Tales of Aztlan Part 6

Foreboding evil it announced the knight-errant of never-ending s.p.a.ce, a wicked comet. To Arizona gave he playthings many: the rattlesnake, hairy tarantelas and stinging scorpions, horned toads and centipedes, a scented hydrophobia-cat, the Gila monster, a Mexican and the Apache; also a th.o.r.n.y cactus plant.

Anon the tricky Ha.s.sayampa rose from his source. On mischief bent he overflowed his bed, teasing the infant Arizona. He worried her, poor dearie--dear till she shed tears and nature adding to the gush of waters there flowed a brackish stream away; now named Saltriver and on its banks nested the Phoenix.

From Elysium in his chariot descended then the sunG.o.d to nurse his infant daughter. He dried the Ha.s.sayampa's bed in the hot desert sand and where man-like, incautiously he scorched the hem of Arizona's dress--where now lies Yuma--there the temperature rose ten degrees hotter than hades; but luckily since then it has cooled off as much.

The happy maiden smiled with joy as Apollo kissed her long and often.

He took the turquoise from the skies, an emblem of unfaltering faith.

It and a lock of shining hair he gave her. That hid she in her rocky bed where it became gold of the mint; the filthy lucre of unworthiness and avarice, a blessing when in charity bestowed; a boon as the reward of honest labor!

With lengthening shadows Luna, night's gentle G.o.ddess came, a full mile nearer to Arizona than to other lands beaming her softest rays over the sleeping child. Under the lunar kisses woke Arizona and stored the moonshine in her gown. That nature has transformed to silver; serving the poor man as his needed coin.

In sadness waned the moon, for caught between the horns of a dilemma she had no wealth left to endow the infant with. Intemperate habits had the G.o.ddess always, was often full and now reduced to her last quarter, but that was waning fast and her man's shadow also growing less. Her semi-transparent stone, alas! had given she long since to California, but this proudest of all daughters of the seas did not appreciate the kindly gift. She cast it on the white sands of her beaches where it is gathered by the thankful tourist who shouts exultantly, delighted with his find:

The moonstone, climate, atmosphere, The only things free-gratis here-- Eureka!

I have found!

A ROYAL FIASCO.

(HISTORICAL ANECDOTES.)

A village on the coast of northern Germany, where the Elbe flows into the North Sea, was my birthplace, its parsonage, my childhood's home.

Two great earth-dikes which sheltered our village from fierce southwesterly gales were the only barrier standing between untold thousands of lives and watery graves, for the coasts of Holland and northern Germany are below the level of high tides.

It is known that through inundations caused by breaks in these levees, occurring as late as the tenth and eleventh centuries of our era more than three hundred thousand persons with all their domestic cattle were drowned over night.

These dikes which extend for many miles along the banks of the river were erected by the systematic herculean toil of generations of our ancestors.

According to a popular tradition it was Rolof, the dwarf, a thrall of Vulcan, who taught my forefathers the art of forging tools from iron ore, enabling them to battle successfully against the might of Neptune.

They blunted the angry sea-G.o.d's trident with their plows and shovels and repulsed him at the very threshold of his element, stemming the inroads of hungry seas with their stupendous handiwork which still stands intact, an imposing monument to the memory of my forebears, being their children's children's most precious inheritance.

On the soil which my ancestors reclaimed from the sea they founded their homes and sowed gra.s.ses and cereals.

But ere long a dire calamity came over the land, for at the command of the revengeful Neptune his mermaids spewed sea-foam into the river's fresh water addling it with their fish-tails into a nasty brine.

Luckily the good dwarf who in his youth had served his term of apprenticeship at the court of King Gambrinus and was therefore master of the n.o.ble craft of brewing kindly taught my forefathers to brew a foaming draught from the malt of barleycorn, which thereafter they drank instead of water.

And now all seafaring men who navigate the river Elbe between Cuxhaven and Hamburg are still troubled with a tremendous thirst which nothing but foaming lager beer may quench.

The founding of the village's church dates from the conversion of Saxon tribes who inhabited that country. The chapel's original walls were built of rock, but its newer part was constructed of brick-work during the fourteenth century.

Our domicile, the parsonage, although not quite as ancient, was a very picturesque ruin with its moss-covered roof of thatched straw, under which a flock of sparrows made their homes; but a modern building, how prosaic-looking it might be, or deficient in uniqueness and the charm of its surroundings, would undeniably have made a better, more sanitary and comfortable residence.

Mother, at least, thought this when father landed her, his blushing bride at the ancient parsonage in a rain storm which compelled them to retire for the night under the shelter of an umbrella; and thus the honeymoon of their married life waxed with uncommon hardship.

Later the old leaky house received a tile roof, part of it was removed and with it the room where first I saw the light of day.

That was a cold day for father indeed, as there was another mouth to be fed then, a very serious problem for a poor parson to solve.

When my aunt remarked that I looked like a "monk" father eyed me thoughtfully, saying: "Perhaps there is something to Darwin's theory after all," but mother took me to her arms, withering her sister with scornful glances of her flashing eyes. "Certainly does he look like a monk, the poor little tiddledee-diddy darling," she said; "what else would you expect of him, being the son of a preacher and a descendant of priests?"

On a certain fateful summer day when a.s.sembled at dinner we heard the rumble of wheels as an imperial post-chaise hove into view, lumbering lazily past the parsonage.

The postillion's horn sounded a letter-call and my sisters rushed out, racing over our lawn to the gate, in order to take the message. They returned with a large envelope bearing great official seals, both girls struggling for its possession and fighting like cats for the privilege of carrying the precious doc.u.ment. Mother's face was wreathed in smiles of ecstacy.

"Your salary, papa," she whispered, but father was very solemn. "No, dear, it is not due," he answered. He took the missive from my sister's hands and turned it over and over, guessing at its contents until mother who was favored with more of that quality which is commonly called "presence of mind" urged him to open it, and see.

An ashen pallor spread over father's countenance, the letter dropped from his hand and he would have fallen if mother had not caught him in her arms. She grabbed the evil message, slipping it into the bosom of her gown, where it could do no further harm.

Then she guided father's faltering steps to the sanct.i.ty of his studio, where he wrote his sermons and closed the door.

My sisters availed themselves of the opportunity to make a raid on mother's pantry, but I, poor little innocent, waited in the corridor for mother's return, dreading to hear the worst. I heard my dear father groan aloud and bemoan his fate and listened to mother's soothing sympathetic words as she begged father to be calm and bear it like a man and a Christian.

When at last mother came out I flew to her. She took me to her arms, kissing my tear-stained face.

"Poor little boy," she said, "cheer up and you shall have a big cookie, don't you cry!"

"Oh, mamma," I faltered, "will papa die?"

"No, sonny, that he won't," said she with a determined glint of her eyes and a twitching of the corners of her mouth, "for I won't let him; but he does suffer anguish!"

"Oh, tell me, mamma, what misfortune has befallen us," I cried.

"It is very sad," said mother. "Your father, who is the finest speaker in the country, has been commanded by a worshipful senate and most honorable civic corporation of the Free City of Hamburg to appear before the visiting king in full dress, and officiate as orator of the day at a reception to be tendered his majesty by our city"--here mother broke down completely, overwhelmed by grief and wept copiously into her handkerchief.

"Oh, oh," I wailed, "do say it, mamma!"

"And--and your father has no coat!" she sobbed. "Poor man, he fears disgrace and dreads the loss of preferment and of a royal decoration, perhaps. He will have to feign sickness as an excuse for his absence; but I hope he realizes now how degraded and unhappy I must feel with my last year's gowns and made-over millinery--and your poor sister's ancient bonnets, I dare not look at them any longer!"

"But papa has a coat," I said, "a royal Prince Albert!"

"True," answered mother, "but it has no swallow's tails!"

"A Prince Albert has no swallow-tails?" I gasped wonderingly; "but it has great, long tails, surely!"

"Oh, now I see," an idea flashing through my mind; "it has c.o.c.k-tails, has it, mamma, and it can't swallow them, can it, mamma?"

"Oh my, oh my!" screamed mother, "you are the funniest little chap to ask me questions. Go, ask p.u.s.s.y!"

Then I went into the back yard to interview my favorite playmate, our big, black tomcat, and aroused him from his cat nap. But he blinked sleepily only, saying nothing.

However, speech was not to be denied me in that manner, for I held the combination which unlocks the portals of silence. I gave the handle a double twist and he spat and spluttered: "Sh--sh--sht--t--t!"