One Of Them

The madly excited look of the man, his staring eyes, retreating forehead, and restless features made Layton suspect he was insane, and he would gladly have retired from an interview that promised so little success; but the other walked deliberately round, and, barring the passage to the door, stood with his arms crossed before him.

“You think I don’t know you, but I do; I heerd of you eight weeks ago; I knew you was comin’, but darm me all blue if you shall have it. Come out into the orchard; come out, I say, and let’s see who’s the best man. You think you ‘ll come here and make this like the Astor House, don’t ye? and there ‘ll be five or six hundred every night pressing up to the bar for bitters and juleps, just because you have the place? But I say Dan Heron ain’t a-goin’ to quit; he stands here like old Hickory in the mud-fort, and says, try and turn me out.”

By the time the altercation had reached thus far, Layton saw that a crowd of some five-and-twenty or thirty persons had assembled outside the door, and were evidently enjoying the scene with no common zest. Indeed, their mutterings of “Dan ‘s a-givin’ it to him,” “Dan ‘s full steam up,” and so on, showed where their sympathies inclined. Some, however, more kindly-minded, and moved by the unfriended position of the stranger, good-naturedly interposed, and, having obtained Layton’s sincere and willing assurance that he never harbored a thought of becoming proprietor of the Temple, nor had he the very vaguest notion of settling down at Bunkumville in any capacity, peace was signed, and Mr. Heron consented to receive him as a guest.

Taking a key from a nail on the wall, Dan Heron preceded him to a small chamber, where a truckle-bed, a chair, and a basin on the floor formed the furniture; but he promised a table, and if the stay of the stranger warranted the trouble, some other “fixin’s” in a day or two.

“You can come and eat a bit with me about sun-down,” said Dan, doggedly, as he withdrew, for he was not yet quite satisfied what projects the stranger nursed in his bosom.

Resolved to make the best of a situation not over-promising, to go with the humor of his host so far as he could, and even, where possible, try and derive some amusement from his eccentricities, Layton presented himself punctually at meal-time. The supper was laid out in a large kitchen, where an old negress officiated as cook. It was abundant and savory; there was every imaginable variety of bread, and the display of dishes was imposing. The circumstance was, however, explained by Heron’s remarking that it was the supper of the officers of the detachment they were eating, a sudden call to the frontier having that same morning arrived, and to this lucky accident were they indebted for this abundance.

An apple-brandy “smash” of Mr. Heron’s own devising wound up the meal, and the two lighted their cigars, and in all the luxurious ease of their rocking-chairs, enjoyed their post-prandial elysium.

“Them boots of yours is English make,” was Mr. Heron’s first remark, after a long pause.

“Yes, London,” was the brief reply.

“I ‘ve been there; I don’t like it.”

Layton muttered some expression of regret at this sentiment; but the other not heeding went on: —

“I ‘ve seen most parts of the world, but there ain’t anything to compare with this.”

Layton was not certain whether it was the supremacy of America he asserted, or the city of Bunkumville in particular, but he refrained from inquiring, preferring to let the other continue; nor did he seem at all unwilling. He went on to give a half-connected account of a migratory adventurous sort of life at home and abroad. He had been a cook on shipboard, a gold-digger, an auctioneer, a showman, dealt in almost every article of commerce, smuggled opium into China and slaves into New Orleans, and with all his experiences had somehow or other not hit upon the right road to fortune. Not, indeed, that he distrusted his star, – far from it. He believed himself reserved for great things, and never felt more certain of being within their reach than at this moment.

“It was I made this city we ‘re in, sir,” said he, proudly. “I built all that mass yonder, – Briggs Block; I built the house we ‘re sitting in; I built that Apollonicon, the music-hall you saw as you came in, and I lectured there too; and if it were not for an old ‘rough’ that won’t keep off his bitters early of a mornin’, I ‘d be this day as rich as John Jacob Astor: that’s what’s ruined me, sir. I brought him from New York with me down here, and there ‘s nothing from a bird-cage to a steam-boiler that fellow can’t make you when he’s sober, – ay, and describe it too. If you only heerd him talk! Well, he made a telegraph here, and set two saw-mills a-goin’, and made a machine for getting the salt out of that lake yonder, and then took to manufacturing macaroni and gunpowder, and some dye-stuff out of oak bark; and what will you say, stranger, when I tell you that he sold each of these inventions for less than gave him a week’s carouse? And now I have him here, under lock and key, waiting till he comes to hisself, which he’s rather long about this time.”

“Is he ill?” asked Layton.

“Well, you can’t say exactly he’s all right; he gave hisself an ugly gash with a case-knife on the neck, and tried to blow hisself up arter with some combustible stuff, so that he’s rather black about the complexion; and then he’s always a-screechin’ and yellin’ for drink, but I go in at times with a heavy whip, and he ain’t unreasonable then.”

“He’s mad, in fact,” said Layton, gravely.

“I only wish you and I was as sane, stranger,” said the other. “There ain’t that place on the globe old Poll, as we call him, could n’t make a livin’ in; he’s a man as could help a minister with his discourse, or teach a squaw how to work moccasins. I don’t know what your trade is, but I ‘ll be bound he knows something about it you never heerd of.”

Mr. Heron went on to prove how universally gifted his friend was by mentioning how, on his first arrival, he gave a course of lectures on a plan which assuredly might have presented obstacles to many. It was only when the room was filled, and the public itself consulted, that the theme of the lecture was determined; so that the speaker was actually called upon, without a moment for preparation, to expatiate upon any given subject. Nor was the test less trying that the hearers were plain practical folk, who usually propounded questions in which they possessed some knowledge themselves. How to open a new clearing, what treatment to apply to the bite of the whipsnake, by what contrivance to economize water in mills, how to tan leather without oak bark, – such and such-like were the theses placed before him, matters on which the public could very sufficiently pronounce themselves. Old Poll, it would seem, had sustained every test, and come through every ordeal of demand victorious. While the host thus continued to expatiate on this man’s marvellous gifts, Layton fell a-thinking whether this might not be the very spot he sought for, and this the audience before whom he could experiment on as a public speaker. It was quite evident that the verdict could confer little either of distinction or disparagement: success or failure were, as regarded the future, not important. If, however, he could succeed in interesting them at all, – if he could make the themes of which they had never so much as heard in any way amusing or engaging, – it would be a measure of what he might attain with more favorable hearers. He at once propounded his plan to Mr. Heron, not confessing, however, that he meditated a first attempt, but speaking as an old and practised lecturer.

“What can you give ‘em, sir? They ‘re horny-handed and flat-footed folk down here, but they ‘ll not take an old hen for a Bucks county chicken, I tell you!”

“I am a little in your friend Poll’s line,” said Layton, good-humoredly. “I could talk to them about history, and long ago; what kind of men ruled amongst Greeks and Romans; what sort of wars they waged; how they colonized, and what they did with the conquered. If my hearers had patience for it, I could give them some account of their great orators and poets.”

Heron shook his head dissentingly, and said Poll told ‘em all that, and nobody wanted it, till he came to them chaps they call the gladiators, and showed how they used to spar and hit out. “Was n’t it grand to see him, with his great chest and strong old arms, describin’ all their movements, and how much they trusted to activity, imitating all from the wild beast, – not like our boxers, who make fighting a reg’lar man’s combat. You couldn’t take up that, could you?”

“I fear not,” said Layton, despondingly.

“Well, tell ‘em something of the old country in a time near their own. They ‘d like to hear about their greatgrandfathers and grandmothers.”

“Would they listen to me if I made Ireland the subject, – Ireland just before she was incorporated with England, when, with a Parliament of her own, she had a resident gentry, separate institutions, and strong traits of individual nationality?”

“Tell ‘em about fellows that had strong heads and stout hands, that, though they mightn’t always be right in their opinions, was willing and ready to fight for ‘em. Give ‘em a touch of the way they talked in their House of Parliament; and if you can bring in a story or two, and make ‘em laugh, – it ain’t a’ways easy to do, – but if you can do it, you may travel from Cape Cod to the Gulf of Mexico and never change a dollar.”

“Here goes, then! I ‘ll try it!” said Layton, at once determined to risk the effort. “When can it be?”

“It must be at once, for there ‘s a number of ‘em a-goin’ West next week. Say to-morrow night, seven o’clock. Entrance, twelve cents; first chairs, five-and-twenty. No smokin’ allowed, except between the acts.”

“Take all the arrangements on yourself, and give me what you think fair of our profits,” said Layton.

“That’s reasonable; no man can say it ain’t. What’s your name, stranger?”

“My name is Alfred – But never mind my name; announce me as a Gentleman from England.”

“Who has lectured before the Queen and Napoleon Bonaparte.”

“Nay, that I have never done.”

“Well, but you might, you know; and if you didn’t, the greater loss theirs.”

“Perhaps so; but I can’t consent – ”

“Just leave them things to me. And now, one hint for yourself: when you ‘re a-windin’ up, dash it all with a little soft sawder, sayin’ as how you ‘d rather be addressin’ them than the Emperor of Roosia; that the sight of men as loves liberty, and knows how to keep it, is as good as Peat’s vegetable balsam, that warms the heart without feverin’ the blood; and that wherever you go the ‘membrance of the city and its enlightened citizens will be the same as photographed on your heart; that there’s men here ought to be in Congress, and women fit for queens! And if you throw in a bit of the star-spangled – you know what – it ‘ll do no harm.”

Layton only smiled at these counsels, offered, however, in a spirit far from jesting; and after a little further discussion of the plan, Heron said, “Oh, if we only could get old Poll bright enough to write the placards, – that’s what he excels in; there ain’t his equal for capitals anywhere.”

Though Layton felt very little desire to have the individual referred to associated with him or his scheme, he trusted to the impossibility of the alliance, and gave himself no trouble to repudiate it; and after a while they parted, with a good-night and hope for the morrow.

CHAPTER XLIII. BUNKUMVILLE

“You would n’t believe it, – no one would believe it,” said Mr. Heron, as he hastily broke in upon Layton the next morning, deep in preparations for the coming event “There ‘s old Poll all spry and right again; he asked for water to shave himself, an invariable sign with him that he was a-goin’ to try a new course.”

Layton, not caring to open again what might bear upon this history, merely asked some casual question upon the arrangements for the evening; but Heron rejoined: “I told Poll to do it all. The news seemed to revive him; and far from, as I half dreaded, any jealousy about another taking his place, he said, ‘This looks like a promise of better things down here. If our Bunkumville folk will only encourage lecturers to come amongst them, their tone of thinking and speaking will improve. They ‘ll do their daily work in a better spirit, and enjoy their leisure with a higher zest.’”

“Strange sentiments from one such as you pictured to me last night.”

“Lord love ye, that’s his way. He beats all the Temperance ‘Postles about condemning drink. He can tell more anecdotes of the mischief it works, explain better its evil on the health, and the injury it works in a man’s natur’, than all the talkers ever came out of the Mayne Convention.”

“Which scarcely says much for the force of his convictions,” said Layton, smiling.

“I only wish he heard you say so, Britisher; if he would n’t chase you up a pretty high tree, call me a land crab! I remember well, one night, how he lectured on that very point and showed that what was vulgarly called hypocrisy was jest neither more nor less than a diseased and exaggerated love of approbation, – them’s his words; I took ‘em down and showed ‘em to him next morning, and all he said was, ‘I suppose I said it arter dinner.’”

“Am I to see your friend and make his acquaintance?” asked Layton.

“Well,” said the other, with some hesitation, “I rayther suspect not; he said as much that he did n’t like meeting any one from the old country. It’s my idea that he warn’t over well treated there, somehow, though he won’t say it.”

“But as one who has never seen him before, and in all likelihood is never to see him again – ”

“No use; whenever he makes up his mind in that quiet way he never changes, and he said, ‘I ‘ll do all you want, only don’t bring me forward. I have my senses now, and shame is one of ‘em!’”

“You increase my desire to see and know this poor fellow.”