University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.
AN EPISODE.

IFEAR the gentle reader, how much more the
savage one, will accuse me of having beguiled
him with false pretenses. Here I have written XIV
chapters of this story, which claims to be a mystery,
and there stand the letters XV at the head of this
chapter and I have not got to the mystery yet, and my friend
Miss Cormorant, who devours her dozen novels a week for
steady diet, and perhaps makes it a baker's dozen at this season
of the year, and who loves nothing so well as to be mystified
by labyrinthine plots and counterplots—Miss Cormorant is about
to part company with me at this point. She doesn't like this
plain sailing. Now, I will be honest with you, Miss Cormorant,
all the more that I don't care if you do quit. I will tell you
plainly that to my mind the mystery lies yet several chapters
in advance, and that I shouldn't be surprised if I have to pass
out of my teens and begin to head with double X's before I
get to that mystery. Why don't I hurry up then? Ah! there's
the rub. Miss Cormorant and all the Cormorant family are
wanting me to hurry up with this history, and just so surely
as I should skip over any part of the tale, or slight my background,
or show any eagerness, that other family, the Critics—

the recording angels of literature—take down their pens, and
with a sad face joyfully write: “This book is so-so, but bears
evident marks of hurry in its execution. If the author shall
ever learn the self-possession of the true artist, and come to tell
his stories with leisurely dignity of manner—and so on—and
so on—and so forth—he will—well, he will—do middling well
for a man who had the unhappiness to be born in longitude
west from Washington.” Ah! well, I shrug my shoulders and
bidding both Cormorant and Critic to get behind me, Satan, I
write my story in my own fashion for my gentle readers who
are neither Cormorants nor Critics, and of whom I am sincerely
fond.

For instance, I find it convenient to turn aside at this point
to mention Dave Sawney, for how could I relate the events
which are to follow to readers who had not the happiness to
know Katy's third lover—or thirteenth—the aforesaid Dave?
You are surprised, doubtless, that Katy should have so many
lovers as three; you have not then lived in a new country where
there are generally half-a-dozen marriageable men to every marriageable
woman, and where, since the law of demand and supply
has no application, every girl finds herself beset with more
beaux than a heartless flirt could wish for. Dave was large,
lymphatic, and conceited; he “come frum Southern Eelinoy,”
as he expressed it, and he had a comfortable conviction that
the fertile Illinois Egypt had produced nothing more creditable
than his own slouching figure and self-complaisant soul. Dave
Sawney had a certain vividness of imagination that served to
exalt everything pertaining to himself; he never in his life made
a bargain to do anything—he always cawntracked to do it. He
cawntracked to set out three trees, and then he cawntracked to

dig six post-holes, and when he gave his occupation to the
census-taker he set himself down as a “cawntractor.”

He had laid siege to Katy in his fashion, slouching in of an
evening, and boasting of his exploits until Smith Westcott would
come and chirrup and joke, and walk Katy right away from
him to take a walk or a boat-ride. Then he would finish the
yarn which Westcott had broken in the middle, to Mrs. Plausaby
or Miss Marlay, and get up and remark that he thought maybe
he mout as well be a-gittin' on.

In the county-seat war, which had raged about the time
Albert had left for Glenfield, Dave Sawney had come to be a
man of importance. His own claim lay equidistant from the
two rival towns. He had considerable influence with a knot of
a dozen settlers in his neighborhood, who were, like himself,
without any personal interest in the matter. It became evident
that a dozen or a half-dozen votes might tip the scale after
Plausaby, Esq., had turned the enemy's flank by getting some
local politician to persuade the citizens of Westville, who would
naturally have supported the claims of Perritaut, that their own
village stood the ghost of a chance, or at least that their interests
would be served by the notoriety which the contest
would give, and perhaps also by defeating Perritaut, which,
from proximity, was more of a rival than Metropolisville. After
this diversion had weakened Perritaut, it became of great consequence
to secure even so small an influence as that of Dave
Sawney. Plausaby persuaded Dave to cawntrack for the delivery
of his influence, and Dave was not a little delighted to
be flattered and paid at the same time. He explained to the
enlightened people in his neighborhood that Squire Plausaby
was a-goin' to do big things fer the kyounty; that the village

of Metropolisville would erect a brick court-house and donate
it; that Plausaby had already cawntracked to donate it to the
kyounty free gratis.

This ardent support of Dave, who saw not only the price
which the squire had cawntracked to pay him, but a furtherance
of his suit with little Katy, as rewards of his zeal, would
have turned the balance at once in favor of Metropolisville,
had it not been for a woman. Was there ever a war, since the
days of the Greek hobby-horse, since the days of Rahab's basket
indeed, in which a woman did not have some part? It is said
that a woman should not vote, because she can not make war;
but that is just what a woman can do; she can make war, and
she can often decide it. There came into this contest between
Metropolisville and its rival, not a Helen certainly, but a woman.
Perritaut was named for an old French trader, who had made
his fortune by selling goods to the Indians on its site, and who
had taken him an Indian wife—it helped trade to wed an Indian—
and reared a family of children who were dusky, and spoke
both the Dakota and the French à la Canadien. M. Perritaut
had become rich, and yet his riches could not remove a particle
of the maternal complexion from those who were to inherit
the name and wealth of the old trader. If they should marry
other half-breeds, the line of dusky Perritauts might stretch
out the memory of a savage maternity to the crack of doom.
Que voulez-vous? They must not marry half-breeds. Each generation
must make advancement toward a Caucasian whiteness,
in a geometric ratio, until the Indian element should be reduced
by an infinite progression toward nothing. But how? It did
not take long for Perritaut père to settle that question. Voilà
tout. The young men should seek white wives. They had

money. They might marry poor girls, but white ones. But the
girls? Eh bien! Money should wash them also, or at least
money should bleach their descendants. For money is the Great
Stain-eraser, the Mighty Detergent, the Magic Cleanser. And
the stain of race is not the only one that money makes white
as snow. So the old gentleman one day remarked to some
friends who drank wine with him, that he would geeve one
ten tousant tollare, begare, to te man tat maree his oltest
daughtare, Mathilde. Eh bien, te man must vary surelee pe
w'ite and re-spect-ah-ble. Of course this confidential remark
soon spread abroad, as it was meant to spread abroad. It came
to many ears. The most utterly worthless white men, on hearing
it, generally drew themselves up in pride and vowed they'd
see the ole frog-eatin' Frenchman hung afore they'd marry his
Injin. They'd druther marry a Injin than a nigger, but they
couldn' be bought with no money to trust their skelp with a Injin.

Not so our friend Dave. He wurn't afeared of no Injin, he
said; sartainly not of one what had been weakened down to
half the strength. Ef any man dared him to marry a Injin and
backed the dare by ten thousand dollars, blamed ef he wouldn't
take the dare. He wouldn' be dared by no Frenchman to marry
his daughter. He wouldn't. He wa'n't afeard to marry a Injin.
He'd cawntrack to do it fer ten thousand.

The first effect of this thought on Dave's mind was to
change his view of the county-seat question. He shook his head
now when Plausaby's brick court-house was spoken of. The
squire was awful 'cute; too 'cute to live, he said ominously.

Dave concluded that ten thousand dollars could be made
much more easily by foregoing his preferences for a white wife
in favor of a red one, than by cawntracting to set out shade

[ILLUSTRATION]

A PINCH OF SNUFF.

[Description: 557EAF. Illustration page. Page 130. Engraving of an older man talking to a younger man seated before a hearth. ]

trees, dig post-holes, or drive oxen. So he lost no time in
visiting the old trader.

He walked in, in his slouching fashion, shook hands with
M. Perritaut, gave his name as David Sawney, cawntractor,
and after talking a little about the county-seat question, he
broached the question of marriage with Mathilde Perritaut.

“I hearn tell that you are willin' to do somethin' han'some
fer a son-in-law.”

“Varee good, Mistare Sonee. You air a man of bisnees,
perhaps, maybe. You undairstand tese tings. Eh? Très bien—
I mean vary well, you see. I want that my daughtare zhould
maree one re-spect-ah-ble man. Vare good. You air one,
maybe. I well find out. Très bien, you see, my daughtare
weel marree the man that I zay. You weel come ovare here
next week. Eef I find you air respect-ah-ble, I weel then get
my lawyare to make a marriage contract.”

“A cawntrack?” said Dave, starting at the sound of his
favorite word. “Very well, musheer, I sign a cawntrack and
live up to it.”

“Vare good. Weel you have one leetle peench of snuff?”
said the old man, politely opening his box.

“Yes, I'm obleeged, musheer,” said Dave. “Don't keer ef
I do.” And by way of showing his good-will and ingratiating
himself with the Frenchman, Dave helped himself to an
amazingly large pinch. Indeed, not being accustomed to take
snuff, he helped himself, as he did to chewing tobacco when it
was offered free, with the utmost liberality. The result did
not add to the dignity of his bearing, for he was seized with a
succession of convulsions of sneezing. Dave habitually did
everything in the noisiest way possible, and he wound up each

successive fit of sneezing with a whoop that gave him the semblance
of practicing an Indian war-song, by way of fitting himself
to wed a half-breed wife.

“I declare,” he said, when the sneezing had subsided, “I
never did see no sech snuff.”

“Vare good,” resumed M. Perritaut. “I weel promees in
the contract to geeve you one ten tousant tollars—deux mille—
two tousant avery yare for fife yare. Tres bien. My daughtare
is educate; she stoody fife, seex yare in te convent at Montreal.
Zhe play on piano evare so many tune. Bien. You come
Monday. We weel zee. Adieu. I mean good-by, Mistare
Sonee.”

“Adoo, musheer,” said Dave, taking his hat and leaving.
He boasted afterwards that he had spoke to the ole man in
French when he was comin' away. Thought it mout kinder
tickle him, you know. And he said he didn' mind a brown
complexion a bit. Fer his part, seemed to him 'twas kinder
purty fer variety. Wouldn' want all women reddish, but fer
variety 'twas sorter nice, you know. He always did like
sompin' odd.

And he now threw all his energy into the advocacy of
Perritaut. It was the natural location of a county-seat. Metropolisville
never would be nawthin'.

Monday morning found him at Perritaut's house, ready to
sell himself in marriage. As for the girl, she, poor brown
lamb—or wolf, as the case may be—was ready, with true Indian
stolidity, to be disposed of as her father chose. The parties
who were interested in the town of Perritaut had got wind
of Dave's proposition; and as they saw how important his
influence might be in the coming election, they took pains to

satisfy Monsieur Perritaut that Mr. Sawney was a very proper
person to marry his tawny daughter and pocket his yellow
gold-pieces. The lawyer was just finishing the necessary documents
when Dave entered.

“Eh bien! How you do, Mistare Sonee? Is eet dat you
weel have a peench of snuff?” For the Frenchman had quite
forgotten Dave's mishap in snuff-taking, and offered the snuff
out of habitual complaisance.

“No, musheer,” said Dave, “I can't use no snuff of late
yeers. 'Fection of the nose; makes me sneeze dreffle.”

“Oh! Eh bien! C'est comme il faut. I mean dat is all
right, vare good, mistare. Now, den, Monsieur l'Avocat, I mean
ze lawyare, he is ready to read ze contract.”

“Cawntrack? Oh! yes, that's right. We Americans marry
without a cawntrack, you see. But I like cawntracks myself.
It's my business, cawntracking is, you know. Fire away whenever
you're ready, mister.” This last to the lawyer, who was
waiting to read.

Dave sat, with a knowing air, listening to the legal phraseology
as though he had been used to marriage contracts from
infancy. He was pleased with the notion of being betrothed
in this awful diplomatic fashion. It accorded with his feelings
to think that he was worth ten thousand dollars and the exhaustive
verbiage of this formidable cawntrack.

But at last the lawyer read a part which made him open his eyes.

Something about its being further stipulated that the said
David Sawney, of the first part, in and for the consideration
named, “hereby binds himself to have the children which shall
issue from this marriage educated in the Roman Catholic faith,”
caught his ears.

“Hold on, mister, I can't sign that! I a'n't over-pertikeler
about who I marry, but I can't go that.”

“What part do you object to?”

“Well, ef I understand them words you've got kiled up
there—an' I'm purty middlin' smart at big words, you see—I'm
to eddicate the children in the Catholic faith, as you call it.”

“Yes, that is it.”

“Out! vare good. Dat I must inseest on,” said Perritaut.

“Well, I a'n't nothin' in a religious way, but I can't stan'
that air. I'm too well raised. I kin marry a Injin, but to sell
out my children afore they're born to Catholic priests, I couldn't
do that air ef you planked down two ten thousands.”

And upon this point Dave stuck. There is a sentiment
down somewhere in almost any man, and there was this one
point of conscience with Dave. And there was likewise this
one scruple with Perritaut. And these opposing scruples in
two men who had not many, certainly, turned the scale and
gave the county-seat to Metropolisville, for Dave told all his
Southern Illinois friends that if the county-seat should remain
at Perritaut, the Catholics would build a nunnery an' a caythedral
there, and then none of their daughters would be safe.
These priests was a-lookin' arter the comin' generation. And
besides, Catholics and Injins wouldn' have a good influence on
the moral and religious kerecter of the kyounty. The influence
of half-breeds was a bad thing fer civilization. Ef a man was
half-Injin, he was half-Injin, and you couldn't make him white
noways. And Dave distributed freely deeds to some valueless
outlots, which Plausaby had given him for the purpose.