ANOTHER STORM AT HURRICANE HALL.
At this, Sir Knight grew high in wroth,
And lifting hands and eyes up both,
Three times he smote on stomach stout,
From whence, at length, fierce words broke out
—Hudibras.
The moon was shining full upon the river and the homestead beyond when Capitola dashed into the water and, amid the sparkling and leaping of the foam, made her way to the other bank and rode up the rugged ascent. On the outer side of the lawn wall the moonbeams fell full upon the little figure of Pitapat waiting there.
"Why, Patty, what takes you out so late as this?" asked Capitola, as she rode up to the gate.
"Oh, Miss Catterpillar, I'se waitin' for you. Old marse is dreadful he is! Jest fit to bust the shingles offen the roof with swearing! So I come out to warn you, so you steal in the back way and go to your room so he won't see you, and I'll go and send Wool to put your horse away, and then I'll bring you up some supper and tell old marse how you've been home ever so long, and gone to bed with a werry bad head-ache."
"Thank you, Patty. It is perfectly astonishing how easy lying is to you! You really deserve to have been born in Rag Alley; but I won't trouble the recording angel to make another entry against you on my account."
"Yes, miss," said Pitapat, who thought that her mistress was complimenting her.
"And now, Patty, stand out of my way. I am going to ride straight up to the horse-block, dismount and walk right into the presence of Major Warfield," said Capitola, passing through the gate.
"Oh, Miss Catterpillar, don't! don't! he'll kill you, so he will!"
"Who's afeard?" muttered Cap to herself, as she put her horse to his mettle and rode gayly through the evergreens up to the horse-block, where she sprang down lightly from her saddle.
Gathering up her train with one hand and tossing back her head, she swept along toward the house with the air of a young princess.
There was a vision calculated to test her firmness. Reader, did you ever see a raging lion tearing to and fro the narrow limits of his cage, and occasionally shaking the amphitheatre with his tremendous roar; or a furious bull tossing his head and tail and plowing up the earth with his hoofs as he careered back and forth between the boundaries of his pen? If you have seen and noted these mad brutes, you may form some idea of the frenzy of Old Hurricane as he stormed up and down the floor of the front piazza.
Cap had just escaped an actual danger of too terrible a character to be frightened now by sound and fury. Composedly she walked up into the porch and said:
"Good evening, uncle."
The old man stopped short in his furious strides and glared upon her with his terrible eyes.
Cap stood fire without blanching, merely remarking:
"Now, I have no doubt that in the days when you went battling that look used to strike terror into the heart of the enemy, but it doesn't into mine, somehow."
"Miss!" roared the old man, bringing down his cane with a resounding thump upon the floor; "miss! how dare you have the impudence to face me, much less the—the—the assurance!—the effrontery!—the audacity!—the brass! to speak to me!"
"Well, I declare," said Cap, calmly untying her hat; "this is the first time I ever heard it was impudent in a little girl to give her uncle good evening!"
The old man trotted up and down the piazza two or three turns, then, stopping short before the delinquent, he struck his cane down upon the floor with a ringing stroke and thundered:
"Young woman, tell me instantly and without prevarication where you've been!"
"Certainly, sir; 'going to and fro in the earth and walking up and down in it,'" said Cap, quietly.
"Flames and furies! that is no answer at all! Where have you been?" roared Old Hurricane, shaking with excitement.
"Look here, uncle; if you go on that way you'll have a fit presently," said Cap, calmly.
"Where have you been?" thundered Old Hurricane.
"Well, since you will know—just across the river and through the woods and back again."
"And didn't I forbid you to do that, minion? and how dare you disobey me? You the creature of my bounty; you, the miserable little vagrant that I picked up in the alleys of New York and tried to make a young lady of; but an old proverb says 'You can't make a silken purse out of a pig's ear.' How dare you, you little beggar, disobey your benefactor?—a man of my age, character and position? I—I—" Old Hurricane turned abruptly and raged up and down the piazza.
All this time Capitola had been standing quietly, holding up her train with one hand and her riding habit in the other. At this last insult she raised her dark-gray eyes to his face with one long indignant, sorrowful gaze; then, turning silently away and entering the house, she left Old Hurricane to storm up and down the piazza until he had raged himself to rest.
Reader, I do not defend, far less approve, poor Cap. I only tell her story and describe her as I have seen her, leaving her to your charitable interpretation.
Next morning Capitola came down into the breakfast-room with one idea prominent in her hard little head, to which she mentally gave expression:
"Well as I like that old man, he must not permit himself to talk to me in that indecent strain, and so he must be made to know."
When she entered the breakfast-room she found Mrs. Condiment already at the head of the table and Old Hurricane at the foot. He had quite got over his rage, and turned around blandly to welcome his ward, saying;
"Good morning, Cap."
Without taking the slightest notice of the salutation, Cap sailed on to her seat.
"Humph. Did you hear me say 'Good morning,' Cap?"
Without paying the least attention, Capitola reached out her hand and took a cup of coffee from Mrs. Condiment.
"Humph! Humph! Good morning, Capitola!" said Old Hurricane, with marked emphasis. Apparently without hearing him. Cap helped herself to a buckwheat cake and daintily buttered it.
"Humph! humph! humph! Well as you said yourself, 'a dumb devil is better than a speaking one,'" ejaculated Old Hurricane, as he sat down and subsided into silence.
Doubtless the old man would have flown into another passion, had that been possible; but, in truth, he had spent so much vitality in rage number one that he had none left to sustain rage number two. Besides, he knew it would be necessary to blow up Bill Ezy, his lazy overseer, before night, and perhaps saved himself for that performance. He finished his meal in silence and went out.
Cap finished hers, and, 'tempering justice with mercy,' went up-stairs to his room and looked over all his appointments and belongings to find what she would do for his extra comfort, and found a job in newly lining his warm slippers and the sleeves of his dressing-gown.
They met again at the dinner-table.
"How do you do, Cap?" said Old Hurricane, as he took his seat.
Capitola poured out a glass of water and drank it in silence.
"Oh, very well, 'a dumb devil,' etc.," exclaimed Old Hurricane, addressing himself to his dinner. When the meal was over they again separated. The old man went to his study to examine his farm books, and Capitola back to her chamber to finish lining his warm slippers.
Again at tea they met.
"Well, Cap is 'the dumb devil' cast out yet?" he said, sitting down.
Capitola took a cup of tea from Mrs. Condiment and passed it on to him in silence.
"Humph! not gone yet, eh? Poor girl, how it must try you," said Old Hurricane.
After supper the old man found his dressing-gown and slippers before the fire all ready for his use.
"Cap, you monkey, you did this," he said, turning around. But Capitola had already left the room.
Next morning at breakfast there was a repetition of the same scene. Early in the forenoon Major Warfield ordered his horses and, attended by Wool rode up to Tip-Top. He did not return either to dinner or tea, but as that circumstance was not unusual, it gave no uneasiness. Mrs. Condiment kept his supper warm, and Capitola had his dressing-gown and slippers ready.
She was turning them before the fire when the old man arrived. He came in quite gayly, saying:
"Now, Cap, I think I have found a talisman at last to cast out that 'dumb devil.' I heard you wishing for a watch the other day. Now, as devils belong to eternity, and have no business with time, of course the sight of this little time-keeper must put yours to flight," and so saying he laid upon the table, before the eyes of Capitola, a beautiful little gold watch and chain. She glanced at it as it lay glittering and sparkling in the lamplight, and then turned abruptly and walked away.
"Humph! that's always the way the devils do—fly when they can't stand shot."
Capitola deliberately walked back, laid a paper over the little watch and chain, as if to cover its fascinating sparkle and glitter, and said:
"Uncle, your bounty is large and your present is beautiful; but there is something that poor Capitola values more than——"
She paused, dropped her head upon her bosom, a sudden blush flamed up over her face, and tear-drops glittered in her downcast eyes. She put both hands before her burning face for a moment, and then, dropping them, resumed:
"Uncle, you rescued me from misery and, perhaps—perhaps, early death; you have heaped benefits and bounties upon me without measure; you have placed me in a home of abundance, honor and security. For all this if I were not grateful I should deserve no less than death. But, uncle, there is a sin that is worse, at least, more ungenerous, than ingratitude; it is to put a helpless fellow-creature under heavy obligations and then treat that grateful creature with undeserved contempt and cruel unkindness." Once more her voice was choked with feeling.
For some reason or other Capitola's tears—perhaps because they were so rare—always moved Old Hurricane to his heart's center. Going toward her softly, he said:
"Now, my dear; now, my child; now, my little Cap, you know it was all for your own good. Why, my dear, I never for one instant regretted bringing you to the house, and I wouldn't part with you for a kingdom. Come, now, my child; come to the heart of your old uncle."
Now, the soul of Capitola naturally abhorred sentiment. If ever she gave way to serious emotion, she was sure to avenge herself by being more capricious than before. Consequently, flinging herself out of the caressing arms of Old Hurricane, she exclaimed:
"Uncle, I won't be treated with both kicks and half-pennies by the same person, and so I tell you. I am not a cur to be fed with roast beef and beaten with a stick, nor—nor—nor a Turk's slave to be caressed and oppressed as her master likes. Such abuse as you heaped upon me I never heard—no, not even in Rag Alley!"
"Oh, my dear! my dear! my dear! for heaven's sake forget Rag Alley?"
"I won't! I vow I'll go back to Rag Alley for a very little more. Freedom and peace is even sweeter than wealth and honors."
"Ah, but I won't let you, my little Cap."
"Then I'd have you up before the nearest magistrate, to show by what right you detained me. Ah, ha! I wasn't brought up in New York for nothing."
"Whee-eu! and all this because, for her own good, I gave my own niece and ward a little gentle admonition."
"Gentle admonition! Do you call that gentle admonition? Why, uncle, you are enough to frighten most people to death with your fury. You are a perfect dragon! a griffin! a Russian bear! a Bengal tiger! a Numidian lion! You're all Barnum's beasts in one! I declare, if I don't write and ask him to send a party down here to catch you for his museum! You'd draw, I tell you!"
"Yes, especially with you for a keeper to stir me up once in a while with a long pole."
"And that I'd engage to do—cheap."
The entrance of Mrs. Condiment with the tea-tray put an end to the controversy. It was, as yet, a drawn battle.
"And what about the watch, my little Cap?"
"Take it back, uncle, if you please."
"But they won't have it back; it has got your initials engraved upon it. Look here," said the old man, holding the watch to her eyes. "'C. L. N.'—those are not my initials," said Capitola, looking up with surprise.
"Why, so they are not; the blamed fools have made a mistake. But you'll have to take it, Cap."
"No, uncle; keep it for the present," said Capitola, who was too honest to take a gift that she felt she did not deserve, and yet too proud to confess as much.
Peace was proclaimed—for the present.
Alas! 'twas but of short continuance. During these two days of coolness and enforced quietude Old Hurricane had gathered a store of bad humors that required expenditure.
So the very next day something went wrong upon the farm, and Old Hurricane came storming home, driving his overseer, poor, old, meek Billy Ezy, and his man Wool before him.
Bill Ezy was whimpering; Wool was sobbing aloud; Old Hurricane was roaring at them both as he drove them on before him, swearing that Ezy should go and find himself a new home and Wool should go and seek another master.
And for this cause Old Hurricane was driving them on to his study, that he might pay the overseer his last quarter's salary and give the servant a written order to find a master.
He raged past Capitola in the hall, and, meeting Mrs. Condiment at the study door, ordered her to bring in her account book directly, for that he would not be imposed upon any longer, but meant to drive all the lazy, idle, dishonest eye-servants and time-servers from the house and land!
"What's the matter now?" said Capitola, meeting her.
"Oh, child, he's in his terrible tantrums again! He gets into these ways every once in a while, when a young calf perishes, or a sheep is stolen, or anything goes amiss, and then he abuses us all for a pack of loiterers, sluggards and thieves, and pays us off and orders us off. We don't go, of course, because we know he doesn't mean it; still, it is very trying to be talked to so. Oh, I should go, but Lord, child, he's a bear, but we love him."
Just as she spoke the study door opened and Bill Ezy came out sobbing, and Wool lifting up his voice and fairly roaring.
Mrs. Condiment stepped out of the parlor door.
"What's the matter, you blockhead?" she asked of Wool.
"Oh! boo-hoo-woo! Ole marse been and done and gone and guv me a line to find an—an—another—boo-hoo-woo!" sobbed Wool, ready to break his heart.
"Give you a line to find another boo-hoo-woo! I wouldn't do it, if I were you, Wool," said Capitola.
"Give me the paper, Wool," said Mrs. Condiment, taking the "permit" and tearing it up, and adding:
"There, now, you go home to your quarter, and keep out of your old master's sight until he gets over his anger, and then you know very well that it will be all right. There, go along with you."
Wool quickly got out of the way and made room for the overseer, who was sniveling like a whipped schoolboy, and to whom the housekeeper said:
"I thought you were wiser than to take this so to heart, Mr. Ezy."
"Oh, mum, what could you expect? An old sarvint as has sarved the major faithful these forty years, to be discharged at sixty-five! Oh, hoo-ooo-oo!" whimpered the overseer.
"But then you have been discharged so often you ought to be used to it by this time. You get discharged, just as Wool gets sold, about once a month—but do you ever go?"
"Oh, mum, but he's in airnest this time; 'deed he is, mum; terrible in airnest; and all about that misfortnet bobtail colt getting stole. I know how it wur some of Black Donald's gang as done it—as if I could always be on my guard against them devils; and he means it this time, mum; he's terrible in airnest!"
"Tut! he's always in earnest for as long as it lasts; go home to your family and to-morrow go about your business as usual."
Here the study bell rang violently and Old Hurricane's voice was heard calling, "Mrs. Condiment! Mrs. Condiment!"
"Oh, Lor', he's coming!" cried Bill Ezy, running off as fast as his age and grief would let him.
"Mrs. Condiment! Mrs. Condiment!" called the voice.
"Yes, sir, yes," answered the housekeeper, hurrying to obey the call.
Capitola walked up and down the hall for half an hour, at the end of which Mrs. Condiment came out "with a smile on her lip and a tear in her eye," and saying:
"Well, Miss Capitola, I'm paid off and discharged also."
"What for?"
"For aiding and abetting the rebels; in a word, for trying to comfort poor Ezy and Wool."
"And are you going?"
"Certainly not; I shan't budge; I would not treat the old man so badly as to take him at his word." And, with a strange smile, Mrs. Condiment hurried away just in time to escape Old Hurricane, who came raving out of the study.
"Get out of my way, you beggar!" he cried, pushing past Capitola and hurrying from the house.
"Well, I declare, that was pleasant!" thought Cap, as she entered the parlor.
"Mrs. Condiment, what will he say when he comes back and finds you all here still?" she asked.
"Say? Nothing. After this passion is over he will be so exhausted that he will not be able to get up another rage in two or three days."
"Where has he gone?"
"To Tip-Top, and alone, too; he was so mad with poor Wool that he wouldn't even permit him to attend."
"Alone? Has he gone alone? Oh, won't I give him a dose when he comes back," thought Capitola.
Meanwhile Old Hurricane stormed along toward Tip-Top, lashing off the poor dogs that wished to follow him and cutting at every living thing that crossed his path. His business at the village was to get bills printed and posted offering an additional reward for the apprehension of "the marauding outlaw, Black Donald." That day he dined at the village tavern—"The Antlers," by Mr. Merry—and differed, disputed or quarrelled, as the case might be, with every man with whom he came in contact.
Toward evening he set off for home. It was much later than his usual hour for returning; but he felt weary, exhausted and indisposed to come into his own dwelling where his furious temper had created so much unhappiness. Thus, though it was very late, he did not hurry; he almost hoped that every one might be in bed when he should return. The moon was shining brightly when he passed the gate and rode up the evergreen avenue to the horse-block in front of the house. There he dismounted and walked up into the piazza, where a novel vision met his surprised gaze.
It was Capitola, walking up and down the floor with rapid, almost masculine strides, and apparently in a state of great excitement.
"Oh, is it you, my little Cap? Good evening, my dear," he said, very kindly.
Capitola "pulled up" in her striding walk, wheeled around, faced him, drew up her form, folded her arms, threw back her head, set her teeth and glared at him.
"What the demon do you mean by that?" cried Old Hurricane.
"Sir!" she exclaimed, bringing down one foot with a sharp stamp; "sir! how dare you have the impudence to face me? much less the—the—the—the brass! the bronze! the copper! to speak to me!"
"Why, what in the name of all the lunatics in Bedlam does the girl mean? Is she crazy?" exclaimed the old man, gazing upon her in astonishment.
Capitola turned and strode furiously up and down the piazza, and then, stopping suddenly and facing him, with a sharp stamp of her foot exclaimed:
"Old gentleman! Tell me instantly and without prevarication, where have you been?"
"To the demon with you! What do you mean? Have you taken leave of your senses?" demanded Old Hurricane.
Capitola strode up and down the floor a few times, and, stopping short and shaking her fist, exclaimed:
"Didn't you know, you headstrong, reckless, desperate, frantic veteran—didn't you know the jeopardy in which you placed yourself in riding out alone at this hour? Suppose three or four great runaway negresses had sprung out of the bushes and—and—and——" She broke off apparently for want of breath, and strode up and down the floor; then, pausing suddenly before him, with a stern stamp of her foot and a fierce glare of her eye, she continued:
"You shouldn't have come back here any more! No dishonored old man should have entered the house of which I call myself the mistress!"
"Oh, I take! I take! ha, ha, ha! Good, Cap, good! You are holding up the glass before me; but your mirror is not quite large enough to reflect 'Old Hurricane,' my dear. 'I owe one,'" said the old man, as he passed into the house, followed by his capricious favorite.