes the curls out of one's hair
properly, does n't it? It melts a leetle o' the
stiffnin' out o' the best-lookin' on us, I guess.”

“There he is, there, there! do n't you see him?”
exclaimed the mysterious man, pointing over his
left shoulder.

“Who?” cried Mr. Spatter.

“The devil! O, he 's an ugly devil! Do n't you
see him? look! Do drive him away! There he
is, there, at the other shoulder! Drive him away,
drive him away! Nobody drives him away!”
And the poor man ran backwards until he struck
the wall; and then he laughed loud and fearfully.
But his wild, terrible mirth, soon subsided into a
low “he, he,” and gazing on his hands, his black
eyes sparkled with delight. “There,” said he, as
if he were talking to some one at his side, “there,
see how the little fellows do caper, ho, ho! twenty
little devils play at leap frog, how they jump from
one hand to another! But see! ho, ho! the whole
twenty are but two! only two devils out of twenty,
he, he! stop, look at them, one is an old man,
and one is a young man; the old man lies down to
sleep — the young man draws a dagger — see, he
creeps up, look! he stabs him — robs him! avaunt,
avaunt! I 'll see no more!” The poor man
trembled, his countenance was distorted with terror;
he shook his hands wildly in the air, and
then thrust them into the breast of his coat.

“I 'll speak to him,” said Paul, “I 'll speak to
him kindly, poor man. Do n't be frightened, friend,
there is nothing here to hurt you; come sit down
and be calm, do!” The stranger's countenance,

as his eye fell on the speaker, settled into an
expression of wonder, and his answer was a long-drawn
“e-h?” partly indicating that he had seen
the face before, and partly interrogatory.

“Come, sit down,” continued Paul.

“What is your name?” said the stranger, in a
low tone of voice. Paul hesitated until he saw the
big tears standing in the stranger's eyes, and he
answered, “Paul Redding.”

“I thought so, I thought so! come near — let
me look at you — yes, your name is Paul Redding!”
and the man hid his face in his hands
and wept. Paul turned away deeply affected. Mr.
Spatter and the host looked on in mute astonishment.
The mysterious stranger wiped his eyes
hurriedly, and casting a wild glance around the
room, rushed out of the door into the storm again,
which raged on with unabated fury. When Paul
retired to his room, that night, he sat down on the
side of the bed, in deep meditation. “How odd,”
thought he; “why did I feel so much interest in a
stranger? And why did he act so strangely in regard
to me? I am amazed that he should have
recognised me; I cannot remember of ever having
seen the man before; and yet, there was something
in his countenance that seemed familiar;
something that I have either dreamed of or seen
long, long ago. Poor man, how I pity him! something
may happen to him in such a dark, stormy
night as this. The river is swollen, I can hear it

roaring even from here. I wish that I knew where
to find — Hark! somebody's at the door! who 's
there?” “Paul, Paul,” said a low voice, “open
the door, do n't be afraid.” The young man at
once recognised the voice, and immediately admitted
the mysterious stranger. “I am glad that
you have come,” said Paul, “very glad; you shall
sleep in my bed to-night, and I will sit by and
watch you.” “Good boy, good boy! but I never
sleep at night — the devil won't let me. There,
I 'll lean against the wall; this is the only way that
I can rest at night. I do n't fear those ugly little
imps that dance before my eyes, no, no! but it 's
that ugly, ugly fellow that sits on my back looking
over my shoulder into my face. Sometimes an
old man stands behind me, his long, white locks
all matted with blood, and skinny finger pointing to
a deep gash in his throat! O!” The stranger hid
his face in his hands and groaned. “Do be calm!”
said Paul, imploringly, “do be calm; there is
nothing here at all like what you describe, indeed
there is not!”

“You can't see them,” said the poor man;
“no, you are innocent, young, and happy, and they
all fly into my brain when you come near! Yes,
they are in my brain, here, here, where, years ago,
they built a big fire that still keeps burning, burning,
burning! But I won't frighten you, no, no, I
won't. Your name is Paul Redding — I know it is.
I have the papers here; but, let me see; no, that

must not be yet. The time has not yet come — we
shall meet again. Paul, forgive me — I forgot —
we shall meet again; then, perhaps, you will know.
No matter. They call me Fiery Fitful; remember
that. It is a nickname; perhaps I deserve it.
Well, no matter. Paul, farewell; give me your
hand — no, no! do n't! I forgot — farewell, Paul,
farewell.” The strange man hurried away, leaving
the youth perfectly bewildered.