Part 13

“To the misguided and mentally unbalanced females, who are daily sending flowers and sundry cooked dainties to the county jail, this paper has nothing to say. With the exception of one of them, who was a witness at the trial, and who shall here be nameless, they all have male relatives whose duty is plain. The names of these women are known and will be preserved in the archives of this paper for future reference. There are certain rumors being whispered about on our streets, that, from high motives of public policy, will not find a place in our columns until later.

“The sheriff is being quietly and severely criticized by many citizens, whose good opinion is worth something to him at election time, for permitting these indulgences to a criminal in his charge.

“We have always given our unqualified support to Sheriff Butts when he has been a candidate, and we hope that we will not be compelled to change our opinion regarding his fitness for the office. He will do well to ponder. The eye of _The Index_ is upon him.

“The editor of this paper is pleased to announce, to relieve the public mind, that we are recovering from our undeserved injuries, and will soon be ourselves again. We feel deeply indebted to Dr. Ignace Stitt for the wonderful professional skill with which he attended us. The Doctor’s practice is increasing rapidly, and he is now the foremost physician in our county. His office is over Ed Bang’s drug store, and he is among the most valued subscribers of this paper.

“We and our wife thank our kind friends who have sent us watermelons, and other delicacies, during our confinement.

“As a stern challenger of injustice, and an alert defender of the right, _The Index_ will ever, as in the past, be in the forefront. Its battle axe will gleam in the turmoil of the conflict, and on it will shine our mottos—_Sic Semper Tyrannis_, and _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.”

I laid the paper down with the conviction that if the Colonel’s life previous to his arrival in the river country had been as rapid as he had been living it since he came, his “memoahs” would be quite a large volume.

“Now, suh,” said he, “I want to relate to you the inside history of that robbery, suh. I want to show you how it is possible foh a puffectly innocent man, with puffectly good intentions, to get into a predicament in this Gawd fo’saken no’the’n country.

“I was of co’se compelled, much against my wish, to hawss-whip the editah of that rotten sheet. He was not a gentleman and I could not challenge him, suh, and it was matteh of pussonal honah. The facts ah substantially as he states in that sizzling angel song that you have just read.

“I want to say, suh, that I nevah spent a moah pleasant thi’ty days in my life than I spent in that jail. I was theah in a good cause, and I am sorry it was not sixty days. The sheriff treated me with puffect cou’tesy, and I was called on and congratulated by many people who had strong private opinions of that editah.

“Those noble women made my incahceration a pleasuah, and I may say, suh, without vanity, that I have nevah been oblivious or insensible to the effect that I have always had upon ladies. Soft and beseeching eyes have been cast upon me all my life, suh. I discovered in that jail that iron bars cannot destroy beautiful visions.

“I was provided with papeh, and I was enabled to do a great deal of wo’k on my memoahs, and I have included in them the events of the past few months, but what I sta’ted to tell you was the unrevealed facts of that robbery, suh.

“In odeh that you may get a clear idea of just what happened, I must take you back to the awful days of ouah wah. Theah was a high bo’n southe’n gentleman in my regiment, suh, named Majah Speed. He came f’om one of the best families in Tennessee. Theah was a most unfo’tunate pussonal resemblance between us, and even when we were togetheh, ouah best friends could ha’dly tell us apaht. In o’deh not to continue to embarrass ouah friends, we drew straws to decide who should raise a chin bea’d in addition to his moustache. The Majah lost, and I still have my military moustache without any hawsstail whiskehs to spoil it. I may say, suh, that I have no doubt that my moustache had its effect in making my stay at the jail delightful.

“The Majah and I have always kept ouah correspondence up. He came to see me just befoah that explosion at the cou’t house. He was in that town when it took place, and he was the man who was pussued by that posse and that damn dawg, whose favah he won with a piece of bologna sausage.

“Afteh the Majah entered the ma’sh he came directly to my house and explained the whole affaiah. We sunk the boat he came in with some stones in the rivah.

“That infe’nal Milt Tuttle, who was the cle’k in the treasurer’s office, was the scoundrel that got the money. His folks came f’om Tennessee, and he knew the Majah. He was aweah that the Majah’s circumstances weah much reduced, and that he had lost what he had left in the wo’ld at ca’ds. He knew that the Majah would do almost anything to retrieve his fo’tunes. The love of money was always the trouble with the Majah, but we all have to be tolerant of the weaknesses of ouah friends, suh.

“That scoundrel Milt Tuttle sent money to Tennessee foh my friend the Majah to come up heah. He did not know me, or that I knew the Majah. When the Majah came no’th he came directly to see me and spent several days at my place. We went down on the ma’sh togetheh. He told me about Milt Tuttle and said he would come back and pay me a longeh visit a little lateh.

“My friend Majah Speed went to the county seat, and the da’k scoundrelly plan of Milt Tuttle was laid befoah him. In a moment of weakness the Majah fell, and consented to blow open that safe and divide what he found with Milt Tuttle. The tools and the explosive compound were hidden in the office by Milt Tuttle, and during several visits he explained to the Majah how he was to proceed. He gave him a duplicate key to the side entrance of the office around the end of the hall, and a map of the route he was to take afteh he had finished his wo’k, and on this map was the place wheah he was to leave half of what he found in the safe. He was to cross the ma’sh and make his way south to Tennessee afteh it was all oveh.

“You can imagine the astonishment and chagrin of the Majah when he found the safe empty of funds, afteh he had wo’ked all day to blow it open. He was ho’nswoggled by this infe’nal thief of a Milt Tuttle. He had taken ev’ry cent befoah the Majah came, and left the Majah in the lu’ch to face all the consequences, and to get away the best he could.

“When the Majah came to me that night, and told me his tale, I was astounded. Of co’se I do not approve of robbery, but the Majah had committed no robbery. He had taken absolutely nothing f’om that safe, and he was as innocent of robbery as a child unbawn. Milt Tuttle was the thief, and on his ill gotten wealth he went off somewheah fo’ his health, but he was stricken by a vengeful providence with pneumonia, and he is now dead, and theah is no way of proving his dasta’dly connection with the affaiah.

“I told the Majah that he had been made a cat’s paw, and that he had betteh go home as fast as he could. He was without funds, and, unfo’tunately, I did not have any to lend him, so he sta’ted fo’ the south on foot. That was the last I saw of the Majah, and I had a letteh f’om one of the fo’mah officers of ouah regiment, that the Majah is now dead. I assume, suh, that he died of a broken heaht, all on account of the villainy of that dehty thief of a Milt Tuttle.

“When I was unjustly and unfo’tunately dragged into that affaiah, I could have told the whole story, but I felt bound to protect my friend the Majah, who fought undeh me fo’ foah yeahs. He twice saved my life on the field, and foah such a man, no matteh what his failings might be, I was bound to make any sacrifice. I could have gone on the stand and pointed my fingah at the thief, but of what avail? The attorney who represented me in those disgraceful proceedings advised me to keep my seat, as the state had no case whateveh. That mutton headed old bi’led owl that was supposed to be a cou’t, bound me oveh, but I was soon released, and my friend’s secret was not in jeopa’dy.

“I have now expiated the penalty of the No’the’n law fo’ whipping that rascally editeh. My atto’ney also pounded him to a jelly. It is my intention to hawss-whip Tipton Posey, foah he was the one that sta’ted the talk that resulted in all those legal proceedings, and during the thi’ty days that I am in jail foah that, it is my intention to complete my novel, in which, as I told you, is to be woven my memoahs.

“It is a good thing fo’ Milt Tuttle that he had pneumonia, foah if he was not deceased I would fill him full of holes fo’ the dishonah he brought on my friend the Majah, and then I would leave the no’th fo’evah.

“I shall nevah blacken the memory of Majah Speed by using his name with the story of the blowing open of the safe in my book. I shall use anotheh name, suh, and his secret shall be fo’evah safe and his memory will be unta’nished, fo’ the Majah nevah stole a dollah. He can stand befoah that greateh cou’t, wheah he has now gone, with a guiltless and stainless soul.”

I was much interested in the Colonel’s narrative, and after talking over some of the details, we retired for the night.

I had quietly enjoyed the naive reasoning, and the chivalrous devotion of the Colonel to his war time friend. There was pathos in the tale of sacrifice, and, several times I saw moisture in the old soldier’s eyes, as he dilated upon the cruelty of his position in the affair of the safe.

His conceptions of right and wrong were refreshing, and his penchant for taking the law into his own hands was evidently going to get him into more predicaments, but it was useless to argue with him. I felt sorry about Posey’s coming castigation, but as Tip was abundantly able to take care of himself, I concluded not to worry over it.

On our way down the river the next morning, the Colonel reverted to Major Speed’s ill-starred visit.

“I presume that you would think, suh, that the interests of the living ah paramount to those of the dead, and that I ought to tell Majah Speed’s story to the world. His memory and the memory of that black heahted vahlet, Milt Tuttle, would suffeh, and Tuttle’s ought to suffeh, but my vindication would be complete. Natu’ally I do not enjoy being looked at askance, and I sometimes think that I ought to remove the stigma that now rests on my name.”

I advised him to let matters remain as they were, inasmuch as he could produce no proof of the facts, and little would be gained by stirring up the affair.

“But I do not need proof of facts, they would have my wo’d of honah, suh!”

I explained the uncertain value of a “wo’d of honah” in that part of the country. I refrained from telling him that I thought his reputation would not be much improved by his explanation, for he would at least still be regarded as an “accessory after the fact” because of his admission of the protection to Speed.

“By the way, Colonel,” I asked, in order to change the subject, “what did you finally do about Pud Calkins?”

“Pud Calkins? I killed him, suh, at Vicksbu’g. That cuss disappeahed entiahly f’om from memoahs while I was in jail, and I assuah you, suh, that I heaved a sigh of relief when that man fell. I can now go ahead with my combination novel and memoahs without his bobbing up and down in the plot every time I sit down to write.”

It occurred to me that the casualties among those whom the fates whirled into the Colonel’s orbit were becoming rather numerous.

“I am vehy sorry to tell you that when you come down heah again, you will probably not find me,” he continued. “I am in a vehy bad predicament about the place where I live. As you know, I inherited that place in good faith, but I find theah has been a mo’tgage on it that I didn’t know anything about. The damned editeh of that scurrilous sheet has in some way got possession of that mo’tgage. I am unable to meet its obligations, suh, and I must move, probably this winteh. I will go back to Tennessee, wheah the sun shines without expense to anybody, and wheah a gentleman commands respect even though he is unfo’tunate. I may have to walk to Tennessee, but I will make a sho’t call at the home of that buzza’d that runs that newspapah, the evening that I go away, suh!”

The Colonel and I had spent happy days together, and it was with genuine sadness that I bade him farewell a few days later. He was a mellow old soul, ruled by emotions, and not by reason, drifting aimlessly on a sea of troubles, totally lost to every consideration except his childish vanity and the memories of a threadbare chivalry. He easily adjusted his conscience to any point of view that conformed to his interest, and suffered keenly from sensitiveness. Fate had thrown him into an environment with which he could not mingle, and it was perhaps better that he should go. When all else failed, there was a world in his imaginative brain in which he could live, and woe to those who have not these realms of fancy when the shadows come.

When I visited the river the following spring I arranged with my friend Muskrat Hyatt to provide me with the shelter of his stranded house boat, and to act as “pusher” and general utility man in my expeditions on the river and marsh.

“Rat” was always interesting, and I anticipated a delightful two weeks.

One of the first trips we made was down to the Big Marsh, where we intended to camp for a day or two on a little island that was scarcely ever visited. It was thirty or forty yards long and half as wide. There were a few trees, some underbrush and fallen timber on the islet. The place was deserted, except for a blue heron that winged away in awkward flight as we approached. There was no reason for stopping there, but a wayward fancy and a desire to see the vast marsh in its different moods.

After we landed I asked Rat about the Colonel.

“The Colonel’s place was sold under a mortgage last fall, an’ that ol’ maid that swore fer ’im at the trial bid it in, an’ its in her name, an’ now the Colonel’s married the old maid, so there y’are.

“That ol’ feller come down to the store one mornin’ an’ him an’ Tip had a fight, an’ Tip got licked. The Colonel an’ Seth Mussey had come in a buggy, an’ they was goin’ on from Tip’s to the county seat to see the editor of the paper. It was all about that safe blowin’ case, an’ the Colonel accused Tip of start’n all the talk about ’im. Bill Wirrick an’ me got a rig an’ went to the county seat, fer we thought the Colonel was goin’ to lick the editor ag’in an’ we wanted to see the fun, but the editor was out of town. The Colonel went up to see the ol’ maid an’ they was married the next day. I guess she had some money, fer they took the cars an’ said they was goin’ down south.

“The Colonel went to the postmaster an’ told ’im to tell the editor, w’en ’e got home, that if ’e ever put the Colonel’s name in ’is paper ag’in, er any name that sounded like his, he’d kill ’im, an’ I guess the editor b’lieved it, fer ’e didn’t mention nothin’ about the wedd’n w’en ’e got back.

“People don’t think the Colonel blowed open that safe after all. He never flashed no wealth around afterwards, and the way he beat up that editor fer sayin’ things about ’im, sort a squared ’im up.”

We erected our little tent, and Rat busied himself with collecting fuel. He attacked a long hollow log with his axe. When it was split open we found an old gray coat, that had at some time been stuffed into the decayed interior. We laid the coat out on the ground and Rat extracted a discolored brass key from one of the pockets, and a wad of hairy material, that proved to be a set of false chin whiskers. In a damaged manilla envelope, that we found in an inside pocket, was a certificate of the honorable discharge of Jasper Montgomery Peets, as a private in the Confederate Army.

The mildewed relics, with their eloquent though silent story, were convincing.

“I s’spose ’e thought that gray coat was gitt’n too pop’lar with possees, an’ ’e concluded to shed it,” remarked Rat. “Say, wasn’t that feller a peach?”

I agreed that he was.

I sat for a long time on the sloping bank of the islet, and mused over the soul mates that, like migrating songsters, had winged their way to the balmy southland when the leaves had fallen, and the skies had become gray. I thought of Anastasia’s hungry heart, and the precarious resting place it had found.

The Colonel’s “plot” had certainly been woven to a consistent end; the “mystehious veiled lady” had glided into its web, and there was a wedding on the last page.

IX HIS UNLUCKY STAR

I had stopped on the old bridge in the twilight to look upon the glories of a dreamy afterglow, and the gnarled tree forms that were etched against its symphony of color far away down the river. Just above the bands of purple and orange the evening star was coming out of a sea of turquoise, and its radiance was creeping into the waters below the trees. I heard a light foot fall behind me.

“Excuse me, mister, have you got a match?”

I turned and saw an odd looking little man, of perhaps fifty, with a squirrel skin cap and ginger colored hair and beard, who laid down a burden contained in a gunny sack, and approached deferentially.

As I produced the match he brought forth a virulent looking pipe that seemed to consist mostly of solidified nicotine.

“I don’t seem to have no tobacco neither,” he continued ruefully, as he fumbled in his pockets.

I gave him a cigar, a portion of which he broke up and stuffed into his pipe. He carefully stowed the remainder in his vest pocket and began to smoke composedly.

I asked him if he lived in the neighborhood.

“No, my place is about two miles from here. I’ve ben up the river after some snake root that’s wanted right away by the man I do business with. My name’s Erastus Wattles an’ I get all kinds of herbs around ’ere fer a man that sells ’em to the medicine makers somewheres down east.”

We sat on the bridge rail and talked for some time, and I became much interested in my new acquaintance. He spoke in a low voice, and his manner seemed rather furtive. He told me much of the herbs and rare plants that grew in the river country, and of his attempts to cultivate ginseng. “Certain influences” had repeatedly caused failures of his crop.

“That’s a fine scene out yonder,” he remarked, and the splendid glow of Jupiter in the western sky led to a subject that I found had enthralled his life, and his eyes quickened with a new light as he told me his story.

When he was a young man he had studied for the stage, but had made a failure of this, and had gone to work on an Ohio river steamboat as a clerk. A very old man, with long white whiskers and green spectacles came on board at Louisville late one night. He wanted to go to Cairo, but lacked a dollar of the amount necessary for his boat fare. He stated that he was a professor of astrology, and offered to cast the horoscope of anybody on the boat who would supply the deficiency. After an eloquent exposition of the wonders of astrology by the professor, Wattles furnished the dollar and the date and hour of his birth.

Amid the jibes of the other employees on the boat he received his horoscope just before the landing was made at Cairo. The aged seer departed down the gang plank and disappeared.

This was the turning point in the life of Erastus Wattles.

He sought a secluded place on the boat and studied the several closely written pages of foolscap, that were pinned together and numbered, and found that the old man had done a conscientious and thorough job.

Wattles extracted a large worn envelope from an inside pocket. It contained the document, which he said he always carried with him, and he asked me to read it.

On the first page was the circle of the horoscope, divided into its twelve “houses,” and above it was the “nativity” with the “sidereal variation” noted.

In the “delineation,” which occupied the remaining pages, were black clouds of misfortune. If Wattles had selected his hour of birth he could not have found one in the whole gamut of heavenly chords when his entrance into the world would have been more inopportune.

Mars was “on the ascendant in Taurus” and was his “significator” and “ruling planet.” Its position in relation to the other “malefics”—Saturn, Uranus and Neptune—all of which were above the horizon, was most disastrous. Two malefics were “poised upon the cusp of the House of Money,” indicating that Wattles “would go broke, and remain so during life.” The moon was also in a hostile square at the time.

The hoary headed astrologer had “dived into the Abyss of Futurity, and through a glass darkly” he had seen “a pale light.” It illumined a life of hopeless sorrow and futility. Ever and anon the blood red eye of Mars gleamed with a baleful glow upon the destiny under consideration. When Mars was off duty Saturn took up the malign rod, which was yielded to Uranus and Neptune when he passed temporarily into other fields of astral activity to indicate misfortunes of other people.

Periods of deep perplexities were apparent—when Wattles must not engage in new ventures, or talk with men over sixty, or with women under forty—when he must not deal with farmers, or have anything to do with people with red hair or bushy eyebrows. He was not to ask favors, travel, trade, write letters or marry, when the moon was in its first or last quarter, or have anything to do with surgeons or tradesmen when the moon was in conjunction with Saturn. Flying pains in limbs and joints, warts, boils, and accidents to the head were indicated at these periods. New enterprises might be undertaken when the sun was in Leo, but not if Neptune was stationary in Aries at that time, or if Venus was retrogressing in Cancer or Capricorn.

When Jupiter and Venus were together in Libra there would be particularly distressing periods for Wattles. When Jupiter passed into Sagittarius there might be temptation to make merry, but in the midst of mirth he must remember death, for almost fatal accidents, and possibly severe illness were indicated for these times, which were pregnant with calamity.

A certain retrogression of Uranus in Leo in the fifth year after the casting, with the sun hyleg, Mars in Aquarius, and the moon in Capricorn, indicated a liver complaint, with pains in the back and head, an almost fatal accident from an explosive compound, and interference in his affairs by a fat person—probably a female with a retreating chin, whose significator would be the malefic Neptune. A minor sub-related transit “might change this female to a dark haired woman with pointed features, who would spread strange reports with a bitter tongue, but in an unknown language.”

No illnesses, accidents or women materialized in that year, and Wattles thought they were all side tracked by a retrogression of Mercury in Virgo.

The influence of an evil minded woman, whose ruling planet was Saturn, was indicated during the eleventh year. Long arms, freckles and a high instep were suggested, as Antares would be in Gemini when she came into the sketch. Wattles had assumed that this peril had been fended off by an unsuspected transit. He had stayed in the woods as much as possible while Antares was in Gemini, and had spoken to no female during the eleventh year, but afterwards learned that the postmistress, who answered the description, had told an inquirer that no such man as Wattles lived in that part of the country. Somebody had tried to find him with a view of making a large herb contract, which had been thereby lost, so, after all, the indication was correct.