Chapter 6

So there he paused and calmly closed his eyes, And silently I sat and held his hand. After a time, when we were left alone, He spoke again with calmer voice and said: "Captain, you oft have asked my history, And I as oft refused. There is no cause Why I should longer hold it from my friend Who reads the closing chapter. It may teach One soul to lean upon the arm of Christ-- That hope and happiness find anchorage Only in heaven. While my lonesome life Saw death but dimly in the dull distance My lips were sealed to the unhappy tale; Under my pride I hid a heavy heart.

"I was ambitious in my boyhood days, And dreamed of fame and honors--misty fogs That climb at morn the ragged cliffs of life, Veiling the ragged rocks and gloomy chasms, And shaping airy castles on the top With bristling battlements and looming towers; But melt away into ethereal air Beneath the blaze of the mid-summer sun, Till cliffs and chasms and all the ragged rocks Are bare, and all the castles crumbled away.

"There winds a river 'twixt two chains of hills-- Fir-capped and rugged monuments of time; A level vale of rich alluvial land, Washed from the slopes through circling centuries, And sweet with clover and the hum of bees, Lies broad between the rugged, somber hills. Beneath a shade of willows and of elms The river slumbers in this meadowy lap. Down from the right there winds a babbling branch, Cleaving a narrower valley through the hills. A grand bald-headed hill-cone on the right Looms like a patriarch, and above the branch There towers another. I have seen the day When those bald heads were plumed with lofty pines. Below the branch and near the river bank, Hidden among the elms and butternuts, The dear old cottage stands where I was born. An English ivy clambers to the eaves; An English willow planted by my hand Now spreads its golden branches o'er the roof Not far below the cottage thrives a town, A busy town of mills and merchandise-- Belle Meadows, fairest village of the vale. Behind it looms the hill-cone, and in front The peaceful river winds its silent way. Beyond the river spreads a level plain-- Once hid with somber firs--a tangled marsh-- Now beautiful with fields and cottages, And sweet in spring-time with the blooming plum, And white with apple-blossoms blown like snow. Beyond the plain a lower chain of hills, In summer gemmed with fields of golden grain Set in the emerald of the beechen woods. In other days the village school-house stood Below our cottage on a grassy mound That sloped away unto the river's marge; And on the slope a cluster of tall pines Crowning a copse of beech and evergreen. There in my boyhood days I went to school; A maiden mistress ruled the little realm; She taught the rudiments to rompish rogues, And walked a queen with magic wand of birch. My years were hardly ten when father died. Sole tenants of our humble cottage home My sorrowing mother and myself remained; But she was all economy, and kept With my poor aid a comfortable house. I was her idol and she wrought at night To keep me at my books, and used to boast That I should rise above our humble lot. How oft I listened to her hopeful words-- Poured from the fountain of a mother's heart Until I longed to wing the sluggard years That bore me on to what I hoped to be.

"We had a garden-plat behind the house-- Beyond, an orchard and a pasture-lot; In front a narrow meadow--here and there Shaded with elms and branching butternuts. In spring and summer in the garden-plat I wrought my morning and my evening hours And kept myself at school--no idle boy.

"One bright May morning when the robins sang There came to school a stranger queenly fair, With eyes that shamed the ethereal blue of heaven, And golden hair in ringlets--cheeks as soft, As fresh and rosy as the velvet blush Of summer sunrise on the dew-damp hills. Hers was the name I muttered in my dreams. For days my bashful heart held me aloof Although her senior by a single year; But we were brought together oft in class, And when she learned my name she spoke to me, And then my tongue was loosed and we were friends. Before the advent of the steeds of steel Her sire--a shrewd and calculating man-- Had lately come and purchased timbered-lands And idle mills, and made the town his home. And he was well-to-do and growing rich, And she her father's pet and only child. In mind and stature for two happy years We grew together at the village school. We grew together!--aye, our tender hearts There grew together till they beat as one. Her tasks were mine, and mine alike were hers; We often stole away among the pines-- That stately cluster on the sloping hill-- And conned our lessons from the selfsame book, And learned to love each other o'er our tasks, While in the pine-tops piped the oriole, And from his branch the chattering squirrel chid Our guileless love and artless innocence. 'Twas childish love perhaps, but day by day It grew into our souls as we grew up. Then there was opened in the prospering town A grammar school, and thither went Pauline. I missed her and was sad for many a day, Till mother gave me leave to follow her. In autumn--in vacation--she would come With girlish pretext to our cottage home. She often brought my mother little gifts, And cheered her with sweet songs and happy words; And I would pluck the fairest meadow-flowers To grace a garland for her golden hair, And fill her basket from the butternuts That flourished in our little meadow field. I found in her all I had dreamed of heaven. So garlanded with latest-blooming flowers, Chanting the mellow music of our hopes, The silver-sandaled Autumn-hours tripped by. And mother learned to love her; but she feared, Knowing her heart and mine, that one rude hand Might break our hopes asunder. Like a thief I often crept about her father's house, Under the evening shadows, eager-eyed, Peering for one dear face, and lingered late To catch the silver music of one voice That from her chamber nightly rose to heaven. Her father's face I feared--a silent man, Cold-faced, imperative, by nature prone To set his will against the beating world; Warm-hearted but heart-crusted.

"Two years more Thus wore away. Pauline grew up a queen. A shadow fell across my sunny path;-- A hectic flush burned on my mother's cheeks; She daily failed and nearer drew to death. Pauline would often come with sun-lit face, Cheating the day of half its languid hours With cheering chapters from the holy book, And border tales and wizard minstrelsy: And mother loved her all the better for it. With feeble hands upon our sad-bowed heads, And in a voice all tremulous with tears, She said to us: 'Dear children, love each other-- Bear and forbear, and come to me in heaven;' And praying for us daily--drooped and died.

"After the sad and solemn funeral, Alone and weeping and disconsolate, I sat at evening by the cottage door. I felt as if a dark and bitter fate Had fallen on me in my tender years. I seemed an aimless wanderer doomed to grope In vain among the darkling years and die. One only star shone through the shadowy mists. The moon that wandered in the gloomy heavens Was robed in shrouds; the rugged, looming hills Looked desolate;--the silent river seemed A somber chasm, while my own pet lamb, Mourning disconsolate among the trees, As if he followed some dim phantom-form, Bleated in vain and would not heed my call. On weary hands I bent my weary head; In gloomy sadness fell my silent tears.

"An angel's hand was laid upon my head-- There in the moonlight stood my own Pauline-- Angel of love and hope and holy faith-- She flashed upon me bowed in bitter grief, As falls the meteor down the night-clad heavens-- In silence. Then about my neck she clasped Her loving arms and on my shoulder drooped Her golden tresses, while her silent tears Fell warm upon my cheek like summer rain. Heart clasped to heart and cheek to cheek we sat; The moon no longer gloomed--her face was cheer; The rugged hills were old-time friends again; The peaceful river slept beneath the moon, And my pet lamb came bounding to our side And kissed her hand and mine as he was wont. Then I awoke as from a dream and said: 'Tell me, beloved, why you come to me In this dark hour--so late--so desolate?' And she replied:

"'My darling, can I rest While you are full of sorrow? In my ear A spirit seemed to whisper--"Arise and go To comfort him disconsolate." Tell me, Paul, Why should you mourn your tender life away? I will be mother to you; nay, dear boy, I will be more. Come, brush away these tears.'

"My heart was full; I kissed her pleading eyes: 'You are an angel sent by one in heaven,' I said,'to heal my heart, but I have lost More than you know. The cruel hand of death Hath left me orphan, friendless--poor indeed, Saving the precious jewel of your love. And what to do? I know not what to do, I feel so broken by a heavy hand. My mother hoped that I would work my way To competence and honor at the bar. But shall I toil in poverty for years To learn a science that so seldom yields Or wealth or honor save to silvered heads? I know that path to fame and fortune leads Through thorns and brambles over ragged rocks; But can I follow in the common path Trod by the millions, never to lift my head Above the busy hordes that delve and drudge For bare existence in this bitter world-- And be a mite, a midge, a worthless worm, No more distinguished from the common mass Than one poor polyp in the coral isle Is marked amid the myriads teeming there? Yet 'tis not for myself. For you, Pauline, Far up the slippery heights of wealth and fame Would I climb bravely; but if I would climb By any art or science, I must train Unto the task my feet for many years, Else I should slip and fall from rugged ways, Too badly bruised to ever mount again.' Then she:

"'O Paul, if wealth were mine to give! O if my father could but know my heart! But fear not, Paul, our _Father_ reigns in heaven. Follow your bent--'twill lead you out aright; The highest mountain lessens as we climb; Persistent courage wins the smile of fate. Apply yourself to law and master it, And I will wait. This sad and solemn hour Is dark with doubt and gloom, but by and by The clouds will lift and you will see God's face. For there is one in heaven whose pleading tongue Will pray for blessings on her only son Of Him who heeds the little sparrow's fall;-- And O if He will listen to my prayers, The gates of heaven shall echo to my voice Morning and evening,--only keep your heart.' I said:

"'Pauline, your prayers had rolled away The ponderous stone that closed the tomb of Christ; And while they rise to heaven for my success I cannot doubt, or I should doubt my God. I think I see a pathway through this gloom; I have a kinsman'--and I told her where-- 'A lawyer; I have heard my mother say-- A self-made man with charitable heart; And I might go and study under him; I think he would assist me.'

"Then she sighed: 'Paul, can you leave me? You may study here And here you are among your boyhood friends, And here I should be near to cheer you on.'

"I promised her that I would think of it-- Would see what prospect offered in the town; And then we walked together half-embraced, But when we neared her vine-arched garden gate, She bade me stay and kissed me a good-night And bounded through the moonlight like a fawn. I watched her till she flitted from my sight, Then slowly homeward turned my lingering steps. I wrote my kinsman on the morrow morn, And broached my project to a worthy man Who kept an office and a case of books-- An honest lawyer. People called him learn'd, But wanting tact and ready speech he failed. The rest were pettifoggers--scurrilous rogues Who plied the village justice with their lies, And garbled law to suit the case in hand-- Mean, querulous, small-brained delvers in the mire Of men's misfortunes--crafty, cunning knaves, Versed in chicane and trickery that schemed To keep the evil passions of weak men In petty wars, and plied their tongues profane With cunning words to argue honest fools Into their spider-meshes to be fleeced. I laid my case before him; took advice-- Well-meant advice--to leave my native town, And study with my kinsman whom he knew. A week rolled round and brought me a reply-- A frank and kindly letter--giving me That which I needed most--encouragement. But hard it was to fix my mind to go; For in my heart an angel whispered 'Stay.' It might be better for my after years, And yet perhaps,'twere better to remain. I balanced betwixt my reason and my heart, And hesitated. Her I had not seen Since that sad night, and so I made resolve That we should meet, and at her father's house. So whispering courage to my timid heart I went. With happy greeting at the door She met me, but her face was wan and pale-- So pale and wan I feared that she was ill. I read the letter to her, and she sighed, And sat in silence for a little time, Then said:

"'God bless you, Paul, may be 'tis best-- I sometimes feel it is not for the best, But I am selfish--thinking of myself. Go like a man, but keep your boyish heart-- Your boyish heart is all the world to me. Remember, Paul, how I shall watch and wait; So write me often: like the dew of heaven To withering grass will come your cheering words. To know that you are well and happy, Paul, And good and true, will wing the weary months. And let me beg you as a sister would-- Not that I doubt you but because I love-- Beware of wine--touch not the treacherous cup, And guard your honor as you guard your life. The years will glide away like scudding clouds That fleetly chase each other o'er the hills, And you will be a man before you know, And I will be a woman. God will crown Our dearest hopes if we but trust in Him.'

"We sat in silence for a little time, And she was weeping, so I raised her face And kissed away her tears. She softly said: 'Paul, there is something I must say to you-- Something I have no time to tell you now; But we must meet again before you go-- Under the pines where we so oft have met. Be this the sign,'--She waved her graceful hand, 'Come when the shadows gather on the pines, And silent stars stand sentinel in heaven; Now Paul, forgive me--I must say--good-bye.'

"I read her fear upon her anxious brow. Lingering and clasped within her loving arms I, through her dewy, deep, blue eyes, beheld Her inmost soul, and knew that love was there. Ah, then and there her father blustered in, And caught us blushing in each other's arms! He stood a moment silent and amazed: Then kindling wrath distorted all his face, He showered his anger with a tongue of fire. O cruel words that stung my boyish pride! O dagger words that stabbed my very soul! I strove, but fury mastered--up I sprang, And felt a giant as I stood before him. My breath was hot with anger;--impious boy-- Frenzied--forgetful of his silvered hairs-- Forgetful of her presence, too, I raved, And poured a madman's curses on his head. A moan of anguish brought me to myself; I turned and saw her sad, imploring face, And tears that quenched the wild fire in my heart. I pressed her hand and passed into the hall, While she stood sobbing in a flood of tears, And he stood choked with anger and amazed. But as I passed the ivied porch he came With bated breath and muttered in my ear-- '_Beggar!_'--It stung me like a serpent's fang. Pride-pricked and muttering like a maniac, I almost flew the street and hurried home To vent my anger to the silent elms. _'Beggar!_'--an hundred times that long, mad night I muttered with hot lips and burning breath; I paced the walk with hurried tread, and raved; I threw myself beneath the willow-tree, And muttered like the muttering of a storm. My little lamb came bleating mournfully; Angered I struck him;--out among the trees I wandered mumbling 'beggar' as I went, And beating in through all my burning soul The bitter thoughts it conjured, till my brain Reeled and I sunk upon the dew-damp grass, And--utterly exhausted--slept till morn.

"I dreamed a dream--all mist and mystery. I saw a sunlit valley beautiful With purple vineyards and with garden-plats; And in the vineyards and the garden-plats Were happy-hearted youths and merry girls Toiling and singing. Grandsires too were there, Sitting contented under their own vines And fig-trees, while about them merrily played Their children's children like the sportive lambs That frolicked on the foot-hills. Low of kine, Full-uddered, homeward-wending from the meads, Fell on the ear as soft as Hulder's loor Tuned on the Norse-land mountains. Like a nest Hid in a hawthorn-hedge a cottage stood Embowered with vines beneath broad-branching elms Sweet-voiced with busy bees.

"On either hand Rose steep and barren mountains--mighty cliffs Cragged and chasm'd and over-grown with thorns; And on the topmost peak a golden throne Blazoned with burning characters that read-- 'Climb'--it is yours.' Not far above the vale I saw a youth, fair-browed and raven-haired, Clambering among the thorns and ragged rocks; And from his brow with torn and bleeding hand He wiped great drops of sweat. Down through the vale I saw a rapid river, broad and deep, Winding in solemn silence to the sea-- The sea all mist and fog. Lo as I stood Viewing the river and the moaning sea, A sail--and then another--flitted down And plunged into the mist. A moment more, Like shapeless shadows of the by-gone years, I saw them in the mist and they were gone-- Gone!--and the sea moaned on and seemed to say-- _'Gone--and forever!_'--So I gladly turned To look upon the throne--the blazoned throne That sat upon the everlasting cliff. The throne had vanished!--Lo where it had stood, A bed of ashes and a gray-haired man Sitting upon it bowed and broken down. And so the vision passed.

"The rising sun Beamed full upon my face and wakened me, And there beside me lay my pet--the lamb-- Gazing upon me with his wondering eyes, And all the fields were bright and beautiful, And brighter seemed the world. I rose resolved. I let the cottage and disposed of all; The lamb went bleating to a neighbor's field; And oft my heart ached, but I mastered it. This was the constant burden of my brain-- _'Beggar!_'--I'll teach him that I am a man; I'll speak and he shall listen; I will rise, And he shall see my course as I go up Round after round the ladder of success. Even as the pine upon the mountain-top Towers o'er the maple on the mountain-side, I'll tower above him. Then will I look down And call him _Father_:--He shall call me _Son_.'

"Thus hushing my sad heart the day drew nigh Of parting, and the promised sign was given. The night was dismal darkness--not one star Twinkled in heaven; the sad, low-moaning wind Played like a mournful harp among the pines. I groped and listened through the darkling grove, Peering with eager eyes among the trees, And calling as I peered with anxious voice One darling name. No answer but the moan Of the wind-shaken pines. I sat me down Under the dusky shadows waiting for her, And lost myself in gloomy reverie. Dim in the darksome shadows of the night, While thus I dreamed, my darling came and crept Beneath the boughs as softly as a hare, And whispered 'Paul'--and I was at her side. We sat upon a mound moss-carpeted-- No eyes but God's upon us, and no voice Spake to us save the moaning of the pines. Few were the words we spoke; her silent tears, Our clasping, trembling, lingering embrace, Were more than words. Into one solemn hour, Were pressed the fears and hopes of coming years. Two tender hearts that only dared to hope There swelled and throbbed to the electric touch Of love as holy as the love of Christ. She gave her picture and I gave a ring-- My mother's--almost with her latest breath She gave it me and breathed my darling's name. I girt her finger, and she kissed the ring In solemn pledge, and said:

"'I bring a gift-- The priceless gift of God unto his own: O may it prove a precious gift to you, As it has proved a precious gift to me; And promise me to read it day by day-- Beginning on the morrow--every day A chapter--and I too will read the same.'

"I took the gift--a precious gift indeed-- And you may see how I have treasured it. Here, Captain, put your hand upon my breast-- An inner pocket--you will find it there."

I opened the bloody blouse and thence drew forth The Book of Christ all stained with Christian blood. He laid his hand upon the holy book, And closed his eyes as if in silent prayer. I held his weary head and bade him rest. He lay a moment silent and resumed: "Let me go on if you would hear the tale; I soon shall sleep the sleep that wakes no more. O there were promises and vows as solemn As Christ's own promises; but as we sat The pattering rain-drops fell among the pines, And in the branches the foreboding owl With dismal hooting hailed the coming storm. So in that dreary hour and desolate We parted in the silence of our tears.

"And on the morrow morn I bade adieu To the old cottage home I loved so well-- The dear old cottage home where I was born. Then from my mother's grave I plucked a rose Bursting in bloom--Pauline had planted it-- And left my little hill-girt boyhood world. I journeyed eastward to my journey's end; At first by rail for many a flying mile, By mail-coach thence from where the hurrying train Leaps a swift river that goes tumbling on Between a village and a mountain-ledge, Chafing its rocky banks. There seethes and foams The restless river round the roaring rocks, And then flows on a little way and pours Its laughing waters into a bridal lap. Its flood is fountain-fed among the hills; Far up the mossy brooks the timid trout Lie in the shadow of vine-tangled elms. Out from the village-green the roadway leads Along the river up between the hills, Then climbs a wooded mountain to its top, And gently winds adown the farther side Unto a valley where the bridal stream Flows rippling, meadow-flower-and-willow-fringed, And dancing onward with a merry song, Hastes to the nuptials. From the mountain-top-- A thousand feet above the meadowy vale-- She seems a chain of fretted silver wound With artless art among the emerald hills. Thence up a winding valley of grand views-- Hill-guarded--firs and rocks upon the hills, And here and there a solitary pine Majestic--silent--mourns its slaughtered kin, Like the last warrior of some tawny tribe Returned from sunset mountains to behold Once more the spot where his brave fathers sleep. The farms along the valley stretch away On either hand upon the rugged hills-- Walled into fields. Tall elms and willow-trees Huge-trunked and ivy-hung stand sentinel Along the roadway walls--storm-wrinkled trees Planted by men who slumber on the hills. Amid such scenes all day we rolled along, And as the shadows of the western hills Across the valley crept and climbed the slopes, The sunset blazed their hazy tops and fell Upon the emerald like a mist of gold. And at that hour I reached my journey's end. The village is a gem among the hills-- Tall, towering hills that reach into the blue. One grand old mountain-cone looms on the left Far up toward heaven, and all around are hills. The river winds among the leafy hills Adown the meadowy dale; a shade of elms And willows fringe it. In this lap of hills Cluster the happy homes of men content To let the great world worry as it will. The court-house park, the broad, bloom-bordered streets, Are avenues of maples and of elms-- Grander than Tadmor's pillared avenue-- Fair as the fabled garden of the gods. Beautiful villas, tidy cottages, Flower gardens, fountains, offices and shops, All nestle in a dreamy wealth of woods.