University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.

But enough. All were rescued, all in safety, and
we were then at leisure to enquire into the cause of
the accident. It appeared that poor Elizabeth was
leaning against the rail of the lee-gang-way, which
had worked loose or been left unfastened, and that,
as half a score of the little romps, who had taken advantage
of a clear deck while their mamas and the
he-creatures were at dinner below, to have a little
noise, were engaged in a race, one of them ran against
her and she was precipitated backwards—ay, backwards—into
the foaming unfathomable deep.

All eyes were now turned upon her deliverer. The
poor girl once in charge of the women, he was by far
the most interesting personage aboard—I can see him
this moment!—there he stands! the great long rawboned,
half-Scotch, half methodist-looking fellow,
with his arms dangling to his knees, the water running
in a puddle from the legs of his trowsers, and his coal-black
hair streaming over his shoulders like the mane
of a cart-horse. While we were standing about him,
the grandfather appeared on deck, and passing by all
the rest of us, went straightway up to him, and, without
paying any attention whatever to our numberless
enquiries, took him by both hands—then stopped before
him, and struggled with himself for half a minute
or more, trying to speak—and then turning away, began
to sob like a child. I do not know that I was
ever so much affected in my life. Again he made the

attempt, and again he was obliged to turn away, with
his heart too full for speech, faltering out a word or
two about the Preserver of Men.

Jess so! cried Obadiah G. Fairfield, rubbing his
forepaws together, capering about the deck, and
hourrawing at intervals. Beats all nater! Allys the
way with our Amos—and testifying his joy by a thous
and uncouth extravagancies, which I now began to see
through. They were brothers—our Amos had betrayed
their relationship.

At last I heard the old grandfather say—I do not
know how to thank thee; I am getting very childish;
but if thee will go with us to Philadelphia and see her
mother and the rest of our family, they will satisfy
thee perhaps, that though we are a people of few
words, we are not o' the unthankful or the forgetful.

No, I thank ye, no occasion said Amos, beginning
to haul on his coat over his dripping clothes—no
proud flesh here nyther frind—what may I call yer
name?

Abraham Leach.

Well then, if its all the same to you Abraham, as I
aint much used to your ways, nor you to mine—and
then he stopped, grew very pale, and asked for a
bandage and something warm to take the chill off;
and then, before we could put forth a hand to help
him, though twenty of us were standing about, he
staggered away with outstretched arms, and fell his
whole length upon the wet slippery deck, within three
feet of the open gangway—the passage-way to another
world. Then it was, and not till then, that we saw
the whole strength of his character. On lifting him
up, we found his breast severely cut, and his left arm
disabled.

Gracious God! he is bleeding to death, cried one
of the bystanders.

Not by two chalks! muttered Amos; wan't brung
up in the medders to be kicked to death by grasshoppers;
howsomever frinds, if its all the same to you, I
should like a bandage to sling my arm, with a sheet
or two o' brown paper for my head, a handful o'
wormwood bruised with a wine glass o' New-England
—rayal ginwyne, (smacking his white lips,) and a
mug half an' half—two mugs I should say; for I owe
that are chap there a handsome treat, (nodding to
Obadiah, who held up the fag end of the quieu in reply,)
and Amos O. P. Fairfield aint one of them air 't
play sherk, I ruther guess, when it comes to a treat;
if it hadn't a ben for 'Diah I might 'a gone to the bugs
arter all.

To the fishes, more like, said Obadiah; might a
laid in a stock o' kew-leather 'mong the eels, haw,
haw!

That air plaguy split-wood's none o' the softest, I
tell ye, for a feller to dive inter, both gwyin' different
ways, and both in a dreadful hurry.

Here a pocket-book was put into his hand, as it lay
over his brother's knee.

Hullo! what's this 'ere?—turning it over, and
shifting it three or four times from one hand to the
other.

It is thine, whispered a voice at my elbow; it belongs
to thee.

B'longs to me! no sich a thing; wunt own it nor
touch to; never seed it afore—who are you makin'
mouths at?

A person here stepped forward, who had been

making signs for a long time at Amos, and whispered
something in his ear, at which his countenance brightened
up, and rolling over and supporting himself on
his elbows, he opened the pocket-book, and pulling
forth a quantity of bank-notes, which lay smoothly
spread out between two-folds of worn parchment; and
puckering up his mouth and clenching his teeth as if to
avoid betraying his inward joy, he proceeded to count
the money, dollar by dollar, in a voice loud enough to
be heard by all the bystanders, while Obadiah stood
watching him, with a look of perplexity, which gradually
gave way to another, more resembling anxiety,
and then to another of downright shame. His lip
quivered—his cheek changed color—and if I was not
greatly deceived, there was a drop of scalding water
in his eye.

But Amos heeded him not, and having finished the
count, he lifted himself up, announced the sum total
to be two hundred and sixty odd dollars, Filadelphy
and Baltimore money, adding—not worth so much as
Boston money, by twenty-five per cent though; and
then, after wiping his hands, he proceeded to lay it all
back again into the parchment wrapper, smoothing it
down with extraordinary care, drew forth a piece of
red tape from his pocket, along with a handful of
snarled twine, leather-straps, waxed-ends, a gimlet and
spare screws—measured it—snipped off a piece of
the proper length with a single snap of his large
glistening teeth—tied up the parcel with great sobriety
and deliberation, and then to our amazement, reached
it back to the person who had been whispering to him,
without saying a word more.

Whereupon Obadiah pressed forward and clenching

him by the hand, without speaking, though he blushed
more than ever, and his handsome eyes looked
handsomer than ever, burst forth into an uncontrolable
fit of laughter; and then stopped suddenly—looked
silly—and went away, as if ashamed of being so
happy, or of betraying so much of his real nature even
to a brother.

And why not keep it friend Amos? whispered the
old quaker, who had stolen up to us unperceived, and
was trying to expostulate with him, so as not to be
heard by others.

No, no; thank ye as much as if I did—no 'casion.

Do take it—do; thee'll oblige me greatly, and her
mother also. It is but a trifle from her abundance.

May be so, but between you an' me an' the post,
neighbor, that aint the way I git my livin'.

I dare say not, continued the old man, his eyes filling
with tears of joy and thankfulness; but thee has
'most spoiled thy clothes, and hurt theeself grievously,
an' I have a right, as thee says, to indemnify thee according
to law.

Not by a jug-full; cant obleege me at law, frind.

The old man shook his head.

Well, then, if its all the same to you frind Leach, or
frind Abraham—I dont know what your Pheladelphy
fashion is, but we say frind so and so, in our parts—
I aint dreadful particular ye see about my clothes;
never was good for much, all I had on wasn't worth
a five-dollar bill; and as for my hurts, why man alive,
we dont mind sich sort o' things where I com from,
two jumps of a rattle-snek—ben through a row o'
griss-mills afore now, arter an' ole hat I dropped a
fishin'; so yer see I shan't take yer money nor touch

to; but I say—you—mister, (turning to me as he
finished) brother 'Diah'll finish the trade with you for
that air watch o' yourn, about the slickest, if you'll
give him another chance, while my clothes are a dryin'.

The good old man smiled—how could he help it?—
at the perfect seriousness of the proposal, and patting
him on the shoulder, invited him to go below and have
a trade with him for his watch, pulling out a heavy
old-fashioned affair of his own, as he spoke.

That will I; cried Amos—and then stopping and
struggling with himself, he added; no no thank ye—
taint in my line to make-believe swap; I can see
through you—(good naturedly)—you mean to be too
much for Amos O. P. Fairfield.

But Obadiah was not willing to let slip so fine a
chance, and when I next saw him, he was seated at
one of the side-benches below, for a regular swap,
without caring a fig for the evident displeasure of his
brother, or thinking of any thing else on earth, I am
sure; the old quaker trying to give boot for the bulleyed
warming-pan with a pewter-face, and the other
trying to swap it into him—fairly—in the way of
business.

It was dark now, and we were making our way toward
Baltimore smoothly enough I thought; nor did
I observe, till we had come together about the tables
below, that Gage and Middleton were no longer on the
same terms they had been at first; each appearing to
to hold himself apart and aloof from the other; and
from the Tennessee youth, who appeared to believe
that Gage could not have prevented Middleton
from going overboard, if the latter had been as
much in earnest as he pretended, I began to fear that

mischief was brewing, and resolved in my own mind to
to watch the parties and prevent them at all hazards.
For myself, I was satisfied that Gage had saved Middleton's
life by his violence, and that nothing but a
fair opportunity for explanation was needed, to satisfy
both of the fact. So, instead of going to sleep as most
of the passengers did, I kept my position at the table,
where two strangers were engaged in a game of
checkers—Middleton sitting afar off, with his hat
pulled over his eyes, and his arms folded on his chest.
I longed to speak to him, but was afraid. On casting
round my eyes for Gage, I found him asleep on a
settee, his countenance turned away from the light, and
breathing as freely as heart could desire. Of course
there would be no difficulty in dealing with him.
Your true Yankee is always reasonable—always—
even at the moment of unsheathing the sword, or
pulling a hair-trigger.

Near me, with their ponderous legs outstretched
over the superb furniture, half-asleep and half-awake,
were Amos and Obadiah, and five or six down-easters,
dozing by fits and snoring by turns. Many attempts
were made at conversation, such as you may hear
aboard a stage-coach in the grey of the morning, after
a night, voyage over a rough road in miserable
weather—lazy questions, lazily put, and more lazily
answered—one would gape to see them in a newspaper—people
talking to themselves, and then waiting
for a reply, or yawning and stretching all around, one
after another.

Yaw—aw—aw, wonder where we are now? says one;
how far be we says a second; begins to be rather cold
here, mutters a third. Very! adds a fourth, muffling

himself up to the eyes. The next moment they are
all growling together, and all in the same key. My
watch has stopped; if it taint I'm a bigger fool than
you are. Only half-past nine! 'taint posserble. You
dont say so—gettin' to be rather warm here. Very!
I say steward! how far is it to where we put up to
night? Dont know 'azacly sir, I'll ax the cap'n. See
't ye do—aw, aw, aw!—hot as blazes! Very! Man
re-appears, saying tis better than two hours sail. Better!
I should call it wuss by a darnation-sight. Yaw,
aw, aw! everlastin' cold weather we have for the season.
Very! At last the party got waked up, and
the following conversation took place.

But we have two Universities, my dear sir, said the
fat stranger who had been taking notes. Have ye
tho'? Well, I should like to know what they're good
for. So should I, muttered Gage, lifting himself up
on one elbow and preparing to take his part in this,
or any other discussion that offered a fair opportunity
for playing with both sides of a question—for every
body knows that our University at Harvard is the first
in the world—is'nt it gentlemen? To be sure it is;
whoever denied it? answered two or three voices
together. Nobody—in America. Talk of libraries
and professorships, and oriental literature and all
that, pho, pho! as a body may say—

Precisely! added a little dapper Bostonian. You
are a true patriot sir, and I honor you for your impartiality.
That, (snapping his fingers with a revolutionary
flourish) that! for your German Universities,
and your Cambridge and Oxford Universities! what
do they know about the improved system established
at old Harvard?

Very true sir; give me your hand, cried Gage,
Very true sir. In orthography, arithmetic and
English grammar, to say nothing of the higher
branches of mathematics, we have a—

Precisely sir! Here bows were interchanged all
around, followed by sundry compliments to one another's
love of country, and freedom from prejudice,
when my attention was called to another quarter.

What a strange foreign look he has! said somebody
at another table; for my part, I believe he was
just as much in earnest when he tried to jump over
at last—cant be a native American surely.

He is a southerner raised in the north.

You dont say so! answered a third voice.

Of the best blood in the country too, I can tell you
that.

Wal if ever! Why judgin' by his looks, I'd wager
a trifle that he had a cross o' the nigger in him.

Hush, for God's sake, whispered the other, turning
with a look of alarm toward the subject of their conversation,
whose breathing grew very audible a
minute or two afterwards, though we thought him
asleep. Such a remark as that sir, continued the
speaker, would cost you or any other man alive—
more than you would like to pay.

Wal, if there aint a drop or nigger, there is o'
Ingunn blood in him, or I miss my guess—no harm
in that I hope?

Sir!—I entreat you.

Why what's the matter now!

If you wish to leave this boat alive, take my advice
and avoid such remarks before the Men of the South.

You aint serious tho', air ye?

But I am serious. I look upon it as a matter of
life and death.

Fiddle de dee!—That for ye men o' the south, I
say!

And are the men of the south ashamed of being
thought to have descended from the original proprietors
of the new world? said Gage, speaking in a
loud clear natural voice—the chiefs, the princes, and
the kings of North-America! Shame on them if
they are!

A suppressed breathing made me look up, and there
stood Middleton directly in front of Gage, his under-lip
quivering, and his large luminous eyes all afire
with inward commotion.

But Gage continued with the same steady look and
firm voice, leaning back in his chair as he finished;
and after some few remarks of a general nature respecting
the men of the south, wound up with an
eloquent apostrophe to the Indians—cutting, as with
a two-edged sword into the very joints and marrow of
that unholy and ungrateful pride, which in the North
as well as in the South (for in the north it is highly
penal for whites to intermarry with Indians) has prohibited
all companionship, other than that of master
and slave, the oppressor and the oppressed, between
them.

Middleton was evidently disturbed, and the Tennessee
youth drew near, hoping I dare say, and believing
I am sure, that something serious would grow
out of the conversation before they finished.

And now Middleton, said Gage—my dear Middleton,
a word with you before all these witnesses. You
want a quarrel with me—I see it plainly.

Middleton grew paler and paler every moment, and
he shook all over; but the wrath of his black eye
was not so deadly as before.

Now, continued Gage, the plain truth is that you
are in the wrong; and therefore I have determined
not to allow you to quarrel with me. Nevertheless,
for treating you like a madman (as you were) I beg
your pardon—for saving your life in spite of your
determination to throw it away, I—

Here a most unlucky laugh, badly-suppressed from
the Tennessee youth, had well nigh set us altogether
by the ears again; but Gage favored him with a look
of reproof, and the savage was turning away, with a
sort of good-natured growl, when, happening to catch
the eye of Middleton, his countenance instantly
changed and he drew himself up to his full stature,
and stood facing him and waiting for Gage to finish.

Yes sir, continued Gage, yet more deliberately—
For saving your life in spite of your determination
to throw it away, Gerard Middleton, I am ready, if
you require it, and before all these witnesses, to beg
your pardon heartily and humbly.

That's what I call showin' the white-feather, by
Gawd! cried the Tennessee boy, turning on his heel
as he spoke.

Middleton's eyes flashed fire; but Gage merely
looked up, and begging him not to interfere, turned
quietly to the other and asked him what he meant by
the remark, and whether it was intended for him.

What do I mean, stranger? I mean jess what I
say—You are showin' the white feather; an' you
know well enough what that means, if you have ever
been in the woods an' seen the whippoor-will run

away with her tail-feathers draggin' after her, one
each side o' the bunch, as white as the driven snow—
that's what I mean, take it as ye like.

By all which I am to understand that you believe
me wanting in courage to resent insult, or to punish
insolence—in plain English, that I am what bullies
and swaggerers would call a coward?

What do you mean by that sir! who d'ye call a
swaggerer.

You shall know in a moment, said Gage, slowly
rising from the chair, and measuring his tall handsome
antagonist with an eye that neither shifted nor quailed,
and a countenance that never altered, till he had
finished. You believe me to be a coward then?

I do.

And you would insult me, nevertheless?

I would.

What think you of your own courage then? Is it
not the courage of a swaggerer, to insult a coward?

For a moment the high-spirited fellow was abashed;
but the next, observing a smile or a sneer about the
mouth of Middleton, he uttered something—something,
I know not what, nor could I ever learn that
any body there had fully understood it; and instantly,
but for Gage, who grappled with the Tennesseean
and threatened to call captain Trip, they would have
sprung at each other's throats across the table. As it
was, they were instantly separated, and withdrew in
a portentous silence to their respective berths.

We were now approaching Baltimore. The outline
of the city was already visible upon the clear blue
sky, in a mass of huge broken shadow, with the
cathedral crowning the whole, and the Washington-monument

upheaving itself into the unclouded vault,
like the wonders you see on your approach to Rome,
while yet afar off; and I had begun to hope that we
should have no further trouble, when happening to
turn away from the light, I had a view of Gage in a
mirror as he sat with his back toward me, and for the
first time in my life I felt as if nothing could save one
fellow-creature from the wrath of another—nothing.
And yet he had only grown a little more serious; and
so long as he sat with his back toward me, talking
pleasantly with the other passengers, I should not
have suspected from his voice that any thing was the
matter. But from the moment I saw his face there,
I felt alarmed—I know not why—the reader must
have seen such a face to understand me—alarmed
for the safety of the Tennesseean.

Yet as I have said before, the conversation was
cheerful enough, and nobody else, not even captain
Trip himself, appeared to think seriously of the trifling
dispute which had occurred.

Again I found myself at my old employment of
studying character and hoarding up phraseology.
He'll do it any day o' the week, said a man at my
elbow, let alone Saturdays—of course the speaker
was a Marylander of Irish parentage. What a heap
a folks there was to be sure, said another—a Virginian
of course—a mighty little man of his age, said a
third—a Carolinian. I shot the door, an' went an' sot
down, said a fourth. I'm tired some; I aint tired
any, added a fifth and sixth. Care that up, an' empt
it; I expect he was eenjest tired to death—all Yankees.
No marm I have not—wal I want yer to, ditto,
ditto. Resky, jumpy, skerse, a dark-complected

man; I should admire to see you do it: He said how
he could handle me, and told him he might have a
chance to try; use your thinkers: I vum if I would—
ditto, ditto, ditto. Good deal o' land about here:
nice putty stars, but lord you, as the gal said to her
feller, if you could only see the bunch thats right over
our front door. There now! its all gut to be strained
over agin! as the old woman said, when the dog p—d
in her milk-pan. Thats right down ugly o' you. I'm
rather porely now. See any thing partiklar in that
feller there?—makes poetry himself sabbadays, made
more poetry an' you could shake a stick at; never
thought o' trying his hand at it nyther, till arter he
failed in the timber-trade. You belong to Poland?
No, to Minot—you aint acquainted with a man by the
name o' Dodge, Joel Dodge, air ye?—all Yankees of
one sort or another.

Thus far had I proceeded, taking down every remarkable
phrase that met my ear, upon the blank leaf
of a new novel, which lay before me—a page that I
preserved for many years, and have now most faithfully
copied, when a passenger who came below for his
umbrella and great coat, informed us we should reach
the wharf in a few minutes. I ran up on deck and
getting my luggage together, was standing over it and
listening to the noise of the steam, as it bellowed and
roared through the huge cylinder, when the boat
reached the wharf, and the next moment, dark as it
was, two mortal enemies found each other out, as by
the instinct of unappeasable hate, and before a soul
could interfere, a splash was heard in the deep still
water, accompanied by a loud half-smothered cry,
which made us all rush to the spot whence it proceeded.

A man was over-board. We drew him in.
He was pale, and speechless, and bloody.

Gracious God sir, cried I, going up to Middleton,
who stood near the edge of the water, with the light
of a dozen lamps streaming upon his face—his foot
planted—his hat off—his collar open, his black hair
flying loose in the wind, and his eye fixed with a
dreadful expression of unrelenting wrath upon the
rescued man, who lay stretched out like a dead body
upon the wharf, with a cloak thrown over him and a
portmanteau under his head—Gracious God sir, what
have you done!

I have dirked him, was the reply.

I shuddered; for the spoke with a cheerful voice,
and I could have sworn that he smiled; for his black
joyful eyes were shining with a newer and more
savage lustre.

We parted before I knew the whole truth; but not
before I saw him in custody, and heard him say with
a light cheerful air—pho, pho, my dear Gage, we are
even now. What are you afraid of? the poor fellow
may thank his stars that he had me to deal with,
instead of you—there's a chance for him now.

Gerard Middleton.

Pho, pho, I know what you mean to say.

If that man should not recover—

Why then he'll be cured of gouging, that's all, putting
his hand to his forehead as he spoke, and showing
how narrow had been his own escape from the loss
of an eye—the hair was literally torn from his
temples—and there was the mark of a thumb-nail.

Man! man! cried Gage, I wonder at you.

I told him what I would do, if he did'nt release me
instantly—and I did it—and there he lies!

God forgive you, said I; farewell!

Farewell sir.

And here we parted—He for a prison or a scaffold,
and I for the south.