University of Virginia Library

17. CHAPTER XVII.

Let us now return to our Thespian in the swamp.
We left him, with Jones, skimming along in a little
dug-out over the turbid waters of the Chitta-Loosa.
Jones delighted in fishing, and found sufficient employment
in pursuing this occupation. Horsey seemed
content to be a spectator; but the wily outlaw
very well knew that his content would be of no
very long duration, unless the food on which he
better fed than any thing besides—the oily applause
of the audience—was brought in, to quiet an appetite
that no measure of success could satiate. Accordingly,
he suffered not his own vocation so far
to occupy his attention, as to make him regardless
of his companion's temper. From the moment when
he cast forth his lines, he began to ply the actor with
stage reminiscences, and to challenge his opinions
upon all stage matters. These requisitions were all-important
to the perfection of the proposed establishment
at Benton. Finding deception easy on
all kindred subjects, Jones enlarged his fictions. He
suggested a grand scheme of theatrical organization,
which was to extend itself over the whole
country, from West Tennessee down to the Bay of

Biloxi. A company was to be planned, with corporate
powers, in several of the southwestern states,
which was to build theatres in all eligible places,
and divide the year in separate seasons of three
months in each of them. The management was to
be conferred on Horsey. Never did the innocent
flats of our backwoods suffer the delusion of a mammoth
bank, or a mammoth railroad, to take such complete
hold of their credulous imaginations. Like the
schemes of these great companies, generally, the
wily outlaw made it appear, that the plan was not
only to be pleasant and profitable, but excessively
patriotic.

“At least,” said this experienced stockdealer,
“at least, my dear Horsey, we shall make, as salaried
officers, though the stockholders lose. The
profits, if enough to pay us, are enough for the patriotism
of the thing.”

“But it must be profitable to all parties,” said
Horsey, whose morality was somewhat less discursive
than that of his companion.

“Ay, ay—to be sure it must. The country will
be a great gainer in money and morals, and—”

“Certainly, such a diffusion of Shakspeare alone,
must have that effect.”

“It will. That alone should be a sufficient consideration
to induce the state to subscribe largely;
and I have no doubt she will, when her legislators
are mado to perceive the patriotism of the thing.
Then, if we can get a charter for a banking house
with a capital of ten millions, our triumph is complete.
We can establish houses every where—raise
companies,—issue moneys—do any thing. Our labours
being for the public good, we can appropriate
lands and tenements, I am of opinion, without ever
paying for them.”

“Impossible!” exclaimed Horsey, who had evidently
less legal learning than his companion.

“And why impossible? Ours is a public work.
Our charter, it is true, declares it to be private; but
it is admitted that our labours are likely to be productive
of public good, and would it not be monstrous
if a single citizen, here and there, should resist
a measure that is for the good of the whole.”

“True, there is something in that,” said Horsey;
“but is it so clear that we can take private property
at pleasure for the public good.”

“Certainly—the majority declares what is for the
public good, and makes the law accordingly.”

“But—the constitution—what does the constitution
stand for then—of what use?”

“Nay, I don't know that. For my part I never
did see the use of a constitution at all; and it is
clear to me, that it could be of no sort of effect
against our company, if we can only get a charter
for it. That we can do, if we only pay two or
three lawyers handsomely, and secure a few of the
most famous orators at a fine salary. They'll gull
the flats by fine speeches which shall prove to them
that they're the most noble, patriotic folks under
the sun; and we'll pick their teeth, while their jaws
are on the stretch, listening to these fine sayings.
Two to one on it, Horsey, that in a year's time, the
state will lend us a million to begin with, and take
stock in the great Mississippi Shakspearean and
Thespian Company, to three times that amount.”

“I'm not so sanguine, Jones,” said the other, “but
I'm sure if it would do so, the stock would be a
cursed sight better than that of half of these banks
and railroads. As for the banks, it's clear, they've
swamped all the planters; and as for the railroads,
I reckon we shall have to leave them in the swamps,
where they'll stick for ever. Your plan, I'm afraid,

is almost too grand a one. Something on a smaller
scale now, would be more likely to be successful.”

“Lord love you, Horsey, my dear fellow, you
know nothing about our people when you talk so.
It's nothing but grand schemes that go down with
them. They can only understand the incomprehensible—they
can only admire what is beyond their
calibre. Tell them of small schemes which are
possible and practicable, and which might yield them
moderate profits and be of some service, and they
will turn up their noses in disgust. They despise
little projects. But get up a grand Religious Steam
Association; or a company for connecting Pensacola
with San Jacinto by means of chain or floating-bridges;
or a line of Balloon Stages to the North
Star, or a Patent Process for Converting Bad
Planters into Great Merchants—propose some such
moderate matters to them as these, and they'll take
stock directly. They've lately formed a society in
New England for keeping the peace among the potentates
in Europe, and there's not an old woman in all
the villages that don't subscribe a shilling weekly to
prevent Louis Philippe from kicking the Grand Turk,
and arrest the Emperor of Russia in his indecorous
attempts to void his quid in the face of Sultan Mahmoud.
That's a society now that's likely to be profitable.”

The outlaw was about to pass, by a very natural
transition, from the consideration of these grand
and patriotic modes for picking the pockets of the
people, to a short analysis of the half exploded and
vulgar methods of doing the same thing as practised
in ancient times. He was prepared to show that the
old highway custom of bidding a true man “stand
and deliver,” was altogether, and happily, abrogated
by such small legal processes as are comprehensively
described under the general designation of charters.

It would have been very easy, indeed, for one so
well versed in the inquiry as himself, to show—what
the reader is already prepared to believe—that the
“Border Beagles” were, indeed, “chartered libertines”
of the same class; yet, as they did not transact
business on a scale so magnificent, and as they
were rather less ostentatious in their operations,
they could not so openly challenge the admiration of
mankind. It caused the worthy outlaw, indeed, a
sigh, when he reflected that all that was necessary
to enable the company under whose authority he
performed his operations, to become shrined in the
admiration and estimation of the people from the
Tar River to the Colorado, was a simple instrument
under the hands of a State Legislature, which a
fine orator could readily procure, and a docile representation
would delight to grant. A change of
name might, indeed, be necessary, and, perhaps, a
declaration of objects slightly differing from that
which were in reality entertained. A people, it
seems, who are fitted for self-government, must yet
have its expenses concealed from their sight, and its
penalties disguised under the name of pleasures.
“Border Beagles” was a good name—easily articulated—but
to get a charter for far more increased operations,
it might be necessary to change it into something
of a more imposing, and less vague signification—“The
Great Southwestern Transportation and
Specie Deposite Company,” would be a longer and
more specific title—long and loose enough to obtain
charters from any six States in the Union.

Jones was full to overflowing with these ideas
and their tributaries; but Horsey was something
less of a moralist and politician than the outlaw;
and his undisguised yawns soon apprised his companion
of the necessity of returning to the ground
from which they had episodically departed. Even

the establishment of great houses for stage-playing,
were as nothing to the play itself, in the imagination
of the actor; and when his attention flagged in considering
the former, it revived with double force and
interest when the latter topic was resumed. Jones
professed himself tired of law and morality, and
begged that Horsey would restore the tone of his
mind by a specimen. One specimen begat two,
two begat three; specimens produced varieties of
readings in favourite passages; and in twenty
minutes, with a patient and applauding auditor,
Hamlet was “himself again.” Never had he read
so well before—never had his action been so flexible
and felicitous.

“Cautiously, my dear fellow,” said Jones, with a
warning voice—“cautiously, and trim the boat—she
dips already, and it won't take much to bare her
bends.”

“Yes, yes!” impatiently replied the actor, “I see
—I'll take care;” and then he returned to his theme
which had been the discussion of one of the readings
of a favourite actor.

“Now you see, Mr. Jones, in the reading of that
passage, Forrest is clearly wrong:

he says with an exclamatory pause; then adds,
Now, why should he depart from the old style of
reading, which is thus:—
Why should we suppose that the coming of the
enemy is only announced on the outward walls?
The cry is every where—the whole castle hears it.
Macbeth himself announces it, he being within the
castle at the time. In this reading the passage is
without sense. The truth is, that the intelligence
having reached Macbeth that the enemy is still
coming,—a fact, which his previous confidence in
the weird sisters has led him to doubt—he gives those
orders which would be given even now by every
commander. `It is time to hang out our defiance—
they have come near enough to see it. It will show
them that we are prepared for them,—it will show
our own people that we do not fear the foe.' It was
not customary to hang out the banners except on
occasions of state and danger. In old times, banners
were more costly things than they are now.
They were covered with gold and blazonry of a
very rich and perishable character. Even now,
they are never hung out except in cases of ceremony,
or in the expectation of actual conflict. They
are kept carefully within the castle till the approach of
the foe, and then, with the soldiers, advanced to the
walls. The same scene in which this passage occurs,
describes, as stage directions, the entry of
Macbeth, with drums and colours, within the castle,
followed by Seyton and the soldiers. They were
then about to go forth to the defence of the walls,
the sentinels on the watch having warned them that
the time for actual conflict was now at hand, and
the hanging the banner on the outward wall, was
the only mode by which the proper defiance of the
defenders was to be displayed.”

“Clearly you are right,” said Jones, whose turn
it was now to yawn.

“Now for that famous and much disputed passage—

“Mind the boat,” remonstrated Jones, who felt
his little cockleshell becoming momently more and
more capricious under the increasing earnestness of
the actor.

“Ay, ay!” said the other, reciting—

“By Jupiter, Horsey, we shall be over it you don't
be very careful.”

“No fear—no fear!” said the actor impatiently,
as he hurried with the passage,—

Jones, at this recorded time, was constrained to
give all his attention to the trim of his boat.

Proceeded the actor with the solemn sententiousness,
and gloomy moral reflection of the tyrant at
this period, when the last evils of life were accumulating
about him, making him “sick at heart.” He,
Horsey, was as thoroughly blind to the wrigglings
of the outlaw, as the outlaw was now become indifferent
to the readings of the actor.

“By G—d!” muttered the former, we shall have
a capsize.

Here the action of Horsey verified the apprehensions
of the outlaw. “That putting out of the candle
did the business,” said Jones, afterwards.

“Life's but a—!” The water rushing into Horsey's
ears, nose and mouth at this moment, put an

effectual extinguisher upon the sad, moral reflection
of Macbeth, and ended the new reading of the
much disputed passage. The boat went over in
spite of all the outlaw's efforts to maintain her equilibrium,
and Macbeth ended his speech by a puffing,
plunging, and blowing, which might have done
honour to the wind-bags of a porpoise.

“Phew! Jones—what the devil's the matter?” was
his cry, as he rushed to the top of the muddy river.

“`Out, out, brief candle!”' exclaimed Jones,
struggling to the banks. “I warned you, Mr.
Horsey—I warned you several times.”

“Warned me! How warned me?—warned me
of what?”

“Of tilting the boat.”

“The devil you did—I never heard you.”

“`Life's but a walking shadow,”' said Jones,
repeating a fragment of the passage; “but you'll
find it difficult to walk where you are. While you
have life for it, Mr. Horsey, you must strike out—
the water's at least twenty feet over your head.”

“So I find,” replied the actor, striking for the
shore. With some difficulty he scrambled up the
oozy elevations, borrowing from the liberal banks
as he went, a portion of their capital at every step.

“Good G—d, Jones—my Hamlet!” exclaimed
the unfortunate histrion, surveying the ruined garment,
which had swallowed up so many goodly
pounds of his father's cotton. “My Hamlet—a
splendid black silk velvet jacket, fly-trunks, and
mantle—magnificently bugled—cost me at Stubb's
three hundred and sixty dollars—and now utterly
ruined. D—n the boat,—that I should have trusted
myself in such a trap as that!”

“Don't be angry, my dear fellow,” said Jones,
with a grin which conveyed very equivocal consolation.
“Once under way, and you will soon be

able to replace it, I trust. That scheme of ours—
the Grand Mississippi Shakspearean and Thespian
Company—”

“Look you, Mr. Jones, don't talk to me of
schemes. Let's go back where I can get my bags.
I must change. I feel like a drowned rat. I'm as
slimy as an eel. It'll take me a week's washing to
get this d—d ooze out of my hair.”

“No, no! not half so long,” said the other, “I
was once much longer in the mud, and got clean in
three days.”

This was said with great gravity. Horsey looked
suspiciously upon the speaker, and for the first
time, a latent notion seemed to waken in his mind
that he had been quizzed a little; but, just at this
moment, his eyes were attracted to the opposite
banks.

“'Gad, Jones, I must hide—there are women
yonder. Who are they?”

The actor stole behind some stunted bushes, from
which he peeped out upon the distant cavalcade.

“That's Brown Bess—Bess Yarbers, as I live—
and that's my Juliet—my pretty Mary Stinson!—
Eh! Jones, am I not right? What the devil do
they want here?”

“Hush! Come to join our company, I suspect,”
replied Jones, with some anxiety in his voice.

“'Gad, I'm glad of it,” exclaimed the actor,with
a delight which made him quite forget the hurts of
his Hamlet. “That Mary will make the loveliest
Juliet, the sweetest Ophelia, the dearest Desdemona
that ever was smothered when she should have been
kissed. I told Bess to make an actress of her—I
knew what she could do. It's a great acquisition,
Jones. I'll go and meet 'em.”

“What! in that trim?”

“Ah, d—n the boat!” was the bitter exclamation
of the enthusiastic actor, as, sinking back into his

place of concealment, he suffered the new comers to
pass from sight, and impatiently waited the moment
when Jones might deem it proper to permit of their
return to the encampment. The latter busied himself
in recovering the boat, which had drifted a mile
below, and was only kept from the embraces of the
Mississippi by the branches of a fallen tree, among
which it got entangled. By dint of swimming and
wading, the outlaw recovered it, and Horsey was
with difficulty persuaded to resume his seat in a
fabric in which he could use no action, and accordingly
could not speak. To deny him to suit the
action to the word, was to make him dumb; and
equally soaked, silent, and sad, the luckless actor
suffered himself to be paddled back to the place from
whence he set forth, only consoled under his misfortune
by the reflection that he should soon see the
lovely little damsel in whose sight, it may be said in
this place, he had found quite as much, or even more
favour, than she had found in his.