Mark Gildersleeve Part 9

X.

"Bet you hundred to eighty--hundred dollars to eighty--eighty--old man's 'lected!" were Jack Heath's exclamations, as he stood rather unsteadily in the bar-room of the Obershaw House, thumping his fist on the counter.

It was the night before election day, and of course the bar-room of the Obershaw House, the headquarters of Mr. Heath's party, was thronged with politicians and loungers, drinking, smoking, and discussing the chances of the candidates for office; for we should state that the Hon. Rufus Heath had succeeded in his efforts to obtain the nomination for the governorship, as the numerous posters on the dead walls of Belton, headed "CONSERVATIVE UNION NOMINATIONS," staringly announced.

Jack Heath had been for a week on what he called a "tare," and had but just "brought up" at the hotel. He was still a little "sprung," as the bar-tender qualified it, but had an eye to business nevertheless, as he seemed anxious to secure bets on his father's election. "A hundred to eighty--bet any man hundred to eighty old man's 'lected. Come, I'll make it hundred to fifty--fifty, who'll take that?"

"I will--just for a flyer," responded a short red-whiskered man, who kept a livery stable in the town; "I'll take it."

"Put up the ducats, Hank--put 'em up! Here, Bangs, old fel, hold stakes, will you? All right--hundred to fifty more! Who's next man?"

"Here you are," said another individual. "Going to vote for the old man too, but I'll take your offer for the fun o' the thing."

Jack fumbled away at his pocket-book, drawing out the bank-notes and laying them in Bangs the landlord's hand with drunken solemnity and slowness. He found no lack of takers, and soon stripped himself of money to back his father's chances. Then a little contention arose about the count, and Jack indulged in a good deal of abuse and swearing. However, the party being in good humor, coaxed him, and vowed he was the best fellow alive; so Jack, mollified, ordered a basket of champagne to be opened, and "Here's to our next Governor, Rufus Heath!" was drunk with three times three and a "tiger." Then Jack, a little more inebriated, withdrew to play billiards, at which game he was an adept, and in spite of his condition he made some excellent caroms, better than many sober players could achieve; but he also missed some easy shots, and his anger rising at that, he dashed his cue savagely at the table, ripping up the green cloth so that Bangs had it down on the bill against him in no time. Then Jack ordered more wine, telling Bangs to charge it to the old man's account for "'lection spenshes," and again the company were called upon to toast the future Governor of the "Jersey Blues," which they did vociferously.

Now Jack, pulling out his watch, stared at it stupidly for some time, until a dim notion coming to him that he was too tipsy to discriminate between the hands, he requested somebody to tell him the time. "Pas'

twelve, eh? Time I was home--mus' go home early--got work to do to-morrow morning--old man's 'lection day."

"Better stay here to-night, Mr. Heath," said the hotel-keeper, who was familiar with Jack's habits. "We'll take good care of you. I've got a nice room all ready and comfortable for you, and you'll be fresh and fine for to-morrow's work."

"All right, Tommy Bangs, old fel. Let's have night-caps all round 'fore we turns in, eh? Whiskey-skins, Bangsey. Stiff, and not too sweet.

Charge old man 'lection spenshes."

The whiskey-skins being disposed of, Mr. Bangs and his bar-tender led Jack tenderly up the stairs, and put him away comfortably to bed.

About the time he awoke the next morning the election was in full blast.

The population were entirely given over to the business, and Belton was emblazoned with multi-colored placards, calling upon the citizens to "awake," to "arouse," and above all to "rally." Wagons decorated with long muslin strips bearing the name of a prominent candidate, and some watchword of uncertain application, such as "No monopoly,"

"Working-men's Rights," and the like, were driven about gathering voters, who were stimulated to exercise the right of suffrage in the right direction by the stirring notes of a fish-horn, blown by an active partisan alongside of the driver.

The polls were surrounded by a motley crowd of fellow-citizens, who beset the wayfarer with importunities to vote for this or that candidate; and as each wagon drove up and deposited its load of voters the new-comers were received with hurrahs and friendly hustlings. The master of the Archimedes Works was conspicuous and ubiquitous, shouldering his burly frame through the thickest crowds, jeering his opponents, joking with his friends, and airing his wallet on the slightest provocation. Jack Heath, owing to his exertions on the previous evening, did not make his appearance on the scene of action until mid-day, but his presence infused new vigor in the contest. A crowd of henchmen were at his heels, and the bar of the Obershaw House dispensed strong waters and tobacco, galore and gratuitous, to all the supporters of the "Heath ticket" who chose to partake. And as many so chose, the bar-tender and his a.s.sistants had their hands full, you may depend, for the thirst of people who appease it at another's expense is sufficient to appall the stoutest stomach.

As the day waned, the fellow-citizens merry with potations deep disported themselves with antics gay. Individuals were bonneted; ballots, those executors of the freeman's will, were scattered to the winds; and the ticket-distributors who were unlucky enough to be caught in their boxes found themselves suddenly in a topsy-turvy position, heels in the air, and kicking wildly to extricate themselves, to the intense enjoyment of the hilarious and playful electors. At sunset the polls closed, and the citizens who had rallied so n.o.bly repaired to their homes, with the exception of some zealous politicians who remained to learn the result of the voting. The bar-rooms were still tumultuous with the wrangling of excited partisans, and Jack Heath lorded it at the Obershaw House, but he soon succ.u.mbed to the fatigues of the day, and was kindly put to bed by considerate Mr. Bangs at an early hour.

The Hon. Rufus Heath remained at home during the eventful day. He had no doubt as to the result of the election, and felt certain that he would carry it. Candidates always feel so. The amazing self-conceit that induces every ticket-holder in a lottery to expect a prize would permit no other supposition than one of success. Still, being a cautious man, he was anxious to have his belief corroborated. Meanwhile so confident was he of the issue, that he employed himself in preparing a draught of his inaugural address, and revolving in his mind a proper disposition of his affairs preparatory to a removal of his home to the capital of the State. He antic.i.p.ated, too, no little gratification in teaching his opponent a lesson, for he deemed it no less than a piece of impertinence that an obscure village lawyer, who had acquired some cheap fame by vulgar appeals as a stump speaker, should presume to cross swords with him in a contest for position. At length night came, and towards ten o'clock a messenger brought various returns that had been announced, almost all indicating majorities in his favor. He went to bed, but found it difficult to court slumber with such a stake still weighing in the balance. The next morning he became rather uneasy as the minutes pa.s.sed and no friend came to congratulate him on the result. Mumbie, he certainly expected would have been on hand betimes. The newspaper, too, did not arrive at the usual hour, delayed probably to give the latest results of the canva.s.sing. At length it came, and he saw at a glance from the returns of certain decisive counties that he was defeated.

The editor endeavored to depreciate the importance of these indications by stating that the final result was still in doubt; that later news might alter the complexion of things, etc. But Mr. Heath was not to be deluded by such a.s.sertions, and was convinced that he and his party had lost. As the first check in a career of uninterrupted prosperity, it proved a bitter disappointment; so bitter, that he lost his temper--an unusual occurrence for him--swore at James for some trivial offence, snarled at Mrs. Applegate, and snubbed poor Mumbie, who had come rather blunderingly to sympathize with him. To one unaccustomed to obstacles and reverses they come with double severity, and Mr. Heath took his defeat deeply to heart. Friends, to be sure, proffered condolences, advising him to try again; that in the next attempt he would certainly be successful, etc., etc.; but a sense of discouragement had taken possession of him which no sympathy or counsel could remove. Probably the bitterest pill to swallow was the discovery that his own county and town had given a large majority against him. He was much surprised at this, being utterly unconscious of his personal unpopularity. Small comfort he got too from George Gildersleeve, who never spared a beaten adversary, and gripping the patrician's hand when he met him a few days after, bade him be of good cheer in such words as these: "Sorry for you, Heath, but it couldn't be helped. I could have told you how it would be.

Too much of the old Democratic leaven about here. This county cooked your mutton, and I carry it in my breeches pocket. Liked to have helped you--you're an old friend; but you can't expect us to desert our life-long principles, scratch our ticket, and go for outsiders when the woolly-heads are getting so rampant. There is no safety in these times but sticking to the old ship. But I wouldn't be down in the mouth about it. If you'll only come round to our side of the house, I'll engage to send a good-looking man of about your size to Trenton or Washington. You ought to be there; you've got the brains, and have forgotten more than half those fellers ever knew; but you ain't the right stripe, that's the trouble, and you're on the wrong track."

Mr. Heath endeavored to take this advice good-humoredly, and attempted a smile at the blunt sallies; but the smile was a forced one, or a "yellow laugh," as the French express it.

XI.

It was long past midnight, and between the small hours that usher in the light of a new day, when the stillness of the mansion on the cliff was broken by a piercing shriek. It was an appalling cry of distress that awoke the slumberers and froze the timid ones to their couches with fear. Mr. Heath sprang from his bed, and ran precipitately to his daughter-in-law's apartment, whence the cry proceeded. Poor Mercedita met him at the door in her night-dress, and in answer to his inquiries pointed in speechless horror at the floor of her dressing-room, where lay stiff and stark the body of her husband!

Jack Heath had come home the previous night for the first time since his fortnight's debauch. He was in a shocking condition, with filthy clothes, and a bad bruise over one eye, resulting, doubtless, from a fall. His wife, incensed at his conduct, refused to speak or notice him; and Jack, still tipsily stupid, threw himself on a lounge in the dressing-room to sleep. During the night he awoke; tormented by the "horrors," and thirsting for some stimulating liquid, he seized a crystal flask of cologne that lay on the toilet-table, and drank it to appease the infernal craving that possessed him. The congested condition of his brain, super-excited by this fiery draught, induced apoplexy, and the stroke was fatal. His wife, asleep in the adjoining room, awoke soon after, and not hearing his usual heavy breathing, was much surprised.

She imagined he must have left the room, and after waiting awhile, arose from her bed, went into the dressing-room, where there was a dim light burning, and found that he had fallen from the lounge and lay on the floor. She shook him without effect; raised his arm--it fell rigidly.

She tried to arouse him, called him loudly, but the dull ear heard not, for the sleep that bound him knew no waking; and then, as the truth flashed on her, with a shriek she summoned the household. They led her away, agitated, probably, more by terror than grief, but Mr. Heath remained gazing at the corpse of his only son. What a spectacle to meet a father's eye was this inert bulk, repulsive with the stigmas of dissipation fresh upon it! In the middle ages the heir of the house fell in battle, killed perhaps by the shot of an arquebuse or the blow of a partisan; or he met his death in some midnight encounter, and was brought home with a broken rapier and doublet dripping with blood--there is romance in that. But now he falls a victim to the bottle, and furnishes but a vulgar theme. Nevertheless the drama is none the less real. Mr. Heath's contemplation was sad, but full of worldly reasoning.

The curse of unearned wealth, he mused, has fallen on my son. Had he been the child of a bricklayer or born to labor, he would have been alive now; or had not the blood of the Obershaws with its coa.r.s.e appet.i.tes, predominated, he might have been an honor to me. Unmoved remained Mr. Heath as he philosophized thus, until the sight of his daughter's emotion, as she covered her dead brother's face with tears and kisses, stirred the parent within him, and his eyes clouded and cold features relaxed.

Another funeral, another solemn procession to the tolling of the bell of St. Jude's, and the body of John Peter Heath was laid beside that of his grandsire in the family vault, in the yard of the little church.

XII.

Six months pa.s.sed away.

The young widow had left Belton, which had never possessed any charms for her, to visit her maternal relatives in the island of Cuba. It was doubtless a relief, as she had never known any happiness during her wedded life. Her departure increased the sense of loneliness that pervaded her former home, for it now seemed enveloped in an atmosphere of gloom. Mr. Heath was rigid in all the observances of mourning. The entrance gates to his grounds, which were formerly always kept hospitably wide open, were now as constantly closed, and the domestics wore black. As for Mr. Heath, he had lapsed into a singular state of taciturnity, and sought seclusion. It was evident that he no longer possessed the energetic and elastic spirit of his younger days. Then disappointment would have spurred him to increased exertion, but now the repeated blows dealt at him by destiny and the approach of old age, though hardly perceptible in his still erect and vigorous frame, were telling on the springs of action.

There are periods in a man's existence when he pauses to review his life. It is true such periods rarely occur to the slaves of vice, or to those under the dominion of a ruling pa.s.sion, and perhaps never to the robust individual of limited ideas to whom the mere act of existing is a pleasure; but they come repeatedly to the free intellect, perhaps at the very instant of realization of some long toiled-for or expected success, or at the moment of disappointment, to ask it what it is living for, and whither it tends? Such questions never enter the head of men like old John Peter Obershaw, nor disturb the tough self-satisfaction of those like George Gildersleeve; but the texture of Mr. Heath's mind, when at rest, was impressionable, and its subtle energy liable to relax and weaken. We have related how he succ.u.mbed to despondency on his succession to the immense wealth of his father-in-law, and although this feeling was soon shaken off and banished in the pursuit of ambitious projects, it now returned as the blight on his ambition, and death of his only son pressed the iron through a heart enamelled by worldliness.

As time wore on, his sorrow, instead of diminishing, seemed to increase, and an expression of deep chagrin settled permanently on his countenance. He apparently lost all interest in his great work, the "Federal Code," and the secretary who had a.s.sisted him in its preparation was dismissed. He seldom left the house now, spending his time chiefly in the library engaged in meditation, or in the occasional perusal of a chapter of Jeremy Taylor or some other standard theological work. He even seemed to shun his family, and ceased to manifest interest in his daughter. Edna, quick to discern this change in her father's habits, attributed it solely to the death of her brother, and dreading the effects of prolonged grief, strove with the a.s.sistance of her aunt to divert his mind; but to little purpose. Each time that they tried to interest him in household matters, or to enliven him, they met with a rebuff. Even Mr. Abbott, who endeavored to bring balm and consolation, found his counsel unacceptable, and the worthy young minister did not repeat the attempt. In short, the man of even temper, the polished gentleman, was becoming irascible, and it was a relief to the family to learn one morning that Mr. Heath, to improve his health and divert his mind, or for some other unexplained reason, had determined to set off on a journey.

Edna, too, had certain perturbations of mind and heart to contend with--ideas and reflections that would obtrude upon her, and that, although temporarily banished during the period of mourning, reappeared with greater frequency when her sorrow became a.s.suaged. These thoughts dated from the time of her meeting with Mark Gildersleeve, when he avowed she inspired his poetic flights. In her simple estimation, his verses were productions of merit and beauty; and there was something extremely pleasing in the thought of having long been the object of the hidden admiration and laudation of a young man gifted with such talent, and splendid eyes. Fred Spooner, to be sure, was taller and had red cheeks, but then Fred's knowledge, although a Harvard undergraduate, did not seem to transcend dogs. He could entertain her only with the exploits of his bull-terrier Spot among the rats, or discuss the beauties of his diminutive black-and-tan Spark; while Mark knew ever so many things, could quote Tennyson or Browning as readily as Mr. Abbott, could work a steam-engine, and sang superbly; while all Fred Spooner could do in that way was to roar, sadly out of tune, the touching lay of "The Lone Fish-ball," or "Shool." Perhaps Mark might become, in time, as celebrated as Dante or Petrarch, and she would be immortalized like Beatrice and Laura. Edna could not help dwelling on the flattering idea, until it took root in her gentle heart. In short, Miss Heath was fast drifting into love, and not a little surprised to find how constantly her thoughts would revert to the young engineer, in spite of her exertions to employ them otherwise. Perhaps, these exertions were not very strenuous, for the girl was of an unsophisticated nature, and not disposed to be rebellious; hence she yielded to her inclinations more readily than the circ.u.mspect daughter of a rigid precept-inculcating mamma.

At this time the gigantic conspiracy of the Secessionists culminated, and the demon of Civil War, that Mr. Heath and his conservative coadjutors had vainly attempted to exorcise, bristled his angry crest.

One morning the portentous news came that the first hostile shot had been fired by the South. Instantly, the faithful in all parts of the North sprang to arms to avenge the insult offered to the glorious old standard of the nation. Peaceful Belton partook of the patriotic ardor, and manifested its loyalty by a profuse display of bunting. Party differences were forgotten, and Republicans and Democrats, Free-soilers and Conservatives, native and foreign-born citizens, all joined in protesting their devotion to the Union, and their determination to defend it to the last. George Gildersleeve, who, moved by his antipathy to the abolitionists, had been inclined to excuse the threats of the Southerners, now turned against them, and came out wonderfully strong for the Union, accompanying his loyal protestations with frequent allusions to the immortal Washington, and the patriotic services of his grandsire in the horse-shoeing line; in testimony whereof the Archimedes Works flaunted a starry banner of magnificent dimensions. A ma.s.s-meeting of the citizens to take measures towards the suppression of the rebellion was at once held in the public square. This square was the pnyx or forum of the Beltonians. In the centre a Phrygian cap was borne skyward by a tall liberty-pole, whose base was defended by a rusty old carronade, which was popularly supposed to have done wonders in freedom's cause during the trying days of Seventy-six, and was venerated accordingly; the probability being that it had never inflicted other damage than scorching some of the amateur artillerists, who every Fourth of July put the superannuated piece to use in firing salutes. At the meeting, though, it formed an appropriate b.u.t.tress to the temporary stand erected for the orators, and gave a stern dignity to the occasion.

In the absence of Judge Hull and Mr. Heath, who were both away from home, George Gildersleeve was called upon to preside; but fluent as honest George was in a caucus or sidewalk harangue, he lost his tongue on the rostrum, where he prefigured too closely his boasted porcine model of independence, and hence was forced to decline the proffered honor. Mr. Mumbie was then pitched upon as a proper figure-head, but he also declined, having the fear of Mrs. Mumbie, whose sympathies were with the South, before his eyes. At length a chairman was found in Mr.

Poplin, the owner of the silk-mill, and the meeting proceeded with spirit. Stirring addresses were made--a deal of enthusiasm evoked, and a string of resolutions pa.s.sed unanimously. The practical result was the decision to organize without delay a "Home Guard," and George was appointed captain of the first company. Vague apprehensions were afloat among the staid denizens that Beauregard and the South Carolinians might invade Belton, and the patersfamilias of the town had made up their minds not to be caught unprepared, but to be ready to strike doughtily for their altars and firesides at a moment's notice. So in less than twenty-four hours, fifty-three good and true men were enrolled in this formidable legion, and committees appointed to procure arms and uniforms. Considerable agitation was manifested over the selection of the latter. By virtue of his calling, Mr. Muldoon, a tailor, was chairman of the committee on uniforms, and moved probably by personal predilections, reported on "grane" as the most appropriate color; from which Snopple, the minority, dissented, and recommended, with an eye to the picturesque, the old Continental blue and buff, with a cavalier hat.

But this recommendation was not acted upon, the suggested costume being voted unsuitable for "hard service," and as the Guards intended adopting the rifle as their weapon, Mr. Muldoon's "grane" carried the day, with red seams and yellow facings, however, in deference to the aesthetic feelings of the wily Snopple, who foresaw an increase of patronage growing out of this invest.i.ture. Among the junior members of the community, the warlike spirit rose equally high, but took a different direction. Of them all, none was more deeply stirred by the electric current of patriotism than Mark. From the outbreak of the conflict, his blood tingled to join in the fray. He flung aside all other occupations, and threw his whole soul into the popular cause. Let us confess, though, that he was not purely unselfish in his eagerness, for he foresaw a new avenue to fame, and one where the goal was more accessible to a determined mind than in the path he was pursuing. As a poet, mediocrity at the utmost was all, he was forced to admit, that he could ever hope for. But in war, what was there beyond the reach of a stout heart and true blade? He felt brave enough to cast his life in the scale if need be, and stake it for renown. Glory is a tempting bait for hot-heads and enthusiastic natures, and its sway over Mark was irresistible. Beyond glory, too, there was a sweeter, dearer reward that he might win. A guerdon fit to nerve even a craven to prowess.

"By c.o.c.k and pie and mousefoot! my lad, but this is serious," quoth Dr.

Wattletop, when Mark imparted his intention of turning soldier. "Fired by bellicose ardor, we burn to seize the anlace and cry havoc, eh?

Nonsense," was the commentary that followed. "Believe me, my boy, stick to your innocent amus.e.m.e.nts. Permute the syllables of our n.o.ble tongue into new and strange rhythmical combinations as much as you please, but seek not the bubble reputation by checking musket-b.a.l.l.s in their mad career. Stick to the shop, Mark, to itrochoidal paths and spheric sectors. 'Honor, indeed, who hath it? He that died o' Wednesday.' Stick to the shop, I tell you. You're a promising engineer, and there's glory enough to be acquired as such, and better still, money."

"Very true, doctor," answered Mark with a smile. "That _is_ an inducement. You know how devoted I am to its acquisition."

"More's the pity, my lad, more's the pity. The sceptre that rules the world in this century is a golden one. However, I was young myself once--long, long ago, I'm sorry to say--and can appreciate your sublime disdain of opulence. But what has started you off on this new path, may I ask?"

"The duty I owe my country--patriotism," exclaimed Mark rather proudly.

"Patriotism--umph! The last refuge of a scoundrel, as Dr. Johnson said.

Have you no worthier motive? Forgive me, my boy, I don't intend any personal application--it's a quotation that occurred to me. But patriotism has an exceedingly bad reputation, permit me to say, and is responsible for more crimes than liberty and religion combined. _Dulce et decorum est_, and so forth, 'Fidelity to one's country right or wrong,' may be fine ringing mottoes; but after all, the incentive is vain and selfish. Patriotism is the parent of national prejudice, and prejudices of all kinds are the greatest foes to justice. In the year A.D. 18,000, when 'man to man the warl o'er shall brithers be for a'

that,' patriotism will be looked upon as a species of fetichism.

Patriotism! I dislike it almost as much as I do generosity. Still, if you must kill, kill for some other cause. Here you Yankees are breathing fire and slaughter because a portion of your countrymen choose to follow the example of their forefathers. They are rebels and traitors and what not, because they follow in the footsteps of the men of '76, as you call them. The great question which underlies it all is apparently set aside and overlooked. The rallying cry is not the extinction of slavery; not freedom to fellow-beings from an undeserved servitude; not justice; but the Union--whatever that may be--and patriotism forsooth! the slogan that has marshalled unnumbered hosts to the perpetration of so many wrongs, and which is only, if I may so define it, disguised selfishness, as loyalty is after all but refined sn.o.bbishness."