University of Virginia Library

ADVENTURE OF A SABBATH-BREAKER.

Mr. Eugenius Augustus Van Scoik was born
somewhere “down east,” but for the purposes of
the sketch which we are about to give of a single
incident in his life—an incident the more important
for the influence it exerted upon his subsequent career—it
is not material that we should state precisely
where or when. Suffice it, he had been trained up
“in the way he should go,” and had been sent forth
into the world to seek his fortune, with the fervent
admonitions of a pious mother, who concluded her
long dissertation upon matters and things in general,
with the solemn injunction—“But, Eugenius Augustus,
dear, whatever you do, be a good boy and
go to meeting every Sunday,”—to which he replied
that he would be certain to do so.

Mr. Van Scoik's talents had been devoted to
mercantile pursuits—not on his own account, it is
true, but on account of his health, which had been
delicate from his youth—and he now gave himself
out as a professional salesman, in which capacity he
had made his appearance in Pineville with Mr.
Harley's latest importation of new goods from New
York. He was a tall, chalky-complexioned, crane-built,
gosling-looking youth, with a very prominent
beak, and eyes askew. The nose stuck “right

out,” and there was no help for it, but he managed
to hide the slight obliquity in the setting of his
visual organs, by means of a pair of large-bowled
silver spectacles, with green glasses, which he wore
under pretext of weakness.

Mr. Eugenius Augustus Van Scoik was a polite,
good-natured, Miss-Nancy sort of a young gentleman,
and of course soon acquired great popularity
among the elderly ladies, to whom he always warranted
his goods not to fade, tear, or wear out, and
was certain to throw in the thread and little things,
even if he had to thumb it a small amount in the
measurement of the yards to make up for his generosity.
The young ladies, too, thought Mr. Harley's
new “store-keeper” a “dreadful nice young man,
if he didn't have such a horrid nose,” and the community,
generally, who had heard his psalm-singing,
and noted his punctual attendance at church, every
Sunday morning, had marked him down as a very
proper young man, notwithstanding his nose; and
Parson Storrs had been heard to speak of him as an
example worthy of imitation by the young men of
Pineville.

But Mr. Van Scoik struggled against a besetting
temptation unknown to any but himself. If he had
an inveterate, unconquerable “propensity for any
thing in the world,” it was for shooting robins. He
delighted in a shot-gun that wouldn't kick much, and
a bird that would sit, and he never looked out upon
the sky, but his soul panted to be away in the fields
with bag and gun. He dreamed of shooting all night,
and he ruminated on the subject all the day. He

had not taken a hunt since he left home—he had
been so busy in the store—and he determined to
have one “fair shake” at the birds, even if he had
to go on Sunday. If the truth must be told, he had
grown so loose in his morals under the influence of
our vertical sun, that he began to entertain very
little reverence for those holy ordinances, which, in
his youth, he had been taught to obey, and he was
only deterred from the commission of what he would
once have regarded as an almost unpardonable sin,
by the fear of detection. There was now nothing
very shocking to him in the violation of the Sabbath
—but he would not have had anybody to see him
on that day with a gun in his hands for any consideration.
He was not long, however, in devising
a plan by which he was enabled to indulge his propensity
without incurring the risk of being discovered
by those whose good opinions he was so anxious to
retain.

Accordingly, one beautiful Sunday afternoon, Mr.
Eugenius Augustus Van Scoik sallied forth from his
boarding-house, and walked gravely along the main
street until he reached the edge of the woods, where
he was met by a little negro boy whom he had engaged
to carry his gun, game-bag, &c., out of town.
Finding all right, he dismissed the boy, charging
him to be sure to meet him there at sun-down, to
take charge of his gun and game. It was the beginning
of autumn, and the scene was lovely to behold—the
leaves had not yet began to fall, but the
chill night-winds had delicately tinged the foliage
with every variety of hue, which were soon to

deepen into those bright colours which give such
variegated beauty to the southern landscape. As
we have said, it was a lovely evening—no cloud
obscured the sky, a gentle breeze played through
the branches of the trees, and the song of birds
mingled with the faint tones of the distant church-bell.
Even Mr. Eugenius Augustus Van Scoik
could not but feel the calm influence of such a
scene, and he felt ill at ease when he remembered
the fourth commandment,—endorsed as it was by a
doting mother's parting admonition,—and reflected
that he was in the very act of violating that sacred
mandate. But he endeavoured to silence the chidings
of an awakened conscience, as he charged his
piece, and meditated death to all the wild fowl that
might chance to come within gun-shot of him—
especially robins.

He had proceeded but a short distance when he
espied a mocking-bird perched upon the branch of
a tree, pouring forth its song in its wildest strain of
native melody. “Stop!” whispered Mr. Van Scoik
to himself—“there's a shot.” Creeping up to a
convenient distance, he raised his gun and fired—
away flew the bird, exceedingly terrified, but unharmed.
“That's curious,” said he to himself,—
“I had a first-rate aim.” Having reloaded, he
looked around for an object at which to shoot. A
robin next attracted his attention—his heart beat
double-quick, and his breath was suspended while
he crept cautiously up—he was about to pull the
trigger when away flew the robin!—He clenched
his teeth hard together, but said nothing, as he

brought his gun down from his face. He saw the
bird light at a short distance, and hastened in pursuit.
His second attempt, however, proved as unsuccessful
as the first—he snapped two or three
times, and when his gun did go off, the robin went
off too. “Darnation!” petulantly exclaimed Mr.
Van Scoik, (putting the emphasis on ation,) as he
reloaded his gun—“that's tew bad!” Once more
he cast his eyes about in search of game, but his
firing had disturbed the Sabbath quiet of the place,
and the alarmed inhabitants had fled.

Mr. Eugenius Augustus directed his steps into
the open woods that lay before him. As he approached
a small clump of chinkapin bushes, he
heard a slight rustling among the leaves. He advanced
cautiously, peered into the thicket, walked
round to the other side, and looked closer. He was
about to abandon the search, when out flew a large
red-headed woodcock, and before he could raise
his gun to his face, the sancy bird was far away,
chuckling at a tremendous rate, as if in derision of
his pursuer. The circumstance was exceedingly
aggravating to our sportsman, and he resolved to
be more cautious in future.

He had proceeded but a short distance, when, in
another cluster of bushes, he heard something moving.
“I'll not be bamboozled this time,” whispered
Mr. Van Scoik, as he brought up his gun and
advanced cautiously at “present arms.” He had
passed half round the thicket, and with his finger
on the trigger, was squatting low, that he might the
better see in, when suddenly a large bear sprang

from the bushes directly towards him! The gun
dropped from his hands—there was a loud scream
of terror, and the next moment Mr. Eugenius Augustus
Van Scoik and the bear were testing their
speed in a foot-race through the woods. He had
never dreamed of starting such game so near town,
and the sudden surprise having seized upon his
legs, they bore him off at their utmost speed. Brimfull
of horror, he remembered the fable in the spelling-book,
but he had no faith in “acting 'possum”
—he cast one look behind—his grim pursuer was
close upon him—the next moment he had grasped
the trunk of a sapling and was climbing for dear
life.

He did not dare to look below until he had ascended
some fifteen or twenty feet; he then ventured
to reconnoitre his foe, when, to his utter
consternation, he beheld bruin hugging the trunk
of a larger tree, which, not till then, he discovered
grew close by the side of the one he was upon.
He watched the movements of the bear with increasing
terror, and when he saw him rapidly ascending,
and observed his huge claws and frightful
tusks, he began to imagine himself torn to pieces
by the ferocious animal. Bruin had nearly reached
him, when he consulted his safety by moving higher
up. He had ascended until the sapling bent with
his weight, and he could go no higher. He looked
beneath, and the bear was fast approaching! What
was to be done? To descend was certain death—
and to remain promised a no better fate. The bear
was soon opposite him, and with an awful grin, that

showed all his teeth at once, he extended his paw
towards Mr. Eugenius Augustus Van Scoik, who,
with a convulsive shudder, drew himself into the
smallest possible compass, and clung close to the
opposite side of the tree, by which means he barely
escaped the sharp claws of the animal. Rather than
undergo the agony of such close encounter with his
grim antagonist, Mr. Van Scoik resolved upon a
change of position, and relaxing his grasp, descended
a few feet. Bruin soon placed himself directly
opposite, and again renewed his doubtful salutations.
Up went Mr. Van Scoik, and up went the bear.
We will not attempt to describe the looks exchanged
between them, nor the peculiar sensations of our
sportsman, under the circumstances—as the saying
is, “they may be better imagined than described.”

Thus the parties remained, with occasional slight
variations of attitude, for some time, until the bear,
probably becoming fatigued, gradually descended
to the ground. Hope revived within the bosom of
Mr. Eugenius Augustus Van Scoik. Now, thought
he, if he will only go away. But bruin was not to
be got rid of so easily—instead of taking his departure,
he deliberately stretched himself at the root of
the sapling, as if resolved upon taking his prey by
siege.

It had now grown late—the sun was fast declining,
and Mr. Van Scoik had the melancholy prospect
of a roost among the tree-tops for the night,
provided he survived so long. Alas, too late he
repented the sinful violation of the Sabbath, which
had led him into the awful dilemma in which he

found himself. Too late he wished that he had
obeyed the summons of the church-bell, and gone
to the house of worship, where, if he profited nothing,
he would at least have been out of harm's
way; and as he cast his eyes down, and contemplated
the object of his terror, a superstitious dread
came over him—like that which ever haunts the
guilty—that the bear was but an instrument in the
hands of Providence, and had been specially commissioned
to devour him, as the same animal had
once been sent to destroy the scoffers of Elijah.
Such and similar thoughts passed through his
almost frenzied brain, and he would have given all
the right, title, and interest he had, or ever expected
to have in this world, to have been released from
his dreadful situation.

As the shades of evening approached, despair
had nearly taken possession of his faculties, when,
for the first time during his perilous adventure, the
sound of a human voice broke upon his ear. He
listened, and his pulse throbbed with new life, as
he heard uttered in a low, monotonous strain, a
well-known negro chant—

“Hello!—help!—help, here!” shouted Mr. Van
Scoik with all his might.

Repeated the negro, not hearing the call for help,
as he went on with his ditty, keeping time with the
palms of his hands against his thighs—

“Help! oh!—you, mister; help, here!” cried
Mr. Van Scoik, growing impatient, and beginning
to fear that the negro might pass without observing
him—

“Murder!—help! oh, help here!”

“Who dat?” asked the startled negro, for the
first time catching the sound of the voice from the
tree. Then stopping short in his path, he listened
for a moment in order to gain some further intelligence
as to the nature of the alarm, before he determined
whether to advance or retreat.

“I say! you mister! come here and take my
gun, and shoot this bear!—there's a live bear
here!”

“Ki,” laughed the negro, “'spec dat's Jocko
what skeer dat white man.”

As the negro approached, he soon saw into the
state of affairs, and not less to his own gratification
than that of Mr. Eugenius Augustus Van Scoik,
discovered his pet Jocko, of whom he was in
anxious search.

“Why, massa, what for you got up da? Jocko
no bite nobody. Him got no harm in him no more'n
a little kitten. Come down, massa.” Then addressing
himself to the bear, he continued in a
rather different tone—“Come here, sa!—what for
you been done gone all de mornin', ha?—been
skeer de white man, too—you 'bomination good for
nothing!—never mind, ole feller, I git you home dis
time; you no git away any more, now mind dat!”

While speaking, the negro fastened the rope
which he had brought for the purpose round the
bear's neek, and was about to lead him away; but
observing that the man in the tree did not come
down, he again called to him, assuring him that
there was no danger.

“Come down, massa, Jocko aint gwine to bite
you. I bound he never bite nobody, massa.”

By this time Mr. Van Scoik's fears had sufficiently
subsided to warrant him in descending. He had
nearly reached the ground when the bear sprang
towards him to the extent of his rope.

“Wah-a-a-w!—hold him!” exclaimed Mr. Van
Scoik, again springing into the tree.

“Yah, yah, yah, massa, Jocko only want to play
wid you.”

But our sportsman's skepticism was not so easily
to be removed, nor would he again trust his legs to
the ground, until Jocko and his master were far
away on their road home. He then came down,
examined his torn clothes, searched about and recovered
his gun, and, after making a solemn vow
never again to go a hunting on the Sabbath-day, set
out for home. And never since that day has Mr.
Eugenius Augustus Van Scoik been seen prowling
about the fields with a gun on his shoulder, on that
day which we are commanded to remember and
keep holy.